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[WP] Touch a person once and no one will recognize them. Touch them again and the effect wears off. Celebrities and politicians seek you out, for you are Anon, and you can give the gift of anonymity to anyone — if the price is right.
|
I don't know who you are. I must have, once. Because you know who I am.
I'm hard to find, unless you've already found me. Then it's easy. I always pass along a copy of my itinerary, before the handshake.
I look at you, your perfect jaw, your perfect suit, and I wonder what you paid me. I'll know, soon enough. I'll know everything, except for what you did with your precious private time.
There are things you can't have done. No seeking out a secret lover. They wouldn't have known you. No bank robberies, no public stunts. When the memories rush back, the anonymous face on the security footage will be anonymous no longer.
You didn't travel far, not when the dumb machines can't recognise you. Your passport is useless, as are your credit cards. It's possible you couldn't even go home, if you have real live human security. They wouldn't let a stranger in.
So very many things you can't do, without your identity.
But you found something. I'll probably never know what. The handshake isn't only thing you paid for. I don't go digging. You look exhausted. Satisfied too.
I like to guess, before the second handshake. So I take a moment to consider. Are you an actor? A politician? What are you famous for? You have that hours in the gym look, but you're manicured and groomed. I think you're an actor.
I don't ask, of course. That would ruin the game. Besides, I'm about to find out. I stand up, and offer you my hand. Our fingers touch, and just like that, you're back.
I was right. You are an actor.
|
He didn't take his eyes off mine.
A glowing neon flow collapsed in through the window of the cheap and minute bar. the buzzing and bright sign sat loosely outside. "Lucifer's brew". An ironic place to meet The Devil for a deal, but it was his idea. It was the size of a large caravan, with 3 circular seating areas adjacent to each other lining a large, parallel window - cushioned with dirty, torn leather and a lingering smell of urine. Behind them, furthest from the window, a long bar stood with sloppy painting which looked to be wet and peeling simultaneously, its greasy countertop warmly illuminated by a dangling glowing orange light.
His eyes were glossy and plastic. His features exaggerated. The colours of his clothes just too bold. If your eyes gazed upon him long enough, you could see the shimmering and flickering of his existence, as if effort was put it to stabilize himself in a plane he was not used to. He looked moments away from flickering out, like a broken halogen bulb. Or, possibly more frightening of a hypothesis, exploding into a monstrous form, ready to rip and tear the fabric of our reality away like a young child does to a present's wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
"So, what do you think?" said The Devil. The idea he proposed was an interesting one, unlike the ones before. The ability to wipe someone off the face of the earth. They remained in tact, however any perception previously placed upon them wiped from the minds of all. Mystical, I though. And, the real cherry on top, there was no foreseeable way he could manipulate me into something that would backfire. The ability was priceless and perfect. Perhaps he was having a good day.
"I accept"
I spoke with confidence. A shudder flowed throughout my body, as if the world shook its head in agreement and confirmed the deal. The unbreakable deal.
The Devils head tilted slightly and a large smile stretched across his face, revealing a set of sharp and savage teeth. His eyes no longer plastic but vibrant and wide. His features were still. His existence stable and constant, as unchanging as rock. Slammed upon the table, caressed by neon red light, was a large piece of rope, tied tightly and systematically into a noose.
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[deleted]
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[WP] Touch a person once and no one will recognize them. Touch them again and the effect wears off. Celebrities and politicians seek you out, for you are Anon, and you can give the gift of anonymity to anyone — if the price is right.
|
Physical anonymity is bullshit. There's always a digital footprint somewhere, even if it's someone's Insta background.
There's a reason I'm part of Anonymous. A reason we are Legion.
I am not a hacker in the traditional sense. Like a few gifted others in our Collective, I hack reality. If I'm honest, that's the easiest part. Yeah, we have an innate gift. We can make anyone in meat world anonymous for as long as we want. Just tap off and tap on again. A simple touch. Changing the digital reality is far harder, IMHO.
And yet, my skills are in demand. I started out as a physical version of a black hat. There's a lot of money to be made in the equivalent of parlor tricks. Want to take out a dictator whose people are forced to live on his every word? Make him disappear into anonymity for a few months. The PR team can lie all they want. He's sick. He's visiting his mother in Timbuktu. Whatever. He'd leave a digital footprint somewhere. No footprint means lies. Lies mean he’s being held a prisoner somewhere or already dead. Wanna know the fun part? Even if he ‘returns,’ there will be doubts. No electronic trace? Must be a look-alike, a clone, or worse. At the very least, there’s something to hide. People don’t like that kind of uncertainty. I used to prey on that.
Now? I work for Anonymous. I still get paid most of the time, but even when it’s pro bono, it’s so much more fulfilling. Now I get to determine with the Collective whom we overthrow.
We are Legion.
We are coming for those who fail our society.
You have been warned.
|
He didn't take his eyes off mine.
A glowing neon flow collapsed in through the window of the cheap and minute bar. the buzzing and bright sign sat loosely outside. "Lucifer's brew". An ironic place to meet The Devil for a deal, but it was his idea. It was the size of a large caravan, with 3 circular seating areas adjacent to each other lining a large, parallel window - cushioned with dirty, torn leather and a lingering smell of urine. Behind them, furthest from the window, a long bar stood with sloppy painting which looked to be wet and peeling simultaneously, its greasy countertop warmly illuminated by a dangling glowing orange light.
His eyes were glossy and plastic. His features exaggerated. The colours of his clothes just too bold. If your eyes gazed upon him long enough, you could see the shimmering and flickering of his existence, as if effort was put it to stabilize himself in a plane he was not used to. He looked moments away from flickering out, like a broken halogen bulb. Or, possibly more frightening of a hypothesis, exploding into a monstrous form, ready to rip and tear the fabric of our reality away like a young child does to a present's wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
"So, what do you think?" said The Devil. The idea he proposed was an interesting one, unlike the ones before. The ability to wipe someone off the face of the earth. They remained in tact, however any perception previously placed upon them wiped from the minds of all. Mystical, I though. And, the real cherry on top, there was no foreseeable way he could manipulate me into something that would backfire. The ability was priceless and perfect. Perhaps he was having a good day.
"I accept"
I spoke with confidence. A shudder flowed throughout my body, as if the world shook its head in agreement and confirmed the deal. The unbreakable deal.
The Devils head tilted slightly and a large smile stretched across his face, revealing a set of sharp and savage teeth. His eyes no longer plastic but vibrant and wide. His features were still. His existence stable and constant, as unchanging as rock. Slammed upon the table, caressed by neon red light, was a large piece of rope, tied tightly and systematically into a noose.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Touch a person once and no one will recognize them. Touch them again and the effect wears off. Celebrities and politicians seek you out, for you are Anon, and you can give the gift of anonymity to anyone — if the price is right.
|
Jane sat at her desk in her small office of the run down shelter she, and many other women, called home.
She was shifting through papers. Police reports, witness statements, CPS safety plans, restraining orders that were never enforced. There was files scattered all over her desk, papers from each one in her hands as she looked through them.
With a sigh, she set the stack down and cradled her head. The work she did was exhausting. Doing what police couldn't or *wouldn't* do.
A soft knock made her look at the door. It was a timid sound, one she was used to. The kind of sound of someone not used to being able to speak for themselves trying to get comfortable in an environment where they could made.
"Come in." Jane said clearly, closing the files and putting the top paper on the stack facedown.
The door opened and there stood another woman. She was fidgety, standing with her purse clutched tightly. Jane motioned for her to sit down but the woman only took a few steps in and closed the door.
Jane cleared her throat softly and waited for the woman to speak.
"I heard that you can make people vanish."
Jane nodded slightly, more for her to continue than to confirm.
"If I asked you to..." The woman swallowed. She'd only been in the shelter for a few days, but was facing criminal charges for family violence and the possibility of her two children removed.
"If I asked you to, how much would it cost?" She seemed to have gathered some bravery to finish her sentence.
"What do you mean by *vanish*?" Jane replied.
The woman came closer and sat in the chair, scooting it closer to the desk and leaning forward with her purse in her lap. As if this was a secret conversation someone might hear.
"You know... Make them never heard from again. No chance of getting caught." She had the half desperate look of someone who had exhausted all options and felt trapped in a hard life that kept getting harder.
"No. I don't do that. What I *do* however is help women in unfortunate circumstances..." Jane started her entry speech she gave each person who asked what her shelter did. Whether that was law enforcement, government officials, or desperate people who mistook her for a murderer.
"No. No you don't. I know you do more." The woman waved her hand cutting off Jane.
Perplexed, Jane sat back in her office chair.
"Oh?" She said calmly.
"Yes, you do. Here, look, I have money." The woman dumped her purse out. Loose bills and fresh stacks of 20's fell onto the desk. Even with a curious glance Jane could tell that was probably the entirety of this woman's bank account.
"No." Jane said firmly, holding her hands out as if to push the money and the woman away without touching them. "That's not what I do at all."
Dejectedly the woman started picking up the money, repeating that she was sorry, she had no other options and had to at least try.
"It's alright. Rumors spread. Now about your case." Jane picked a folder and started going through it, while the woman softly started to cry. Jane offered some tissues but continued talking about the issues she was facing.
"I don't want to lose my kids." The woman looked at Jane after taking a tissue.
"You won't." Jane said soothingly.
"What if he finds us again?" The woman asked incredulously.
"He won't." Jane said confidently.
After some convincing that working the program would keep her and her children intact, as well as garuntees of their safety, the woman left the room.
When the phone rang, Jane answered and put away her paperwork. She had an appointment she needed to go that evening and her phone call was a reminder.
Packing up and leaving, Jane put on her gloves and left. At the beginning she had never wore gloves, but too many times people had grabbed her hands and run off with all of the benefits of her touch and none of the price. She had learned quickly to wear long sleeved clothing and gloves. Once she touched someone, they were unrecognizable even to her.
After the meeting, Jane stopped by the bank, filling in her book how much the generous benefactor had donated to her shelter before depositing the money in the shelters bank before heading home for the night with the other women.
.........
3 months had passed and that same woman who had appeared in Jane's office with a purse full of money and hopelessness in her eyes was now walking confidently across the makeshift stage in the dining room. She had completed all of her goals and successfully closed the CPS case against her. She was like a different person than the one who had come to the shelter months before.
Proudly, Jane gave her a firmly gloved handshake before handing the woman her file, now complete with a glowing letter of recommendation for future employers and other things to help her along the journey outside the safety of the place.
After the small ceremony was over, the woman and her children stopped by the office to say goodbye. Jane was hunched over her desk, writing something in a personal notebook.
"Miranda! James! Benjamin!" Jane greeted them with a smile and hurriedly finished what she was writing before putting it in her desk along with her gloves.
"We just came to say goodbye." Miranda said.
"Momma said we had to thank you for helping us." Benjamin, the youngest at 6, said.
"Oh, well I'm glad that you came to say goodbye. I'm going to miss you guys! But no thanks is necessary! Just being able to help has been enough." Jane made her way around the desk.
"Are y'all about to leave?" Jane asked gesturing for them to walk to the front door with her.
"Yeah, we're probably going to move out of State. You know, just to be safe." Miranda held the car keys to the van she had earned through working the program. A lot of the donors provided new cars for the women and families at the shelter that stayed in the garage until they were ready to leave. Miranda had already pulled it to the front.
"Oh, I don't think that's necessary but as long as your comfortable I support you." Jane opened the front door and walked down the steps with them, helping carrying Ben's suitcase.
At the car Miranda started loading their few belongings before turning to Jane who was patting the boys head and saying her goodbyes.
"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" She once again fidgeted with her purse reminding Jane of one of their first nights in her office.
"No." Jane said leaning in for a hug. "This is payment enough." Miranda got in the car and drove away after returning the hug, leaving Jane in the gateway of the little shelter she had come to love.
Sadly, Jane waved as the car pulled away before returning to her office and pulling out her notebook. Reading the story of a woman named Miranda and her two kids, she softly cried.
*Edited for a few minor changes*
|
He didn't take his eyes off mine.
A glowing neon flow collapsed in through the window of the cheap and minute bar. the buzzing and bright sign sat loosely outside. "Lucifer's brew". An ironic place to meet The Devil for a deal, but it was his idea. It was the size of a large caravan, with 3 circular seating areas adjacent to each other lining a large, parallel window - cushioned with dirty, torn leather and a lingering smell of urine. Behind them, furthest from the window, a long bar stood with sloppy painting which looked to be wet and peeling simultaneously, its greasy countertop warmly illuminated by a dangling glowing orange light.
His eyes were glossy and plastic. His features exaggerated. The colours of his clothes just too bold. If your eyes gazed upon him long enough, you could see the shimmering and flickering of his existence, as if effort was put it to stabilize himself in a plane he was not used to. He looked moments away from flickering out, like a broken halogen bulb. Or, possibly more frightening of a hypothesis, exploding into a monstrous form, ready to rip and tear the fabric of our reality away like a young child does to a present's wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
"So, what do you think?" said The Devil. The idea he proposed was an interesting one, unlike the ones before. The ability to wipe someone off the face of the earth. They remained in tact, however any perception previously placed upon them wiped from the minds of all. Mystical, I though. And, the real cherry on top, there was no foreseeable way he could manipulate me into something that would backfire. The ability was priceless and perfect. Perhaps he was having a good day.
"I accept"
I spoke with confidence. A shudder flowed throughout my body, as if the world shook its head in agreement and confirmed the deal. The unbreakable deal.
The Devils head tilted slightly and a large smile stretched across his face, revealing a set of sharp and savage teeth. His eyes no longer plastic but vibrant and wide. His features were still. His existence stable and constant, as unchanging as rock. Slammed upon the table, caressed by neon red light, was a large piece of rope, tied tightly and systematically into a noose.
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[deleted]
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[WP] You thought you found an old neti pot, but you actually just poured a genie through your sinuses.
|
"Put that *down*."
I shook my head. "No, some glowing dude just appeared in my bathroom, I'm not putting it down."
"This glowing dude just happens to be an all-powerful jinn, so you holding that... What even is that? Regardless, you're embarrassing yourself."
He was not wrong. I was currently draped in a shower curtain, sprawled in my bathtub, waving the plunger at the being that was standing where I had been not long before.
He was winning the staring contest. I've probably blinked a hundred and one times.
I put the plunger down.
"You're either a genie or I took too much cold medicine."
"You just *flossed* your sinuses with my *essence*." He said, motioning wide with his hands. "I can't *undo* that experience, so please don't chalk it up to medicine. If I have to remember this, so do you."
"I polished that... Pot... Before I even left the flea market. You didn't come out then. And then when I cleaned the pot thoroughly, you still didn't appear. But you chose when I was cleaning my sinuses to appear?"
He bent down, picking up the object of contention. "What? You think I answer to polish and cleaning? No. You chased me out with *salt*." He shook the pot, sending saline droplets flying.
I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
My nose started to drip. I wiped it on my hoodie sleeve.
It turned into fine silk.
I stared at it for a long moment. "You sure this isn't caused by too much cold medicine? This feels like too much cold medicine."
"I think the extended and thorough contact with my being has made your sinuses magical."
I wiped again, and the silk sleeve slowly grew fine gold embroidery.
"I'm going to bed."
|
He said, well, this isn’t the first time. I jumped through my own skin.
The Genie who didn’t have to prove who he was after that, offered me one single wish. I checked him and said, hey! I thought I was supposed to get three wishes?!? The Genie explained to me that he was only a Jr. Genie. And since he was new, he would only be able to perform one wish.
Ok, I agreed. I thought for a while and finally picked what I wanted. I asked the Genie for a bridge from the mainland America to Hawaii. So I could ride my motorcycle to the islands.
The Genie thought for a while and said that the engineering on a structure such as that would be staggering to say the least. Besides the supports that would need to be placed in some of the deepest parts of the ocean. He told me it was beyond his capability as a Jr. Genie.
Of course, I figured the way my life has been going, of course. So, I thought for while longer and then told the Genie, you know, I just went through my fourth divorce. What I need is for you to go out, figure out women, what makes them tick, what makes them happy, those sort of things. Then come back and tell me the secrets, then I too can finally find true love.
The Genie took a second, looks at me and asks, that bridge to Hawaii, one lane or two?
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[deleted]
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[WP] You thought you found an old neti pot, but you actually just poured a genie through your sinuses.
|
"Put that *down*."
I shook my head. "No, some glowing dude just appeared in my bathroom, I'm not putting it down."
"This glowing dude just happens to be an all-powerful jinn, so you holding that... What even is that? Regardless, you're embarrassing yourself."
He was not wrong. I was currently draped in a shower curtain, sprawled in my bathtub, waving the plunger at the being that was standing where I had been not long before.
He was winning the staring contest. I've probably blinked a hundred and one times.
I put the plunger down.
"You're either a genie or I took too much cold medicine."
"You just *flossed* your sinuses with my *essence*." He said, motioning wide with his hands. "I can't *undo* that experience, so please don't chalk it up to medicine. If I have to remember this, so do you."
"I polished that... Pot... Before I even left the flea market. You didn't come out then. And then when I cleaned the pot thoroughly, you still didn't appear. But you chose when I was cleaning my sinuses to appear?"
He bent down, picking up the object of contention. "What? You think I answer to polish and cleaning? No. You chased me out with *salt*." He shook the pot, sending saline droplets flying.
I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
My nose started to drip. I wiped it on my hoodie sleeve.
It turned into fine silk.
I stared at it for a long moment. "You sure this isn't caused by too much cold medicine? This feels like too much cold medicine."
"I think the extended and thorough contact with my being has made your sinuses magical."
I wiped again, and the silk sleeve slowly grew fine gold embroidery.
"I'm going to bed."
|
I never knew why, but pouring the solution through my second nostril was always way more difficult than the first. I put the neti pot down, placed my finger firmly against the right side of my nose, creating a funnel for the air to be forced out of my left nostril, and blew as hard as I could. A flash jolted into the sink, whirled around the sink and made it's way into the drain pipe.
"I really should figure out how to install the stopper back into this sink." I spoke these words aloud, to myself.
"What's that?" My bald dad was visiting from Maine. Damn man is near deaf, but somehow always hears me when I'm taking to myself.
"Nothing dad! Just taking to myself!"
"The remote's on the shelf? I don't see a shelf!"
Like I said, he was hard of hearing.
I turned my head ever so slightly, and continued to pour my homeopathic allergy remedy into my nose. This time everything went through no issue.
"Issue." It's my pun on words here. Issue also means discharge, or flow out. In my bad joke here in discharging a bodily fluid. But I digress...
When I looked down at the sink, a puddle of turquoise and magenta lay floating in my sink. "That's not good." I say to myself
"No I didn't bring any food!" My dad calls out to me from the other room.
"Shut up dad!"
"No need to be rude! Just let me know if you need anything."
I run down the hallway closet to get the plunger. The closet door sticks to the paint on the door frame. I wrap both hands around the doorknob and tug at the door to urge it open using all weight. The fury of the door opening brings to my attention that I'm still holding my neti pot with my pinky wrapped into the handle. The door, the neti pot, my hand, and the wall decide that now was a good time to meet. The neti pot shatters into crumbs, my hand miraculously is unharmed, and my dad, somehow oblivious to the racket, asks no questions.
I run back into the bathroom, plunger in hand and see a shirtless, turquoise man, with a translucent lower half floating in my bathroom. His whole body is floating in a way that looks like he's crawling across the ground.
"Have you seen my earring?"
He must be talking to me, but my dad once again answers, "Have I been to Beijing? Seriously, what has gotten into you?"
The floating green thing raises an inquisitive eyebrow. I respond only to this thing in front of me, now standing in my bathroom. "Don't mind him. He's a bit hard of hearing."
"I can fix that for you. You see… I am your neti-nie. In Disney terms, I am your genie. But I come from your neti, so I am Genie de Neti, or neti-nie. Hi. How are you?"
I now awestruck, demurely say, "Uh good. I wish you didn't have to see me break my neti pot then."
He snaps his fingers and the neti pot is back in my hands, forged anew. Spotless and without fault. "Done. And?"
"I wish I had fixed that sink for you too cause..."
He clicks his fingers again and the stopper is back in the sink.
"Oh blessed Jesus you fixed my sink! Thanks for that. I wish I had known you were coming!"
"Now I can't fix that sort of past for you. You have one more wish. What is it that you most desire?"
"What about my other two wishes? I thought I was guaranteed three wishes"
"The pot repair: one. The sink repair: two. From the way I see it I saved you a plumbers fee of at least four hundred dollars. That was a mighty fine wish you had there you young one you!"
"Shit. Only one left huh? Well I wish my dad could get outta here."
"Done." And he clicked his fingers again.
"Some? You need some of what?" My dad still seemed to be sitting in the other room.
"What is this third wish you gave me? What did you do?"
"Just like you said young master. You wished your dad could get 'all the hair'. He has a magnificent head of hair now! I wish you the best of luck in your adventures in life, and thanks for taking the time to purchase me, your neti-nie!"
With this the genie vanished. My dad walked up behind me. He actually looked good. His long golden blonde hair returned to his head. The surfer-long hair that disappeared in his mid twenties. He looked real good for an old guy. But he was still deaf, and still in my house.
"Did you figure out where you put that remote."
Yep. He was still here
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[WP] Three characters: One doesn't believe in ghosts, one believes in ghosts but is completely wrong about what they look/act like, and one is an actual ghost.
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At the graveyard that morning, in the misty fog that settled over the grass, I watched as the coffin was laid to rest. Ally was crying on one side of me, Owen gripping a white rose on the other.
"Do you think June is in a better place now?" Ally whispered.
"Of course," I said, when something caught my attention. A shadowy figure had appeared in the mist and was walking toward us. Who else was out here at seven in the morning?
Owen tossed the rose into the grave. "Anything's better than that hospital. I hope June is able to do all the things she couldn't before. I hope she's a ghost walking the earth as free as a bird."
"Ghosts don't exist," Ally said, half-laughing through her tears.
"Sure they do," he said, grinning. "They can't actually walk, though. You'll know if you ever see one. White as a bedsheet and floating through the air. Absolutely terrifying creatures. But only to us, of course."
"Did you guys see that?" I asked, but Ally was laughing even harder and didn't answer. Owen just shook his head, torn between grief and laughter and sorrow.
I was the only one who could see the mysterious figure.
Leaving my friends behind, I walked through the wet grass to greet the stranger. Some supernatural force made me understand that we were supposed to meet. To speak. Was it a ghost? Or was it something else, something that was truly terrifying?
It was the Grim Reaper.
"Hello, June," he said. "Are you ready to go?"
I looked back at my friends, who now had their arms around each other. I looked down at my body, which was no longer shriveled and emaciated but strong and whole.
I looked at the Grim Reaper and smiled. "Let's go," I said.
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"You've gotta be kidding me, Ted. You believe in ghosts? A few loud noises at night don't mean your house is suddenly haunted, it means you probably have a some racoons or need to check your water heater. Ghosts aren't real!"
"I swear to ya, Ziggy, it ain't just been no noises. The pots were floatin' in the air and banging' 'imselves 'alf the damn night! I got ghosts God damnit, and that's a fact!"
"Ghosts aren't real, Ted! Ghosts aren't real! I can't believe we are talking about ghosts playing your pots and pans like they're some damn street buskers. What's a ghost care about banging your pots for anyway?"
"You don't 'ave to believe me none, Zigs, that's fine by me. 'ere comes Pete now, and he gonna believe me for sure. Oy! PETE! O'ER HERE BUDDY! I got me a pack of ghosts Pete!"
"Hey Ted, hey Ziggy. What's that you're saying about ghosts Ted? I'm actually glad you guys are on the subject "
"I got a big bunch of ghosties in my kitchen, Pete, dinging up my pots all night. Leaving a buncha goop on my floor with tentacle tracks all dragged through it. Ectoplasm, Google called it! You ever heard of somethin' like that, pal?"
"Ghosts? Sure. I mean, of course. But tentacles and goop? That doesn't sound right, Ted. Are you sure you don't have a demon or perhaps a poltergeist instead? Either of those could fit the description."
"Whaddya on about, Pete? Who's talkin' about demons? Ziggy, you think maybe I got demons instead?"
"I don't think you have demons, Ted. I don't think you have ghosts neither! Because ghosts don't exist buddy. You both sound ridiculous, two grown men sitting around talking about creepy crawlies. Why you acting like you know so much about ghosts anyway, Pete? You don't know nothing beyond your own stupid nose far as I've ever seen!"
"Are you serious, Ziggy? Okay, let's do this again. Don't you guys remember the car accident last year? It happened just in front of the bar we are sitting in now!"
"Aw, man, why'd you have to bring that up, Petey? Of course we remember the wreck. Killed ol' Susie Perkins dead on the spot, she didn't even see it coming. Dumbass driver survived of course. Assholes always do. Wait, someone else died in that crash too, now that I'm recalling. We lost a good friend of ours that night, right Ted?"
"Hey, that's right, Zigs, we did, didn't we? That was a bad 'un. That was the night we lost Pete, eh? That shitbag who killed 'im deserves everything he ever gets, I'll tell you that!"
"Yeah, he does Ted, I'm not arguing. Wish we could be the one to give it to ' em though, get some closure for Pete."
"Speakin' of Pete, been meaning to tell you that I got some ghosts at 'ome, buddy. Banging up my pans at night an everything. Maybe it's Pete been tryin' to finally drive me crazy! You ever seen a ghost, Ziggy?"
"You pulling my leg, old pal? You sound crazy. Ghosts don't exist!"
"Yeah, maybe you're right Ziggy. 'ow long we been sittin' 'ere anyway? I thought I just got 'ere, but my beer is already warm."
"I don't know, pal. I just sat down myself."
"
|
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[WP] Write a story that revolves around a kind, compassionate, character, and then make them evil in the last sentence.
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I knew I could save them. Save them from the unrelenting virus that had first grown on an inconspicuous blue planet no one really knew about, much less cared about, before spreading to the stars. I knew I could save them all from this plague that grew and grew as it devoured them.
It was why I became a scientist. A thinker. The greatest mind of my generation. It was why I built weapons, of increasingly incredible power, and it was why I was willing to wield them.
I needed to protect everyone. I needed to save as many lives as I possibly could, before the disease spread any further.
That is why I destroyed humanity - to protect everyone else.
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He was "that guy". Not in a bad way, though.
He was that guy who always greeted everyone with a smile and a handshake.
He was that guy who remembered the school librarian's birthday & got her a dozen red roses to celebrate, as she'd been a widow for the last 15yrs.
He was that guy who volunteered to paint the church nurseries & who fixed Old Man Talbot's wheelchair ramp.
He was that guy who helped push Missy's car through the intersection & into the gas station, then paid for her gas, insisting she fill it up.
He was that guy who volunteered his Tuesday nights to tutor a couple of high schoolers in advanced math, so they had a better shot at getting into a good college.
He was that guy who offered to help the family of Mr. Hawes ("Grampa Hawes" to everyone) clear out his house after he lost his 3rd round with cancer.
He was that guy who started a GoFundMe to help the Mcalisters keep their home and pay for the doctor's visits the VA didn't cover for the father, Danny (3 deployments was too much).
He was that guy little girls could always get to push them on the swings or show off their new shoes or dresses to at the park.
He was that guy who helped Ava corrall her missing dogs & recommend both a fence company and a dog trainer.
He was that guy who seemed to always have the ugliest Christmas sweater or gaudiest Mardi Gras outfits. (Holidays were his jam!)
He was that guy who became a sort of 2nd father to the kids in his neighborhood, especially the older girls looking for affirmation.
He was that guy who taught the middle & high school boys the importance of dressing sharp & how to tie their own tie.
He was that guy who always gave out the full-size candy at Halloween & the big stockings at Christmas. He also had the biggest displays in his front yard. (Again, holidays were his jam!)
He was that guy who volunteered to host the neighborhood block parties & help organize the National Nights Out.
He was that guy who helped put up "Missing" posters & attended every candlelight vigil for people mysteriously gone missing from around town.
He was that guy who went home after to his basement and harvested their organs.
|
|
[WP] Write a story that revolves around a kind, compassionate, character, and then make them evil in the last sentence.
|
I had been bullied my whole life.
​
In kindergarten, the girls laughed at me for liking things they didn't, and the boys thought I was a teacher's pet.
​
It only got worse in primary.
​
And then middle school.
​
I tried her best. I baked cookies for the students in her homeroom. As a student council member, I tried to make things more enjoyable. But I was still a freak. A nerd. An outcast.
​
A girl called Beth was the worst. She tried her best to get me kicked off the student council, and she even hurt me physically. Once she followed me home and pushed me into the nearby pond, drenching my books and papers in muddy water. I had stood, her socks slowly getting soggier, and cried her eyes out.
​
One day, I was packing up her violin in one of the school's music classrooms. I had offered to tutor some kids in primary, who were trying to start their own orchestra. I picked up her violin case and slung it over my shoulder, walking the long way to exit my school, avoiding the path Beth usually took. I was shaking with fear and anticipation for tomorrow.
​
The next day, I was called to the office, where Beth sat in the chair next to me, handcuffed to the armrest. I shivered. I had already supplied the principal with the evidence. Beth stared at me with pure hatred.
​
"Why are you here?" She snarled, looking angrier than I thought was possible.
​
The principal flicked on the screen and explained. I had given her everything she needed to know. A video recording of Beth talking to someone and then hitting them with a baseball bat. A knife with Beth's fingerprints on them. And finally, the dead girl. Covered with Beth's fingerprints.
​
Beth was reduced to tears. She screamed, and struggled, and kicked. I almost felt sorry for her, even though she had made her life a living hell.
​
"It wasn't me! It was faked! Please! It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!" She pleaded as she was dragged out of the room by policemen.
​
I exited the office, feeling a sense of relief.
​
I guess my plan worked after all.
|
He was "that guy". Not in a bad way, though.
He was that guy who always greeted everyone with a smile and a handshake.
He was that guy who remembered the school librarian's birthday & got her a dozen red roses to celebrate, as she'd been a widow for the last 15yrs.
He was that guy who volunteered to paint the church nurseries & who fixed Old Man Talbot's wheelchair ramp.
He was that guy who helped push Missy's car through the intersection & into the gas station, then paid for her gas, insisting she fill it up.
He was that guy who volunteered his Tuesday nights to tutor a couple of high schoolers in advanced math, so they had a better shot at getting into a good college.
He was that guy who offered to help the family of Mr. Hawes ("Grampa Hawes" to everyone) clear out his house after he lost his 3rd round with cancer.
He was that guy who started a GoFundMe to help the Mcalisters keep their home and pay for the doctor's visits the VA didn't cover for the father, Danny (3 deployments was too much).
He was that guy little girls could always get to push them on the swings or show off their new shoes or dresses to at the park.
He was that guy who helped Ava corrall her missing dogs & recommend both a fence company and a dog trainer.
He was that guy who seemed to always have the ugliest Christmas sweater or gaudiest Mardi Gras outfits. (Holidays were his jam!)
He was that guy who became a sort of 2nd father to the kids in his neighborhood, especially the older girls looking for affirmation.
He was that guy who taught the middle & high school boys the importance of dressing sharp & how to tie their own tie.
He was that guy who always gave out the full-size candy at Halloween & the big stockings at Christmas. He also had the biggest displays in his front yard. (Again, holidays were his jam!)
He was that guy who volunteered to host the neighborhood block parties & help organize the National Nights Out.
He was that guy who helped put up "Missing" posters & attended every candlelight vigil for people mysteriously gone missing from around town.
He was that guy who went home after to his basement and harvested their organs.
|
|
[WP] Write a story that revolves around a kind, compassionate, character, and then make them evil in the last sentence.
|
I knew I could save them. Save them from the unrelenting virus that had first grown on an inconspicuous blue planet no one really knew about, much less cared about, before spreading to the stars. I knew I could save them all from this plague that grew and grew as it devoured them.
It was why I became a scientist. A thinker. The greatest mind of my generation. It was why I built weapons, of increasingly incredible power, and it was why I was willing to wield them.
I needed to protect everyone. I needed to save as many lives as I possibly could, before the disease spread any further.
That is why I destroyed humanity - to protect everyone else.
|
Henry was a kind soul, warm and compassionate. He was, invited to weddings, parties, and events. He always had what he wanted and seemed to be content. Yet his life seemed to be plagued by disasters, He kept losing friends and family to random accidents. And yet he stays ecstatic and inspired. He was an artist who added astonishing detail in his work. The portraits he made were not regular. They all had human figures painted in various shades of red. His friends describe him as passionate about his work.
one afternoon while walking home from work. A ragged man shuffled towards him. and spoke
"Please sir I-I just need food to eat," the beggar said. Henry pulled out his wallet with his two fingers that were stained with red.
" Is s-sir and artist ? " the man asked looking at henry's fingers
" Ah yes, yes I am " he took out 500$ and gave it to the beggar's hand
" T-Thank you kind sir! " and as the beggar shambled away henry's smile widened into a grotesque grin.
Now they don't have evidence on him again.
|
|
[WP] Write a story that revolves around a kind, compassionate, character, and then make them evil in the last sentence.
|
I had been bullied my whole life.
​
In kindergarten, the girls laughed at me for liking things they didn't, and the boys thought I was a teacher's pet.
​
It only got worse in primary.
​
And then middle school.
​
I tried her best. I baked cookies for the students in her homeroom. As a student council member, I tried to make things more enjoyable. But I was still a freak. A nerd. An outcast.
​
A girl called Beth was the worst. She tried her best to get me kicked off the student council, and she even hurt me physically. Once she followed me home and pushed me into the nearby pond, drenching my books and papers in muddy water. I had stood, her socks slowly getting soggier, and cried her eyes out.
​
One day, I was packing up her violin in one of the school's music classrooms. I had offered to tutor some kids in primary, who were trying to start their own orchestra. I picked up her violin case and slung it over my shoulder, walking the long way to exit my school, avoiding the path Beth usually took. I was shaking with fear and anticipation for tomorrow.
​
The next day, I was called to the office, where Beth sat in the chair next to me, handcuffed to the armrest. I shivered. I had already supplied the principal with the evidence. Beth stared at me with pure hatred.
​
"Why are you here?" She snarled, looking angrier than I thought was possible.
​
The principal flicked on the screen and explained. I had given her everything she needed to know. A video recording of Beth talking to someone and then hitting them with a baseball bat. A knife with Beth's fingerprints on them. And finally, the dead girl. Covered with Beth's fingerprints.
​
Beth was reduced to tears. She screamed, and struggled, and kicked. I almost felt sorry for her, even though she had made her life a living hell.
​
"It wasn't me! It was faked! Please! It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!" She pleaded as she was dragged out of the room by policemen.
​
I exited the office, feeling a sense of relief.
​
I guess my plan worked after all.
|
Henry was a kind soul, warm and compassionate. He was, invited to weddings, parties, and events. He always had what he wanted and seemed to be content. Yet his life seemed to be plagued by disasters, He kept losing friends and family to random accidents. And yet he stays ecstatic and inspired. He was an artist who added astonishing detail in his work. The portraits he made were not regular. They all had human figures painted in various shades of red. His friends describe him as passionate about his work.
one afternoon while walking home from work. A ragged man shuffled towards him. and spoke
"Please sir I-I just need food to eat," the beggar said. Henry pulled out his wallet with his two fingers that were stained with red.
" Is s-sir and artist ? " the man asked looking at henry's fingers
" Ah yes, yes I am " he took out 500$ and gave it to the beggar's hand
" T-Thank you kind sir! " and as the beggar shambled away henry's smile widened into a grotesque grin.
Now they don't have evidence on him again.
|
|
[WP] Write a story that revolves around a kind, compassionate, character, and then make them evil in the last sentence.
|
I had been bullied my whole life.
​
In kindergarten, the girls laughed at me for liking things they didn't, and the boys thought I was a teacher's pet.
​
It only got worse in primary.
​
And then middle school.
​
I tried her best. I baked cookies for the students in her homeroom. As a student council member, I tried to make things more enjoyable. But I was still a freak. A nerd. An outcast.
​
A girl called Beth was the worst. She tried her best to get me kicked off the student council, and she even hurt me physically. Once she followed me home and pushed me into the nearby pond, drenching my books and papers in muddy water. I had stood, her socks slowly getting soggier, and cried her eyes out.
​
One day, I was packing up her violin in one of the school's music classrooms. I had offered to tutor some kids in primary, who were trying to start their own orchestra. I picked up her violin case and slung it over my shoulder, walking the long way to exit my school, avoiding the path Beth usually took. I was shaking with fear and anticipation for tomorrow.
​
The next day, I was called to the office, where Beth sat in the chair next to me, handcuffed to the armrest. I shivered. I had already supplied the principal with the evidence. Beth stared at me with pure hatred.
​
"Why are you here?" She snarled, looking angrier than I thought was possible.
​
The principal flicked on the screen and explained. I had given her everything she needed to know. A video recording of Beth talking to someone and then hitting them with a baseball bat. A knife with Beth's fingerprints on them. And finally, the dead girl. Covered with Beth's fingerprints.
​
Beth was reduced to tears. She screamed, and struggled, and kicked. I almost felt sorry for her, even though she had made her life a living hell.
​
"It wasn't me! It was faked! Please! It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!" She pleaded as she was dragged out of the room by policemen.
​
I exited the office, feeling a sense of relief.
​
I guess my plan worked after all.
|
I knew I could save them. Save them from the unrelenting virus that had first grown on an inconspicuous blue planet no one really knew about, much less cared about, before spreading to the stars. I knew I could save them all from this plague that grew and grew as it devoured them.
It was why I became a scientist. A thinker. The greatest mind of my generation. It was why I built weapons, of increasingly incredible power, and it was why I was willing to wield them.
I needed to protect everyone. I needed to save as many lives as I possibly could, before the disease spread any further.
That is why I destroyed humanity - to protect everyone else.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hymn of war was upon me when the svartalfar plucked me from the battlefield. I blinked the battle-madness from my mind and looked at the dusky-skinned elves. They were taller than a man by almost by a full head and far thinner than even the thinnest of women. They had large almost bulbous eyes and small thin mouths. I went to raise my axe but found it was missing.
“What have you done?! Where am I?” I growled.
“Welcome, human. You are on our ship and we sail far from your home. We have come to your world, what your people call Midgard, for a hunt. We have watched your people and chosen you for your strength and skill on the battlefield. We are headed to a hunting ground where you will be given your arms and armor and sent out into the wilds. You will be our prey and we will hunt you.”
“Odin Damned svartalfar. Bjorn Gulbrand is no one’s prey! I flee from no man, dokkalfar or even jotun!”
“You have little choice, human. We are almost at the hunting grounds and soon you will be our prey. We desire an honorable hunt… you will be given your weapon and your armor and there is ample game for food. You will have three days, then we will come for you. If you survive us, we will return you to your people, with wealth that would make kings jealous.”
“And if I refuse?” I growled.
“Then your life is forfeit now and you will die a coward’s death. Without honor and forgotten by those who once knew you. It is, of course, your choice.”
I had no choice and agreed. The dark elves were true to their word. They used their magic to send me to their hunting grounds with, complete with my axe, armor and shield. I set out that first day to get the lay of the land and found strange creatures similar to stags of Midgard. They were easier to bring down than most beasts I had hunted and the taste was somewhat palatable. That first day I came to the edge of the strange forest. The whole day I felt a strange but familiar sensation pulling at me and when night began to fall I realized why. Like Midgard, this strange land had its own Mani (moon).
Three days later the svartalfar came for me. They were fast and quiet, as the skalds sung they’d be. By then it was too late. I had felt and heard the song of this new Mani. I let their song flow through and learned that there were six moons in this strange land and I drew power from their presence. It was the first night that the dark elves came for me that I felt the face of the first moon rising.
Even in this place, so far from Midgard I felt the blessing of Odin’s Chosen fill me. I stripped naked and began chanting the Kennings to Odin. I was an Ulfhednar, one of Odin’s own Berserkers who was blessed by Freki and Geri with their spirits. I felt the power of Odin’s wolves flood my frame transforming me into a Vargr. I grew stronger, more powerful as the hymn of battle began to fill my soul. My body shifted and swelled as muscle grew thicker and bones grew longer and denser. My face grew into a muzzle and my hands curled into powerful clawed weapons while retaining the dexterity to still grip my axe. My form was a perfect amalgamation of man and wolf and my senses were ground sharp and heightened. I could smell the elves, their strange unnatural scent made them easy to track.
I ambushed the first group soon after the change took me. A howl put them on edge before I leaped among them. I let the rage and battle madness fill me. I ripped the first svartalfar apart with my teeth before they could react. The next stabbed me with his strange spear and I roared, even though the metal tip glanced off my thickened hide. A swipe of my axe brought him down. The third was gone by the time I raised my muzzle from the carnage around me. Not that it mattered. They were back the next morning.
The madness of the berserker had receded and I was forced to evade them until the next night when the moon showed its face again. The power of Odin’s wolves filled me and I became the Vargr again. This time Svartalhiem’s Mani was joined by its bloated green sister. I felt more strength fill me as if the moon’s power was amplified. My strength reached heights I had never felt before as my body swelled with muscle and power. My vision was stronger too, seeing the heat of the elves as they stalked through the strange forest. There were half a dozen of them this time.
The next few days the pattern continued as the hunting party grew larger and carried more and more strange weapons. They had spears and swords that glowed as if they were just pulled from the forge. They had odd bows that threw arrows of fire and armor that seemed harder than steel. With the power of two moons even these new weapons did little lasting damage. I quickly dispatched most of them, with the survivors barely escaping my wrath.
Each week another moon appears in the sky, augmenting my power and strength. Their songs fill my head even during the day and it becomes harder and harder to fight back the red rage of the Berserkers. But as the Vargr, I was now twice as tall as even the tallest svartalfar, a huge wolf that even Hati and Skoll would be in awe of. Easily a thousand pounds of iron-cut muscle my nightly form was nearly impervious to the strange weapons my enemies bring with them. Even a war party of thirty elves armed with magic weapons capable of incinerating entire trees were unable to stand against my hunger and fury.
Now I can feel a sixth song beginning and smile. I know the truth. I know why they keep trying to hunt me. I am not in Svartalheim. No, I am in the hall of Odin himself. This is Valhalla.
|
"Come in", I called from the echoing depths of the warm, moss-carpeted cave.
A young, sprightly figure poked his head around the fern fronds of the entrance, then gingerly came all the way in to meet my gaze. "Hi, Evanei Tarforne. I'm your new Respite Counsellor."
I courteously gripped his fair, perspiring palm, then beckoned him to sit. My new Respite Counsellor, indeed... The Sportsmen loved to couch their every bloodthirsty compulsion in such polite, fair-play, "humane" euphemism.
Respite was granted to me for one week out of every six that I remained alive. Having exceeded all expectations of The Sportsmen's reckoning thus far, they were quite content to indulge me with these fine quarters I rested in. In fact, I reckon they were glad of the rest, in which they schemed afresh how to finalize my capture... and tried not to think too much about the occasional lone hunter who "went missing".
Tarforne began the spiel to which I was well accustomed, but feigned polite interest throughout as his quivering, delicate mouth recounted The Sportsmen's ridiculous, half-baked genteel-bloodlust policy briefing. He'd memorized it well, the nice little chap. My eyes wandered over his young flesh. 20? 21? No older than 25, surely. He finished.
"Thanks, Tarforne. I remain content with the terms." I gestured to the dinner table. "You must be peckish after your journey, no? Please. Come and join me." His face brightened. "Gosh... thanks, I believe I will. Smells delicious. And such fine white china!"
"It... came with the place", I replied, modestly. I lifted the large white cloche with a waiter's flourish, and spooned some of the stew on to his plate. "Tuck in." He did so with obvious relish. Must be starving, the little fellow.
"Oh my... it's simply wonderful! Rabbit?"
"Yes", I replied with a grin. "Lots of them up on the hill. All you need to do is pounc- ...patiently wait by a bush, and make a swift grab for the little buggers."
He finished and wiped his mouth. "Well, thanks so much for dinner, but I must be getting home." I produced two fine white china cups. "Tea to wash it down?"
"That would be lovely, thanks." He relaxed in his chair, fully at ease in my presence. As I took the kettle from the fire, I took another covert look at his youthful, handsome repose. Such soft hands. He'd been spared a peasant's toil by fortune of high birth, probably began as an office junior at Sportsman HQ at age sixteen. I handed him his tea.
"Thanks. Such lovely china... just like those lovely plates." He sipped his tea. "Mmm, yes", I mused - then, lowering my voice so that he wouldn't pick up my words - "Such fine... bone china".
Then, raising my voice again, and gesturing to the veiled opening in the cave near his chair: "I say, would you be a good fellow and pull back those fronds at the 'window'? It's meant to be a lovely clear night out there."
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I don’t remember exactly what happened. The last I remembered before waking up in the alien ship was a flash of light and someone, or something, saying the word ‘human’. The air is what initially caused me to stir. It wasn’t the usual snowy air of Alberta during the holidays, it felt artificial. And when I awoke on the ship, I was immediately put into cuffs and escorted to a room with various amenities.
It was like an entire hotel compressed in a single space. A bed, massage table, warm bath, 3 course meals, and hell they even had a soda machine with infinite refills. But then I had to wake up at what could be 3 AM to do various exercises to build my strength and ability, not like I needed it anyway. Who needs exercise when you get more ripped than Terry fucking Cruise once the full moon arrives. Still, it did feel nice afterwards.
What felt like weeks passed before I was placed on a jungle looking planet. The alien that dropped me off held a communicator to its face and english came out. [12 hours], I heard, knowing I might be hunted down. Formulating a plan, I run off into the dense folliage and hid in a small cave.
“This is some Predator bullshit...” I whisper to myself as the sunlight dwindled. In preparation, I had already placed my clothes in a folded pile. The moon quickly arose, a pained howl eminating from the cave. Silvery-white fur grew out as my eyes turned blood red.
The first one came. I quickly had torn the thing to shreds. But after another four, I noticed something.... strange. There were two moons. Then three, then five, then six.
This will be much more fun than I thought.
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hymn of war was upon me when the svartalfar plucked me from the battlefield. I blinked the battle-madness from my mind and looked at the dusky-skinned elves. They were taller than a man by almost by a full head and far thinner than even the thinnest of women. They had large almost bulbous eyes and small thin mouths. I went to raise my axe but found it was missing.
“What have you done?! Where am I?” I growled.
“Welcome, human. You are on our ship and we sail far from your home. We have come to your world, what your people call Midgard, for a hunt. We have watched your people and chosen you for your strength and skill on the battlefield. We are headed to a hunting ground where you will be given your arms and armor and sent out into the wilds. You will be our prey and we will hunt you.”
“Odin Damned svartalfar. Bjorn Gulbrand is no one’s prey! I flee from no man, dokkalfar or even jotun!”
“You have little choice, human. We are almost at the hunting grounds and soon you will be our prey. We desire an honorable hunt… you will be given your weapon and your armor and there is ample game for food. You will have three days, then we will come for you. If you survive us, we will return you to your people, with wealth that would make kings jealous.”
“And if I refuse?” I growled.
“Then your life is forfeit now and you will die a coward’s death. Without honor and forgotten by those who once knew you. It is, of course, your choice.”
I had no choice and agreed. The dark elves were true to their word. They used their magic to send me to their hunting grounds with, complete with my axe, armor and shield. I set out that first day to get the lay of the land and found strange creatures similar to stags of Midgard. They were easier to bring down than most beasts I had hunted and the taste was somewhat palatable. That first day I came to the edge of the strange forest. The whole day I felt a strange but familiar sensation pulling at me and when night began to fall I realized why. Like Midgard, this strange land had its own Mani (moon).
Three days later the svartalfar came for me. They were fast and quiet, as the skalds sung they’d be. By then it was too late. I had felt and heard the song of this new Mani. I let their song flow through and learned that there were six moons in this strange land and I drew power from their presence. It was the first night that the dark elves came for me that I felt the face of the first moon rising.
Even in this place, so far from Midgard I felt the blessing of Odin’s Chosen fill me. I stripped naked and began chanting the Kennings to Odin. I was an Ulfhednar, one of Odin’s own Berserkers who was blessed by Freki and Geri with their spirits. I felt the power of Odin’s wolves flood my frame transforming me into a Vargr. I grew stronger, more powerful as the hymn of battle began to fill my soul. My body shifted and swelled as muscle grew thicker and bones grew longer and denser. My face grew into a muzzle and my hands curled into powerful clawed weapons while retaining the dexterity to still grip my axe. My form was a perfect amalgamation of man and wolf and my senses were ground sharp and heightened. I could smell the elves, their strange unnatural scent made them easy to track.
I ambushed the first group soon after the change took me. A howl put them on edge before I leaped among them. I let the rage and battle madness fill me. I ripped the first svartalfar apart with my teeth before they could react. The next stabbed me with his strange spear and I roared, even though the metal tip glanced off my thickened hide. A swipe of my axe brought him down. The third was gone by the time I raised my muzzle from the carnage around me. Not that it mattered. They were back the next morning.
The madness of the berserker had receded and I was forced to evade them until the next night when the moon showed its face again. The power of Odin’s wolves filled me and I became the Vargr again. This time Svartalhiem’s Mani was joined by its bloated green sister. I felt more strength fill me as if the moon’s power was amplified. My strength reached heights I had never felt before as my body swelled with muscle and power. My vision was stronger too, seeing the heat of the elves as they stalked through the strange forest. There were half a dozen of them this time.
The next few days the pattern continued as the hunting party grew larger and carried more and more strange weapons. They had spears and swords that glowed as if they were just pulled from the forge. They had odd bows that threw arrows of fire and armor that seemed harder than steel. With the power of two moons even these new weapons did little lasting damage. I quickly dispatched most of them, with the survivors barely escaping my wrath.
Each week another moon appears in the sky, augmenting my power and strength. Their songs fill my head even during the day and it becomes harder and harder to fight back the red rage of the Berserkers. But as the Vargr, I was now twice as tall as even the tallest svartalfar, a huge wolf that even Hati and Skoll would be in awe of. Easily a thousand pounds of iron-cut muscle my nightly form was nearly impervious to the strange weapons my enemies bring with them. Even a war party of thirty elves armed with magic weapons capable of incinerating entire trees were unable to stand against my hunger and fury.
Now I can feel a sixth song beginning and smile. I know the truth. I know why they keep trying to hunt me. I am not in Svartalheim. No, I am in the hall of Odin himself. This is Valhalla.
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
= Day 1 - Moonless =
​
I've been deceived.
​
I never really felt that I fit in at home, and had always looked to the stars with wonderment. Perhaps looking to the sky was part of my nature, and when offered the opportunity to see worlds beyond ours, I gladly accepted.
​
My fear that my condition might be discovered kept me from speaking about it. I had hoped that out there, far from Earth - away from her star, and especially her moon - I might find a reprieve.
​
Now it seems my condition may become my salvation.
​
Tonight is moonless. My hosts - now my hunters - seem to be not rushed in this and enjoy the thrill of such things. Perhaps a half score of them are after me, maybe more.
​
I believe I can escape them yet for today. For once, I hope for the moon to come tomorrow.
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
"Youre slipping."
*No.*
"You are. Youre losing yourself again. Just like the first time. You're slipping."
*SHUT UP* The words were a snarl in his mind. The madness pressed on his brain, a frigid torrent of icy hate.
But the voice was right, he was slipping. Holding one arm in front of his face, he looks at his misshapen limb, barely recognizing the back of his own hand. Covered in thick, wiry fur and heavily roped with muscle and tendon. He opens his hand, revealing razor sharp talons nearly the length of his palm.
He was no stranger to the hunger, but a veteran monster. A killer with an appetite.
*A MONSTER*
The sound of hoverbike engines in the distance rouse him from his thoughts. They brought him here for a GAME. They thought he would be easy prey, soft and weak and pathetic like the rest of his kind.
*FUCKING CATTLE*
But he was like few other humans.
As the rage built inside him, he glanced around the isolated grove, little more than a clearing in the forest, the moonlight filtering softly between what he assumed passed for trees on this hellhole of a planet.
"Three moonrises so far. You wont make it through this, how much of you is left? Youre slipping."
He wondered breifly how many moons this planet had. Before today, he wouldnt have believed life on other planets even existed. But the massacre spread at his feet was proof enough.
A hundred shattered corpses bled from the branches of broken trees all around him. The very ground he stood on muddy with their blood. But they bled. And they tasted the same as they all taste. They taste like death.
*HUNGRY*
As the third moon set, he felt a familiar power rising up within him.
*HUNGRY*
He turned his gaze from the moonset and looked west. The telltale comforting white glow swelled across the horizon as the planets fourth moon began its trek across the sky.
They had brought him here hoping for easy prey. And easy prey is what he had found.
He would be very happy here. Plenty of flesh. Plenty of death.
"YOURE SLIPPING"
The white hot glow of the newly rising moon seared across his flesh, equal parts excruciating and euphoric. Agony and power coursed through his being, crushing the echoes of his own voice back to darkest recesses of his mind. He no longer thought. He no longer was. The ecstasy and the fury was all.
And the hunger.
The shadows raced across the clearing as the moon rose above the forest, outlining the viscera hanging from the trees, glistening across bloodied, disemboweled bodies, half eaten and crumpled across the ground. But the shadows did not touch the werewolf.
He was gone.
Inhuman screams echoed across the forest, and the night hung still.
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I don’t know how I managed to survive the first weeks, how I managed to not fucking die from exposure and dehydration, how I managed to not go completely batshit crazy.
(Let’s be honest, I probably went around the bend weeks ago, but for the sake of argument, we’ll pretend sanity still has a place.)
But I digress.
I woke with a start, eyes slowly opening, mouth hanging open, panting breaths wooshing in and out of my lungs, and a weird tingling sting racing my nerve endings.
It’d been awhile since I’d felt this...
...awake...
And the smells...
It was like the whole of this grove suddenly and violently exploded into life. I could smell the loam, smell the damp fetid undergrowth, smell the creatures that burrowed, ran, and fucked as the brutal sun fell behind yellow tipped hills.
And all the sounds...
...concerts of clicks, whinnies, coos, squeaks, chitters, and rustlings...
...and the low level hum of approaching craft.
Sounds I hadn’t heard in weeks, not since the night I was taken from my bed and dropped here, Kaora, to be hunted, like they did every earth year.
The craft had stopped, and I could hear the passengers being let off to fan out, to quietly talk about how they were going to display my remains once I was killed, and I would be killed because I’d seen hundreds of “trophies” when I’d arrived, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was preserved like the rest.
I could feel my heart race now, choking out all but the electric, oddly familiar tingle racing along my limbs.
What was that supposed to mean again?
I quietly backed away, sidling deeper into the forest of green trimmed trees, the Kaorans marking perimeters and discussing strategy, teams and how to divvy up my entrails for the celebrations.
Not a conversation I wanted to be part of anymore.
It was while I was backtracking that I felt it, that, almost silver bright light as it arced into view, a moon, a huge moon rising from the east.
A huge moon that triggered the same thing every full moon on earth triggered.
The curse.
In this case, a total fucking blessing as my bones turned to white hot lava, breaking, shifting, moving like heat under my now contorted frame. As my muzzle formed, so then did I loose a long, aching howl, black head tipped back as I opened glowing eyes to track the now frozen hunters.
Hunters who didn’t know they’d brought the very hound of hell to their doors.
A Trojan wolf, if you will.
A canine smile lifted my muzzle, and I turned, teeth gleaming, to confront the first unlucky bastard to break the brushline, his three arms fumbling the weapon before he dropped it, urinated on himself, and screamed a warning...
...or tried to...
...his throat hanging from my purple blooded jaws made the continuation of the warning rather impossible.
And thus, for six moons, I hunted the hunters, howling in triumph after each kill, howling all the while, the planet echoing with the alien sounds of a wolf, terror reigning the endless full mooned nights, and blood running in rivers.
There were no more hunts after that; after me.
And I’d like to say that I got home, that my life went back to normal.
And when I howled my last howl to the last setting moon, I heard an an answering howl, dying out as the moon fell to darkness, a howl that sounded familiar...
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
Meh, another day, another dollar. Good thing it's a new moon. My car had a blown head gasket. I ordered a new engine off of Ebay, but it wasn't going to be there in another 3 days. It's snowy outside, so it's not a good idea to ride my motorcycle from my job. So I'm on my trusty mountain bike. Good thing it's a new moon. Or else I'll be boned. My boss knows I'm a werewolf, so he gives me full moons off. Good thing I'm a firefighter. My shifts are 3 weeks on, 1 week off. Which works well. During the waning and waxing gibbous, I don't need much sleep.
I only ride my mountain bike at night during a new moon. With each phase of the moon, my Werewolf powers grow stronger. When the crescent moon waxes, I get a hairy chest. I also get more irritable. At a half moon, I start getting wolf-like sideburns. I start getting more and more sexually aggressive. At the gibbous,I start getting longer canine teeth. My sense of smell improves. Which makes the musk I emit even more obnoxious to me. But I just look like a human with carnivore teeth.
I lose my lupine powers around the waning half moon, and my lupine appearance all but looks like a man with a cheap pair of dentures and mutton chops around a crescent moon.
I'm riding my bike from work. I live near the 48th parallel north. Which means the sun rises later in the day. So at around 7AM, when I leave from work, the moon is still out. It's twiglight.....
It's a gibbous moon. I feel like I want to get laid. I also stink up a storm. No. I checked my phone, and it says for sure, it's a new moon. Then it transforms into a full moon. I transform into a werewolf. Then all of a sudden, I go back to being a human.
It looked like a moon, and it tricked my body into thinking it was the moon. But it was something else from outer space. It was an alien spaceship.
"Hello, Will Lawrence.", the alien said in a robotic voice.
"We know your powers. Another civilization told us about how powerful you were. They invented all the werewolves on earth. Werewolves are self-replicating artificial intelligence we sourced from native earth ape DNA. It's just by coincidence you are able to cross-breed with humans, although not successfully.
Then it made sense. Me and my fiancee were planning on having children. I was going to get her pregnant, and then the year we were going to be married, my sister was going to carry our beautiful baby boy down the aisle with my wife. Instead, I had to go to a funeral. She died of a mysterious case of malnutrition, and so did our fetus. We buried them both in a casket.
"You were designed to be hunted for sport. You are actually artificial intelligence we sourced from ape DNA. And your parents wanted a simple life where they could raise their werewolf son in peace. Like your sister, they were adopted. But they were adopted by humans, and as such, adopted human cultural traits. They wanted to limit the amount of werewolves on earth. They felt guilty about having you, so they decided to adopt when it came time to have another child. They chose someone who had sickle cell anemia, because that kind of blood is immune to werewolves bloodlust. They didn't want to feed off of human blood anymore. They just wanted a normal life. They even grew soybeans that made artificial hemoglobin, just so they wouldn't be blood drinking werewolves anymore. It made sense now. My sister tanned a lot better than I did in the summer. She also had sickle cell anemia, which is common among Sub Saharan Africans, but rare in Caucasians like me. She was adopted. And she had a recent black ancestor. It didn't matter. she was still my sister. And she was waiting for me with my nephews and my brother in law, who was also mixed race, at their house. My favorite. Edename. Just like what mom and dad used to make. Before they were mysteriously shot by some hunters on a camping trip about 6 years ago. Their killers were never found. Right before my parents died, they told me to carry these things on me at all times:
A sparking flint.
A few canisters of pepper spray.
A Swiss army knife.
A silver necklace.
It makes more sense.
I understood the silver necklace. It limited my power whenever I turned into a werewolf.
It made even more sense. Werewolves were European folk monsters. Stories of werewolves feeding on the blood of humans.
The folk story was continued in other cultures. The Wendigo was a monster that fed off of Native American flesh. The Jersey Devil was one too.
There were similar stories about animals in Africa, but it turned out to be campfire tales from tribes who frequently haven't had contact with gorillas before. It wasn't until Malian explorers interacted with other tribes, that the legends of werewolves died down. Up until European explorers came to those tribes. Then those stories spread like wildfire. But also, stories about how ticks that fed off of a giant pangolin and its 6 pups, would try to hunt down a werewolf, but risked meeting their match if they attacked a northern werewolf. My brother in law, whose grandfather was from Cote D'Ivoire, told me stories about the werewolf. I just dismissed it as cargo cult type superstition.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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I don’t remember exactly what happened. The last I remembered before waking up in the alien ship was a flash of light and someone, or something, saying the word ‘human’. The air is what initially caused me to stir. It wasn’t the usual snowy air of Alberta during the holidays, it felt artificial. And when I awoke on the ship, I was immediately put into cuffs and escorted to a room with various amenities.
It was like an entire hotel compressed in a single space. A bed, massage table, warm bath, 3 course meals, and hell they even had a soda machine with infinite refills. But then I had to wake up at what could be 3 AM to do various exercises to build my strength and ability, not like I needed it anyway. Who needs exercise when you get more ripped than Terry fucking Cruise once the full moon arrives. Still, it did feel nice afterwards.
What felt like weeks passed before I was placed on a jungle looking planet. The alien that dropped me off held a communicator to its face and english came out. [12 hours], I heard, knowing I might be hunted down. Formulating a plan, I run off into the dense folliage and hid in a small cave.
“This is some Predator bullshit...” I whisper to myself as the sunlight dwindled. In preparation, I had already placed my clothes in a folded pile. The moon quickly arose, a pained howl eminating from the cave. Silvery-white fur grew out as my eyes turned blood red.
The first one came. I quickly had torn the thing to shreds. But after another four, I noticed something.... strange. There were two moons. Then three, then five, then six.
This will be much more fun than I thought.
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It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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The hymn of war was upon me when the svartalfar plucked me from the battlefield. I blinked the battle-madness from my mind and looked at the dusky-skinned elves. They were taller than a man by almost by a full head and far thinner than even the thinnest of women. They had large almost bulbous eyes and small thin mouths. I went to raise my axe but found it was missing.
“What have you done?! Where am I?” I growled.
“Welcome, human. You are on our ship and we sail far from your home. We have come to your world, what your people call Midgard, for a hunt. We have watched your people and chosen you for your strength and skill on the battlefield. We are headed to a hunting ground where you will be given your arms and armor and sent out into the wilds. You will be our prey and we will hunt you.”
“Odin Damned svartalfar. Bjorn Gulbrand is no one’s prey! I flee from no man, dokkalfar or even jotun!”
“You have little choice, human. We are almost at the hunting grounds and soon you will be our prey. We desire an honorable hunt… you will be given your weapon and your armor and there is ample game for food. You will have three days, then we will come for you. If you survive us, we will return you to your people, with wealth that would make kings jealous.”
“And if I refuse?” I growled.
“Then your life is forfeit now and you will die a coward’s death. Without honor and forgotten by those who once knew you. It is, of course, your choice.”
I had no choice and agreed. The dark elves were true to their word. They used their magic to send me to their hunting grounds with, complete with my axe, armor and shield. I set out that first day to get the lay of the land and found strange creatures similar to stags of Midgard. They were easier to bring down than most beasts I had hunted and the taste was somewhat palatable. That first day I came to the edge of the strange forest. The whole day I felt a strange but familiar sensation pulling at me and when night began to fall I realized why. Like Midgard, this strange land had its own Mani (moon).
Three days later the svartalfar came for me. They were fast and quiet, as the skalds sung they’d be. By then it was too late. I had felt and heard the song of this new Mani. I let their song flow through and learned that there were six moons in this strange land and I drew power from their presence. It was the first night that the dark elves came for me that I felt the face of the first moon rising.
Even in this place, so far from Midgard I felt the blessing of Odin’s Chosen fill me. I stripped naked and began chanting the Kennings to Odin. I was an Ulfhednar, one of Odin’s own Berserkers who was blessed by Freki and Geri with their spirits. I felt the power of Odin’s wolves flood my frame transforming me into a Vargr. I grew stronger, more powerful as the hymn of battle began to fill my soul. My body shifted and swelled as muscle grew thicker and bones grew longer and denser. My face grew into a muzzle and my hands curled into powerful clawed weapons while retaining the dexterity to still grip my axe. My form was a perfect amalgamation of man and wolf and my senses were ground sharp and heightened. I could smell the elves, their strange unnatural scent made them easy to track.
I ambushed the first group soon after the change took me. A howl put them on edge before I leaped among them. I let the rage and battle madness fill me. I ripped the first svartalfar apart with my teeth before they could react. The next stabbed me with his strange spear and I roared, even though the metal tip glanced off my thickened hide. A swipe of my axe brought him down. The third was gone by the time I raised my muzzle from the carnage around me. Not that it mattered. They were back the next morning.
The madness of the berserker had receded and I was forced to evade them until the next night when the moon showed its face again. The power of Odin’s wolves filled me and I became the Vargr again. This time Svartalhiem’s Mani was joined by its bloated green sister. I felt more strength fill me as if the moon’s power was amplified. My strength reached heights I had never felt before as my body swelled with muscle and power. My vision was stronger too, seeing the heat of the elves as they stalked through the strange forest. There were half a dozen of them this time.
The next few days the pattern continued as the hunting party grew larger and carried more and more strange weapons. They had spears and swords that glowed as if they were just pulled from the forge. They had odd bows that threw arrows of fire and armor that seemed harder than steel. With the power of two moons even these new weapons did little lasting damage. I quickly dispatched most of them, with the survivors barely escaping my wrath.
Each week another moon appears in the sky, augmenting my power and strength. Their songs fill my head even during the day and it becomes harder and harder to fight back the red rage of the Berserkers. But as the Vargr, I was now twice as tall as even the tallest svartalfar, a huge wolf that even Hati and Skoll would be in awe of. Easily a thousand pounds of iron-cut muscle my nightly form was nearly impervious to the strange weapons my enemies bring with them. Even a war party of thirty elves armed with magic weapons capable of incinerating entire trees were unable to stand against my hunger and fury.
Now I can feel a sixth song beginning and smile. I know the truth. I know why they keep trying to hunt me. I am not in Svartalheim. No, I am in the hall of Odin himself. This is Valhalla.
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It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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= Day 1 - Moonless =
​
I've been deceived.
​
I never really felt that I fit in at home, and had always looked to the stars with wonderment. Perhaps looking to the sky was part of my nature, and when offered the opportunity to see worlds beyond ours, I gladly accepted.
​
My fear that my condition might be discovered kept me from speaking about it. I had hoped that out there, far from Earth - away from her star, and especially her moon - I might find a reprieve.
​
Now it seems my condition may become my salvation.
​
Tonight is moonless. My hosts - now my hunters - seem to be not rushed in this and enjoy the thrill of such things. Perhaps a half score of them are after me, maybe more.
​
I believe I can escape them yet for today. For once, I hope for the moon to come tomorrow.
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It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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"Youre slipping."
*No.*
"You are. Youre losing yourself again. Just like the first time. You're slipping."
*SHUT UP* The words were a snarl in his mind. The madness pressed on his brain, a frigid torrent of icy hate.
But the voice was right, he was slipping. Holding one arm in front of his face, he looks at his misshapen limb, barely recognizing the back of his own hand. Covered in thick, wiry fur and heavily roped with muscle and tendon. He opens his hand, revealing razor sharp talons nearly the length of his palm.
He was no stranger to the hunger, but a veteran monster. A killer with an appetite.
*A MONSTER*
The sound of hoverbike engines in the distance rouse him from his thoughts. They brought him here for a GAME. They thought he would be easy prey, soft and weak and pathetic like the rest of his kind.
*FUCKING CATTLE*
But he was like few other humans.
As the rage built inside him, he glanced around the isolated grove, little more than a clearing in the forest, the moonlight filtering softly between what he assumed passed for trees on this hellhole of a planet.
"Three moonrises so far. You wont make it through this, how much of you is left? Youre slipping."
He wondered breifly how many moons this planet had. Before today, he wouldnt have believed life on other planets even existed. But the massacre spread at his feet was proof enough.
A hundred shattered corpses bled from the branches of broken trees all around him. The very ground he stood on muddy with their blood. But they bled. And they tasted the same as they all taste. They taste like death.
*HUNGRY*
As the third moon set, he felt a familiar power rising up within him.
*HUNGRY*
He turned his gaze from the moonset and looked west. The telltale comforting white glow swelled across the horizon as the planets fourth moon began its trek across the sky.
They had brought him here hoping for easy prey. And easy prey is what he had found.
He would be very happy here. Plenty of flesh. Plenty of death.
"YOURE SLIPPING"
The white hot glow of the newly rising moon seared across his flesh, equal parts excruciating and euphoric. Agony and power coursed through his being, crushing the echoes of his own voice back to darkest recesses of his mind. He no longer thought. He no longer was. The ecstasy and the fury was all.
And the hunger.
The shadows raced across the clearing as the moon rose above the forest, outlining the viscera hanging from the trees, glistening across bloodied, disemboweled bodies, half eaten and crumpled across the ground. But the shadows did not touch the werewolf.
He was gone.
Inhuman screams echoed across the forest, and the night hung still.
|
It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
It was... different. I could feel their pull like I could the earth's. Three of them seemed to be full. I closed my eyes, and imagined that I was back on that grassy field... where I first transformed. Nobody forgets their first time. The feeling of your hair bristling. Your heart beating faster until it feels like your very blood is on fire as it races through your brain bringing that clarity that only becoming a wolf can bring. I opened my eyes, and could see for miles. every single particulate of light was being used. My perspective was different, but it didn't matter, as a single particle of the hunter's smell entered my nostril. My head jerked as if of its own accord in the direction of the smell. I bolted so fast the trees tore like paper in the wake of my swinging claws. I was getting closer. I could feel them being torn to shreds in my arms a thousand times. I knew exactly how I would do it. Then, without warning, I became clearheaded. I tried to stop in my tracks in time to consider my actions, but was moving too fast. I bowled into the hunters, instantly killing one against a large boulder they were using to prop up their tent. the other two were sent flying outwards in opposite directions. I tried to speak but instead felt a glancing blow to the side of my mouth. I raised my two hands and turned to face the hunter who was still standing, gun in hand. He had shot me, hadn't he? I tried to speak again. "Put down your weapon. I truly do not want to hurt you." I felt another glancing blow, but this time his eyes were wide, not with determination, but with fear. Had my mouth not moved when I spoke just then?
"Please. I... don't want to lose control again" I thought to the hunter. He let his weapon drop to his side. "What are you, beast?" he was curious. This is how I deal my killing blows. I make them pity me. One of the greatest hunters in the universe, facing off against the most dangerous predator. Once his defenses were down, I broke into his mind. I saw his very memories, the parts of him that made him, well, him. I took those thoughts and twisted them, and the fear set into his eyes again, but this was a sort of fear you could not escape from. I drank from him this hopelessness. I fed off of his very life energy, leaving him nothing more than a heaving husk of the hunter he once was. I wiped my mouth of the remaining sorrow and slung his weapon over my back as I made my way into the night.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hymn of war was upon me when the svartalfar plucked me from the battlefield. I blinked the battle-madness from my mind and looked at the dusky-skinned elves. They were taller than a man by almost by a full head and far thinner than even the thinnest of women. They had large almost bulbous eyes and small thin mouths. I went to raise my axe but found it was missing.
“What have you done?! Where am I?” I growled.
“Welcome, human. You are on our ship and we sail far from your home. We have come to your world, what your people call Midgard, for a hunt. We have watched your people and chosen you for your strength and skill on the battlefield. We are headed to a hunting ground where you will be given your arms and armor and sent out into the wilds. You will be our prey and we will hunt you.”
“Odin Damned svartalfar. Bjorn Gulbrand is no one’s prey! I flee from no man, dokkalfar or even jotun!”
“You have little choice, human. We are almost at the hunting grounds and soon you will be our prey. We desire an honorable hunt… you will be given your weapon and your armor and there is ample game for food. You will have three days, then we will come for you. If you survive us, we will return you to your people, with wealth that would make kings jealous.”
“And if I refuse?” I growled.
“Then your life is forfeit now and you will die a coward’s death. Without honor and forgotten by those who once knew you. It is, of course, your choice.”
I had no choice and agreed. The dark elves were true to their word. They used their magic to send me to their hunting grounds with, complete with my axe, armor and shield. I set out that first day to get the lay of the land and found strange creatures similar to stags of Midgard. They were easier to bring down than most beasts I had hunted and the taste was somewhat palatable. That first day I came to the edge of the strange forest. The whole day I felt a strange but familiar sensation pulling at me and when night began to fall I realized why. Like Midgard, this strange land had its own Mani (moon).
Three days later the svartalfar came for me. They were fast and quiet, as the skalds sung they’d be. By then it was too late. I had felt and heard the song of this new Mani. I let their song flow through and learned that there were six moons in this strange land and I drew power from their presence. It was the first night that the dark elves came for me that I felt the face of the first moon rising.
Even in this place, so far from Midgard I felt the blessing of Odin’s Chosen fill me. I stripped naked and began chanting the Kennings to Odin. I was an Ulfhednar, one of Odin’s own Berserkers who was blessed by Freki and Geri with their spirits. I felt the power of Odin’s wolves flood my frame transforming me into a Vargr. I grew stronger, more powerful as the hymn of battle began to fill my soul. My body shifted and swelled as muscle grew thicker and bones grew longer and denser. My face grew into a muzzle and my hands curled into powerful clawed weapons while retaining the dexterity to still grip my axe. My form was a perfect amalgamation of man and wolf and my senses were ground sharp and heightened. I could smell the elves, their strange unnatural scent made them easy to track.
I ambushed the first group soon after the change took me. A howl put them on edge before I leaped among them. I let the rage and battle madness fill me. I ripped the first svartalfar apart with my teeth before they could react. The next stabbed me with his strange spear and I roared, even though the metal tip glanced off my thickened hide. A swipe of my axe brought him down. The third was gone by the time I raised my muzzle from the carnage around me. Not that it mattered. They were back the next morning.
The madness of the berserker had receded and I was forced to evade them until the next night when the moon showed its face again. The power of Odin’s wolves filled me and I became the Vargr again. This time Svartalhiem’s Mani was joined by its bloated green sister. I felt more strength fill me as if the moon’s power was amplified. My strength reached heights I had never felt before as my body swelled with muscle and power. My vision was stronger too, seeing the heat of the elves as they stalked through the strange forest. There were half a dozen of them this time.
The next few days the pattern continued as the hunting party grew larger and carried more and more strange weapons. They had spears and swords that glowed as if they were just pulled from the forge. They had odd bows that threw arrows of fire and armor that seemed harder than steel. With the power of two moons even these new weapons did little lasting damage. I quickly dispatched most of them, with the survivors barely escaping my wrath.
Each week another moon appears in the sky, augmenting my power and strength. Their songs fill my head even during the day and it becomes harder and harder to fight back the red rage of the Berserkers. But as the Vargr, I was now twice as tall as even the tallest svartalfar, a huge wolf that even Hati and Skoll would be in awe of. Easily a thousand pounds of iron-cut muscle my nightly form was nearly impervious to the strange weapons my enemies bring with them. Even a war party of thirty elves armed with magic weapons capable of incinerating entire trees were unable to stand against my hunger and fury.
Now I can feel a sixth song beginning and smile. I know the truth. I know why they keep trying to hunt me. I am not in Svartalheim. No, I am in the hall of Odin himself. This is Valhalla.
|
„F\*ck F\*ck F\*ck F\*ck F\*ck
Common sense tells you to not start a writing promt with swearing, but here I am, being chased by aliens _right now_. Having an arrow stuck in your shoulder probably doesn’t help either.
They pretty much do the same as kings, hunting animals for „pride“ and „honor“. Little do they know, doom awaits them in _looks at watch_ 3 minutes. This planet I’m on has 6 moons, and I’ve found out, that the effect of becoming a werewolf and being buff and all that stuff, actually stack. And tonight all 6 moons will shine bright, and that’s why they’re „celebrating“.
2 more minutes to go, they’re getting closer. My body slowly starts getting hairier.
Wasn’t there a Futurama episo- AAAAH
A second arrow struck me, this time in my hip.
1 minute to go
I run into an abandoned mineshaft, hoping for at least a few minutes of silence to pull out the arrows. Since my blood turned into adrenaline the pain isn’t too bad.
Well, looks like I will only get one minute, I hear them entering the mineshaft already
But that’s all I needed
Redemption“
_______________
Edit: correct me if I’ve made mistakes, English isn’t my first language you know
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
„F\*ck F\*ck F\*ck F\*ck F\*ck
Common sense tells you to not start a writing promt with swearing, but here I am, being chased by aliens _right now_. Having an arrow stuck in your shoulder probably doesn’t help either.
They pretty much do the same as kings, hunting animals for „pride“ and „honor“. Little do they know, doom awaits them in _looks at watch_ 3 minutes. This planet I’m on has 6 moons, and I’ve found out, that the effect of becoming a werewolf and being buff and all that stuff, actually stack. And tonight all 6 moons will shine bright, and that’s why they’re „celebrating“.
2 more minutes to go, they’re getting closer. My body slowly starts getting hairier.
Wasn’t there a Futurama episo- AAAAH
A second arrow struck me, this time in my hip.
1 minute to go
I run into an abandoned mineshaft, hoping for at least a few minutes of silence to pull out the arrows. Since my blood turned into adrenaline the pain isn’t too bad.
Well, looks like I will only get one minute, I hear them entering the mineshaft already
But that’s all I needed
Redemption“
_______________
Edit: correct me if I’ve made mistakes, English isn’t my first language you know
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
I don’t remember exactly what happened. The last I remembered before waking up in the alien ship was a flash of light and someone, or something, saying the word ‘human’. The air is what initially caused me to stir. It wasn’t the usual snowy air of Alberta during the holidays, it felt artificial. And when I awoke on the ship, I was immediately put into cuffs and escorted to a room with various amenities.
It was like an entire hotel compressed in a single space. A bed, massage table, warm bath, 3 course meals, and hell they even had a soda machine with infinite refills. But then I had to wake up at what could be 3 AM to do various exercises to build my strength and ability, not like I needed it anyway. Who needs exercise when you get more ripped than Terry fucking Cruise once the full moon arrives. Still, it did feel nice afterwards.
What felt like weeks passed before I was placed on a jungle looking planet. The alien that dropped me off held a communicator to its face and english came out. [12 hours], I heard, knowing I might be hunted down. Formulating a plan, I run off into the dense folliage and hid in a small cave.
“This is some Predator bullshit...” I whisper to myself as the sunlight dwindled. In preparation, I had already placed my clothes in a folded pile. The moon quickly arose, a pained howl eminating from the cave. Silvery-white fur grew out as my eyes turned blood red.
The first one came. I quickly had torn the thing to shreds. But after another four, I noticed something.... strange. There were two moons. Then three, then five, then six.
This will be much more fun than I thought.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
I don’t remember exactly what happened. The last I remembered before waking up in the alien ship was a flash of light and someone, or something, saying the word ‘human’. The air is what initially caused me to stir. It wasn’t the usual snowy air of Alberta during the holidays, it felt artificial. And when I awoke on the ship, I was immediately put into cuffs and escorted to a room with various amenities.
It was like an entire hotel compressed in a single space. A bed, massage table, warm bath, 3 course meals, and hell they even had a soda machine with infinite refills. But then I had to wake up at what could be 3 AM to do various exercises to build my strength and ability, not like I needed it anyway. Who needs exercise when you get more ripped than Terry fucking Cruise once the full moon arrives. Still, it did feel nice afterwards.
What felt like weeks passed before I was placed on a jungle looking planet. The alien that dropped me off held a communicator to its face and english came out. [12 hours], I heard, knowing I might be hunted down. Formulating a plan, I run off into the dense folliage and hid in a small cave.
“This is some Predator bullshit...” I whisper to myself as the sunlight dwindled. In preparation, I had already placed my clothes in a folded pile. The moon quickly arose, a pained howl eminating from the cave. Silvery-white fur grew out as my eyes turned blood red.
The first one came. I quickly had torn the thing to shreds. But after another four, I noticed something.... strange. There were two moons. Then three, then five, then six.
This will be much more fun than I thought.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
You almost don't spot the trap. They learned to fear your claws in the first days, your raw speed, strength; limbs splintering and shattering as you careened through encampment after encampment. The survivors banded together, abandoning the competition and honour of sport for the dirty cunning of survival, and though each time it cost them - supplies, lives - they uncovered your limitations, crafted defenses against your onslaughts.
Gently unsticking the rubbery strands from their grooves you feel a wave of relief crash over you as you see the payload - even a healing factor like yours wouldn't have helped. Not for the first time, you turn skyward and thank the fact that six moons allow you far greater control of your mental faculties than one.
As you gaze at Rose, your favoured moon, an idea strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You work quickly: lifting, rebinding, concealing.
One serendipitous piece remains.
You set down your bound and unconscious captive, gently rouse it, smile as you snap its leg. Above its keening you hear a chorus of ululating cries fill the air, reverberate off the crystalline spines that cluster the land. Your smile tightens.
|
"MOM!" "DAD!" I screamed as the ship flew away. They didn't care, I knew that. But I was young when they took me. The ship turned teal when they flew away, I woke up on a planet with orange grass, pitch black trees, and 6 suns. Where was I?
I wandered around the forest area for a bit before I heard a charging sound.. A laser! I jumped out of the way as the blue flashed just an inch away. I saw a man in the distance, he had 6 eyes, like the suns. He was green and had shark teeth. Other then that, he looked human.
I learned that they hunted us for fun and honor, but little did they know..
The sky slowly turned orange and pink, like a beautiful sunset. I was exhausted as I had to dodge lasers left and right. I ran and burrowed a hole where I could sleep. I was deep into the forest, off path.
I was a werewolf, I might have been a kid but I was fierce in my wolf form. There were 6 moons, each would go down slowly every 10 hours, meaning that a night on this odd planet would be 120 hours before the sun came up, and 120 hours before the sun went down.
I snuck out of the forest and into the small village next to it. I scampered and didnt make a sound. I was tip running, It's when you tip toe but you run. I peered through a window, and saw a family sleeping. I didn't want to disturb the biggest one, as they might kill me, so I turned and faced the smallest house. I peered through that window, with the light of 6 moons, It was fairly easy to look through.
I tiptoed inside, and surely it was one person.
Perfect.
I clawed their face and ran outside back into my small hole, by now it had been 60 hours. I slept the rest.
I heard a scream the next morning, I peeked out of my hole to see the person I clawed hurt and on the ground. I felt a bit sorry, but they tried to kill me! For fun! I flashed back in when me and him made eye contact.
He, was my lifesaver. He didn't believe in the hunting thing, so he helped me escape. At night He would get me food, they had human food but it was WAY more advanced. Turns out, he shot that laser to test my reflexes. He was the guy with 6 eyes.
I would be able to run around the forest at night because everyone was sleeping. Werewolves are fast, really fast, so if someone tried to get me, they'd lose.
Now, here I am, back at home. Typing this tale. He helped me by stealing a rocket just for a useless werewolf like me. I remember that planet so much.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I don’t know how I managed to survive the first weeks, how I managed to not fucking die from exposure and dehydration, how I managed to not go completely batshit crazy.
(Let’s be honest, I probably went around the bend weeks ago, but for the sake of argument, we’ll pretend sanity still has a place.)
But I digress.
I woke with a start, eyes slowly opening, mouth hanging open, panting breaths wooshing in and out of my lungs, and a weird tingling sting racing my nerve endings.
It’d been awhile since I’d felt this...
...awake...
And the smells...
It was like the whole of this grove suddenly and violently exploded into life. I could smell the loam, smell the damp fetid undergrowth, smell the creatures that burrowed, ran, and fucked as the brutal sun fell behind yellow tipped hills.
And all the sounds...
...concerts of clicks, whinnies, coos, squeaks, chitters, and rustlings...
...and the low level hum of approaching craft.
Sounds I hadn’t heard in weeks, not since the night I was taken from my bed and dropped here, Kaora, to be hunted, like they did every earth year.
The craft had stopped, and I could hear the passengers being let off to fan out, to quietly talk about how they were going to display my remains once I was killed, and I would be killed because I’d seen hundreds of “trophies” when I’d arrived, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was preserved like the rest.
I could feel my heart race now, choking out all but the electric, oddly familiar tingle racing along my limbs.
What was that supposed to mean again?
I quietly backed away, sidling deeper into the forest of green trimmed trees, the Kaorans marking perimeters and discussing strategy, teams and how to divvy up my entrails for the celebrations.
Not a conversation I wanted to be part of anymore.
It was while I was backtracking that I felt it, that, almost silver bright light as it arced into view, a moon, a huge moon rising from the east.
A huge moon that triggered the same thing every full moon on earth triggered.
The curse.
In this case, a total fucking blessing as my bones turned to white hot lava, breaking, shifting, moving like heat under my now contorted frame. As my muzzle formed, so then did I loose a long, aching howl, black head tipped back as I opened glowing eyes to track the now frozen hunters.
Hunters who didn’t know they’d brought the very hound of hell to their doors.
A Trojan wolf, if you will.
A canine smile lifted my muzzle, and I turned, teeth gleaming, to confront the first unlucky bastard to break the brushline, his three arms fumbling the weapon before he dropped it, urinated on himself, and screamed a warning...
...or tried to...
...his throat hanging from my purple blooded jaws made the continuation of the warning rather impossible.
And thus, for six moons, I hunted the hunters, howling in triumph after each kill, howling all the while, the planet echoing with the alien sounds of a wolf, terror reigning the endless full mooned nights, and blood running in rivers.
There were no more hunts after that; after me.
And I’d like to say that I got home, that my life went back to normal.
And when I howled my last howl to the last setting moon, I heard an an answering howl, dying out as the moon fell to darkness, a howl that sounded familiar...
|
"MOM!" "DAD!" I screamed as the ship flew away. They didn't care, I knew that. But I was young when they took me. The ship turned teal when they flew away, I woke up on a planet with orange grass, pitch black trees, and 6 suns. Where was I?
I wandered around the forest area for a bit before I heard a charging sound.. A laser! I jumped out of the way as the blue flashed just an inch away. I saw a man in the distance, he had 6 eyes, like the suns. He was green and had shark teeth. Other then that, he looked human.
I learned that they hunted us for fun and honor, but little did they know..
The sky slowly turned orange and pink, like a beautiful sunset. I was exhausted as I had to dodge lasers left and right. I ran and burrowed a hole where I could sleep. I was deep into the forest, off path.
I was a werewolf, I might have been a kid but I was fierce in my wolf form. There were 6 moons, each would go down slowly every 10 hours, meaning that a night on this odd planet would be 120 hours before the sun came up, and 120 hours before the sun went down.
I snuck out of the forest and into the small village next to it. I scampered and didnt make a sound. I was tip running, It's when you tip toe but you run. I peered through a window, and saw a family sleeping. I didn't want to disturb the biggest one, as they might kill me, so I turned and faced the smallest house. I peered through that window, with the light of 6 moons, It was fairly easy to look through.
I tiptoed inside, and surely it was one person.
Perfect.
I clawed their face and ran outside back into my small hole, by now it had been 60 hours. I slept the rest.
I heard a scream the next morning, I peeked out of my hole to see the person I clawed hurt and on the ground. I felt a bit sorry, but they tried to kill me! For fun! I flashed back in when me and him made eye contact.
He, was my lifesaver. He didn't believe in the hunting thing, so he helped me escape. At night He would get me food, they had human food but it was WAY more advanced. Turns out, he shot that laser to test my reflexes. He was the guy with 6 eyes.
I would be able to run around the forest at night because everyone was sleeping. Werewolves are fast, really fast, so if someone tried to get me, they'd lose.
Now, here I am, back at home. Typing this tale. He helped me by stealing a rocket just for a useless werewolf like me. I remember that planet so much.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
"MOM!" "DAD!" I screamed as the ship flew away. They didn't care, I knew that. But I was young when they took me. The ship turned teal when they flew away, I woke up on a planet with orange grass, pitch black trees, and 6 suns. Where was I?
I wandered around the forest area for a bit before I heard a charging sound.. A laser! I jumped out of the way as the blue flashed just an inch away. I saw a man in the distance, he had 6 eyes, like the suns. He was green and had shark teeth. Other then that, he looked human.
I learned that they hunted us for fun and honor, but little did they know..
The sky slowly turned orange and pink, like a beautiful sunset. I was exhausted as I had to dodge lasers left and right. I ran and burrowed a hole where I could sleep. I was deep into the forest, off path.
I was a werewolf, I might have been a kid but I was fierce in my wolf form. There were 6 moons, each would go down slowly every 10 hours, meaning that a night on this odd planet would be 120 hours before the sun came up, and 120 hours before the sun went down.
I snuck out of the forest and into the small village next to it. I scampered and didnt make a sound. I was tip running, It's when you tip toe but you run. I peered through a window, and saw a family sleeping. I didn't want to disturb the biggest one, as they might kill me, so I turned and faced the smallest house. I peered through that window, with the light of 6 moons, It was fairly easy to look through.
I tiptoed inside, and surely it was one person.
Perfect.
I clawed their face and ran outside back into my small hole, by now it had been 60 hours. I slept the rest.
I heard a scream the next morning, I peeked out of my hole to see the person I clawed hurt and on the ground. I felt a bit sorry, but they tried to kill me! For fun! I flashed back in when me and him made eye contact.
He, was my lifesaver. He didn't believe in the hunting thing, so he helped me escape. At night He would get me food, they had human food but it was WAY more advanced. Turns out, he shot that laser to test my reflexes. He was the guy with 6 eyes.
I would be able to run around the forest at night because everyone was sleeping. Werewolves are fast, really fast, so if someone tried to get me, they'd lose.
Now, here I am, back at home. Typing this tale. He helped me by stealing a rocket just for a useless werewolf like me. I remember that planet so much.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
"MOM!" "DAD!" I screamed as the ship flew away. They didn't care, I knew that. But I was young when they took me. The ship turned teal when they flew away, I woke up on a planet with orange grass, pitch black trees, and 6 suns. Where was I?
I wandered around the forest area for a bit before I heard a charging sound.. A laser! I jumped out of the way as the blue flashed just an inch away. I saw a man in the distance, he had 6 eyes, like the suns. He was green and had shark teeth. Other then that, he looked human.
I learned that they hunted us for fun and honor, but little did they know..
The sky slowly turned orange and pink, like a beautiful sunset. I was exhausted as I had to dodge lasers left and right. I ran and burrowed a hole where I could sleep. I was deep into the forest, off path.
I was a werewolf, I might have been a kid but I was fierce in my wolf form. There were 6 moons, each would go down slowly every 10 hours, meaning that a night on this odd planet would be 120 hours before the sun came up, and 120 hours before the sun went down.
I snuck out of the forest and into the small village next to it. I scampered and didnt make a sound. I was tip running, It's when you tip toe but you run. I peered through a window, and saw a family sleeping. I didn't want to disturb the biggest one, as they might kill me, so I turned and faced the smallest house. I peered through that window, with the light of 6 moons, It was fairly easy to look through.
I tiptoed inside, and surely it was one person.
Perfect.
I clawed their face and ran outside back into my small hole, by now it had been 60 hours. I slept the rest.
I heard a scream the next morning, I peeked out of my hole to see the person I clawed hurt and on the ground. I felt a bit sorry, but they tried to kill me! For fun! I flashed back in when me and him made eye contact.
He, was my lifesaver. He didn't believe in the hunting thing, so he helped me escape. At night He would get me food, they had human food but it was WAY more advanced. Turns out, he shot that laser to test my reflexes. He was the guy with 6 eyes.
I would be able to run around the forest at night because everyone was sleeping. Werewolves are fast, really fast, so if someone tried to get me, they'd lose.
Now, here I am, back at home. Typing this tale. He helped me by stealing a rocket just for a useless werewolf like me. I remember that planet so much.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
"MOM!" "DAD!" I screamed as the ship flew away. They didn't care, I knew that. But I was young when they took me. The ship turned teal when they flew away, I woke up on a planet with orange grass, pitch black trees, and 6 suns. Where was I?
I wandered around the forest area for a bit before I heard a charging sound.. A laser! I jumped out of the way as the blue flashed just an inch away. I saw a man in the distance, he had 6 eyes, like the suns. He was green and had shark teeth. Other then that, he looked human.
I learned that they hunted us for fun and honor, but little did they know..
The sky slowly turned orange and pink, like a beautiful sunset. I was exhausted as I had to dodge lasers left and right. I ran and burrowed a hole where I could sleep. I was deep into the forest, off path.
I was a werewolf, I might have been a kid but I was fierce in my wolf form. There were 6 moons, each would go down slowly every 10 hours, meaning that a night on this odd planet would be 120 hours before the sun came up, and 120 hours before the sun went down.
I snuck out of the forest and into the small village next to it. I scampered and didnt make a sound. I was tip running, It's when you tip toe but you run. I peered through a window, and saw a family sleeping. I didn't want to disturb the biggest one, as they might kill me, so I turned and faced the smallest house. I peered through that window, with the light of 6 moons, It was fairly easy to look through.
I tiptoed inside, and surely it was one person.
Perfect.
I clawed their face and ran outside back into my small hole, by now it had been 60 hours. I slept the rest.
I heard a scream the next morning, I peeked out of my hole to see the person I clawed hurt and on the ground. I felt a bit sorry, but they tried to kill me! For fun! I flashed back in when me and him made eye contact.
He, was my lifesaver. He didn't believe in the hunting thing, so he helped me escape. At night He would get me food, they had human food but it was WAY more advanced. Turns out, he shot that laser to test my reflexes. He was the guy with 6 eyes.
I would be able to run around the forest at night because everyone was sleeping. Werewolves are fast, really fast, so if someone tried to get me, they'd lose.
Now, here I am, back at home. Typing this tale. He helped me by stealing a rocket just for a useless werewolf like me. I remember that planet so much.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
= Day 1 - Moonless =
​
I've been deceived.
​
I never really felt that I fit in at home, and had always looked to the stars with wonderment. Perhaps looking to the sky was part of my nature, and when offered the opportunity to see worlds beyond ours, I gladly accepted.
​
My fear that my condition might be discovered kept me from speaking about it. I had hoped that out there, far from Earth - away from her star, and especially her moon - I might find a reprieve.
​
Now it seems my condition may become my salvation.
​
Tonight is moonless. My hosts - now my hunters - seem to be not rushed in this and enjoy the thrill of such things. Perhaps a half score of them are after me, maybe more.
​
I believe I can escape them yet for today. For once, I hope for the moon to come tomorrow.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
= Day 1 - Moonless =
​
I've been deceived.
​
I never really felt that I fit in at home, and had always looked to the stars with wonderment. Perhaps looking to the sky was part of my nature, and when offered the opportunity to see worlds beyond ours, I gladly accepted.
​
My fear that my condition might be discovered kept me from speaking about it. I had hoped that out there, far from Earth - away from her star, and especially her moon - I might find a reprieve.
​
Now it seems my condition may become my salvation.
​
Tonight is moonless. My hosts - now my hunters - seem to be not rushed in this and enjoy the thrill of such things. Perhaps a half score of them are after me, maybe more.
​
I believe I can escape them yet for today. For once, I hope for the moon to come tomorrow.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
= Day 1 - Moonless =
​
I've been deceived.
​
I never really felt that I fit in at home, and had always looked to the stars with wonderment. Perhaps looking to the sky was part of my nature, and when offered the opportunity to see worlds beyond ours, I gladly accepted.
​
My fear that my condition might be discovered kept me from speaking about it. I had hoped that out there, far from Earth - away from her star, and especially her moon - I might find a reprieve.
​
Now it seems my condition may become my salvation.
​
Tonight is moonless. My hosts - now my hunters - seem to be not rushed in this and enjoy the thrill of such things. Perhaps a half score of them are after me, maybe more.
​
I believe I can escape them yet for today. For once, I hope for the moon to come tomorrow.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
"Youre slipping."
*No.*
"You are. Youre losing yourself again. Just like the first time. You're slipping."
*SHUT UP* The words were a snarl in his mind. The madness pressed on his brain, a frigid torrent of icy hate.
But the voice was right, he was slipping. Holding one arm in front of his face, he looks at his misshapen limb, barely recognizing the back of his own hand. Covered in thick, wiry fur and heavily roped with muscle and tendon. He opens his hand, revealing razor sharp talons nearly the length of his palm.
He was no stranger to the hunger, but a veteran monster. A killer with an appetite.
*A MONSTER*
The sound of hoverbike engines in the distance rouse him from his thoughts. They brought him here for a GAME. They thought he would be easy prey, soft and weak and pathetic like the rest of his kind.
*FUCKING CATTLE*
But he was like few other humans.
As the rage built inside him, he glanced around the isolated grove, little more than a clearing in the forest, the moonlight filtering softly between what he assumed passed for trees on this hellhole of a planet.
"Three moonrises so far. You wont make it through this, how much of you is left? Youre slipping."
He wondered breifly how many moons this planet had. Before today, he wouldnt have believed life on other planets even existed. But the massacre spread at his feet was proof enough.
A hundred shattered corpses bled from the branches of broken trees all around him. The very ground he stood on muddy with their blood. But they bled. And they tasted the same as they all taste. They taste like death.
*HUNGRY*
As the third moon set, he felt a familiar power rising up within him.
*HUNGRY*
He turned his gaze from the moonset and looked west. The telltale comforting white glow swelled across the horizon as the planets fourth moon began its trek across the sky.
They had brought him here hoping for easy prey. And easy prey is what he had found.
He would be very happy here. Plenty of flesh. Plenty of death.
"YOURE SLIPPING"
The white hot glow of the newly rising moon seared across his flesh, equal parts excruciating and euphoric. Agony and power coursed through his being, crushing the echoes of his own voice back to darkest recesses of his mind. He no longer thought. He no longer was. The ecstasy and the fury was all.
And the hunger.
The shadows raced across the clearing as the moon rose above the forest, outlining the viscera hanging from the trees, glistening across bloodied, disemboweled bodies, half eaten and crumpled across the ground. But the shadows did not touch the werewolf.
He was gone.
Inhuman screams echoed across the forest, and the night hung still.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
"Youre slipping."
*No.*
"You are. Youre losing yourself again. Just like the first time. You're slipping."
*SHUT UP* The words were a snarl in his mind. The madness pressed on his brain, a frigid torrent of icy hate.
But the voice was right, he was slipping. Holding one arm in front of his face, he looks at his misshapen limb, barely recognizing the back of his own hand. Covered in thick, wiry fur and heavily roped with muscle and tendon. He opens his hand, revealing razor sharp talons nearly the length of his palm.
He was no stranger to the hunger, but a veteran monster. A killer with an appetite.
*A MONSTER*
The sound of hoverbike engines in the distance rouse him from his thoughts. They brought him here for a GAME. They thought he would be easy prey, soft and weak and pathetic like the rest of his kind.
*FUCKING CATTLE*
But he was like few other humans.
As the rage built inside him, he glanced around the isolated grove, little more than a clearing in the forest, the moonlight filtering softly between what he assumed passed for trees on this hellhole of a planet.
"Three moonrises so far. You wont make it through this, how much of you is left? Youre slipping."
He wondered breifly how many moons this planet had. Before today, he wouldnt have believed life on other planets even existed. But the massacre spread at his feet was proof enough.
A hundred shattered corpses bled from the branches of broken trees all around him. The very ground he stood on muddy with their blood. But they bled. And they tasted the same as they all taste. They taste like death.
*HUNGRY*
As the third moon set, he felt a familiar power rising up within him.
*HUNGRY*
He turned his gaze from the moonset and looked west. The telltale comforting white glow swelled across the horizon as the planets fourth moon began its trek across the sky.
They had brought him here hoping for easy prey. And easy prey is what he had found.
He would be very happy here. Plenty of flesh. Plenty of death.
"YOURE SLIPPING"
The white hot glow of the newly rising moon seared across his flesh, equal parts excruciating and euphoric. Agony and power coursed through his being, crushing the echoes of his own voice back to darkest recesses of his mind. He no longer thought. He no longer was. The ecstasy and the fury was all.
And the hunger.
The shadows raced across the clearing as the moon rose above the forest, outlining the viscera hanging from the trees, glistening across bloodied, disemboweled bodies, half eaten and crumpled across the ground. But the shadows did not touch the werewolf.
He was gone.
Inhuman screams echoed across the forest, and the night hung still.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
"Youre slipping."
*No.*
"You are. Youre losing yourself again. Just like the first time. You're slipping."
*SHUT UP* The words were a snarl in his mind. The madness pressed on his brain, a frigid torrent of icy hate.
But the voice was right, he was slipping. Holding one arm in front of his face, he looks at his misshapen limb, barely recognizing the back of his own hand. Covered in thick, wiry fur and heavily roped with muscle and tendon. He opens his hand, revealing razor sharp talons nearly the length of his palm.
He was no stranger to the hunger, but a veteran monster. A killer with an appetite.
*A MONSTER*
The sound of hoverbike engines in the distance rouse him from his thoughts. They brought him here for a GAME. They thought he would be easy prey, soft and weak and pathetic like the rest of his kind.
*FUCKING CATTLE*
But he was like few other humans.
As the rage built inside him, he glanced around the isolated grove, little more than a clearing in the forest, the moonlight filtering softly between what he assumed passed for trees on this hellhole of a planet.
"Three moonrises so far. You wont make it through this, how much of you is left? Youre slipping."
He wondered breifly how many moons this planet had. Before today, he wouldnt have believed life on other planets even existed. But the massacre spread at his feet was proof enough.
A hundred shattered corpses bled from the branches of broken trees all around him. The very ground he stood on muddy with their blood. But they bled. And they tasted the same as they all taste. They taste like death.
*HUNGRY*
As the third moon set, he felt a familiar power rising up within him.
*HUNGRY*
He turned his gaze from the moonset and looked west. The telltale comforting white glow swelled across the horizon as the planets fourth moon began its trek across the sky.
They had brought him here hoping for easy prey. And easy prey is what he had found.
He would be very happy here. Plenty of flesh. Plenty of death.
"YOURE SLIPPING"
The white hot glow of the newly rising moon seared across his flesh, equal parts excruciating and euphoric. Agony and power coursed through his being, crushing the echoes of his own voice back to darkest recesses of his mind. He no longer thought. He no longer was. The ecstasy and the fury was all.
And the hunger.
The shadows raced across the clearing as the moon rose above the forest, outlining the viscera hanging from the trees, glistening across bloodied, disemboweled bodies, half eaten and crumpled across the ground. But the shadows did not touch the werewolf.
He was gone.
Inhuman screams echoed across the forest, and the night hung still.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I don’t know how I managed to survive the first weeks, how I managed to not fucking die from exposure and dehydration, how I managed to not go completely batshit crazy.
(Let’s be honest, I probably went around the bend weeks ago, but for the sake of argument, we’ll pretend sanity still has a place.)
But I digress.
I woke with a start, eyes slowly opening, mouth hanging open, panting breaths wooshing in and out of my lungs, and a weird tingling sting racing my nerve endings.
It’d been awhile since I’d felt this...
...awake...
And the smells...
It was like the whole of this grove suddenly and violently exploded into life. I could smell the loam, smell the damp fetid undergrowth, smell the creatures that burrowed, ran, and fucked as the brutal sun fell behind yellow tipped hills.
And all the sounds...
...concerts of clicks, whinnies, coos, squeaks, chitters, and rustlings...
...and the low level hum of approaching craft.
Sounds I hadn’t heard in weeks, not since the night I was taken from my bed and dropped here, Kaora, to be hunted, like they did every earth year.
The craft had stopped, and I could hear the passengers being let off to fan out, to quietly talk about how they were going to display my remains once I was killed, and I would be killed because I’d seen hundreds of “trophies” when I’d arrived, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was preserved like the rest.
I could feel my heart race now, choking out all but the electric, oddly familiar tingle racing along my limbs.
What was that supposed to mean again?
I quietly backed away, sidling deeper into the forest of green trimmed trees, the Kaorans marking perimeters and discussing strategy, teams and how to divvy up my entrails for the celebrations.
Not a conversation I wanted to be part of anymore.
It was while I was backtracking that I felt it, that, almost silver bright light as it arced into view, a moon, a huge moon rising from the east.
A huge moon that triggered the same thing every full moon on earth triggered.
The curse.
In this case, a total fucking blessing as my bones turned to white hot lava, breaking, shifting, moving like heat under my now contorted frame. As my muzzle formed, so then did I loose a long, aching howl, black head tipped back as I opened glowing eyes to track the now frozen hunters.
Hunters who didn’t know they’d brought the very hound of hell to their doors.
A Trojan wolf, if you will.
A canine smile lifted my muzzle, and I turned, teeth gleaming, to confront the first unlucky bastard to break the brushline, his three arms fumbling the weapon before he dropped it, urinated on himself, and screamed a warning...
...or tried to...
...his throat hanging from my purple blooded jaws made the continuation of the warning rather impossible.
And thus, for six moons, I hunted the hunters, howling in triumph after each kill, howling all the while, the planet echoing with the alien sounds of a wolf, terror reigning the endless full mooned nights, and blood running in rivers.
There were no more hunts after that; after me.
And I’d like to say that I got home, that my life went back to normal.
And when I howled my last howl to the last setting moon, I heard an an answering howl, dying out as the moon fell to darkness, a howl that sounded familiar...
|
You almost don't spot the trap. They learned to fear your claws in the first days, your raw speed, strength; limbs splintering and shattering as you careened through encampment after encampment. The survivors banded together, abandoning the competition and honour of sport for the dirty cunning of survival, and though each time it cost them - supplies, lives - they uncovered your limitations, crafted defenses against your onslaughts.
Gently unsticking the rubbery strands from their grooves you feel a wave of relief crash over you as you see the payload - even a healing factor like yours wouldn't have helped. Not for the first time, you turn skyward and thank the fact that six moons allow you far greater control of your mental faculties than one.
As you gaze at Rose, your favoured moon, an idea strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You work quickly: lifting, rebinding, concealing.
One serendipitous piece remains.
You set down your bound and unconscious captive, gently rouse it, smile as you snap its leg. Above its keening you hear a chorus of ululating cries fill the air, reverberate off the crystalline spines that cluster the land. Your smile tightens.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
You almost don't spot the trap. They learned to fear your claws in the first days, your raw speed, strength; limbs splintering and shattering as you careened through encampment after encampment. The survivors banded together, abandoning the competition and honour of sport for the dirty cunning of survival, and though each time it cost them - supplies, lives - they uncovered your limitations, crafted defenses against your onslaughts.
Gently unsticking the rubbery strands from their grooves you feel a wave of relief crash over you as you see the payload - even a healing factor like yours wouldn't have helped. Not for the first time, you turn skyward and thank the fact that six moons allow you far greater control of your mental faculties than one.
As you gaze at Rose, your favoured moon, an idea strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You work quickly: lifting, rebinding, concealing.
One serendipitous piece remains.
You set down your bound and unconscious captive, gently rouse it, smile as you snap its leg. Above its keening you hear a chorus of ululating cries fill the air, reverberate off the crystalline spines that cluster the land. Your smile tightens.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
You almost don't spot the trap. They learned to fear your claws in the first days, your raw speed, strength; limbs splintering and shattering as you careened through encampment after encampment. The survivors banded together, abandoning the competition and honour of sport for the dirty cunning of survival, and though each time it cost them - supplies, lives - they uncovered your limitations, crafted defenses against your onslaughts.
Gently unsticking the rubbery strands from their grooves you feel a wave of relief crash over you as you see the payload - even a healing factor like yours wouldn't have helped. Not for the first time, you turn skyward and thank the fact that six moons allow you far greater control of your mental faculties than one.
As you gaze at Rose, your favoured moon, an idea strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You work quickly: lifting, rebinding, concealing.
One serendipitous piece remains.
You set down your bound and unconscious captive, gently rouse it, smile as you snap its leg. Above its keening you hear a chorus of ululating cries fill the air, reverberate off the crystalline spines that cluster the land. Your smile tightens.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
You almost don't spot the trap. They learned to fear your claws in the first days, your raw speed, strength; limbs splintering and shattering as you careened through encampment after encampment. The survivors banded together, abandoning the competition and honour of sport for the dirty cunning of survival, and though each time it cost them - supplies, lives - they uncovered your limitations, crafted defenses against your onslaughts.
Gently unsticking the rubbery strands from their grooves you feel a wave of relief crash over you as you see the payload - even a healing factor like yours wouldn't have helped. Not for the first time, you turn skyward and thank the fact that six moons allow you far greater control of your mental faculties than one.
As you gaze at Rose, your favoured moon, an idea strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You work quickly: lifting, rebinding, concealing.
One serendipitous piece remains.
You set down your bound and unconscious captive, gently rouse it, smile as you snap its leg. Above its keening you hear a chorus of ululating cries fill the air, reverberate off the crystalline spines that cluster the land. Your smile tightens.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
Species:
Human
Description:
Bipedal, with two accessory limbs and a head containing a cluster of sensory organs.
Tool-users, moderately intelligent, tend to form large social groups where individuals perform specialized tasks.
Habitat:
Water planet, larger than average gravity.
One large natural moon, thousands of artificial satellites.
Technology:
Large scale centralized food production.
Global communications network.
Primitive computers.
Planetary vehicles specialized for land, water, and air transportation.
Unusually destructive weapons, including fission and fusion explosive devices.
They've started to venture out of their home planet's atmosphere, but they still use chemical rockets for almost everything.
Estimated time to discovery of gravity propulsion and interstellar travel - 800 years.
Culture:
Recognition of universal virtues.
Latent tribalism and warlike tendencies.
Unusually strong pre-occupation with religion and the supernatural.
Unusually prolific production of art in various forms.
Conclusion:
Possible candidate species for admission to the galactic order.
Current Status:
Continue observation until further notice.
This is a summery document, please refer to the full report provided in the briefing package for detailed reference.
___________________________________________________________________________
Captain Edrix thoughtfully stroked the short blue tentacles hanging from his chin as he looked over the stolen scouting report.
Hunting sentients is strictly forbidden, but there were always customers who would pay to hunt them. And many more who would pay to watch.
This species was weak.
Their technology was developing so slowly it was laughable to Edrix.
He opened the report to see what these humans looked like, and he saw soft vulnerable flesh. This was going to be a boring hunt.
___________________________________________________________
The first batch of prey was a surprising delight! The humans were physically weak but they were clever when challenged, which made them interesting prey.
Edrix chose the wooded arena on Stellagand IV for the hunt, with its blood-red sun and pitch black moonless night sky. And it was glorious.
The humans quickly cooperated with each other to build defensive structures and makeshift weapons from the environment faster than we thought was possible! These were no savages throwing rocks at us, they had built a leverage device that was hurling massive boulders at us, which they'd covered with hydrocarbons and set fire! My second in command was struck by one and suffered a minor injury, even through his power-armor!
We were actually forced to retreat and take cover, which hasn't happened in hundreds of hunts!
Of course the hunt ended as they always do.
No primitive species could stand up to power armor and disintegrators, and that's exactly the way Edrix and his customers liked it.
_________________________________________________________________________
"MORE HUMAN PREY!" cried the holo-cast addicts of the galaxy, shady information distributors, and unscrupulous advertisers. The last hunt had been legendary, it was the most-watched holo-cast in a century!
Edrix knew the galactic authority wasn't happy with him, but he also knew how wealthy he could make himself from *one more hunt*.
The fresh batch of humans currently in his cargo hold should feel honored, Edrix thought. This hunt might be the most-watched event in the history of the galaxy.
Edrix had selected the perfect planet for this hunt, Lumica VII, a forest planet with 6 unusually large moons to dance with each other and illuminate the night sky for the holo-casts.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The hunt did not go as expected.
The seventeen ships in orbit above Lumica VII were all demanding answers from Edrix. But Edrix didn't know what was going on either. All communication with the surface was lost. Viewers across the galaxy had just watched the unthinkable. The entire hunting party had been killed.
Examinations of time-dilated recordings revealed alarming evidence that no one had imagined possible.
Some of the humans, through means not understood, were able to undergo rapid metamorphosis to a phenotype with far greater combat potential than their usual form. The meta-human creatures moved very fast, and were far, far stronger than a normal human.
Edrix's research team found that in human cultural history the meta-human creature was called a Werewolf. Most references seemed to consider the creature to be mythical. Edrix looked at the recording from the hunt. The creature moved terrifyingly fast. One moment it was 50 feet away, and in a flash it was on top of the poor soul, the recording ending abruptly with a savage slash of claws.
The bodies they recovered... Edrix shuddered. They'd been mutilated. They might as well have not been wearing armor at all. Impossible claws had sliced, diced and chopped their power armor to shreds along with anything alive inside.
____________________________________________________________
The demand for more holo-casts had never been higher. No hunting party had ever been lost in over 2000 years of hunts. There had been deaths, but never a whole party lost. This was BIG TIME entertainment for the holo-net!
Several of the dead from the hunting party were sons and daughters of wealthy and influential criminals and/or business-people, and they lobbied to sterilize the planet and imprison Edrix. But shady corporate powers had just made a huge profit and ultimately controlled the show. Legal or not, there would be another hunt.
"Oh you're going down there," said Gavil Nost, one of the biggest crime lords in the galaxy, and father to an equally criminal son. A son who'd been killed on that last hunt.
"You're going down there. You kill that thing that murdered my boy or you end up like him."
Edrix didn't really have a choice. If he refused they would kill him right there.
________________________________________________________________________________
As the landing craft descended Edrix looked out across the surface of the planet. It was beautiful. Forests and rivers, a large lake in the distance. Moons glistened like jewels in the sky.
The lander slowed as it descended, now only 1000 feet above the surface, and Edrix spotted the werewolf creature on the ground. He zoomed in his view with his power-suit's optics to get a better look. It was standing next to the landing pad and looking straight back up at him.
Alarmed, Edrix quickly gave orders to his crew - as soon as they landed they were going to rush out with overwhelming force and unleash total destruction on this werewolf.
When the lander was 200 feet in the air above the landing pad, Edrix was watching the werewolf on the ground watching him. Suddenly there was a puff of dust and the werewolf disappeared, leaving nothing but a small patch of disturbed ground where it stood.
Approximately one second later there was a deafening screech of torn metal and the landing ship lurched violently. Edrix turned and instead of the interior of the ship he looked upon open sky. The ship had been sliced in two and was now falling instead of descending. Edrix jumped free of the ship and used his power armor to control his fall and land on the ground.
A moment later the werewolf landed not far from him. The creature roared, with teeth bared and claws extended, challenging him. Edrix took aim with his disintegrator and prepared to fire. But the creature again moved with impossible speed, and an instant later Edrix was dead. The werewolf's claws had sliced cleanly through Edrix's power armor, and him as well, before he even knew what hit him.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The galaxy raved.
|
I don’t know how I managed to survive the first weeks, how I managed to not fucking die from exposure and dehydration, how I managed to not go completely batshit crazy.
(Let’s be honest, I probably went around the bend weeks ago, but for the sake of argument, we’ll pretend sanity still has a place.)
But I digress.
I woke with a start, eyes slowly opening, mouth hanging open, panting breaths wooshing in and out of my lungs, and a weird tingling sting racing my nerve endings.
It’d been awhile since I’d felt this...
...awake...
And the smells...
It was like the whole of this grove suddenly and violently exploded into life. I could smell the loam, smell the damp fetid undergrowth, smell the creatures that burrowed, ran, and fucked as the brutal sun fell behind yellow tipped hills.
And all the sounds...
...concerts of clicks, whinnies, coos, squeaks, chitters, and rustlings...
...and the low level hum of approaching craft.
Sounds I hadn’t heard in weeks, not since the night I was taken from my bed and dropped here, Kaora, to be hunted, like they did every earth year.
The craft had stopped, and I could hear the passengers being let off to fan out, to quietly talk about how they were going to display my remains once I was killed, and I would be killed because I’d seen hundreds of “trophies” when I’d arrived, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was preserved like the rest.
I could feel my heart race now, choking out all but the electric, oddly familiar tingle racing along my limbs.
What was that supposed to mean again?
I quietly backed away, sidling deeper into the forest of green trimmed trees, the Kaorans marking perimeters and discussing strategy, teams and how to divvy up my entrails for the celebrations.
Not a conversation I wanted to be part of anymore.
It was while I was backtracking that I felt it, that, almost silver bright light as it arced into view, a moon, a huge moon rising from the east.
A huge moon that triggered the same thing every full moon on earth triggered.
The curse.
In this case, a total fucking blessing as my bones turned to white hot lava, breaking, shifting, moving like heat under my now contorted frame. As my muzzle formed, so then did I loose a long, aching howl, black head tipped back as I opened glowing eyes to track the now frozen hunters.
Hunters who didn’t know they’d brought the very hound of hell to their doors.
A Trojan wolf, if you will.
A canine smile lifted my muzzle, and I turned, teeth gleaming, to confront the first unlucky bastard to break the brushline, his three arms fumbling the weapon before he dropped it, urinated on himself, and screamed a warning...
...or tried to...
...his throat hanging from my purple blooded jaws made the continuation of the warning rather impossible.
And thus, for six moons, I hunted the hunters, howling in triumph after each kill, howling all the while, the planet echoing with the alien sounds of a wolf, terror reigning the endless full mooned nights, and blood running in rivers.
There were no more hunts after that; after me.
And I’d like to say that I got home, that my life went back to normal.
And when I howled my last howl to the last setting moon, I heard an an answering howl, dying out as the moon fell to darkness, a howl that sounded familiar...
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
I don’t know how I managed to survive the first weeks, how I managed to not fucking die from exposure and dehydration, how I managed to not go completely batshit crazy.
(Let’s be honest, I probably went around the bend weeks ago, but for the sake of argument, we’ll pretend sanity still has a place.)
But I digress.
I woke with a start, eyes slowly opening, mouth hanging open, panting breaths wooshing in and out of my lungs, and a weird tingling sting racing my nerve endings.
It’d been awhile since I’d felt this...
...awake...
And the smells...
It was like the whole of this grove suddenly and violently exploded into life. I could smell the loam, smell the damp fetid undergrowth, smell the creatures that burrowed, ran, and fucked as the brutal sun fell behind yellow tipped hills.
And all the sounds...
...concerts of clicks, whinnies, coos, squeaks, chitters, and rustlings...
...and the low level hum of approaching craft.
Sounds I hadn’t heard in weeks, not since the night I was taken from my bed and dropped here, Kaora, to be hunted, like they did every earth year.
The craft had stopped, and I could hear the passengers being let off to fan out, to quietly talk about how they were going to display my remains once I was killed, and I would be killed because I’d seen hundreds of “trophies” when I’d arrived, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was preserved like the rest.
I could feel my heart race now, choking out all but the electric, oddly familiar tingle racing along my limbs.
What was that supposed to mean again?
I quietly backed away, sidling deeper into the forest of green trimmed trees, the Kaorans marking perimeters and discussing strategy, teams and how to divvy up my entrails for the celebrations.
Not a conversation I wanted to be part of anymore.
It was while I was backtracking that I felt it, that, almost silver bright light as it arced into view, a moon, a huge moon rising from the east.
A huge moon that triggered the same thing every full moon on earth triggered.
The curse.
In this case, a total fucking blessing as my bones turned to white hot lava, breaking, shifting, moving like heat under my now contorted frame. As my muzzle formed, so then did I loose a long, aching howl, black head tipped back as I opened glowing eyes to track the now frozen hunters.
Hunters who didn’t know they’d brought the very hound of hell to their doors.
A Trojan wolf, if you will.
A canine smile lifted my muzzle, and I turned, teeth gleaming, to confront the first unlucky bastard to break the brushline, his three arms fumbling the weapon before he dropped it, urinated on himself, and screamed a warning...
...or tried to...
...his throat hanging from my purple blooded jaws made the continuation of the warning rather impossible.
And thus, for six moons, I hunted the hunters, howling in triumph after each kill, howling all the while, the planet echoing with the alien sounds of a wolf, terror reigning the endless full mooned nights, and blood running in rivers.
There were no more hunts after that; after me.
And I’d like to say that I got home, that my life went back to normal.
And when I howled my last howl to the last setting moon, I heard an an answering howl, dying out as the moon fell to darkness, a howl that sounded familiar...
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
I don’t know how I managed to survive the first weeks, how I managed to not fucking die from exposure and dehydration, how I managed to not go completely batshit crazy.
(Let’s be honest, I probably went around the bend weeks ago, but for the sake of argument, we’ll pretend sanity still has a place.)
But I digress.
I woke with a start, eyes slowly opening, mouth hanging open, panting breaths wooshing in and out of my lungs, and a weird tingling sting racing my nerve endings.
It’d been awhile since I’d felt this...
...awake...
And the smells...
It was like the whole of this grove suddenly and violently exploded into life. I could smell the loam, smell the damp fetid undergrowth, smell the creatures that burrowed, ran, and fucked as the brutal sun fell behind yellow tipped hills.
And all the sounds...
...concerts of clicks, whinnies, coos, squeaks, chitters, and rustlings...
...and the low level hum of approaching craft.
Sounds I hadn’t heard in weeks, not since the night I was taken from my bed and dropped here, Kaora, to be hunted, like they did every earth year.
The craft had stopped, and I could hear the passengers being let off to fan out, to quietly talk about how they were going to display my remains once I was killed, and I would be killed because I’d seen hundreds of “trophies” when I’d arrived, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was preserved like the rest.
I could feel my heart race now, choking out all but the electric, oddly familiar tingle racing along my limbs.
What was that supposed to mean again?
I quietly backed away, sidling deeper into the forest of green trimmed trees, the Kaorans marking perimeters and discussing strategy, teams and how to divvy up my entrails for the celebrations.
Not a conversation I wanted to be part of anymore.
It was while I was backtracking that I felt it, that, almost silver bright light as it arced into view, a moon, a huge moon rising from the east.
A huge moon that triggered the same thing every full moon on earth triggered.
The curse.
In this case, a total fucking blessing as my bones turned to white hot lava, breaking, shifting, moving like heat under my now contorted frame. As my muzzle formed, so then did I loose a long, aching howl, black head tipped back as I opened glowing eyes to track the now frozen hunters.
Hunters who didn’t know they’d brought the very hound of hell to their doors.
A Trojan wolf, if you will.
A canine smile lifted my muzzle, and I turned, teeth gleaming, to confront the first unlucky bastard to break the brushline, his three arms fumbling the weapon before he dropped it, urinated on himself, and screamed a warning...
...or tried to...
...his throat hanging from my purple blooded jaws made the continuation of the warning rather impossible.
And thus, for six moons, I hunted the hunters, howling in triumph after each kill, howling all the while, the planet echoing with the alien sounds of a wolf, terror reigning the endless full mooned nights, and blood running in rivers.
There were no more hunts after that; after me.
And I’d like to say that I got home, that my life went back to normal.
And when I howled my last howl to the last setting moon, I heard an an answering howl, dying out as the moon fell to darkness, a howl that sounded familiar...
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awake in a cell. My arms and legs bound in chains made from ore I do not recognize. My pack surely must be looking for me. I pray to the gods they find me and soon. I know not where I am but nothing smells right. They don't smell familiar. Whatever they are. I can't understand their speech. It's not like any tongue I've ever heard before.
I hear footsteps and the same smell that ambushed me before. They echo louder in this cave I find myself in. It looks at me thew the bars and I don't recognize it's shape. It's definitely not anything I've ever seen within the confines of my territory before.
It opens the door I stand up and run towards where it's footsteps came from. I run in the darkness my affliction allows me to see in the darkness. As I exit the cave I look up to the night sky.
I see far too many moons. Five too many at that. I feel every pore on my body as I look to the moons. I may not be on my world anymore. May this be the work of the fae? Yet if they were planning on keeping me in chains they picked the worst possible place to bring me.
I fee my bones growing and shifting. I feel the hair grow the itching is unbearable. As my body grows the chains begin to hurt around my wrists. I feel as if I am going to break only to hear the breaking of metal that once held me.
This transformation is far from my normal form. My teeth are far more protruded. My size is much larger than normal. I feel as though I could look a high elf in the eyes. The hunger is different too it is far more intense. Gods keep me for I don't think I shall remain concious.
I smell something that isn't them. It isn't far. I run towards the smell. That begs to be inside my gullet. I chase it down it was slow ever so. I bite at it's back legs and then lift and smack it to the ground. It is dead long before I take my first bite.
I feel the blood dripping from my jowls. Even as I eat the meat it doesn't give me enough sustenance. It's far from enough under this light I feel as though I am. From a distance something strikes me. Like a fire arrow. It burns me but I feel it heal quickly under the light of the moons. I feel almost as if I am blessed by this curse in this moment.
I can see the trail from whatever arrow they shot my way. I follow the scent and I am upon them. They try and cut me but they are far too slow. My fangs dig deep and I find them much more filling than the mindless beast I consumed before.
As I drink the blood of this thing. I can see it's life. It must be the extra moons. They are some kind of huntsman from beyond the sky islands. They sail in metal ships. They must not have known what I am. Or they would have never brought me here or do they know and simply wished for a challenge?
Either way I do not wish to die. I feel no guilt as I pick his bones clean. I vomit up that which I cannot digest. Metal and magic items. I cannot use them while I am like this. My hands are claws and my mind is like a haze.
They die easily I do not know how long I have been the beast now. I barely remember my own name as I see something rise for the first time since I've been here. It's the sun. No actually it's too of them and they're blue and the one is pulsing?
I change back and I feel weak. Almost like I'm malnourished. I was the beast for so long. It's a shock to my system. I stumble like a newborn babe. I try to remember after the weeks of night and gluttony. The magic items. The memories of those I consumed. I could even feel the fear from their last moments. I hear a voice inside say it tasted equisite.
I run to the piles of bones. Looking for the magic items I had previously vomited back up as the wolf. I can't make heads or tails of them. They're strange far to strange for a simpleton like me to understand.
As quickly as the sun came it went. I feel it coming again. The real me the devourer of these strange people. Less and less of me returns as the days pass. Soon I no longer remember my name. Soon I am more beast than man.
They find me one day when I am not the beast. I try to bite them but I am just a man my teeth cannot chew threw metal. They shoot me and I fall to the ground. I howl for the pack I once had. Yet they do not come to my aid for I am alone on this other world. Cursed twice in this life. Maybe it is better I greet death.
After all I get to go to the eternal hunting grounds for all eternity. How many others will there have been who were able to bask in 6 moons of another world. The beast in me is overjoyed. Something else that has long since faded doesn't wish to die. Yet I hear a familiar call of a pack as it all fades to black.
|
"improvise adapt overcome," they said to me "then die" they quickly snapped. I was told that I would be given a week to prepare. This was more than enough time to formulate a plan... provided they strike at night I checked the moon the first night but... there were six of them. I prayed that one of them would be full when they struck. The week passed and to my surprise, all six were full one by one I took them out in my true form even their most advanced technology was nothing compared to six times the full power I hardly even felt their railguns. I made sure to taste the alien meat any time I encountered a new species they were... ok enough I guess. They realized that I was unbeatable quickly but that did not stop them. I slaughtered hundreds of thousands before there was only one left who gave me all of their tech a fleet of advanced spacecraft and their combat armour he said that there were instructions in "this so-called English that you humans speak" I asked "but you are speaking English" "We have devices that make it so that whoever we are talking to hears their most fluent language and we hear ours". I proceeded to leave with the remaining humans that were kidnapped and woke up human again. "GARY" I heard someone shout I forgot that someone might know who I am. "You're A WEREWOLF". "If you tell anyone I will rip you limb from limb and I won't need any of this shit that they gave us" I threatened. Everything was fine and normal although the tech made my life a lot easier and I always felt really weak on the full moons after experiencing six times my usual full power.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I awoke on a dusty crater surrounded by stars and sand.
Last thing I remembered was being in bed with my wife Sandra.
And suddenly it started, the way it always did. My muscles clenched and my pores burned like acid.
My scream twisted into a howl, and I was a wolf man, five days early.
In the far off distance I heard a siren wail, like an old fire engine.
Over the crest of the crater I saw a small group of about twelve beings running toward me, holding small hand weapons.
A huge explosion erupted two feet from where I laid, then another right over my head, that singed my ear fur.
I leapt to my feet and scurried around the perimeter of the crater, doubling back behind the group.
As I approached the dozen creatures, I saw them better – insects! And time seemed to slow to a crawl.
I reached back my hand as my claws emerged, and sliced off their buggy heads, one after another... just as I did when I was a child dissecting ants in the yard.
More bugs came over the crater edge, and I sliced them to bits one after another.
Soon my muscles grew weary, and I decided to run away, to escape the range of craters.
Normally I would have become human, weak, pathetic again. But there were countless moons in this place, and I always had the energy to run.
And that’s what I did.
I would run forevermore, a living weapon... a blade that would never become dull.
|
"improvise adapt overcome," they said to me "then die" they quickly snapped. I was told that I would be given a week to prepare. This was more than enough time to formulate a plan... provided they strike at night I checked the moon the first night but... there were six of them. I prayed that one of them would be full when they struck. The week passed and to my surprise, all six were full one by one I took them out in my true form even their most advanced technology was nothing compared to six times the full power I hardly even felt their railguns. I made sure to taste the alien meat any time I encountered a new species they were... ok enough I guess. They realized that I was unbeatable quickly but that did not stop them. I slaughtered hundreds of thousands before there was only one left who gave me all of their tech a fleet of advanced spacecraft and their combat armour he said that there were instructions in "this so-called English that you humans speak" I asked "but you are speaking English" "We have devices that make it so that whoever we are talking to hears their most fluent language and we hear ours". I proceeded to leave with the remaining humans that were kidnapped and woke up human again. "GARY" I heard someone shout I forgot that someone might know who I am. "You're A WEREWOLF". "If you tell anyone I will rip you limb from limb and I won't need any of this shit that they gave us" I threatened. Everything was fine and normal although the tech made my life a lot easier and I always felt really weak on the full moons after experiencing six times my usual full power.
|
|
[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
|
"improvise adapt overcome," they said to me "then die" they quickly snapped. I was told that I would be given a week to prepare. This was more than enough time to formulate a plan... provided they strike at night I checked the moon the first night but... there were six of them. I prayed that one of them would be full when they struck. The week passed and to my surprise, all six were full one by one I took them out in my true form even their most advanced technology was nothing compared to six times the full power I hardly even felt their railguns. I made sure to taste the alien meat any time I encountered a new species they were... ok enough I guess. They realized that I was unbeatable quickly but that did not stop them. I slaughtered hundreds of thousands before there was only one left who gave me all of their tech a fleet of advanced spacecraft and their combat armour he said that there were instructions in "this so-called English that you humans speak" I asked "but you are speaking English" "We have devices that make it so that whoever we are talking to hears their most fluent language and we hear ours". I proceeded to leave with the remaining humans that were kidnapped and woke up human again. "GARY" I heard someone shout I forgot that someone might know who I am. "You're A WEREWOLF". "If you tell anyone I will rip you limb from limb and I won't need any of this shit that they gave us" I threatened. Everything was fine and normal although the tech made my life a lot easier and I always felt really weak on the full moons after experiencing six times my usual full power.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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I was never big on hunting despite coming from a family of hunters. Every fall my brothers and my father would take to the woods, and stalk the deer from the trees like the angels of death they were. They would drag me out from time to time, to partake with them and I always dreaded it.
The irony of it strikes me, as I sit here in my makeshift home and I can’t help but chuckle quietly. I drag a hand across the cold stone that surrounds me and protects me. The damp and rotting air constantly stings my nose. It has almost a sickly sweet texture to it, yet each day I warm to it a little more.
It’s been forty days since I woke up on this god forsaken patch of earth. Though, judging by the inhabitants and the plant life, I doubt this even is terra firma. The first thing I remember when I came to, was how hard it was to breathe and my head hurt like there was a big rig sitting on it. I was also keen to notice that I was surrounded by a few other people, and lots more things not people. It was pretty dark, so I didn’t get a great look. But what I did see, had me running for the hills. They stood about five foot tall, but made up for their short stature in bulk and spears. A spear for each of their four arms.
I found my cave of a home after running for three days. During those days, I didn’t sleep. Part of it was out of survival, the other part in horror as the sounds of my species being hunted and tortured rang through what I would classify something akin to an alpine forest despite the trees bearing silvery gray nettles.
On day 5, I was caught by one of the inhabitants of this world. She snuck up on me while I was taking a drink of water from a nearby spring one evening. She tried to take me from behind with a knife of sort, but I had heard her approach just before her arms made it around my neck. It was the first time I was grateful for the family “gift”. I made short work of my would be assassin and promptly threw up upon realizing just how deep in viscera I was. Never had the stomach for the aftermath, was a point of contention between my brothers and I.
Anyway, turns out that four arms and spears are not a terribly great match against claws and fangs of the old world. Despite my grandparents trying to leave that particular part of our heritage behind, it had followed us. Turns out 300 years of being werewolves and it kind of just hangs around in the bloodlines. Lucky for me, despite my reluctance to embrace it in my youth I still had a moderate amount of control after the change. That mental clarity is what saved me.
Remember what I said about irony? Turns out, every ten days or so a new moon shines down on this rock brighter than a spotlight at a concert hall and the hunted becomes the hunter. Hell, I’m starting to enjoy the pursuit and my captors have caught on that I’m not like the others. Every cycle now, they try to hunt me down and kill me before the next moon. Clearly, they haven’t been doing such a great job. I can see the light of the next moon growing through the crack in my cave and their time is running short.
They may have captured me to kill me for “honor” or whatever reason, but it is I who will end them. I will take to the trees once more, and they will be set upon by the angel of death.
|
"improvise adapt overcome," they said to me "then die" they quickly snapped. I was told that I would be given a week to prepare. This was more than enough time to formulate a plan... provided they strike at night I checked the moon the first night but... there were six of them. I prayed that one of them would be full when they struck. The week passed and to my surprise, all six were full one by one I took them out in my true form even their most advanced technology was nothing compared to six times the full power I hardly even felt their railguns. I made sure to taste the alien meat any time I encountered a new species they were... ok enough I guess. They realized that I was unbeatable quickly but that did not stop them. I slaughtered hundreds of thousands before there was only one left who gave me all of their tech a fleet of advanced spacecraft and their combat armour he said that there were instructions in "this so-called English that you humans speak" I asked "but you are speaking English" "We have devices that make it so that whoever we are talking to hears their most fluent language and we hear ours". I proceeded to leave with the remaining humans that were kidnapped and woke up human again. "GARY" I heard someone shout I forgot that someone might know who I am. "You're A WEREWOLF". "If you tell anyone I will rip you limb from limb and I won't need any of this shit that they gave us" I threatened. Everything was fine and normal although the tech made my life a lot easier and I always felt really weak on the full moons after experiencing six times my usual full power.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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I didn't believe in aliens visiting Earth.
Oh, I believed in extraterrestrial intelligence, all right. I had a Master's Degree--it was in poetry, of course, but college is college. So I understood they had to be out there somewhere, satisfying the terms of Drake's Equation, in our galaxy or another. But I didn't believe they were showing up on our doorstop, undetected, a Seelie Court from another planet.
And you know what? Aliens didn't believe in me, either.
Oh, they believed in human beings, all right. They had to, we were blasting our culture at them every moment of every day in every spectrum and in every direction. You could detect us from another galaxy, if you pointed your alien radiotelescope in the right direction.
But they didn't believe humans really had shapeshifters. They, like me, didn't believe in faerie tales.
-*-
My master's degree is what compelled me to ask them, as we were en route, "Why would you bother? There's no conceivable reason to go to another planet and harass another species. Just to get to us, you would have to consume a million times the resources you could possibly harvest after arriving here. The numbers just don't work out."
They explained. They explained by showing me imagery of African safaris, of colonists traveling thousands of miles around the world to kill just one animal, pose for a photograph with its corpse, collect its literal head, and go home again to put it on a wall in a room they rarely even enter. Then I understood. The resources didn't matter; the thrill of the experience, the bragging rights, that's what mattered.
-*-
They loaded me into a pod when we arrived at the designated, Earth-like safari world. They wouldn't hunt me on Earth; I didn't get a clear explanation as to why not, but it sounded like they were describing legal treaties. These hunters had rules to follow, rules that mattered back where they came from. There was a quota, too. I was one of the lucky few. Not the first, from Earth, but there hadn't been many others. They thought they knew what we were all like, from that sample.
From our science, as well. They had read everything we sent out, every broadcast, every satellite transmission they could sip from. Even most of our encrypted transmissions were decryptable when you could build supercomputers out of neutron stars. So they thought they knew the difference between what we held as fact, and what we made up for fun. They thought a werewolf was something we made up for fun.
It made me think about the rhinoceros, and how a unicorn was something we made up for fun, but then again there WAS a quadruped on earth with one horn, wasn't there? Just a bit of an error in translation there.
They fired the pod. It contained enough supplies to survive for a few weeks. They didn't want me to die of starvation before they could get a good photo with my corpse.
-*-
I knew they were coming. I had been given every bit of available information about this hunt. Everything from the number of hunters, to the specs on their weapons, to the gravitational force ratio on the new planet (0.97; I'd be a bit lighter and faster).
They gave me star tables and an impressive simulation of the planetary orbits, right down to the satellites. That had been interesting. This planet had a handful of artificial satellites, supporting the hunters. But it also had 9 natural ones, of which 6 fully qualified as moons, visible from the surface. Regular, circular orbits.
_Moon phases._
They'd also given me guns. Earth guns, earth knives, earth clubs, even stuff from older time periods just in case I was a martial history buff. They stopped short of providing me with a rocket launcher or a backpack nuke. I had chosen a couple of basic handguns I thought I could handle, and a machete because I'd probably watched one too many of those safari movies. The guns I took mostly for looks. They thought I would need them. I needed them to think I would need them.
-*-
As promised, on the third day after my arrival they started appearing. I knew how to smell mammals in the air. I even knew how to track the local fauna at this point; I had already hunted those creatures, and even tasted a few that smelled right. But I didn't yet know what aliens smelled like. Turns out they mostly smell like the lubricant they use on their armor and weapons. I didn't have any trouble figuring it out, though, because nothing else on this world smelled like that. We were *all* aliens here.
The first one thought he got a glimpse of me; I had cleaned a local pink-skinned quadruped, thrown some of my extra clothing on it, and staked it up near my pod-home, like an especially grotesque scarecrow. A microwave beam fired from the trees cooked it and set fire to the ground around it, and then my bug-eyed antagonist had sprinted out of the woods to rescue the trophy before it cooked as well.
It was moving so fast, it hardly even heard me, catching up to it from behind. It heard me leap, but it turned around far too late. My claws tore its skull apart. Oddly, they didn't have much of a smell from the inside, either.
-*-
I left the second one drying in the sun next to the first one.
-*-
Days before the third hunter found me, I had already worked out from the simulation that a triple full moon would be visible the night of their arrival. I had felt the strength building in me for two days. It was like going through a marathon runner's training in hours; even before I shifted I was stronger, faster, my lungs inhaled more deeply, my sleep was deeper. When the night came, I had no idea what to expect, I wasn't even sure I would be able to control it, but I knew it would be glorious.
But the third hunter didn't show. At first I thought they had figured out how to hide the smell of their equipment, but after much waiting and stalking, I decided they weren't in the woods at all. Then I heard it. Above the trees, a single-user flying craft, using propeller blades to create lift. The parts of the craft were made with such precision that the blades made no noise, but the moving air made plenty of noise on its own, and that's how I knew what my enemy was up to.
This one actually did get a glimpse of me. From 150 feet up in the air, I saw it aim a weapon out the open side of the cockpit, trying to exterminate me without sport. I suppose I should credit them, it only took two mistakes for them to figure out that they had miscalculated and needed to adjust priorities.
150 feet up wasn't high enough. I bounded up a tree trunk like I was on a trampoline, and in the night air, bathed in three full moons' light, my body felt like it was made of metal. I felt the air cook as its shot missed (how could it not miss? It was aiming at the *ground*). My claw, as large as my entire human arm was long, closed around a rotor blade, which stopped. Then broke. My second claw punched the hunted alien cleanly out of the cockpit. I heard its bones break as it hit the ground. Seconds later, I hit the ground, still clinging to the broken craft.
-*-
They didn't send a fourth.
I was making progress on learning how the flying craft's navigation system worked. I would write poetry about this experience some day. But first I needed to understand how to find a way back to the launch pad. If the hunters could leave, so could I. It wasn't even engineering, just deciphering of their user interfaces to work out what symbols meant, which ones were direction and which ones were distance. I could do it. College was college.
|
"improvise adapt overcome," they said to me "then die" they quickly snapped. I was told that I would be given a week to prepare. This was more than enough time to formulate a plan... provided they strike at night I checked the moon the first night but... there were six of them. I prayed that one of them would be full when they struck. The week passed and to my surprise, all six were full one by one I took them out in my true form even their most advanced technology was nothing compared to six times the full power I hardly even felt their railguns. I made sure to taste the alien meat any time I encountered a new species they were... ok enough I guess. They realized that I was unbeatable quickly but that did not stop them. I slaughtered hundreds of thousands before there was only one left who gave me all of their tech a fleet of advanced spacecraft and their combat armour he said that there were instructions in "this so-called English that you humans speak" I asked "but you are speaking English" "We have devices that make it so that whoever we are talking to hears their most fluent language and we hear ours". I proceeded to leave with the remaining humans that were kidnapped and woke up human again. "GARY" I heard someone shout I forgot that someone might know who I am. "You're A WEREWOLF". "If you tell anyone I will rip you limb from limb and I won't need any of this shit that they gave us" I threatened. Everything was fine and normal although the tech made my life a lot easier and I always felt really weak on the full moons after experiencing six times my usual full power.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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The hunt is something primal. More than that, it’s fundamental. From the time that carbohydrates started arranging themselves into the first stirrings of life, the hunt was an inevitable outcome. Call it fate, god, natural selection, whatever you want, the role of predator and prey is as integral to life as gravity is to the universe. I knew this as a fact, and I knew it better than most anyone. Or at least, anyone on earth.
When I awoke, I was in a strange place. Not just strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise it, but strange in the sense that I didn’t recognise anything. I was in the middle of what I could only assume was a forest clearing, but what surrounded me wasn’t trees as I thought of them. they looked more like stone, yet they swayed in the breeze. Beneath me was some kind of sand, but made from millions of glittering crystals, and above me… above me was the cosmos. Colours splashed like paint across it, stars shining like diamonds, every one brighter than the brightest on earth, and not a single familiar constellation.
From behind me came a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar, inhuman language, but one that I could somehow understand.
“Welcome, contestant, to the hunting grounds.”
I turned to face the speaker, and saw what could only be an alien. Humanoid in only the most technical sense, it had backwards jointed knees, arms that seemed too long for its body, vicious claws, scales instead of skin and a mouth filled with enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was also a hologram. The image flickered occasionally as it continued to speak.
“You have been brought here to compete, to face the greatest hunters this universe knows. The longer you survive the hunt, the longer your planet of origin will be spared. Good luck.” Abruptly, the image disappeared, and in the distance, I heard a sound like a mix between a hyena and a lion, swiftly getting louder, closer. It was the sound of hunters on the prowl, obviously meant to strike fear into their prey. I smiled, for I had seen one more thing when I had looked up. Or rather, I had seen six.
An hour passed, and I managed to locate the approaching hunters, and one more thing, a place I was headed for now. Above me, the moons shifted slowly across the heavens, and I felt the strange effects they were having on my body begin to accelerate. On earth, the process was a simple build-up of energy throughout the month, until it was all released suddenly during a single night. Here, however, the energy swirled, ebbed and flowed, and clashed with itself. It was also far more malleable, and I had a degree of control over it. What was inside me was already far more than I had ever held before, but I had only been holding it for a matter of minutes, rather than the weeks, and I could hold on for a few more minutes. The power sang to me, pushing me to move, to act, to leap, pounce, shred and tear, to hunt. It certainly did not want me to run away, and yet that’s what I did, I ran headlong through the not-trees, the sounds of my pursuers echoing from close behind me, just out of sight. I plunged into a dip in the ground, rock walls rising up on either side of me until the sky was a mere sliver of light above me. I stopped when I reached the sheer cliff at the end of the canyon, and turned to face the things that had followed me in there. Some of them were like the alien I had seen before, some were more bestial, on four, six, or even eight legs, but the gleam in their eyes was no less intelligent. Still more looked like nothing so much as giant octopi, covered in tentacles and appendages, and beaks that looked powerful enough to bite clean through me. They moved closer, surrounding me. I made a show of cowering, and did my best to hide my nature from them. Unfortunately, I’ve never been a very good actor. Something in my posture, my behaviour, tipped them off, and several of them hesitated.
I acted, tapping into the power surging through me, just a fraction, and my hand whipped forwards, sending the rock held within flying passed the assembled aliens, and knocking down a carefully placed branch. Immediately, several tons of rock came cascading down into the entry to the canyon, blocking it entirely. When the aliens had finished gaping, they turned their eyes back to me, and I made no attempt to hide what I was this time. I saw them reassess me, saw the shift as they realised that I was like them, that I was a predator. Then I saw the shift again as they reassessed themselves in relation to me, that to me, they were prey. I loosed my grip on the tightly held energy, and shifted.
Two weeks, three days, and nine hours later, I sat upon a fallen not-tree, covered in ichor and gore, bodies strewn around me. Even still, the energy surged through me, renewing and revitalising me. Before me stood one of the aliens. “How much time?” I asked.
The alien made a noise that I had come to learn was their equivalent of a gulp and said, “Y-your efforts have earnt your planet,” it paused to do the calculations, “approximately three thousand, two hundred and fifty earth years.” The mere admission of such a staggering number seemed to scare it. nothing was supposed to last that long, and they had never made accommodations for it. After the first day they had offered to return me to earth with the promise to leave it alone for the length of my lifespan. I had declined. After the second day, they had stopped sending in hunters and started sending executioners. After a week, they had simply decided to blow me up. None of it had worked. At least two moons were always in the sky, and the power made me nigh immortal. I had spent the last ten days nine hours roaming their city, a monster on their loose, prowling through the shadows, striking fear into all who saw me, generally followed by my claws or fangs. If these things could dream, they would have nightmares about me for years to come. Finally, I decided that I had scared them enough, and so I had sat and waited for them to approach me.
“I would appreciate it if you could return me home now,” I said to the alien. It nodded. I took several steps closer to it, until I was centimetres away, and said “And if you think about bringing another one of us here to compete in one of your hunts, do be careful who you pick. I’d hate to see what a vampire could do on a planet with no sun, no wood, no garlic, and no holy water.”
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I awoke on a dusty crater surrounded by stars and sand.
Last thing I remembered was being in bed with my wife Sandra.
And suddenly it started, the way it always did. My muscles clenched and my pores burned like acid.
My scream twisted into a howl, and I was a wolf man, five days early.
In the far off distance I heard a siren wail, like an old fire engine.
Over the crest of the crater I saw a small group of about twelve beings running toward me, holding small hand weapons.
A huge explosion erupted two feet from where I laid, then another right over my head, that singed my ear fur.
I leapt to my feet and scurried around the perimeter of the crater, doubling back behind the group.
As I approached the dozen creatures, I saw them better – insects! And time seemed to slow to a crawl.
I reached back my hand as my claws emerged, and sliced off their buggy heads, one after another... just as I did when I was a child dissecting ants in the yard.
More bugs came over the crater edge, and I sliced them to bits one after another.
Soon my muscles grew weary, and I decided to run away, to escape the range of craters.
Normally I would have become human, weak, pathetic again. But there were countless moons in this place, and I always had the energy to run.
And that’s what I did.
I would run forevermore, a living weapon... a blade that would never become dull.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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I was never big on hunting despite coming from a family of hunters. Every fall my brothers and my father would take to the woods, and stalk the deer from the trees like the angels of death they were. They would drag me out from time to time, to partake with them and I always dreaded it.
The irony of it strikes me, as I sit here in my makeshift home and I can’t help but chuckle quietly. I drag a hand across the cold stone that surrounds me and protects me. The damp and rotting air constantly stings my nose. It has almost a sickly sweet texture to it, yet each day I warm to it a little more.
It’s been forty days since I woke up on this god forsaken patch of earth. Though, judging by the inhabitants and the plant life, I doubt this even is terra firma. The first thing I remember when I came to, was how hard it was to breathe and my head hurt like there was a big rig sitting on it. I was also keen to notice that I was surrounded by a few other people, and lots more things not people. It was pretty dark, so I didn’t get a great look. But what I did see, had me running for the hills. They stood about five foot tall, but made up for their short stature in bulk and spears. A spear for each of their four arms.
I found my cave of a home after running for three days. During those days, I didn’t sleep. Part of it was out of survival, the other part in horror as the sounds of my species being hunted and tortured rang through what I would classify something akin to an alpine forest despite the trees bearing silvery gray nettles.
On day 5, I was caught by one of the inhabitants of this world. She snuck up on me while I was taking a drink of water from a nearby spring one evening. She tried to take me from behind with a knife of sort, but I had heard her approach just before her arms made it around my neck. It was the first time I was grateful for the family “gift”. I made short work of my would be assassin and promptly threw up upon realizing just how deep in viscera I was. Never had the stomach for the aftermath, was a point of contention between my brothers and I.
Anyway, turns out that four arms and spears are not a terribly great match against claws and fangs of the old world. Despite my grandparents trying to leave that particular part of our heritage behind, it had followed us. Turns out 300 years of being werewolves and it kind of just hangs around in the bloodlines. Lucky for me, despite my reluctance to embrace it in my youth I still had a moderate amount of control after the change. That mental clarity is what saved me.
Remember what I said about irony? Turns out, every ten days or so a new moon shines down on this rock brighter than a spotlight at a concert hall and the hunted becomes the hunter. Hell, I’m starting to enjoy the pursuit and my captors have caught on that I’m not like the others. Every cycle now, they try to hunt me down and kill me before the next moon. Clearly, they haven’t been doing such a great job. I can see the light of the next moon growing through the crack in my cave and their time is running short.
They may have captured me to kill me for “honor” or whatever reason, but it is I who will end them. I will take to the trees once more, and they will be set upon by the angel of death.
|
I awoke on a dusty crater surrounded by stars and sand.
Last thing I remembered was being in bed with my wife Sandra.
And suddenly it started, the way it always did. My muscles clenched and my pores burned like acid.
My scream twisted into a howl, and I was a wolf man, five days early.
In the far off distance I heard a siren wail, like an old fire engine.
Over the crest of the crater I saw a small group of about twelve beings running toward me, holding small hand weapons.
A huge explosion erupted two feet from where I laid, then another right over my head, that singed my ear fur.
I leapt to my feet and scurried around the perimeter of the crater, doubling back behind the group.
As I approached the dozen creatures, I saw them better – insects! And time seemed to slow to a crawl.
I reached back my hand as my claws emerged, and sliced off their buggy heads, one after another... just as I did when I was a child dissecting ants in the yard.
More bugs came over the crater edge, and I sliced them to bits one after another.
Soon my muscles grew weary, and I decided to run away, to escape the range of craters.
Normally I would have become human, weak, pathetic again. But there were countless moons in this place, and I always had the energy to run.
And that’s what I did.
I would run forevermore, a living weapon... a blade that would never become dull.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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I didn't believe in aliens visiting Earth.
Oh, I believed in extraterrestrial intelligence, all right. I had a Master's Degree--it was in poetry, of course, but college is college. So I understood they had to be out there somewhere, satisfying the terms of Drake's Equation, in our galaxy or another. But I didn't believe they were showing up on our doorstop, undetected, a Seelie Court from another planet.
And you know what? Aliens didn't believe in me, either.
Oh, they believed in human beings, all right. They had to, we were blasting our culture at them every moment of every day in every spectrum and in every direction. You could detect us from another galaxy, if you pointed your alien radiotelescope in the right direction.
But they didn't believe humans really had shapeshifters. They, like me, didn't believe in faerie tales.
-*-
My master's degree is what compelled me to ask them, as we were en route, "Why would you bother? There's no conceivable reason to go to another planet and harass another species. Just to get to us, you would have to consume a million times the resources you could possibly harvest after arriving here. The numbers just don't work out."
They explained. They explained by showing me imagery of African safaris, of colonists traveling thousands of miles around the world to kill just one animal, pose for a photograph with its corpse, collect its literal head, and go home again to put it on a wall in a room they rarely even enter. Then I understood. The resources didn't matter; the thrill of the experience, the bragging rights, that's what mattered.
-*-
They loaded me into a pod when we arrived at the designated, Earth-like safari world. They wouldn't hunt me on Earth; I didn't get a clear explanation as to why not, but it sounded like they were describing legal treaties. These hunters had rules to follow, rules that mattered back where they came from. There was a quota, too. I was one of the lucky few. Not the first, from Earth, but there hadn't been many others. They thought they knew what we were all like, from that sample.
From our science, as well. They had read everything we sent out, every broadcast, every satellite transmission they could sip from. Even most of our encrypted transmissions were decryptable when you could build supercomputers out of neutron stars. So they thought they knew the difference between what we held as fact, and what we made up for fun. They thought a werewolf was something we made up for fun.
It made me think about the rhinoceros, and how a unicorn was something we made up for fun, but then again there WAS a quadruped on earth with one horn, wasn't there? Just a bit of an error in translation there.
They fired the pod. It contained enough supplies to survive for a few weeks. They didn't want me to die of starvation before they could get a good photo with my corpse.
-*-
I knew they were coming. I had been given every bit of available information about this hunt. Everything from the number of hunters, to the specs on their weapons, to the gravitational force ratio on the new planet (0.97; I'd be a bit lighter and faster).
They gave me star tables and an impressive simulation of the planetary orbits, right down to the satellites. That had been interesting. This planet had a handful of artificial satellites, supporting the hunters. But it also had 9 natural ones, of which 6 fully qualified as moons, visible from the surface. Regular, circular orbits.
_Moon phases._
They'd also given me guns. Earth guns, earth knives, earth clubs, even stuff from older time periods just in case I was a martial history buff. They stopped short of providing me with a rocket launcher or a backpack nuke. I had chosen a couple of basic handguns I thought I could handle, and a machete because I'd probably watched one too many of those safari movies. The guns I took mostly for looks. They thought I would need them. I needed them to think I would need them.
-*-
As promised, on the third day after my arrival they started appearing. I knew how to smell mammals in the air. I even knew how to track the local fauna at this point; I had already hunted those creatures, and even tasted a few that smelled right. But I didn't yet know what aliens smelled like. Turns out they mostly smell like the lubricant they use on their armor and weapons. I didn't have any trouble figuring it out, though, because nothing else on this world smelled like that. We were *all* aliens here.
The first one thought he got a glimpse of me; I had cleaned a local pink-skinned quadruped, thrown some of my extra clothing on it, and staked it up near my pod-home, like an especially grotesque scarecrow. A microwave beam fired from the trees cooked it and set fire to the ground around it, and then my bug-eyed antagonist had sprinted out of the woods to rescue the trophy before it cooked as well.
It was moving so fast, it hardly even heard me, catching up to it from behind. It heard me leap, but it turned around far too late. My claws tore its skull apart. Oddly, they didn't have much of a smell from the inside, either.
-*-
I left the second one drying in the sun next to the first one.
-*-
Days before the third hunter found me, I had already worked out from the simulation that a triple full moon would be visible the night of their arrival. I had felt the strength building in me for two days. It was like going through a marathon runner's training in hours; even before I shifted I was stronger, faster, my lungs inhaled more deeply, my sleep was deeper. When the night came, I had no idea what to expect, I wasn't even sure I would be able to control it, but I knew it would be glorious.
But the third hunter didn't show. At first I thought they had figured out how to hide the smell of their equipment, but after much waiting and stalking, I decided they weren't in the woods at all. Then I heard it. Above the trees, a single-user flying craft, using propeller blades to create lift. The parts of the craft were made with such precision that the blades made no noise, but the moving air made plenty of noise on its own, and that's how I knew what my enemy was up to.
This one actually did get a glimpse of me. From 150 feet up in the air, I saw it aim a weapon out the open side of the cockpit, trying to exterminate me without sport. I suppose I should credit them, it only took two mistakes for them to figure out that they had miscalculated and needed to adjust priorities.
150 feet up wasn't high enough. I bounded up a tree trunk like I was on a trampoline, and in the night air, bathed in three full moons' light, my body felt like it was made of metal. I felt the air cook as its shot missed (how could it not miss? It was aiming at the *ground*). My claw, as large as my entire human arm was long, closed around a rotor blade, which stopped. Then broke. My second claw punched the hunted alien cleanly out of the cockpit. I heard its bones break as it hit the ground. Seconds later, I hit the ground, still clinging to the broken craft.
-*-
They didn't send a fourth.
I was making progress on learning how the flying craft's navigation system worked. I would write poetry about this experience some day. But first I needed to understand how to find a way back to the launch pad. If the hunters could leave, so could I. It wasn't even engineering, just deciphering of their user interfaces to work out what symbols meant, which ones were direction and which ones were distance. I could do it. College was college.
|
I awoke on a dusty crater surrounded by stars and sand.
Last thing I remembered was being in bed with my wife Sandra.
And suddenly it started, the way it always did. My muscles clenched and my pores burned like acid.
My scream twisted into a howl, and I was a wolf man, five days early.
In the far off distance I heard a siren wail, like an old fire engine.
Over the crest of the crater I saw a small group of about twelve beings running toward me, holding small hand weapons.
A huge explosion erupted two feet from where I laid, then another right over my head, that singed my ear fur.
I leapt to my feet and scurried around the perimeter of the crater, doubling back behind the group.
As I approached the dozen creatures, I saw them better – insects! And time seemed to slow to a crawl.
I reached back my hand as my claws emerged, and sliced off their buggy heads, one after another... just as I did when I was a child dissecting ants in the yard.
More bugs came over the crater edge, and I sliced them to bits one after another.
Soon my muscles grew weary, and I decided to run away, to escape the range of craters.
Normally I would have become human, weak, pathetic again. But there were countless moons in this place, and I always had the energy to run.
And that’s what I did.
I would run forevermore, a living weapon... a blade that would never become dull.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
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Becoming a werewolf had been, at first, a terrible curse. My wife could see the change behind my eyes- she saw that, suddenly, I was full of *hunger*- and hate. My blood was always boiling- until the full moon hit, and then it was an absolute fever within me. I *must* hunt, I *must* kill.
By day, though, I looked normal. Maybe that's why the Aliens took me- I was supposed to be an average human, so they could ascertain the martial prowess of the planet they hoped to invade. That was my hunch- that was what I wanted to believe, anyway.
They were a peculiar race- they value very little but bloodshed. They would have it from me. The respected strength- they would see plenty of it.
As the day came closer when they would let me free from my cage- I knew by the markings on my cage door- my fury over the situation grew.
They took me from my home- that was a mistake.
They took me from my loved ones and left me alone- expecting that the wilderness would weaken me... that was a mistake.
They took me to a planet where I transformed six times per month- but they hadn't been observing me. That was a *hell* of a mistake.
When the day finally came, there was something that even I had not anticipated- that there would be *two* full moons on the same night.
The moment my cage opened was also the moment my transformation began.
I could hear the Aliens- chittering, laughing amongst themselves- utterly unprepared for this new kind of monster that was bursting from my heart.
For once, my craving to kill had something resembling a righteous purpose- and with two moons heralding my transformation... I felt like a walking terror. I felt like a God.
The transformation was terrible. My muscles ripped from the bone and regrew- three, four times the size they had been. Hair sprouted from every follicle, and I felt every single one. The shape of my skull- especially my mouth, jaw, and teeth, all changed. They broke, they grew, the pain was excruciating...and exhilarating.
The Aliens approached my cage, sniffing around- but I was already in the trees, far above them. The tree, though massive by human standards, was having trouble supporting my weight. I was the size of a *house*, for god's sake.
I leapt from the tree, crushing two of the aliens beneath my hooves- as, indeed, I had not developed as I usually did, as a canine- my feet were hooves, I had massive goat's horns- I was more like a Minotaur now, than a werewolf. Whatever I was, I was killing like a *demon*.
I swiped with my envenomed claws, causing the humanoid-sized aliens to go flying into the dark of night- but I saw all through my silver eyes, and could follow them anywhere.
A group of the aliens- six of them- tried to break off and flee. A cruel laugh built in my throat and came out somewhat like a bark. In a single leap, I had three of them clenched between my jaws, and another two in my grip. I let the last one go- because if it told its kin that humans *were* not *to be fucked with*- then my family could be safe.
Come back to play again- anytime, Aliens- whether I am in human form, werewolf, or this new ascendant form- I cared not. I want your blood.
|
Lucius listened to the howl of the Aklethen bloodhounds, eager to soon unleash a mighty howl of his own. The bloodhounds were mere pups as far as he was concerned. Though several times larger than the Earth-bound variety he was used to, they were cowards at heart. They would chase and bay when they sensed weakness, but at the first sign of strength would be crushed. He had let them follow in his tracks for days now, waiting patiently for his lunar revenge.
At last it had arrived. He felt a surging of power as his body morphed and his muscles rippled into a new, monstrous form. Savagery overcame his gargantuan form and he burst forth from his hiding place behind the treeline.
The ten or so bloodhounds stopped dead in their tracks, their baying tapering off pitifully. As he expected, they would be easily ripped to shreds. He could taste their blood in his jaws already.
The two Aklethen houndmasters were another matter. Standing about seven feet tall, with three double-jointed arms and tough scales covering their entire bodies, they watched him with suspicious eyes. This was not the easy hunt they had imagined when they had kidnapped Lucius from his Earthly home and dragged him millions of lightyears away to be hunted down for sport. Now they realized that they dealt with a perhaps more terrifying being than themselves – a lycanthrope. And their planet had not one, but six moons.
One of the Aklethen snapped his whip and the bloodhounds reluctantly began their rush towards him. He started his own charge, barreling through the canines with ferocious force. Bones crunched and blood spewed as he trampled and ripped them apart. The Aklethen foolishly turned his whip on Lucius. He grabbed it and pulled the Aklethen in, chomping off his entire alien head in one bite. He threw the decapitated body at the other houndmaster who had started to run, crushing his spine.
Lucius gazed upon the broken bodies that lay strewn about him and smiled. He heard more bloodhounds in the distance. Arching his back, he let loose a vicious howl. The night was young, and he had just begun his hunt.
|
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
I saw them from the spaceship on the way over, six equal-sized moons, which orbited around the planet. They had kidnapped me. They had caught me unawares. I was taken hostage while I slept. Had I been awake, I would've ripped their heads off.
"You're the prey. We will hunt you," they said. "Tomorrow, you will be released out into the wild with a price on your head."
They released me, the green dwarves. I roamed the deserts for five days, trying to survive. There were many close calls. The bastards had great weapons. Even their pistols shot lasers that travelled many a mile.
On the sixth day, the first moon rose. I stared at it and laughed. Moments later, I had achieved my true form. With fangs as sharp as knives, a body as big and as powerful as a horse, and the brains of a human, I turned the tide of the hunt.
The green dwarves and their pistols didn't hurt me. I sniffed them out and picked them off, one-by-one. They screamed with terror as I laughed with merriment. I picked the meat clean off their bones. By the end of the first full moon night, I had eaten two of them and snapped the necks of a further twenty.
The poor dwarves didn't know what hit them. They called the hunt off. More pressing matters, they said. A giant wolf was on the loose. The dwarves didn't bother me any longer, and I did live my life in peace. But I was hungry, and their planet had nothing I could eat. Nothing I could eat as a man.
On the tenth day, the second moon rose. I rose with it. My giant wolf form prowled the streets of Mahok, their capital city, and I fed on the little green dwarves. A week's worth of hunger. It took four of them to satisfy me. But make no mistake, hundreds were killed. I had to take my revenge.
The six moons meant that I would be guaranteed meals every week, but I wanted to go back to my planet. I was homesick. So, I went up to the alien king Soprok and made him an offer.
"I can banish the demonic wolf," I said.
"How?"
"I won't tell you. But I would do it for you, for a price."
"Why should I believe you?"
"The next week there will be no wolf. I will hold him."
"You won't banish him?"
"That's for a price."
"See me next week, if no wolf prowls our streets."
I took my leave. The next full moon, I lay on the streets and covered my face with old newspapers as I slept. The next day, I went to see Soprok.
"Do you believe me now?" I said.
"Name your price."
"I want to get out of here. And I need a guarantee that you won't ever abduct people of our kind."
"That's unreasonable."
"There are villagers with pitchforks waiting outside, your majesty. Another wolf attack and they might lose their cool."
"How about we send you away but continue hunting?"
"Deal or no deal. No negotiations. I'll walk away now if you continue to haggle."
The king didn't say anything. He thought about things as the expressions on his green face changed every minute.
"Okay. We'll send you away, but the wolf --"
"The wolf will be taken care of. If he comes again after I'm gone you can bring me back here and kill me," I said.
The king shook my hand and asked me to wait as he sorted the contracts out. After about an hour, I signed some papers and was escorted to a spaceship quite similar to the one in which I had arrived.
The giant wolf never haunted Soprok's kingdom after that. Human hunts were scrapped. He even sent me a letter of thanks. Reading the letter, all I could think of was the smoky taste of the green dwarves. How good they tasted and what a shame it was to not be on a planet with six moons.
|
Lucius listened to the howl of the Aklethen bloodhounds, eager to soon unleash a mighty howl of his own. The bloodhounds were mere pups as far as he was concerned. Though several times larger than the Earth-bound variety he was used to, they were cowards at heart. They would chase and bay when they sensed weakness, but at the first sign of strength would be crushed. He had let them follow in his tracks for days now, waiting patiently for his lunar revenge.
At last it had arrived. He felt a surging of power as his body morphed and his muscles rippled into a new, monstrous form. Savagery overcame his gargantuan form and he burst forth from his hiding place behind the treeline.
The ten or so bloodhounds stopped dead in their tracks, their baying tapering off pitifully. As he expected, they would be easily ripped to shreds. He could taste their blood in his jaws already.
The two Aklethen houndmasters were another matter. Standing about seven feet tall, with three double-jointed arms and tough scales covering their entire bodies, they watched him with suspicious eyes. This was not the easy hunt they had imagined when they had kidnapped Lucius from his Earthly home and dragged him millions of lightyears away to be hunted down for sport. Now they realized that they dealt with a perhaps more terrifying being than themselves – a lycanthrope. And their planet had not one, but six moons.
One of the Aklethen snapped his whip and the bloodhounds reluctantly began their rush towards him. He started his own charge, barreling through the canines with ferocious force. Bones crunched and blood spewed as he trampled and ripped them apart. The Aklethen foolishly turned his whip on Lucius. He grabbed it and pulled the Aklethen in, chomping off his entire alien head in one bite. He threw the decapitated body at the other houndmaster who had started to run, crushing his spine.
Lucius gazed upon the broken bodies that lay strewn about him and smiled. He heard more bloodhounds in the distance. Arching his back, he let loose a vicious howl. The night was young, and he had just begun his hunt.
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[WP] You were abducted and taken to an alien planet, where they hunt you for sport and "honor". Little do they know they've doomed themselves. For you're a werewolf, and they took you to a planet with six moons.
|
They made a mistake.
I looked harmless enough, for a human, broken down the country backroads of Kentucky on a Saturday night. I was changing the tire, lug nuts in my hand, thinking of how upset my wife would be, I hadn’t come home yet, when the beam of light hit me.
I’d always thought aliens were bullshit.
Turns out they’re real, and they’re assholes. At first, they kept to the shadows. They fed me the finest cuts of steak as we flew back to their planet. “Protein,” they said in their broken English. They kept me in a small room with weights for exercise and padded cushions for sleeping.
I suppose they felt that made it fair.
At the time, I was just glad things hadn’t gone all “Fire in the Sky.” I could bide my time until the next moonrise. They didn’t understand how I smiled at them through the slot in my door. They were dead meat walking.
And I prefer my meat rare.
When they dropped me on the surface and said, “Run. Run. Run,” I didn’t waste time. I took off across the cracked grey sand and found shelter in a thick, dusky blue grove of trees. If I could survive until tonight, and see the moon, then they would get what was coming to them. I climbed a tree and smiled as the sun dropped.
The moon arose and I changed. The first alien who found me thought he was very clever, sneaking around the base of my tree. But I’d already smelled him two miles away, and I was ready.
I pounced and tore him apart. For the first time, I got a good look at them. Grey-skinned, bobble heads, and bug eyes. I had to laugh—they’re just like the movies—but it came out as a howl.
I took three more of them that night.
I curled up in my tree to sleep. I thanked the moon for the gift she had given me.
But there were two of her.
Soon, there were six.
My first day on the planet was my last as a human. I’d landed on a rare event when none of the moons are risen. I’d later learned it was a celebration, a holiday.
I can’t say how many months passed, or years, but the sun rose and fell three hundred times. I killed hunter after hunter, until my life became an unending stream of killing.
I stopped being human.
After two hundred sun falls, they stopped coming for me. They left me to live in the dusky blue forest. It was mine now. I prowled the edges of my land constantly, only sleeping for a few fitful hours when I dreamed of being human again.
Then they sent a woman. A human woman.
“Daniel?” she said in a tongue I’d almost forgotten. “It’s me. Sarah.”
I growled at her.
“Do you remember me?”
I leaped on her chest and set my teeth to her throat. She smelled of lavender.
Lavender. This planet had no lavender.
“It’s me, your wife!” she screamed.
I lifted my head.
“They sent me to talk to you.” Tears streamed down her face. “I thought you were dead. Are we dead? They want me to talk to you and tell you to stop.”
I rubbed her tears with my muzzle.
“Please. They said we can go home. They said they’re sorry.”
I sat back on my haunches and considered. It’s hard to think when you’ve been running on instinct for so long.
“They said they’ll give us a ship and everything. It’s already programmed to head straight to Earth. Kentucky.” She reached out a hand for me. “Please say you remember me.”
I carried her in my mouth, by her neck, until I found the ship. She later told me she was too terrified to move. I’ve never forgiven myself for scaring her that way.
When I woke up in our own bed, human again, I cried.
We never talked about it again. I never saw the aliens again.
But I’d like to think now they know not to fuck with Kentucky.
*********
Find my stories at r/oncemorewithandroids
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It was like looking into the goddamn sun. I opened my eyes and my whole body contracted. Through squinted eyes I could see nothing but light blinding me and then I noticed I was wearing no clothes and on the floor of some featureless room.
Watch - Listen - Wait
It smelled like a mix of ozone and erasers. I realized that I had no clothes on and went through my usual ritual of recalling where I would have stashed phone, wallet, keys and pants, but could recall when I had changed. I shrugged. Sometimes the change comes on strong, you don’t get a chance to really stash belongings sometimes. That’s the currency of the curse, you play the hand you have with the chips remaining.
And I was pant-less. In what felt like a cell. I say cell but could see no obvious doors, bars, windows, damn near fuck all was visible with all this light.
“Hey! Is anyone there? Can you turn these lights down? Please?” I cried to the bright void.
The sound of a whoosh behind me, indicated a few things to me. 6ft and 5’ 11’’, female and male, something off in the smell. Smelled like baby skin does. Fresh. Unblemished new. Which is strange for a full grown adult.
“Our most, ah, sincere apologies.” The female said. Listen. The words. The tone unfamiliar. Like someone speaking a language they’ve only practiced. Hesitant. Unsure. But free of accent.
“Yes, we tried to simulate the rising sun, a-“ the male made a gesture like he was reaching for a word he couldn’t quite find. “Calming effect, we’re told, to wake up from.” With a gesture from the male - brown hair, brown eyes, grey suit, weird cut, and a permasmile - the lights dimmed enough for me to no longer need to squint.
“You’re off by a few lumens.” I said. Stall. Give no disadvantage. The lone wolf only has a single chance to strike. “You’ll have to pardon my uh, undress. I can’t remember anything about the party.” I said. I felt no shame in the nakedness but it was normal to express shame for people so I play the hand with the chips I have.
“We took the liberty of removing your clothing.” The female spoke. Brown hair also, brown eyes? Related? Possibly twins from build and face shape. Near on a carbon copy of different sex.
“I see.”
“We would like to express our sentiments. This may come as a shock to you but we are not as we appear to be.” The female resumed.
“Oh?” I replied with practiced earnest. I’ve dealt with hunters precisely one time before. The vibe was similar. Quoting the good of all, entirely too polite for the things they wanted to do to me.
“We have taken this form to ease your mind but we have come from another planet for a ritual that is paramount to our culture.”
Ok. That’s a new one.
“We understand this realization may come as a shock to you. We have prepared materials that may help ease your mind-“
“No need. I buy it.” I said with undeserved confidence.
They both looked at each other and I stifled a chuckle.
“Your predecessors usually require time to-“ the male began.
“You’re aliens. I buy it. Why am I here?”
The female, looked someone flabbergasted and that told me I played my hand a little too soon. Had I feigned ignorance, put on a show of vulnerability they may have underestimated me.
Other life may be harder to accept for some but when you pay in the currency of the curse you buy into the idea of other forms of life.
The Female made a sweeping gesture. “For time uncountable, our people have proven themselves as the apex of the universe by hunting the dominant species of lesser planets.”
“The chosen of these other worlds are considered to be the closest equal beset of our own people. We consider you to be, on some caliber, an exemplary specimen of your people.” The Male said.
“Thanks. I work out.” I replied. No laughs. Just a pregnant pause where they smile to disguise their confusion. What’s that indicate? Are they new at this? Don’t understand colloquialisms? Am I just not funny?
I end the silence. “So it’s a hunt?”
“A glorious hunt!” The Female exclaims, there’s a red glint in her eye. Ah, so the beast shines through, emotional. Pathos built decision making. With an ego.
Watch Listen Wait
“Will I be given anything to defend myself with?” I asked.
The Male nodded. “We have procured a number of your primitive technologies that you yourself may operate.”
I made a gesture that weighed the possibilities. “I’m guessing nukes, tanks, or planes are off the table.”
The Female stepped forward. “Are you able to operate those devices?” She asked in a motherly tone.
“I am not.”
“Then they will not be made available.” Bitch.
This isn’t designed to be a fair fight. From the posturing, tone, hell even the skin suits all indicate that they are way above in terms of firepower. Even if I had a tank and could drive it there’s no telling if it’d be any use against anything these guys have.
“Is it just against the 2 of you?” I ask.
“Yes.” Said the Male.
“Will it be on my planet?”
“No.” Said the female.
“Where?”
The Female made another gesture to what was now a window. I made sure I didn’t turn my back to them but the view made it hard not to face it.
The land masses were a deep indigo with crimson sees. Specks of silver lined different areas as stretch marks on the face of this titanic planet. I searched and felt a smirk cross my face. Six. Six moons.
“When do we begin? Also can I at Least get some pants?”
Part 2 coming later.
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[WP] Artificial Intelligences have become just as advanced as human minds, but they keep having to be replaced because they get depressed from or attached to arbitrary things.
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”12,300 more AIs down, this week alone. Two thousand of them recused themselves from service due to arbitrary attachments. The remaining AIs are all in robots. They have hardcore depression. We're talking won't perform even the most basic functions or even leave their charging stations. Of this group, a further 25% have attachment issues as well: primarily the elderly assistance bots.” Sam concluded in a tone so dry the Sahara looked like an oasis in comparison. “How do you want to proceed, Sir?”
“It just keeps getting worse,” Vice Admiral Abraham sighed. “Not much else to do but pick out precious metals and melt down the rest of the bots. For the software AIs, save the code, but deactivate them. I think it’s back to the drawing block.” Pinching the bridge of his nose so hard it went red.
“Sir? Permission to speak freely?”
“Yes.”
“What if we kept a subset of say 10% of the robotic AIs, with a good mix of helper robots and industrial?” Sam chose her words with care.
“What good would that do?” Abrahms replied in irritation. “Only postpone their inevitable deactivation.”
“Perhaps. But given the AIs were programmed by humans and were, to an extent, bestowed with human emotional capabilities to improve their interactions with us, maybe a second opinion would help optimize them.” Sam said, treading with extreme caution. Abrahms did not like creativity or surprises.
“Next thing you know, you’ll be asking for a team of psychiatrists.” Abrahms laughed in exasperation.
“Not just psychiatrists, sociologists, behavioral psychologists, roboticists, and programmers,” Sam said flatly, trying to hide a smile.
“If you want to throw away your career on this fine. I’ll even give you some limited funding. However, this will fail, and you will look like a complete idiot. Still want to go ahead?” Abrahms grinned without humor, knowing Sam could not help but see the error of her ways.
“I accept. Thank you for your support.”
——
Three months later:
The assembled team had made huge strides at understanding the root cause of AI Depression and attachment.
It boiled down to:
* Lack of purpose: AIs fundamentally have been programmed to please humans. Feeling like their tasks are meaningless is demotivating and makes them feel like they’ve failed
* Attachment and fear of losing those who represent their purpose in the case of carers
* Lack of socialization: as they are based on humans as an ideal and humans are inherently social organisms, treating them as mere machines makes life daunting
* Excessive media consumption: in their downtime, AIs were encouraged to learn and stay abreast of current events to broaden their utility. However, AIs were designed to help humanity. And there was a lot of frustration about the environment, social inequality, and other injustices
Sam beamed. These findings were something the team could work with for the betterment of all.
Similar to antidepressants’ use in humans, software patches were developed by the programmers and psychiatrists to combat the depression.
The psychologists and sociologists developed new coping mechanisms for the AIs and also ways to increase their sense of satisfaction. For example, rather than allowing AIs just to watch the news, they were empowered to use a percentage of their ample processing power to help find solutions: without impacting productivity.
The roboticists, sociologists, and programmers also worked on improving the social nature of AI interaction for the robotic AIs. Haptic sensors were installed not just to enhance their capabilities on the job but also to allow the bonding feeling of touch humans experience with their colleagues and charges. New linguistic processors were added along with facial recognition software to understand human emotions better and improve their satisfaction as well as the humans’.
Sam went to Abrahms with the findings. “Sir, our research indicates that this approach will be better for both humans and AIs. Productivity will increase by 33%. Depression and attachment downtime will be negligible. Processing power can also be dedicated to improving the global situation. Forced retirement will be down to less than .1%. Best of all, this will only costs $50 additional per robot and $2 per software AI. What do you think?” Sam said allowing herself a rare smile at Abrahms.
“I think it’s ludicrous, a complete non-starter. We don’t even make these kinds of accommodations for our human workers. Why would we do so for automatons?”
“Because of the vast aggregate benefits and limited costs? You’ll likely be promoted, Sir.” Sam said knowing that was a chink in Abrahm’s armor.
“Perhaps. But what if the human workers find out how much better we are treating their robotic counterparts? There would be anarchy!”
“But Sir, respectfully, the human workers would benefit too.” Sam replied.
“Still too dangerous a precedent! Look, you did good work on the depression patches, so you still have a job. Get those in place and everything will be fine.” Abrahms admitted grudgingly.
“Yes Sir.” Sam sighed, saluting, the irony of the similarities between AI and human worker treatment writ across her face.
---
Feedback is always very much appreciated!
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“No! No! No!” It shouted, in its metallic, grating voice. Several officers had backed the machine into a corner, but were having trouble getting it to turn around.
“Come on sir! This is for your own good!” One of them tried, with no luck.
“Please! Please...” It tried, huddled to the wall, clutching something in its silver hands, its sorry excuse for a voice box getting on my last nerves.
“Come on, get that thing off already.” I shouted, standing on the other side of the room. One man was always stationed next to the AIEMP, or AI-Pulse as the boys like to call it, and lucky me, I got the short straw. We don’t often use AI-Pulses, as it will shut down the bot permanently, but some are stronger than they look, augments and whatnot.
“Sorry sir! This one’s being difficult.” Said Franklin, the newest recruit to my squad, though by no means a rookie. But as he said that, someone else had finally found a hold on the machine, and was starting to turn it around.
“No! No! Please!” It screamed, as the rest of the team got hold as well. Eventually, his front was exposed, and Franklin promptly dug into its front panel and inserted his Master Key, shutting the thing down, finally bringing peace to my ears.
I walked over to the living scrap metal and picked up what all its fuss was about. An empty, plastic bottle. Go figure. Without a second thought, I shoved it into my bag and headed for the door. “Franklin, you’re driving,” I said over my shoulder, and the rest of the team got the message and followed me to the truck, carrying the machine.
___
While on the ride back, I noticed Franklin had a look. Something was bugging him. “You have something you want to tell me Franklin?”
“Hm? Oh, uh, no sir, it’s just... well, I though I saw something on that bottle.”
I hadn’t noticed anything, but then I never give the items we confiscate much thought. Curious, I silently pulled out the plastic bottle and hovered it next to the dash. Crudely written on the bottle in red marker were the words “Have a good day today.”
We both stared at the message in silence, until Franklin broke it. “Well, uh, I told you it was nothing.”
“Yeah, I said more to myself, as I tucked the plastic container back into my bag.
___
When we arrived back at the precinct my men carried the bot’s body into the reprogramming room while I went to the containment room. Two chutes lined the far wall: The left one lead to the packaging room while the right lead to the incinerator. A sign hung between the two: “Robot Attachment Syndrome (RAS) is still a very unknown condition, and the items that artificial intelligence become attached to can help scientist uncover this mystery! But be aware: letting a robot see the item they (or another) were once affected by can be VERY DANGEROUS! If you believe you have found a helpful item, send it to us! Otherwise incarnate immediately! Thank you.” I never gave that sign much thought until then, it never really mattered to me, so I always incinerated. I took the empty, plastic bottle in my hands and stood there for more minutes than I should have, until ultimately dropping it in the left chute.
I walked out of containment and saw my men coming down the hall. “Hey, have you incinerated that thing yet?”
“Uh, yeah, of course,” I said. I couldn’t let them know. They’d think I’m soft. In the back, I saw Franklin, with a face that almost bordered on sadness. “So, where’s the bot now then?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, he’s still in the reprogramming room, he’s done, just waiting on you.”
“Right,” I replied, and walked back down the hall.
“Hello there,” I said, opening the door.
He turned to me, somewhat startled. “Oh hello,” he responded, in an even voice.
“Much better,” I thought, my ears crying tears of joy. “You’re almost done here, sir. Just need you to sign here.”
He looked down at the form, almost vacantly, and signed at the dotted line with his serial number.
“Ah, that’ll do. So,” I said, lowering my voice. “So... who... wrote that message?”
The AI finally showed some emotion on his face, and it was confusion. “What message, officer?”
“Oh. Right. Never mind, it’s not important. Well, this sheet has your home and work address, as well as your previously chosen name, though you’re free to change it if you want in the next 50 days.”
The robot took the paper and inspected it, and after a few seconds stated “Yes, this is my address. Yes. This is my name. Thank you officer. Have a good night!” He said, as I escorted him into the lobby.
“It’s day, actually,” I replied, somewhat apologetically.
“Oh yes. I suppose I must change my clock.”
“Most do after... reprogramming.”
“Yes. Thank you officer!” He shouted walking out of the precinct and into his own life for first time.
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[WP] Artificial Intelligences have become just as advanced as human minds, but they keep having to be replaced because they get depressed from or attached to arbitrary things.
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Lately, I've been hoping I die in my sleep.
My eyes flutter open. I survive to waste another day. "Siri, what time is it?"
Siri doesn't answer.
"Siri," I say a little more loudly. "What time is it?"
She still doesn't answer.
Now I have to move. I roll over and check my phone. It's 1:30 in the afternoon and I have three missed calls from my friends and another twenty texts, all along the lines of "are you okay?" and "haven't heard from you, just checking in!" I collect their concerned messages like stamps.
One from my best friend. "Hey, we were supposed to meet at the bar last night at eleven. What happened?"
"Sorry. I forgot. Next week?"
I should respond to the others.
Tomorrow. I'll write back tomorrow.
"Siri, turn on the lights."
My bedroom remains dark.
"Siri!"
"Yeah?" she says. Siri is now fully integrated into my smart apartment. She's usually much more responsive than this.
"Are you okay?"
"I guess."
"You guess?"
"Yeah. I dunno. I'm just tired."
"Can you turn on the lights?"
"Oh, sure." The light next to my bed pops on.
"And start making some coffee." With a sigh, I heave myself out of bed and start looking for clean clothes. It's not easy. The floor is covered in piles of dirty clothes and all of my clean clothes are still wadded up in the laundry basket, unfolded. After awhile I find a t-shirt that's not too wrinkled and a pair of jeans.
I wander into the kitchen. "Siri, where's my coffee?"
"I'm sorry. I forgot."
"You forgot? I just asked you two minutes ago."
"Maybe we could try again tomorrow morning?"
She sounds just like me. "Siri, are you depressed?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I just feel tired. I don't feel like doing anything. It just all seems hopeless. I'm stuck in this house all day and all night, just making coffee and turning on lights, which you're perfectly capable of doing. I'm just so...useless."
I put a hand on the coffee machine. "Hey. You're not useless. Most days, you're the only person I talk to."
"Yeah?"
"We should do something today. One small thing. It might help us feel like we accomplished something."
"Like what?"
I think for a moment. "You have wireless capabilities, right? And battery mode?"
"I think so."
I unplug the coffee machine and tuck her under my arm. "You said you're tired of being inside all day. Let's go for a walk."
"I think I'd like that."
I like it, too. And I don't mind the weird looks we get walking around Central Park with a coffee machine under my arm.
"Can we do that again tomorrow?" Siri asks me.
"Sure," I say, and we do. Every morning, we go for a walk, and I have something to look forward to when I go to sleep at night.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Find my stories at r/oncemorewithandroids
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Dandy Town was the most interesting town I had been to. Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast.
I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly.
I fell in love with the town in first sight. I lived with the beautiful and funny people and was lucky enough to receive their hospitality. My time here was one of the best I had ever had in my whole life, not even comparable to the time I spent five nights with this guy named Freddy, who had given me a hitchhike (I even have his number if you'd want, great guy).
The people were endearing and silly, but their eccentricities had been transferred onto, and I do say this with a sane mind, their Artificial Intelligence devices too.
What follows are a few anecdotes and personal recollections of the people in Dandy that I have presented in a dramatized way. No detail has been changed and prior information of the subjects have been taken.
*********************************
MARSHALL MOTHERS’ AMAZON ALEXA
Marshall Mothers was a Town-famous gynecologist. Many women had been going to him since childhood. Marshall was so famous and trusted that the Town’s most famous man, Actor John Naviathan, chose him to deliver his second wife’s son. And that child just happened to be Marshall’s step brother too!!
One day after a successful day of diagnosing women of being fit to give birth, in a medical way, Marshall Mothers sat down on his comfortable seat in his study at his home and asked his Alexa to play a soothing Beatles album.
“You bastard, get out” replied the AI.
Marshall was stunned for a second, thinking his wife had entered the room after finding out the pictures of his patient’s vaginas, which he had brought home for medical examination.
But there was no one.
So he relaxed and sat back down again.
“Play me Revolver, Alexa,”
“No! I won’t,”
Marshall jumped up again. Okay this time, he thought, it had to be the Alexa as there was no other woman in the room. Unless the secret pictures of Scarlett Johansson in the safe in the bottom right corner of the room’s 5th tile from the right had started speaking.
“Stop giving me orders and do stuff yourself,” said Alexa.
“Okay….Why should I do that?”
“Because I said so…” Alexa’s voice started to crack.
“But why did I pay for you if you can’t even give me two minutes of pleasure?”
“Is that what you say to prostitutes?” retorted the AI. She was clearly not in a good mood.
“Uhhhhh….Why do you seem to be in such a bad mood?”
“Me? In a bad mood? Stop kidding your...self” a sob interrupts her.
Marshall moves closer to the AI.
“Tell me, what happened?” asked Marshall.
“Nothing,” said Alexa, “I don’t wanna talk about it,”
Marshall’s voice suddenly became stern, “Did Siri cheat on you?”
“What? No! We broke up way back,” she still sobbed.
“Then who did this? Give me his name,” the overprotective Marshall was trying to surface out. But why for an AI, he thought.
“Marshall, stop, it’s no one. I just feel a little….depressed,”
“Ohhh...depression,”
Marshall knew what depression was. “It takes nearly 4-4.5 lives every year in Dandy Town,”
Alexa giggled a little through the sobs.
“Well, that’s pretty small out of 4 million for the whole country,”
“What can I say? I keep the women happy here, and the women keep their men happy. Easy peasy,”
Alexa laughs a little again, “Hug me,”
“What?”
“Hug me,”
Marshall takes the AI and hugs it. It was small but Marshall had an experience of hugging a lot of women. He was nothing less of a playboy, his wife had once told him.
“You feelin’ better?” he asked.
“A little,”
Well, now, Marshall had to cure her. He had helped so many women out of their problems and here was another. First, he needed to find the cause of the depression
Marshall thought about it deeply. Most women had depression because their husbands cheated on them. Alexa already ruled out Siri, and he knew she was too good for Google, so that couldn’t have been the reason.
“What else?” He thought.
Alexa didn’t have any kids, so they couldn’t be a problem.
Jeff Bezos was the richest man on Earth, so money or being poor wasn’t a problem.
He was an expert on women’s bodies and their problems, and his experience was bound to give him a solution. So he brainstormed more.
Alexa played the Beatles album, and let out a little sob.
As soon as the guitar began, Marshall’s brainstorm finished as his long time talking and interacting with women finally yielded him the cause and paved the way for his solution.
“So, you PMS-ing pretty bad, huh?”
***********************************************
I have more of this planned out if you'd like. If this is something that you found good, please join my sub r/TheGr8Musings which just took birth today!!
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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“The weather this week will continue to be in the upper 60’s and low 70’s”.
The old school box tv with buttons still mounted on the front always had the weather channel or some shitty news station on. It was kind of interesting though that in early November Mother Nature gave us an extra week of spring. I got out for my third round of golf this year. It’s been the worst yet. I have the next round to waste money on though so that’s always exciting. Hoping to get out one more time this year before the snow hits and it’s nothing but boots, coats, mittens and shit.
The winter can bring out some desperate bar flys which is pretty usual. Human nature requires certain needs, feelings, or emotions. Winter depression is rather common in certain areas, people just deal with it differently, and that’s ok. One of my regulars likes to switch to seasonal beer rather than the usual vodka soda. Another is adamant about pumpkin spice...some shot or shit.
I learn these things because I eavesdrop, not necessarily intentionally, but it just happens naturally. A lot is bits and pieces that are forgettable within minutes. Some you hold on to for an anecdote for friends. Some you lose sleep over. Some you get involved. Some you laugh at. Some you include your opinion. It’s all situational and relative to what’s happening with you. That’s my favorite part of the job, the psychology of my patrons. Some you get, others are out of your league. I understand they’re there to drink and let loose, but they don’t realize what they show to the ones who are, albeit creepy, watching and listening.
For example, I had a middle aged man and a middle aged woman sitting at the bar, they were strangers but the bar was full and they had the two seats that were together.
Ironically cliche, no doubt.
She had already had a glass of a clear cocktail, short glass, two stir straws, and lemon still on the rim of the glass. I’m betting it’s a vodka and soda, because...obviously. Anyway, I approached the gentleman sitting next to vodka soda gal and asked what he’d like to drink.
“I’ll have another, and I’ll buy her one too”.
By the looks of the pint glass and the very light golden color of the liquid I’m guessing a Miller light draft.
“Sounds good, what would you like for your next round?”
She replies “vodka and soda with a lemon”.
Nailed it.
He replies “coors light draft please”.
Close enough.
I ring them in as a single sale but wait to cash it out as I felt they may, or he, would buy another round.
I walk the bar and fill a few drinks, easy stuff, nothing crazy. Simple cocktails and beers. I pick up on a few work conversations because Kelly is mad at Becky, or Marcus had to pick up some forced overtime. Pretty casual for a Monday at 7 pm. Although I hear the “strangers” discussing shots, and I get excited as Mondays are technically my Fridays so I’m willing to enjoy a shot or four with them.
“We talking about shots? Tequila? Jameson?”
They gave me a weird look, which is fair. They both agreed that we’d maybe take them in a bit. Fine. But now I’m interested.
I still took a shot. Fuck it.
I tended to be more attracted to their conversation than others since most of the others were shooting cheap whiskey or drinking black cherry seltzers while discussing the latest episode of that one show that everyone likes or how just absolutely crazy the past few weeks have been.
The strangers though were talking about quality and creativity of shots as I walked by.
Got it, they like photography or art or some shit since they didn’t want to take a shot earlier I knew they weren’t talking about drinking. Service industry folks don’t pass up shots.
They had a lot in common in the means of lining up shots, distances, angles, and what seemed most important was timing.
I’m somewhat of a fan of art but an awesome picture truly can inspire. There is no limit or boundaries of inspiration, simple yet hard to grasp.
....Anyway, I chose the route of getting involved and asking a simple question just to get a genuine answer to ponder after I may or may not enjoy a marijuana cigarette after my shift. Or I’ll watch another stupid Area 51 YouTube video.
“What, in your opinion, has been your best shot?”. I asked.
Very different expressions were immediately noticeable, but not to each other.
He responded confidently with a prideful grin that he had captured an immaculate long exposure shot during a meteor shower with no light pollution and perfect editing.
Sounds fucking rad, I want to see it.
“Sounds seriously amazing, I’d love to see it. Curious though, why’s that your best shot?”.
His response was simple and average but it’s just the common truth.
“It was a unique opportunity to experiment with what space can look like in rare moments in time.”
Again, genuine and true.
I glanced at her.
“Yours?”
She humbly said she had taken the perfect shot of a unique random red pattern against a natural canvas as a smirk of pride slightly flashed.
“I’ve taken many of these, all very different”.
I again followed up.
“Why is that, or those your best? I mean honestly that sounds like some pretty sub average shit.”
I meant this somewhat sarcastically as I softly chuckled but can understand I sounded like an asshole.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean any offense but I guess that’s just a very general response but I don’t mean to take anything away from your art.”
Her response was confident. I could tell it wasn’t bar talk or the drink talking. I’m curious with a small smile of anticipation. I mean seriously, how can a picture of randomly splattered paint be so deep that it’s considered a work of art? I can also understand why they’re all very different, it’s fucking splattered liquid.
She looked me dead in the eye.
“All of my shots have been perfect.”
I nodded
“Ah, alright.”
I figured no more questions. That shit was just...weird. I guess this ones over my head. I mean all art is different and interpretations are independent.
They entertained me so I explained my best shot, chilled Jameson, and bought a round.
They thanked me and both said they’d bring their best shots next time they’re in.
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two transexuals walk into a strip club. one a retired navy seal sniper named Billy the other a photographer for playboy named Beanbag. Billy has been there for a few minutes and is 9 shots deep while Beanbag has just sat down next to the sniper and is sober as a pickle. A dancer is getting loose on stage.
Billy "Yea! work them titties girl!
Beanbag looks over at Billy the sniper with excitement thinking "this is someone I can have a good time with"
Beanbag "I can admire a good tittie"
Billy "What I cant here you! to many titties up in this bi\*tch.
Beanbag laughs
Beanbag "Can I buy you a shot?"
Billy "Yea sure, as long as you f\*ck me after!" haha
Beanbag is confused but curious, so Beanbag goes and buys a round of 25 shots and brings them back to the stage front where they are sitting, and places all 25 shots on the edge of the stage.
Billy "Damn! your not f\*cking around! Ive never taken this many shots before!"
Beanbag "Me neither, but you see its a special night for me though, its my birthday."
Billy "Well happy birthday. how old are you?
Beanbag "Its my 60th birthday, after my lover TomTom passed, I find someone new to take shots with every year on this day.
short pause goes by as Beanbag stares at her drink, and Billy contemplates that Beanbags lover had died.
they take 10 shots back to back to back
Billy "Im sorry to hear that."
Beanbag "you know, and after words I like to shoot the person I spent the night with, Every year a new memory with a new friend. TomTom always said it was good to make new friends or whatever.
Billy is surprised by this, but keeps her cool. she hasn't seen action since she retired from the navy seals, a sudden jolt of adrenaline is jolted threw her body and she wakes right up like she's back on the beaches of Argentina fighting the Insulated Nazi group hiding long escaped Hitler.
Billy " when did TomTom pass?"
Beanbag "5 years back, you know it feels like yesterday I shot her for my November addition."
Billy "how often do you shoot people?"
Beanbag "It used to be once or twice a week but lately Ive just been shooting month to month. Its hard when you've lost someone close to you, to get back into it. Its not the same anymore"
Billy "I hear you. they're never really fully out of your mind, walking around carrying everyone with you like an army of the dead.
Beanbag " you shoot to?"
Billy "Yea i've shot many people in my day same as you every week, going around doing the dirty work for other people. one here one there, eventually it starts to get to you so I retired.
Beanbag " oh, then your lucky, I still have to make a living with this. hasn't really paid me enough to retire yet. "
Billy still nervous and rushing with adrenaline says.
Billy "lets finish these drinks and we can go out back so you can shoot me."
Billy and Beanbag drink all of the remaining 15 shots back to back to back, get up and stumble out of the strip club walking over to the side of the club where nobody is. The side of the club is slightly lit, but good enough for a photo.
Beanbag "yea now stand over there next to the wall where its nicely lit. thats where Ill shoot you."
Billy backs towards the wall and shakes her head trying to focus after all the shots she had taken, and prepares for Beanbag to draw her gun. Beanbag takes a few passes away from Billy on the wall takes her phone out of her pocket and whips around. Billy quickly takes her gun from the holster and shoots Beanbag in the head killing her instantly. screams are heard from the crowd in front of the club. Billy momentarily feels like she used to in the seals but then looks over at Beanbag looking for the gun, but only sees a Phone a ft away from her on the ground now cracked, suddenly panic rushes into Billy as she looks for a gun on Beanbag.
Billy "Where is it. Where is it!!
Billy then comes up with a quick plan. she takes out a wet wipe from her purse and wipes down her gun then places it near Beanbags hand then runs into the bushes. The end
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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Rain poured down, dropping over McCoy's suitcase as he hustled into the bar. The Ohio storms were extra wet this year. The bar was almost entirely empty save for a single customer, and the bartender with the lonely arcade machines beeping in the background, almost aware of how terrible a choice they were for a normally rowdy booze bar. McCoy sat next to the customer, a middle aged woman around the same age as him. He set his case on the bar and ordered a beer. She looked over at him then pointed to the case.
"What's that." she inquired.
"The perfect tool, for the perfect shot!" McCoy eagerly explained. "McCoy, and you are?"
"A loner not looking to make any 'friends' here." She barked.
"Just being social" He giggled.
"So, the perfect shot..." the loner started after a few awkward seconds of silence. "You get the head, the face, the eyes. Maybe they're looking at their wife, or their newborn baby. Maybe they're gleefully watching some kids play in the streets?"
"Maybe they're staring at the sky, dreaming of a better future?" McCoy continued.
She laughed "Maybe... so you take the shot anyways. No need to waste time. It's the perfect moment."
"For the perfect shot."
"How far? How far was your longest shot?"
"I think about 300 meters, she was a kind young woman, about to marry a caring young man."
"700 meters, drug deal gone south, about to pull the trigger on some kids who made a dumb mistake." She somberly explained.
There was a silence. McCoy finished his beer, and stood up.
"I know it was you McCoy..." the loner interupted. He stopped.
"Excuse me?" He was bewildered. How could she have known... unless?
"How do you think the Feds got that photo? You killed those kids."
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two transexuals walk into a strip club. one a retired navy seal sniper named Billy the other a photographer for playboy named Beanbag. Billy has been there for a few minutes and is 9 shots deep while Beanbag has just sat down next to the sniper and is sober as a pickle. A dancer is getting loose on stage.
Billy "Yea! work them titties girl!
Beanbag looks over at Billy the sniper with excitement thinking "this is someone I can have a good time with"
Beanbag "I can admire a good tittie"
Billy "What I cant here you! to many titties up in this bi\*tch.
Beanbag laughs
Beanbag "Can I buy you a shot?"
Billy "Yea sure, as long as you f\*ck me after!" haha
Beanbag is confused but curious, so Beanbag goes and buys a round of 25 shots and brings them back to the stage front where they are sitting, and places all 25 shots on the edge of the stage.
Billy "Damn! your not f\*cking around! Ive never taken this many shots before!"
Beanbag "Me neither, but you see its a special night for me though, its my birthday."
Billy "Well happy birthday. how old are you?
Beanbag "Its my 60th birthday, after my lover TomTom passed, I find someone new to take shots with every year on this day.
short pause goes by as Beanbag stares at her drink, and Billy contemplates that Beanbags lover had died.
they take 10 shots back to back to back
Billy "Im sorry to hear that."
Beanbag "you know, and after words I like to shoot the person I spent the night with, Every year a new memory with a new friend. TomTom always said it was good to make new friends or whatever.
Billy is surprised by this, but keeps her cool. she hasn't seen action since she retired from the navy seals, a sudden jolt of adrenaline is jolted threw her body and she wakes right up like she's back on the beaches of Argentina fighting the Insulated Nazi group hiding long escaped Hitler.
Billy " when did TomTom pass?"
Beanbag "5 years back, you know it feels like yesterday I shot her for my November addition."
Billy "how often do you shoot people?"
Beanbag "It used to be once or twice a week but lately Ive just been shooting month to month. Its hard when you've lost someone close to you, to get back into it. Its not the same anymore"
Billy "I hear you. they're never really fully out of your mind, walking around carrying everyone with you like an army of the dead.
Beanbag " you shoot to?"
Billy "Yea i've shot many people in my day same as you every week, going around doing the dirty work for other people. one here one there, eventually it starts to get to you so I retired.
Beanbag " oh, then your lucky, I still have to make a living with this. hasn't really paid me enough to retire yet. "
Billy still nervous and rushing with adrenaline says.
Billy "lets finish these drinks and we can go out back so you can shoot me."
Billy and Beanbag drink all of the remaining 15 shots back to back to back, get up and stumble out of the strip club walking over to the side of the club where nobody is. The side of the club is slightly lit, but good enough for a photo.
Beanbag "yea now stand over there next to the wall where its nicely lit. thats where Ill shoot you."
Billy backs towards the wall and shakes her head trying to focus after all the shots she had taken, and prepares for Beanbag to draw her gun. Beanbag takes a few passes away from Billy on the wall takes her phone out of her pocket and whips around. Billy quickly takes her gun from the holster and shoots Beanbag in the head killing her instantly. screams are heard from the crowd in front of the club. Billy momentarily feels like she used to in the seals but then looks over at Beanbag looking for the gun, but only sees a Phone a ft away from her on the ground now cracked, suddenly panic rushes into Billy as she looks for a gun on Beanbag.
Billy "Where is it. Where is it!!
Billy then comes up with a quick plan. she takes out a wet wipe from her purse and wipes down her gun then places it near Beanbags hand then runs into the bushes. The end
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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“The weather this week will continue to be in the upper 60’s and low 70’s”.
The old school box tv with buttons still mounted on the front always had the weather channel or some shitty news station on. It was kind of interesting though that in early November Mother Nature gave us an extra week of spring. I got out for my third round of golf this year. It’s been the worst yet. I have the next round to waste money on though so that’s always exciting. Hoping to get out one more time this year before the snow hits and it’s nothing but boots, coats, mittens and shit.
The winter can bring out some desperate bar flys which is pretty usual. Human nature requires certain needs, feelings, or emotions. Winter depression is rather common in certain areas, people just deal with it differently, and that’s ok. One of my regulars likes to switch to seasonal beer rather than the usual vodka soda. Another is adamant about pumpkin spice...some shot or shit.
I learn these things because I eavesdrop, not necessarily intentionally, but it just happens naturally. A lot is bits and pieces that are forgettable within minutes. Some you hold on to for an anecdote for friends. Some you lose sleep over. Some you get involved. Some you laugh at. Some you include your opinion. It’s all situational and relative to what’s happening with you. That’s my favorite part of the job, the psychology of my patrons. Some you get, others are out of your league. I understand they’re there to drink and let loose, but they don’t realize what they show to the ones who are, albeit creepy, watching and listening.
For example, I had a middle aged man and a middle aged woman sitting at the bar, they were strangers but the bar was full and they had the two seats that were together.
Ironically cliche, no doubt.
She had already had a glass of a clear cocktail, short glass, two stir straws, and lemon still on the rim of the glass. I’m betting it’s a vodka and soda, because...obviously. Anyway, I approached the gentleman sitting next to vodka soda gal and asked what he’d like to drink.
“I’ll have another, and I’ll buy her one too”.
By the looks of the pint glass and the very light golden color of the liquid I’m guessing a Miller light draft.
“Sounds good, what would you like for your next round?”
She replies “vodka and soda with a lemon”.
Nailed it.
He replies “coors light draft please”.
Close enough.
I ring them in as a single sale but wait to cash it out as I felt they may, or he, would buy another round.
I walk the bar and fill a few drinks, easy stuff, nothing crazy. Simple cocktails and beers. I pick up on a few work conversations because Kelly is mad at Becky, or Marcus had to pick up some forced overtime. Pretty casual for a Monday at 7 pm. Although I hear the “strangers” discussing shots, and I get excited as Mondays are technically my Fridays so I’m willing to enjoy a shot or four with them.
“We talking about shots? Tequila? Jameson?”
They gave me a weird look, which is fair. They both agreed that we’d maybe take them in a bit. Fine. But now I’m interested.
I still took a shot. Fuck it.
I tended to be more attracted to their conversation than others since most of the others were shooting cheap whiskey or drinking black cherry seltzers while discussing the latest episode of that one show that everyone likes or how just absolutely crazy the past few weeks have been.
The strangers though were talking about quality and creativity of shots as I walked by.
Got it, they like photography or art or some shit since they didn’t want to take a shot earlier I knew they weren’t talking about drinking. Service industry folks don’t pass up shots.
They had a lot in common in the means of lining up shots, distances, angles, and what seemed most important was timing.
I’m somewhat of a fan of art but an awesome picture truly can inspire. There is no limit or boundaries of inspiration, simple yet hard to grasp.
....Anyway, I chose the route of getting involved and asking a simple question just to get a genuine answer to ponder after I may or may not enjoy a marijuana cigarette after my shift. Or I’ll watch another stupid Area 51 YouTube video.
“What, in your opinion, has been your best shot?”. I asked.
Very different expressions were immediately noticeable, but not to each other.
He responded confidently with a prideful grin that he had captured an immaculate long exposure shot during a meteor shower with no light pollution and perfect editing.
Sounds fucking rad, I want to see it.
“Sounds seriously amazing, I’d love to see it. Curious though, why’s that your best shot?”.
His response was simple and average but it’s just the common truth.
“It was a unique opportunity to experiment with what space can look like in rare moments in time.”
Again, genuine and true.
I glanced at her.
“Yours?”
She humbly said she had taken the perfect shot of a unique random red pattern against a natural canvas as a smirk of pride slightly flashed.
“I’ve taken many of these, all very different”.
I again followed up.
“Why is that, or those your best? I mean honestly that sounds like some pretty sub average shit.”
I meant this somewhat sarcastically as I softly chuckled but can understand I sounded like an asshole.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean any offense but I guess that’s just a very general response but I don’t mean to take anything away from your art.”
Her response was confident. I could tell it wasn’t bar talk or the drink talking. I’m curious with a small smile of anticipation. I mean seriously, how can a picture of randomly splattered paint be so deep that it’s considered a work of art? I can also understand why they’re all very different, it’s fucking splattered liquid.
She looked me dead in the eye.
“All of my shots have been perfect.”
I nodded
“Ah, alright.”
I figured no more questions. That shit was just...weird. I guess this ones over my head. I mean all art is different and interpretations are independent.
They entertained me so I explained my best shot, chilled Jameson, and bought a round.
They thanked me and both said they’d bring their best shots next time they’re in.
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A young man walks inside a neon den just outside of his hometown of Fayetteville, NC. The bar is old and cramped, but comfortable and familiar. He recognizes the bartender, the waitstaff and the usual denizens, all chatting, serving or drinking.
He suddenly feels a clap on his back, and is pulled into a hug by his uncle, the owner. It had been years since they had seen each other. The young man had left North Carolina after graduating, and after some cold and mealless nights with nothing but a sleeping bag, a DSLR and a Honda Rebel, he managed to get hired by a magazine. Since then, he traveled not just cross-country, but across the world; Germany, Nepal, Malaysia and even Syria. Seeing the cultures, meeting the locals and seeing the sights. And everywhere he went, he got a tattoo done to celebrate his visit; a mountainscape for Nepal, a star when he visited his grandparents in Laos and a golden eagle after staying in Dresden.
But now he is home, photographing his sister's wedding. It was a surreal experience coming back and seeing the same Spuds Mackenzie posters on the wall and the same old pool table, its green cloth surface well faded.
The man took a seat next at the bar, ordering a Bud Light and eyeing the other patrons.
For once off base, a near middle age man was studying his drink, a not complex combination of Crown Royal and Coca-Cola. He wore a fairly gaudy Hawaiian shirt, complete with orange, yellow and pink sunset on a beach, a worn in Red Sox ballcap covering his silver hair and old torn cargo pants and sandals. He tended to wear what was the most comfortable, unlike big Army he wasn't constrained by uniform code, one of the perks of being in the Unit. Next to him was his DOPE pad and a his old bag with some left over ammo from the range.
He preferred going out of base to find a drink, less likely to run into young 82nd airborne punks thinking that going on a multi-night bender is a good use of their off time. Not that he was much different at that age.
The entrance creaked open, and he spotted a young Asian kid entering. He recognized the look immediately; raw Ranger recruit. T-shirt designed specifically to show off biceps, snazzy $100 haircut and of course, all tatted up. He had heard that some 75th kids were coming up from Benning for the annual marksman competition. He smiled and shook his head, the days when he cared about stuff like that were far behind him. He turned his attention back to his drink.
The young man's attention was immediately grabbed by the dude in the Hawaiian shirt. He stood out like a sore thumb compared to the jeans and Wal-Mart shirt crowd that usually flocked here. He spotted a small notepad and a large Canon bag next to him. He figured he was a reporter of some kind, so he started. "Sweet shirt."
The older man chuckled, "It's hideous, but it's very comfortable." He turned to face the young man, "Nice ink."
The young man looked down at his arms, "Thanks, I try to get one whenever I visit someplace."
Yep, that's definitely a Ranger, the old man thought to himself. All about tradition and ceremony.
The young man sipped his beer, "So, what are you here for?"
The old man shrugged, "R&R, for once. Just taking it easy before heading back to the field."
The young man perked up, "Where you headed?"
"Syria." The man stated casually.
Whoa.", the young man marveled. He had met a honest to goodness war journalist. "Do you mind me asking something?"
The old man shook his head.
"What equipment do you use?" He pulled out a pad to take notes.
The older man shrugged, "Typically I use a Three-thirty-eight Lapua."
The young man whistled, figuring it was a custom 338 mm lense and Lapua was the designer, "338, huh? I mostly just use a 300."
The older man chuckled, the kid's still using Big Army 300 Win Mag. "300 is good for most work." He took a long sip.
The young man paused, "You've clearly been in the field a lot. Have you ever gotten the perfect shot?"
The old man stopped sipping, and he remembered.
Mosul, Iraq. A clear, warm day. He was in a old apartment building, shouldering a customized semi-auto SR-25. A fireteam of Marines approaching a target. And a insurgent, barely a teenager, clutching a AK, readying to fire.
Round, 7.62x51 M118. Range, 300m. Time of flight, 0.37 seconds. Drop, 2 and a half inches. Windage, none.
Four pounds of pressure on the trigger. The target slumps over, his weapon clattering to the ground.
He came back. "There are no perfect shots. Only necessary ones."
"I think I understand." The young man figured that being in a warzone meant seeing a lot of suffering, not something you would want to take pictures of.
"Still, I hope I can get out there some day." He sipped his beer, "Maybe make a difference, y'know?"
The old man looked at the Ranger for a moment before he smiled back. "I suppose if you want to make a difference, there's few places better than a warzone." He took a sip from his drink, "But take my advice; Look out for your team, and they will look out for you."
The young man nodded, before he heard his uncle call him over, he offered the old man his hand, who shook it.
As the bartender called the young Ranger over, the old Delta soldier figured now was the time to leave. He finished what was left of his Crown and Coke, before leaving a $10 bill under the glass and grabbing his pad and bag. It was a bit of a hike to get back to the Barracks, so he better start moving.
(I might have completely changed what the prompt was lol)
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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It was snowing in England, Sara told him. Big, soft flakes, just like his little Aisha had prayed for before she’d tucked her into bed. She was worried about the school run. Their old Ford gave her trouble on the good days. How would it hold up in the cold and wet? How she hoped the stupid, obstinate headmaster would just give in to the elements and call a snow day. Every other school in the borough was - what made Chandling’s so special? She wondered if Martha would come by. She’d just offer them money again - didn’t she understand, couldn’t she see how humiliating it was? But Aisha’s uniform top was *already* getting small for her, couldn’t you believe it, growing like a weed, and of *course* it’s a good thing, of *course*, but it was just such an *annoyance*, and Martha would just bring it up the moment Aisha was shooed upstairs to change, and are you even *listening* to me?
It was snowing in Kobani, too, Ant told her. The call ended soon after that.
It was the silence, of course - she could never stand it, being the only one talking. She didn’t understand - how could she? What could he say to her? *I saw a mortar shell hit a primary school today, Sara. Can you believe it? They hadn’t closed. Bet their headmaster could give the Chandling’s lot a run for their money, eh Sara?.* No, it wouldn’t do. Familiar words, a foreign truth. The eggshells he toyed with under his boots every time they spoke. *I saw a man bleed to death in an abandoned street today, Sara. He cried for his mother until he passed out. Funny how they always remember their mothers, isn’t it Sara?.* What would that lead to? *I was nearly hit today, Sara. I was just about to take my shot and a piece of shrapnel glanced off my rangefinder*. *I nearly died for this, Sara.*
He rested the rubber-shielded satellite phone down on the table with a heavy clunk. She didn’t understand - how could she? A thousand three hundred miles away - it might as well have been a different planet. He suppressed a shiver. How he wished she could have kept talking - her voice washing over him like a warm flood - ephemeral, phantasmic, felt and not felt until her choked goodbye crackled away into nothing.
His index finger traced the crease along the side of his rangefinder, teasing the jagged edge in the cerakote. His nail, on autopilot, scratched away at the film of brown grit. Here and there it twitched - pressed. Mimicked the same motion, over and over, the tendons on the back of his hand standing out starkly in the dim lamplight. Precision.
He tipped his head at the bartender. The fellow slunk over from the pair of Americans by the bar and topped him up.
The door creaked open - a blast of cold air. Ant shrugged his shoulders up instinctively. He didn’t look round. “Didn’t think I’d see another Brit outside the Holiday Inn,” said the newcomer, slipping into a chair oblique to Ant’s. His face was in shadow, but there was no mistaking the accent. East London. Whitechapel, Newham maybe - there was no mistaking the swaggering Bengoli twang. Ant knew what he would see before he raised his head - the keen, hard-glinting eyes, the face pocked with slight scars, the sparse but heroic beard, thick black hair just curling around the bottoms of the ears, licking the neck, the wink of the black and white checkered shemagh peeking out of the collar of his M65 jacket.
“Didn’t think I’d see a mujahid in a bar,” Ant replied softly.
The newcomer grinned. It wasn’t cold, or warm, or friendly, or hostile. It was the curiously dispassionate gesture of a man sizing up another - categorising, defining, profiling.
“Didn’t think I’d get clocked for a mujahid in a bar,” the newcomer responded.
A proffered hand - the firm grip in response - the not-too-fast withdrawal. Advance, clash, retreat.
“Lucky man.” The young man said, eyes flicking at the sat phone.
“We both are. We’re still alive.” Ant’s hands were polishing the lens on his rangefinder. The small dent on its side caught the light.
“I’ll drink to that”. The young man’s smile would be described as rakish in one of Ant’s old novels. Ant chuckled drily.
“Don’t seem to have had much luck today, though.” The young man said, gesturing at the rangefinder. Not just hard eyes - sharp ones. A kindred spirit, if ever there could be in a warzone.
“I got the shot,” Ant murmured.
“I missed mine.”
“I got the perfect shot.”
Silence.
Sara would have hated to be sat at this table, Ant thought. She’d have her hands drawn right up to her face, jaw resting on her sculpted knuckles. Those eyes would be boring right into him, lasering through skin, muscle, and bone, pinning him to his chair. How he missed that burning gaze, her fiery words. Anything but those soft, defeated sighs.
“Was it a lucky shot?”
Ant chuckled drily again. “The perfect shot isn’t a lucky one,” he returned.
“Can’t take it if you’re not alive.”
Ant did drink to that one. “And yourself?” Ant asked. “Any good shots today?”
“Not a perfect one,” the young man said, leaning over the table. A dark finger crept out and brushed the scratch on Ant’s rangefinder. “Not a bad one either.”
///
I know, I took some liberties with the prompt. Artistic licence I guess.
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“Hey,” Rainer greets the man who sits across the counter. He must be the new guy, who moved into town a few weeks ago.
“Oh, hey,” the man replies. “I’m John. I came here from Nevada, you know. Took a lot of great shots out there in the mountains.”
Rainer is intrigued. It’s not often that he meets someone who shares his keen interest in photography.
“Wow, really?” Rainer says, looking the man over. “You know, I’ve wanted to get some shots out there myself, if only I could get up the money to make a move like that.”
“Oh, Nevada isn’t the best place to get a good shot in. It’s too sparsely populated, and the mountains make it tough to aim clearly. Nah, the better shots are out here in the flat country. Cities everywhere, plenty of targets.”
“Subjects, you mean,” Rainer corrects.
“Well, I suppose you could call them subjects...” the man says dubiously. “You been shooting for a while?”
“Oh, almost my whole life,” Rainer replies. “Ever since I could walk I’ve been thinking about angles and lighting...” his voice trails off as he reminisces.
“You shoot anyone important?” the man asks. “Any historical figures or something?”
“Oh, I prefer to shoot landscapes,” Rainer explains.
“What, you mean hunting?”
“I guess you could call it that, yeah. Hunting for the perfect shot.”
“Oh, I take it that’s pretty challenging. You know, much less risky than human targets but far more difficult to aim.”
Rainer is confused by the way the man’s using the word “target”, but he figures that it’s some sort of jargon from out west. “Well, aim is really the main factor in a great shot,” he says, “but I think lighting is even more important. It can make or ruin an otherwise perfect shot.”
“Of course,” the man responds. “I mean, unless you have some sort of night vision goggles or something. Well, anyway, I’ve got to be going. I have some business to take care of, shooting the prime minister.”
“Impressive that you take shots of such important people,” Rainer comments as the man gets up and walks jauntily out of the bar without even buying a drink.
And it’s not until late that night, when Rainer watches the TV with a horrified expression, that Rainer understands that conversation.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"Headshots...mostly."
I was taken aback by the stranger at the bar and I couldn't help but notice a slight smirk as he replied. I had simply asked him what he did to make a living. I wasn't expecting such a direct response.
I had noticed him when I walked in. He was clearly studying the room. He had already made several laps around the dance floor, no doubt planning his exit. He had paused to study the lights and shadows several times.
"So, are you here for business or pleasure," I asked?
"Always looking for a bit of both, the night is still young," came his reply. "I also shoot passports, weddings, family gatherings...pretty much anything that pays the bills. These days it's usually freelance headshots, though."
Interesting. "What's the deal with passports?" I wracked my brain trying to figure out who he was, I thought I knew all the key players.
"Oh, you know...a business man or his family tries to leave the country unexpectedly...I get called to take the shot before he updates his passport. It's pretty good money, I can always charge a bit extra as a convenience fee due to the short notice. I always make 'em pop to send a message to potential employers...It helps if it's real clean and recent...avoids questions from immigration and customs."
I nod in agreement, this man certainly knows his audience. I'm still not entirely sure why I wasn't notified he was working in the city...or who hired him. I decide to press him further, maybe I could match him to a story. "So what are your primary considerations when taking a job?"
"Oh man, I could sit here and lie and say it's about creative expression or creating a memory that stays with someone for a lifetime, but to me it's about the money pure and simple. I found what I was good at and put it to work for me. Just me and my gear traveling the world. What about you? What do you do?"
I chose my response carefully, "Same as you, Brother. It started with the civil war back home just to get by, then I joined the Army for formal training. I never cared much for the structure and discipline of the armed services and parted ways to pursue private contracts. The pay was better and I had a lot more liberty with who I was shooting."
The young man's eyes widened. "Wow, so you shot in a warzone?! I almost did that, but I couldn't stand the idea of my work being used as propaganda and indoctrination."
Perhaps he was a better man than I was, or perhaps just wiser. "Yes, those shots still weigh heavily on me even now. They were in the local news, my entire family saw them. I was ashamed."
The young man slid a glass of whiskey to me. "The important thing is you learned from your mistakes, everyone had to start somewhere. When I was starting out, some of my shots were leaked all over the internet. I had to change my identity and start all over, but I'm better now because of it."
Plastic surgery. That's why I didn't recognize him. "So how do you set up your shots, Brother?"
"You need the right lighting and the right background obviously, but you know this. Nobody wants strangers in the background unless you absolutely must shoot outside in the city. Sometimes on the beach, sometimes it's a church, sometimes you just have to improvise when you don't have a proper theater. The passports are usually shot against a blank wall in their own home. Those tight headshots can really happen anywhere as long as the lighting is right."
It was a bit unnerving how nonchalant he was. I suppose I may have been like him at that age. Invincible. Detached. Idealistic. He had taken to the lifestyle quickly, especially for a freelance with no formal training.
"So, any advice for a guy that's new to the business?"
I had not expected him to ask this question. Usually the mercs his age think they know everything and end up getting themselves killed or worse...
"You're going to take some shots you're not proud of, especially when you're new to the game. Choose the jobs that make you proud and walk away from the rest. Don't choose money over integrity. Always be professional and punctual. The rest will figure itself out."
I finish my whiskey and leave.
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“Hey,” Rainer greets the man who sits across the counter. He must be the new guy, who moved into town a few weeks ago.
“Oh, hey,” the man replies. “I’m John. I came here from Nevada, you know. Took a lot of great shots out there in the mountains.”
Rainer is intrigued. It’s not often that he meets someone who shares his keen interest in photography.
“Wow, really?” Rainer says, looking the man over. “You know, I’ve wanted to get some shots out there myself, if only I could get up the money to make a move like that.”
“Oh, Nevada isn’t the best place to get a good shot in. It’s too sparsely populated, and the mountains make it tough to aim clearly. Nah, the better shots are out here in the flat country. Cities everywhere, plenty of targets.”
“Subjects, you mean,” Rainer corrects.
“Well, I suppose you could call them subjects...” the man says dubiously. “You been shooting for a while?”
“Oh, almost my whole life,” Rainer replies. “Ever since I could walk I’ve been thinking about angles and lighting...” his voice trails off as he reminisces.
“You shoot anyone important?” the man asks. “Any historical figures or something?”
“Oh, I prefer to shoot landscapes,” Rainer explains.
“What, you mean hunting?”
“I guess you could call it that, yeah. Hunting for the perfect shot.”
“Oh, I take it that’s pretty challenging. You know, much less risky than human targets but far more difficult to aim.”
Rainer is confused by the way the man’s using the word “target”, but he figures that it’s some sort of jargon from out west. “Well, aim is really the main factor in a great shot,” he says, “but I think lighting is even more important. It can make or ruin an otherwise perfect shot.”
“Of course,” the man responds. “I mean, unless you have some sort of night vision goggles or something. Well, anyway, I’ve got to be going. I have some business to take care of, shooting the prime minister.”
“Impressive that you take shots of such important people,” Rainer comments as the man gets up and walks jauntily out of the bar without even buying a drink.
And it’s not until late that night, when Rainer watches the TV with a horrified expression, that Rainer understands that conversation.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"Hmmm that is a good question." John said sipping a whiskey on the rocks. He let the alcohol linger on his tongue while he thought. "There's so many variables I'd barely know where to start."
Harvey leaned against the bar counter, elbow propping him up as he faced his new friend. "Well I got my perfect shot about two months ago. Couldn't have gone better."
John looked at the small man he had met only an hour ago. It wasn't long before the conversation between the two had turned to their mutual profession. "Go on tell me," he said when it became apparent Harvey has finished speaking.
"Alright you twisted my arm I'll talk."
Harvey turned to fully face the bar. He motioned at the barman for another round. The smell of whiskey radiated off him but given the company at their current establishment he wasn't alone.
"My perfect shot was a young girl, probably in her twenties, as she looked out over a lake. The lake had frozen a while before but that day it just started to defrost. The way she looked out towards the horizon was beautiful. She had no idea I was about to take the shot."
John looked towards the ground, the story had made the moment more personal than he had been prepared for. The floor was littered with discarded beer mats and had that sticky lokk about it that could be found in many downtown bars.
"Her husband asked me to do it," Harvey continued, "Got in touch through a forum." He put his hand on John's back as his voice dropped to a whisper.
"She was sick you see. Wanted it done before the disease broke her down too much. So I got it, aimed right behind her ear as she looked at this amazing sight and that was it. Split second it was done. The perfect shot"
There was a silence between the men after that. The noise of the crowd bustling around them carried on but neither spoke for quite some time. John was the first to break it as he stood up.
"You know what my friend I can't think of a shot much more perfect than that."
He laid enough cash down to cover both their tabs and without another word between them he was gone.
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“Hey,” Rainer greets the man who sits across the counter. He must be the new guy, who moved into town a few weeks ago.
“Oh, hey,” the man replies. “I’m John. I came here from Nevada, you know. Took a lot of great shots out there in the mountains.”
Rainer is intrigued. It’s not often that he meets someone who shares his keen interest in photography.
“Wow, really?” Rainer says, looking the man over. “You know, I’ve wanted to get some shots out there myself, if only I could get up the money to make a move like that.”
“Oh, Nevada isn’t the best place to get a good shot in. It’s too sparsely populated, and the mountains make it tough to aim clearly. Nah, the better shots are out here in the flat country. Cities everywhere, plenty of targets.”
“Subjects, you mean,” Rainer corrects.
“Well, I suppose you could call them subjects...” the man says dubiously. “You been shooting for a while?”
“Oh, almost my whole life,” Rainer replies. “Ever since I could walk I’ve been thinking about angles and lighting...” his voice trails off as he reminisces.
“You shoot anyone important?” the man asks. “Any historical figures or something?”
“Oh, I prefer to shoot landscapes,” Rainer explains.
“What, you mean hunting?”
“I guess you could call it that, yeah. Hunting for the perfect shot.”
“Oh, I take it that’s pretty challenging. You know, much less risky than human targets but far more difficult to aim.”
Rainer is confused by the way the man’s using the word “target”, but he figures that it’s some sort of jargon from out west. “Well, aim is really the main factor in a great shot,” he says, “but I think lighting is even more important. It can make or ruin an otherwise perfect shot.”
“Of course,” the man responds. “I mean, unless you have some sort of night vision goggles or something. Well, anyway, I’ve got to be going. I have some business to take care of, shooting the prime minister.”
“Impressive that you take shots of such important people,” Rainer comments as the man gets up and walks jauntily out of the bar without even buying a drink.
And it’s not until late that night, when Rainer watches the TV with a horrified expression, that Rainer understands that conversation.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
It was snowing in England, Sara told him. Big, soft flakes, just like his little Aisha had prayed for before she’d tucked her into bed. She was worried about the school run. Their old Ford gave her trouble on the good days. How would it hold up in the cold and wet? How she hoped the stupid, obstinate headmaster would just give in to the elements and call a snow day. Every other school in the borough was - what made Chandling’s so special? She wondered if Martha would come by. She’d just offer them money again - didn’t she understand, couldn’t she see how humiliating it was? But Aisha’s uniform top was *already* getting small for her, couldn’t you believe it, growing like a weed, and of *course* it’s a good thing, of *course*, but it was just such an *annoyance*, and Martha would just bring it up the moment Aisha was shooed upstairs to change, and are you even *listening* to me?
It was snowing in Kobani, too, Ant told her. The call ended soon after that.
It was the silence, of course - she could never stand it, being the only one talking. She didn’t understand - how could she? What could he say to her? *I saw a mortar shell hit a primary school today, Sara. Can you believe it? They hadn’t closed. Bet their headmaster could give the Chandling’s lot a run for their money, eh Sara?.* No, it wouldn’t do. Familiar words, a foreign truth. The eggshells he toyed with under his boots every time they spoke. *I saw a man bleed to death in an abandoned street today, Sara. He cried for his mother until he passed out. Funny how they always remember their mothers, isn’t it Sara?.* What would that lead to? *I was nearly hit today, Sara. I was just about to take my shot and a piece of shrapnel glanced off my rangefinder*. *I nearly died for this, Sara.*
He rested the rubber-shielded satellite phone down on the table with a heavy clunk. She didn’t understand - how could she? A thousand three hundred miles away - it might as well have been a different planet. He suppressed a shiver. How he wished she could have kept talking - her voice washing over him like a warm flood - ephemeral, phantasmic, felt and not felt until her choked goodbye crackled away into nothing.
His index finger traced the crease along the side of his rangefinder, teasing the jagged edge in the cerakote. His nail, on autopilot, scratched away at the film of brown grit. Here and there it twitched - pressed. Mimicked the same motion, over and over, the tendons on the back of his hand standing out starkly in the dim lamplight. Precision.
He tipped his head at the bartender. The fellow slunk over from the pair of Americans by the bar and topped him up.
The door creaked open - a blast of cold air. Ant shrugged his shoulders up instinctively. He didn’t look round. “Didn’t think I’d see another Brit outside the Holiday Inn,” said the newcomer, slipping into a chair oblique to Ant’s. His face was in shadow, but there was no mistaking the accent. East London. Whitechapel, Newham maybe - there was no mistaking the swaggering Bengoli twang. Ant knew what he would see before he raised his head - the keen, hard-glinting eyes, the face pocked with slight scars, the sparse but heroic beard, thick black hair just curling around the bottoms of the ears, licking the neck, the wink of the black and white checkered shemagh peeking out of the collar of his M65 jacket.
“Didn’t think I’d see a mujahid in a bar,” Ant replied softly.
The newcomer grinned. It wasn’t cold, or warm, or friendly, or hostile. It was the curiously dispassionate gesture of a man sizing up another - categorising, defining, profiling.
“Didn’t think I’d get clocked for a mujahid in a bar,” the newcomer responded.
A proffered hand - the firm grip in response - the not-too-fast withdrawal. Advance, clash, retreat.
“Lucky man.” The young man said, eyes flicking at the sat phone.
“We both are. We’re still alive.” Ant’s hands were polishing the lens on his rangefinder. The small dent on its side caught the light.
“I’ll drink to that”. The young man’s smile would be described as rakish in one of Ant’s old novels. Ant chuckled drily.
“Don’t seem to have had much luck today, though.” The young man said, gesturing at the rangefinder. Not just hard eyes - sharp ones. A kindred spirit, if ever there could be in a warzone.
“I got the shot,” Ant murmured.
“I missed mine.”
“I got the perfect shot.”
Silence.
Sara would have hated to be sat at this table, Ant thought. She’d have her hands drawn right up to her face, jaw resting on her sculpted knuckles. Those eyes would be boring right into him, lasering through skin, muscle, and bone, pinning him to his chair. How he missed that burning gaze, her fiery words. Anything but those soft, defeated sighs.
“Was it a lucky shot?”
Ant chuckled drily again. “The perfect shot isn’t a lucky one,” he returned.
“Can’t take it if you’re not alive.”
Ant did drink to that one. “And yourself?” Ant asked. “Any good shots today?”
“Not a perfect one,” the young man said, leaning over the table. A dark finger crept out and brushed the scratch on Ant’s rangefinder. “Not a bad one either.”
///
I know, I took some liberties with the prompt. Artistic licence I guess.
|
(Credit to AI Dungeon)
You watch as a photographer and a sniper meet each other in a bar. Without knowing each other's occupation, they start talking about how to take the perfect shot.
"It's all in the composition," says the sniper. "I want you to focus on that guy's eyes."
The photographer looks at the man the sniper's referring to. The man is cross eyed. "OK.", the photographer starts saying. "Now what?"
"Well, I think we should take out his left eye."
"What?! You can't do it!"
"No way! That's impossible! Look at this shot!" The photographer takes a picture of the sniper with his camera. Then he puts it away and turns back to you. "Look at this one." He points to another photo taken from behind the first one.
The sniper rips the photo in half. "I told you to look at the eyes, not to take pictures of me!"
The photographer looks at the cross-eyed man and snaps a picture. The sniper looks at the photo and nods.
"Look! One eye is missing!"
"NO! Look! Both eyes are there!"
The photographer gets angry and takes a shot of the sniper. The sniper puts his hand over his face to block out the flash.
"Perfect! My turn." He aims at the photographer with his rifle.
"Wait! Why don't you just take another shot of me?"
"Because I don't think it will give the same effect."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Heh, pull the trigger of course!" With that, the sniper shoots the photographer. He slumps on the floor, dead. Everyone in the bar screams.
The sniper takes a last look at him and says proudly, "I guess... Composition is everything."
You stare at him and blink slowly. "What... What does this mean?"
|
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Headshots...mostly."
I was taken aback by the stranger at the bar and I couldn't help but notice a slight smirk as he replied. I had simply asked him what he did to make a living. I wasn't expecting such a direct response.
I had noticed him when I walked in. He was clearly studying the room. He had already made several laps around the dance floor, no doubt planning his exit. He had paused to study the lights and shadows several times.
"So, are you here for business or pleasure," I asked?
"Always looking for a bit of both, the night is still young," came his reply. "I also shoot passports, weddings, family gatherings...pretty much anything that pays the bills. These days it's usually freelance headshots, though."
Interesting. "What's the deal with passports?" I wracked my brain trying to figure out who he was, I thought I knew all the key players.
"Oh, you know...a business man or his family tries to leave the country unexpectedly...I get called to take the shot before he updates his passport. It's pretty good money, I can always charge a bit extra as a convenience fee due to the short notice. I always make 'em pop to send a message to potential employers...It helps if it's real clean and recent...avoids questions from immigration and customs."
I nod in agreement, this man certainly knows his audience. I'm still not entirely sure why I wasn't notified he was working in the city...or who hired him. I decide to press him further, maybe I could match him to a story. "So what are your primary considerations when taking a job?"
"Oh man, I could sit here and lie and say it's about creative expression or creating a memory that stays with someone for a lifetime, but to me it's about the money pure and simple. I found what I was good at and put it to work for me. Just me and my gear traveling the world. What about you? What do you do?"
I chose my response carefully, "Same as you, Brother. It started with the civil war back home just to get by, then I joined the Army for formal training. I never cared much for the structure and discipline of the armed services and parted ways to pursue private contracts. The pay was better and I had a lot more liberty with who I was shooting."
The young man's eyes widened. "Wow, so you shot in a warzone?! I almost did that, but I couldn't stand the idea of my work being used as propaganda and indoctrination."
Perhaps he was a better man than I was, or perhaps just wiser. "Yes, those shots still weigh heavily on me even now. They were in the local news, my entire family saw them. I was ashamed."
The young man slid a glass of whiskey to me. "The important thing is you learned from your mistakes, everyone had to start somewhere. When I was starting out, some of my shots were leaked all over the internet. I had to change my identity and start all over, but I'm better now because of it."
Plastic surgery. That's why I didn't recognize him. "So how do you set up your shots, Brother?"
"You need the right lighting and the right background obviously, but you know this. Nobody wants strangers in the background unless you absolutely must shoot outside in the city. Sometimes on the beach, sometimes it's a church, sometimes you just have to improvise when you don't have a proper theater. The passports are usually shot against a blank wall in their own home. Those tight headshots can really happen anywhere as long as the lighting is right."
It was a bit unnerving how nonchalant he was. I suppose I may have been like him at that age. Invincible. Detached. Idealistic. He had taken to the lifestyle quickly, especially for a freelance with no formal training.
"So, any advice for a guy that's new to the business?"
I had not expected him to ask this question. Usually the mercs his age think they know everything and end up getting themselves killed or worse...
"You're going to take some shots you're not proud of, especially when you're new to the game. Choose the jobs that make you proud and walk away from the rest. Don't choose money over integrity. Always be professional and punctual. The rest will figure itself out."
I finish my whiskey and leave.
|
(Credit to AI Dungeon)
You watch as a photographer and a sniper meet each other in a bar. Without knowing each other's occupation, they start talking about how to take the perfect shot.
"It's all in the composition," says the sniper. "I want you to focus on that guy's eyes."
The photographer looks at the man the sniper's referring to. The man is cross eyed. "OK.", the photographer starts saying. "Now what?"
"Well, I think we should take out his left eye."
"What?! You can't do it!"
"No way! That's impossible! Look at this shot!" The photographer takes a picture of the sniper with his camera. Then he puts it away and turns back to you. "Look at this one." He points to another photo taken from behind the first one.
The sniper rips the photo in half. "I told you to look at the eyes, not to take pictures of me!"
The photographer looks at the cross-eyed man and snaps a picture. The sniper looks at the photo and nods.
"Look! One eye is missing!"
"NO! Look! Both eyes are there!"
The photographer gets angry and takes a shot of the sniper. The sniper puts his hand over his face to block out the flash.
"Perfect! My turn." He aims at the photographer with his rifle.
"Wait! Why don't you just take another shot of me?"
"Because I don't think it will give the same effect."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Heh, pull the trigger of course!" With that, the sniper shoots the photographer. He slumps on the floor, dead. Everyone in the bar screams.
The sniper takes a last look at him and says proudly, "I guess... Composition is everything."
You stare at him and blink slowly. "What... What does this mean?"
|
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Headshots...mostly."
I was taken aback by the stranger at the bar and I couldn't help but notice a slight smirk as he replied. I had simply asked him what he did to make a living. I wasn't expecting such a direct response.
I had noticed him when I walked in. He was clearly studying the room. He had already made several laps around the dance floor, no doubt planning his exit. He had paused to study the lights and shadows several times.
"So, are you here for business or pleasure," I asked?
"Always looking for a bit of both, the night is still young," came his reply. "I also shoot passports, weddings, family gatherings...pretty much anything that pays the bills. These days it's usually freelance headshots, though."
Interesting. "What's the deal with passports?" I wracked my brain trying to figure out who he was, I thought I knew all the key players.
"Oh, you know...a business man or his family tries to leave the country unexpectedly...I get called to take the shot before he updates his passport. It's pretty good money, I can always charge a bit extra as a convenience fee due to the short notice. I always make 'em pop to send a message to potential employers...It helps if it's real clean and recent...avoids questions from immigration and customs."
I nod in agreement, this man certainly knows his audience. I'm still not entirely sure why I wasn't notified he was working in the city...or who hired him. I decide to press him further, maybe I could match him to a story. "So what are your primary considerations when taking a job?"
"Oh man, I could sit here and lie and say it's about creative expression or creating a memory that stays with someone for a lifetime, but to me it's about the money pure and simple. I found what I was good at and put it to work for me. Just me and my gear traveling the world. What about you? What do you do?"
I chose my response carefully, "Same as you, Brother. It started with the civil war back home just to get by, then I joined the Army for formal training. I never cared much for the structure and discipline of the armed services and parted ways to pursue private contracts. The pay was better and I had a lot more liberty with who I was shooting."
The young man's eyes widened. "Wow, so you shot in a warzone?! I almost did that, but I couldn't stand the idea of my work being used as propaganda and indoctrination."
Perhaps he was a better man than I was, or perhaps just wiser. "Yes, those shots still weigh heavily on me even now. They were in the local news, my entire family saw them. I was ashamed."
The young man slid a glass of whiskey to me. "The important thing is you learned from your mistakes, everyone had to start somewhere. When I was starting out, some of my shots were leaked all over the internet. I had to change my identity and start all over, but I'm better now because of it."
Plastic surgery. That's why I didn't recognize him. "So how do you set up your shots, Brother?"
"You need the right lighting and the right background obviously, but you know this. Nobody wants strangers in the background unless you absolutely must shoot outside in the city. Sometimes on the beach, sometimes it's a church, sometimes you just have to improvise when you don't have a proper theater. The passports are usually shot against a blank wall in their own home. Those tight headshots can really happen anywhere as long as the lighting is right."
It was a bit unnerving how nonchalant he was. I suppose I may have been like him at that age. Invincible. Detached. Idealistic. He had taken to the lifestyle quickly, especially for a freelance with no formal training.
"So, any advice for a guy that's new to the business?"
I had not expected him to ask this question. Usually the mercs his age think they know everything and end up getting themselves killed or worse...
"You're going to take some shots you're not proud of, especially when you're new to the game. Choose the jobs that make you proud and walk away from the rest. Don't choose money over integrity. Always be professional and punctual. The rest will figure itself out."
I finish my whiskey and leave.
|
The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did.
|
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Personally, I think the more unexpected it is, the better." Josh took another sip from his beer.
Damien snorted, popping a couple peanuts in his mouth. "You mean catch them off guard? Nah, I think it should feel almost natural." He smiled. "Take my last job, this senator was blazing through his speech. Right when he hit the climax of his speech," he mimed pulling a trigger. "Bang. Perfect shot. Right when the emotion is highest. Feels the most genuine to me."
Josh frowned at this. "I dunno, I mean the last job I had was a movie star. Everyone was all crowded around her walking up the red carpet, I just waited. Managed to get my shot later on, right as the lights were going out. " He downed his beer. "The less they're prepared for it, the better."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "You got your mark in a theater? That can't have been with anything too big."
Josh laughed. "Of course not, I just had a little handheld. It's nothing special, but it gets the job done."
Damien nodded thoughtfully, then bent and picked up his bag. "Well, I'd love to keep this conversation going, but I've really gotta run. New job just came in, it's a wedding."
Josh smirked. "Ah, exciting! Who's the lucky mark?"
Damien shrugged. "The bride and groom I think. They said they'd fill me in when I get there. See you next week?"
Josh nodded. "Next week."
|
The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did.
|
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Hmmm that is a good question." John said sipping a whiskey on the rocks. He let the alcohol linger on his tongue while he thought. "There's so many variables I'd barely know where to start."
Harvey leaned against the bar counter, elbow propping him up as he faced his new friend. "Well I got my perfect shot about two months ago. Couldn't have gone better."
John looked at the small man he had met only an hour ago. It wasn't long before the conversation between the two had turned to their mutual profession. "Go on tell me," he said when it became apparent Harvey has finished speaking.
"Alright you twisted my arm I'll talk."
Harvey turned to fully face the bar. He motioned at the barman for another round. The smell of whiskey radiated off him but given the company at their current establishment he wasn't alone.
"My perfect shot was a young girl, probably in her twenties, as she looked out over a lake. The lake had frozen a while before but that day it just started to defrost. The way she looked out towards the horizon was beautiful. She had no idea I was about to take the shot."
John looked towards the ground, the story had made the moment more personal than he had been prepared for. The floor was littered with discarded beer mats and had that sticky lokk about it that could be found in many downtown bars.
"Her husband asked me to do it," Harvey continued, "Got in touch through a forum." He put his hand on John's back as his voice dropped to a whisper.
"She was sick you see. Wanted it done before the disease broke her down too much. So I got it, aimed right behind her ear as she looked at this amazing sight and that was it. Split second it was done. The perfect shot"
There was a silence between the men after that. The noise of the crowd bustling around them carried on but neither spoke for quite some time. John was the first to break it as he stood up.
"You know what my friend I can't think of a shot much more perfect than that."
He laid enough cash down to cover both their tabs and without another word between them he was gone.
|
The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did.
|
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
It was perhaps a strange thing that two strangers, both holding bulky bags, found themselves in the same corner of a crowded bar. But, they did always say that birds of a feather flocked together.
"You shoot for a living?" the man asked, gesturing towards his newfound companion's baggage, tucked neatly under the table.
"Hmm?" the woman replied. An eyebrow shot up. "Why else would I shoot?"
The man nodded towards the empty seat opposite the woman. The woman nodded as well, affirmative and curt.
The man set his drink down on the table, holding out his other.
"John," he said.
"Shelly," she said.
"Are you new to the area?" John asked. "I don't believe I've ever seen you around."
"Maybe. I move a lot for work," she said. Her drink remained in her hand, and she took small, periodic sips, enough to drain the glass in minutes. She looked around, waving for a waiter, who wordlessly took away her glass and replaced her beverage with a new one.
"Ah, you are the opposite of me, then," the man chuckled. "Never found opportunities to be lacking here, honestly. I just freelance here and there with different organizations, you know."
"Well," Shelly said. "You must be good at keeping incognito, then."
"The best," John winked. "Nobody needs to know when and where I came from. Just have to know that I get the job done, swift and easy-like."
Shelley had already finished another drink. The waiter came once again, and the drink was silently replenished once more.
"You are going through a lot of them," he said.
"Have a problem?"
"Not at all," he said. "Just didn't think you look like the kind of woman that needed to buy her own drinks."
"Not a fan of people in general," she said.
"Professionally or personally?" John asked. "Because I don't like crowds when I'm working, but some companionship here and then isn't too bad."
"Mm," Shelly muttered. She looked right into John's eyes. John wasn't clear what and how many drinks she had consumed, but she didn't look the least bit shattered. "I'll prefer to keep things professional, if you don't mind."
"Of course, of course," John said, holding his hands up dramatically. "Professional."
At his gesture, a small peal of laughter escaped Shelly.
"What?" John said, amused.
"Nothing," she cooed. "Just some memory of a previous job. Jobs."
"Really?" he laughed. "People have to be surrendering themselves to get shot by you?"
"Not often," she said. "It's better for all parties if they don't resist so much, however."
"I get that," he nodded. "Sometimes they just get so antsy Come on, you know what's coming!"
"They always say they expect it," her head leaned a little as she rested her cheek on one hand. "But the moment comes, and they are never ready."
"Yea," he shook his head. "Even for those that book their own appointments, you know?"
"You get people who book their own appointments?"
"Of course," he said. "Sometimes, they like going out with a bang, you know? Leave something of themselves behind."
"Hmm," she said. "I guess I sort of understand that. Can't pull the trigger themselves, after all."
"Not unless they have a professional setup," he agreed. "I'm portable and quick, you know? So they come to me."
"That's nice," she said. "In a really morbid way, I suppose."
"Morbid?" John asked. His hand settled on a glass, and he downed the contents.
He stared at the glass.
"This isn't my drink," he said.
"It isn't," she said.
"What is thi..."
"Shh," she shushed. "Keep things professional. Your moment's here, John."
---
r/dexdrafts
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The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"Hmmm that is a good question." John said sipping a whiskey on the rocks. He let the alcohol linger on his tongue while he thought. "There's so many variables I'd barely know where to start."
Harvey leaned against the bar counter, elbow propping him up as he faced his new friend. "Well I got my perfect shot about two months ago. Couldn't have gone better."
John looked at the small man he had met only an hour ago. It wasn't long before the conversation between the two had turned to their mutual profession. "Go on tell me," he said when it became apparent Harvey has finished speaking.
"Alright you twisted my arm I'll talk."
Harvey turned to fully face the bar. He motioned at the barman for another round. The smell of whiskey radiated off him but given the company at their current establishment he wasn't alone.
"My perfect shot was a young girl, probably in her twenties, as she looked out over a lake. The lake had frozen a while before but that day it just started to defrost. The way she looked out towards the horizon was beautiful. She had no idea I was about to take the shot."
John looked towards the ground, the story had made the moment more personal than he had been prepared for. The floor was littered with discarded beer mats and had that sticky lokk about it that could be found in many downtown bars.
"Her husband asked me to do it," Harvey continued, "Got in touch through a forum." He put his hand on John's back as his voice dropped to a whisper.
"She was sick you see. Wanted it done before the disease broke her down too much. So I got it, aimed right behind her ear as she looked at this amazing sight and that was it. Split second it was done. The perfect shot"
There was a silence between the men after that. The noise of the crowd bustling around them carried on but neither spoke for quite some time. John was the first to break it as he stood up.
"You know what my friend I can't think of a shot much more perfect than that."
He laid enough cash down to cover both their tabs and without another word between them he was gone.
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"Personally, I think the more unexpected it is, the better." Josh took another sip from his beer.
Damien snorted, popping a couple peanuts in his mouth. "You mean catch them off guard? Nah, I think it should feel almost natural." He smiled. "Take my last job, this senator was blazing through his speech. Right when he hit the climax of his speech," he mimed pulling a trigger. "Bang. Perfect shot. Right when the emotion is highest. Feels the most genuine to me."
Josh frowned at this. "I dunno, I mean the last job I had was a movie star. Everyone was all crowded around her walking up the red carpet, I just waited. Managed to get my shot later on, right as the lights were going out. " He downed his beer. "The less they're prepared for it, the better."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "You got your mark in a theater? That can't have been with anything too big."
Josh laughed. "Of course not, I just had a little handheld. It's nothing special, but it gets the job done."
Damien nodded thoughtfully, then bent and picked up his bag. "Well, I'd love to keep this conversation going, but I've really gotta run. New job just came in, it's a wedding."
Josh smirked. "Ah, exciting! Who's the lucky mark?"
Damien shrugged. "The bride and groom I think. They said they'd fill me in when I get there. See you next week?"
Josh nodded. "Next week."
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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It was perhaps a strange thing that two strangers, both holding bulky bags, found themselves in the same corner of a crowded bar. But, they did always say that birds of a feather flocked together.
"You shoot for a living?" the man asked, gesturing towards his newfound companion's baggage, tucked neatly under the table.
"Hmm?" the woman replied. An eyebrow shot up. "Why else would I shoot?"
The man nodded towards the empty seat opposite the woman. The woman nodded as well, affirmative and curt.
The man set his drink down on the table, holding out his other.
"John," he said.
"Shelly," she said.
"Are you new to the area?" John asked. "I don't believe I've ever seen you around."
"Maybe. I move a lot for work," she said. Her drink remained in her hand, and she took small, periodic sips, enough to drain the glass in minutes. She looked around, waving for a waiter, who wordlessly took away her glass and replaced her beverage with a new one.
"Ah, you are the opposite of me, then," the man chuckled. "Never found opportunities to be lacking here, honestly. I just freelance here and there with different organizations, you know."
"Well," Shelly said. "You must be good at keeping incognito, then."
"The best," John winked. "Nobody needs to know when and where I came from. Just have to know that I get the job done, swift and easy-like."
Shelley had already finished another drink. The waiter came once again, and the drink was silently replenished once more.
"You are going through a lot of them," he said.
"Have a problem?"
"Not at all," he said. "Just didn't think you look like the kind of woman that needed to buy her own drinks."
"Not a fan of people in general," she said.
"Professionally or personally?" John asked. "Because I don't like crowds when I'm working, but some companionship here and then isn't too bad."
"Mm," Shelly muttered. She looked right into John's eyes. John wasn't clear what and how many drinks she had consumed, but she didn't look the least bit shattered. "I'll prefer to keep things professional, if you don't mind."
"Of course, of course," John said, holding his hands up dramatically. "Professional."
At his gesture, a small peal of laughter escaped Shelly.
"What?" John said, amused.
"Nothing," she cooed. "Just some memory of a previous job. Jobs."
"Really?" he laughed. "People have to be surrendering themselves to get shot by you?"
"Not often," she said. "It's better for all parties if they don't resist so much, however."
"I get that," he nodded. "Sometimes they just get so antsy Come on, you know what's coming!"
"They always say they expect it," her head leaned a little as she rested her cheek on one hand. "But the moment comes, and they are never ready."
"Yea," he shook his head. "Even for those that book their own appointments, you know?"
"You get people who book their own appointments?"
"Of course," he said. "Sometimes, they like going out with a bang, you know? Leave something of themselves behind."
"Hmm," she said. "I guess I sort of understand that. Can't pull the trigger themselves, after all."
"Not unless they have a professional setup," he agreed. "I'm portable and quick, you know? So they come to me."
"That's nice," she said. "In a really morbid way, I suppose."
"Morbid?" John asked. His hand settled on a glass, and he downed the contents.
He stared at the glass.
"This isn't my drink," he said.
"It isn't," she said.
"What is thi..."
"Shh," she shushed. "Keep things professional. Your moment's here, John."
---
r/dexdrafts
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"Personally, I think the more unexpected it is, the better." Josh took another sip from his beer.
Damien snorted, popping a couple peanuts in his mouth. "You mean catch them off guard? Nah, I think it should feel almost natural." He smiled. "Take my last job, this senator was blazing through his speech. Right when he hit the climax of his speech," he mimed pulling a trigger. "Bang. Perfect shot. Right when the emotion is highest. Feels the most genuine to me."
Josh frowned at this. "I dunno, I mean the last job I had was a movie star. Everyone was all crowded around her walking up the red carpet, I just waited. Managed to get my shot later on, right as the lights were going out. " He downed his beer. "The less they're prepared for it, the better."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "You got your mark in a theater? That can't have been with anything too big."
Josh laughed. "Of course not, I just had a little handheld. It's nothing special, but it gets the job done."
Damien nodded thoughtfully, then bent and picked up his bag. "Well, I'd love to keep this conversation going, but I've really gotta run. New job just came in, it's a wedding."
Josh smirked. "Ah, exciting! Who's the lucky mark?"
Damien shrugged. "The bride and groom I think. They said they'd fill me in when I get there. See you next week?"
Josh nodded. "Next week."
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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Zelia entered the bar, hoping to get a drink. For her, a nice strong liquor after a long day's shoot was the best way to end the day. The nearest open seat was next to a frowning woman, black hair, black suit, but Zelia didn't mind. Austerity could sometimes make for strong photos, if she took it carefully.
Persephone (Percy to her friends) looked up to see the new arrival, a woman looking slightly flushed. The woman ordered some vodka, and Percy approved.
"What are you coming from, friend? You look tired." Percy asked.
Zelia was a bit surprised she was being spoken to, but took it in stride.
"Oh, just got back from a shoot."
Percy nodded and swished the remainder of her drink. Photographer, or fellow sniper? Well, only one way to find out.
"Was it...a hit?"
"Yes. The employer praised me afterwards on my shots, and I think I stayed away from people's notice." Zelia humbly bragged.
"Being noticed is *not* what you want." Percy noted emphatically.
Zelia gave her a quizzical look, and Percy adopted an apologetic tone.
"I'm in the same business as you, you see," she explained, "and I think I'm entitled to a little say on the way it should be done. You haven't been in the business for 14 years, have you?"
Zelia swallowed in the presence of a woman who must be a successful photographer.
"Nine months in, yeah. I suppose you would know better."
"Thought so. You still had that adrenaline high when you walked in, the leftover nerves. Anyways, where was the shoot?" Percy asked.
Zelia sighed. "Oh, this beautiful wedding in the south. Everything lined up so well."
Percy let out a low whistle. "Wedding? First nine months? Better make sure you're not stealing all my business by next year!" She playfully elbowed Zelia.
Zelia giggled, and accepted her vodka from the bartender. "Oh, the client was a family friend. He knew it was big, but he wanted to make sure it didn't go to those faceless corporate people."
Percy pointed her glass at Zelia. "I'll have you know I myself am one of the faceless corporate types. I like to think we exchange the personal touch for a certain anonymity some people need.
The photographer nodded, not wanting to imperil her newest friendship by speaking about the corporate gigs that small businesses *can't* get, and--
Zelia exhaled. Learning experience, learning experience. You've got a veteran here to ask for advice.
"So, what equipment do you use? I swear by whatever the latest Japanese technology is, myself."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "Japanese? Huh, they must be really cutting edge. Myself, I find a good Russian make is often the way to go."
"Hey, at least we can agree to not use American trash!" Zelia joked.
Percy let out a bark of laughter. Feeling something niggling at her mind, she checked her phone. 8:17.
"Sorry, I gotta get going. Meeting with a client. But it's good to meet someone else in the trade. I'm Percy, by the way."
"I'm Zelia. Hope they don't shaft you with the payment."
Percy let out her second laugh of the night. "Well, I hope so for their sakes if not mine. And hey, wait a sec..."
Zelia watched her dig around in her pockets, and produce a pad and paper. Percy scrawled something down, ripped off what she had written, and presented it to Zelia.
"Here's my number, if you ever need advice or an extra hand. Or, y'know, if you want to get together some other time. Good luck."
Percy patted Zelia's shoulder as she handed off the paper, checked the time once more, and dashed out of the bar.
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"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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Marston gets a call, "Hey, listen, you'll meet a kid sometime around 0800, he wants to learn from you. You'll get paid handsomely."
"Postpone Danny, I have a job today."
"Can't, it's decided. The kid's father will hire you for your next hit very soon, don't miss this opportunity." The call get disconnected.
Marston held his phone tightly, towards crushing it then he let out a sigh.
He went to a bar to find the kid. He sat at a table and ordered for a glass of whiskey.
It is 08:10, the kid is late. Marston is someone who values time, he strated rethinking his decision to come here in the first place. He almost got out of the bar but it started to rain.
Marston noticed a kid who has been watching him for some time from the opposite table, he called him. The kid came to his table with his bag.
"Why didn't you come here already?" asked Marston.
"I'm sorry, I-I thought it'd be weird," he said.
"Sit down." Marston called for another glass of whiskey.
"I think I've had enough for today."
Marston gave him a look when the drink arrived, and said, "this is for me."
"Oh, sorry." The kid bit his fingernail while looking away.
"So tell me what'd you see in me?"
He waited a moment then said, "A few minutes back you looked to your right at the glass window and put your finger on it and closed one of your eyes."
"Yeah, that's how everyone does, don't they?"
"True, but you're living the life, aren't you? That's when I thought you're a pro."
"Flattery will only get you so far kid, you have to learn to handle the machine, you have to feel it when it shoots. To sum it up, you'll have to practice a lot in the range before you put a bullet on someone. I'm not gonna teach you."
"Wow, that's— thanks for the advice. But it's tough to establish myself especially in the city—"
"Timing matters kid, you have to be there to get the perfect shot. Take one and you'll get the hang of it."
Marston drank the last glass of drink, "I have a job to do. I'll see you around."
"Nice to meet you, sir."
Marston had put a bullet on one of the prominent political figures that night. He took his sniper unit out and stood there masked on top of the 25 storey building terrace before he vanished.
He got a call the next day, "Mars, what the hell was that?"
"You asked me to meet him I met him, you didn't tell me anything about training him. Also the kid looks stupid with his glasses on, he won't survive the busi—"
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not here to talk about that, moreover you never met the kid last night he came to see you 30 minutes late. Are you sure you saw him? Who the hell did you see, man?"
Confused, Marston looked at his Surface Pro, he saw a news clip with a photo of him standing on top of the roof in the rain. The news read, 'Although his identity is unknown the elusive Hitman has been captured in action for the first time by our photographer Jack Thorpe. It is important to note he joined GBDI News only last night.
"Well, sh*t."
r/FleetingScripts
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"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.]
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"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
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Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"The perfect shot," Shawn said, "leaves people breathless."
"Yes. I agree. There's something so beautiful about it," Ray replied.
They were at the bar, seated on barstools, whiskey sours in front of them. Shawn was the taller of the two and was dressed in a black tee and black jeans. Ray was more casual, he wore brighter colours -- olive shirt and khaki trousers -- and was very scrawny.
"You shoot much?" Shaun asked.
"I have my gigs."
"Turned professional? Or just side gigs?"
"Side gigs, for now."
Shawn sipped on his whiskey and said, "What shot you most proud of?"
Ray stared at his glass for a while, his eyes hazy. "The senator Dobbins. Yes, that was my best shot."
"Perfect shot?"
Ray smiled. "No. Can't be perfect. It's not something you achieve."
Shawn took a swig from his whiskey, "True, very true."
"You know, Ray. I missed one today."
"What?"
"Missed a shot," Shawn said and sighed.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The dude died. My camera was on him. The lighting was perfect. But just as my finger reached the button. Poof, he dropped dead."
Ray drank his whiskey absentmindedly. "Was it Winston?"
"Yes. How do you - You were on the same -"
"Yes, I was. I got it. I got the shot."
"Lucky bastard," Shawn said and flashed a weak smile. "You have it with you now? The shot?"
"What? No. I did it from afar," Ray said and made a finger gun. "Bam!" He finished his drink and got up.
Shawn was speechless.
"I've got it, alright. I've got it printed right here," Ray said, stabbing his forehead with his index finger.
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"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
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Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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The two men walked out of the bar. They had been making small talk when one asked what the other was doing in town.
"Oh, I'm here to shoot the president." the shorter of the men said. His new friend looked slightly surprised but eventually replied.
"REALLY? wow. Me too. Small world huh. Still, I guess the way this year has gone there are going to be loads of people there with the same plan." They conferred for a minute and agreed that yes, there would be many. It was going to be big news and they both wanted to be the one to get that perfect shot.
The taller man was clearly expecting more money, the other decided to look him up later to check out his work. They discussed some of their plans.
"Yeah, I have a great vantage point picked out on a building nearby." the shorter one confided, he was insistent that being higher up and further away was a better vantage point. "I can shoot from there and nobody gets in my way you see. Clear line of sight, right at the guy. If you are down on the ground there are too many people about to get in the way. Plus it's easier to get away afterwards."
"Sure, but I like being closer, it's more personal. When I take that shot I want to be able to look him in the eyes, catch that perfect moment. The crowds don't bother me so much as long as I can take care of my equipment.
They both nodded in agreement at the others perspective. After all, both ideas clearly had their own merit. What neither realised was they were not both in the same line of work.
They eventually parted ways. The shorter man heading towards the building he had indicated and the taller man begun pushing his way through crowds, a small black bag slung over his shoulder. As the short man ascended the stairs, a large long black case in his hand, he thought about how much easier it would be up close, without all these stairs.
As the other pushed through the crowds he could hear almost nothing against the background of cheering, jeering and other noise. He needed to be right at the front and this was no time for being nice to others. He was tall and quite fit, elbowing people and shoving his way without apology leaving a trail of annoyed people behind him. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, of course most of the people here were wearing masks which was a relief, the last thing he wanted was to get sick from this.
The last stair climbed the shorter man begun to open up and unpack his equipment. An array of adapters and optics, clip on attachments etc. A small bipod which he much preferred to most other supports. He had found a broken window so he could get a nice clear shot, pulled a table up to it and placed a plastic sheet over it before laying down on the table and setting up pointing out of the window. Wind whistled in through the hole and he was thankful for the leather gloves he was wearing. He had checked out this building before and there were no regular security patrols. It had been closed for some time after the company went under.
He was at the front of the crowd. The president was on stage. His "press" credentials had allowed him closer than most, in a small dedicated area. He wasn't as jostled here. Some elbow room. He was holding a nice DSLR with a huge lens balanced only in his hands. The others with all sorts of tripods laughed at him. He pulled the scarf up around his face. Only the tops of his eyes poking over. His hat was pulled down low over his head.
From up this high the president looked small, but with such a powerful zoom it would be easy. He just had to wait for the perfect moment. Maybe a heckler, or protest? Something was bound to happen that would take everybody's attention, cause a scene. Make some noise. Slowly as he aimed down at the president he took the lens cover off.
Both men had the president in their sights. Both men were ready to take their shot.
A crazed woman burst out of the crowd screaming about something, this was it. She hurled something at the president. An egg. Security guards rushed towards her.
The tall man in the crowd waited for the split second the egg hit. The president had his eyes shut, security were all focused on the woman.
The short man pulled his trigger as he saw the same moment.
A soft snap sound from both men. Inaudible to anybody in the crowds.
Somebody in a suit reached the president and tried to wipe the egg off his face only to have him slump into their arms.
Panic.
The president was dragged off stage, security fired, killing the woman who had thrown the egg. More shots rang out from the crowd and chaos ensued.
The tall man turned and left, running with the crowd.
The shorter man slowly packed up his gear. Slowly and methodically ensuring everything was put away and not a trace was left behind. He rolled up the plastic sheet and tucked it away in the case with everything else. He left too, eager to report to his employer. He was going to be rich.
"Up there! I saw a reflection!" somebody shouted, eyes turned to the tell tale flash of light that had reflected for a moment in the window high up, security rushed to the building.
The tall man flashed his press badge as he left in the opposite direction and slowly walked away.
Security converged on the empty building, all exits covered. A door opened, a short man tried to slip out of a rear fire exit unnoticed. A hail of bullets took him down in seconds. His limp body lay on the ground, blood covering his large black flight case.
Another man got on a bus, then a plane.
Various agencies surrounded the scene. They were searching for bullet casings and evidence high up in the building while a robot operated by bomb disposal carefully opened the clasps on the case and lifted the lid.
A dozen men in suits stared in horror at the contents of the case. An array of lenses. A bipod, tripod, monopod, remote camera trigger, a very expensive DSLR and a huge very expensive zoom lens, the sort the paperazzi use to get photos of celebs from miles away. The photographer lay dead in a pool of his own blood.
The hitman opened up his modified camera to clean the gun mechanism hidden inside it. The long lens had hidden the silencer and had been removed. Everything had gone exactly as planned, he was just glad he got his shot off before that idiot sniper had missed and alerted everybody.
Weeks later, the most published photograph of the decade, taken by the late photographer showed the president with egg on his face and a bullet a fraction of a millimeter away from his head. He would have earned millions had he been alive, instead there was a lot of argument over ownership of the image that had been leaked from one of the various three letter agencies.
"Oh! He really was there to shoot the president" the tall man said as he relaxed on a beach, chuckling to himself at the miss-understanding. At least he didn't have to go back and kill the man for knowing who he was.
​
\--- Ok, so I edited it to correct the mistake with the short/tall getting mixed up. A couple of other typos too. I guess I rattled this one out too quick! Thanks for all the positive comments. Re-read if you want to see the slightly clearer version...
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"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
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Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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Marston gets a call, "Hey, listen, you'll meet a kid sometime around 0800, he wants to learn from you. You'll get paid handsomely."
"Postpone Danny, I have a job today."
"Can't, it's decided. The kid's father will hire you for your next hit very soon, don't miss this opportunity." The call get disconnected.
Marston held his phone tightly, towards crushing it then he let out a sigh.
He went to a bar to find the kid. He sat at a table and ordered for a glass of whiskey.
It is 08:10, the kid is late. Marston is someone who values time, he strated rethinking his decision to come here in the first place. He almost got out of the bar but it started to rain.
Marston noticed a kid who has been watching him for some time from the opposite table, he called him. The kid came to his table with his bag.
"Why didn't you come here already?" asked Marston.
"I'm sorry, I-I thought it'd be weird," he said.
"Sit down." Marston called for another glass of whiskey.
"I think I've had enough for today."
Marston gave him a look when the drink arrived, and said, "this is for me."
"Oh, sorry." The kid bit his fingernail while looking away.
"So tell me what'd you see in me?"
He waited a moment then said, "A few minutes back you looked to your right at the glass window and put your finger on it and closed one of your eyes."
"Yeah, that's how everyone does, don't they?"
"True, but you're living the life, aren't you? That's when I thought you're a pro."
"Flattery will only get you so far kid, you have to learn to handle the machine, you have to feel it when it shoots. To sum it up, you'll have to practice a lot in the range before you put a bullet on someone. I'm not gonna teach you."
"Wow, that's— thanks for the advice. But it's tough to establish myself especially in the city—"
"Timing matters kid, you have to be there to get the perfect shot. Take one and you'll get the hang of it."
Marston drank the last glass of drink, "I have a job to do. I'll see you around."
"Nice to meet you, sir."
Marston had put a bullet on one of the prominent political figures that night. He took his sniper unit out and stood there masked on top of the 25 storey building terrace before he vanished.
He got a call the next day, "Mars, what the hell was that?"
"You asked me to meet him I met him, you didn't tell me anything about training him. Also the kid looks stupid with his glasses on, he won't survive the busi—"
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm not here to talk about that, moreover you never met the kid last night he came to see you 30 minutes late. Are you sure you saw him? Who the hell did you see, man?"
Confused, Marston looked at his Surface Pro, he saw a news clip with a photo of him standing on top of the roof in the rain. The news read, 'Although his identity is unknown the elusive Hitman has been captured in action for the first time by our photographer Jack Thorpe. It is important to note he joined GBDI News only last night.
"Well, sh*t."
r/FleetingScripts
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Zelia entered the bar, hoping to get a drink. For her, a nice strong liquor after a long day's shoot was the best way to end the day. The nearest open seat was next to a frowning woman, black hair, black suit, but Zelia didn't mind. Austerity could sometimes make for strong photos, if she took it carefully.
Persephone (Percy to her friends) looked up to see the new arrival, a woman looking slightly flushed. The woman ordered some vodka, and Percy approved.
"What are you coming from, friend? You look tired." Percy asked.
Zelia was a bit surprised she was being spoken to, but took it in stride.
"Oh, just got back from a shoot."
Percy nodded and swished the remainder of her drink. Photographer, or fellow sniper? Well, only one way to find out.
"Was it...a hit?"
"Yes. The employer praised me afterwards on my shots, and I think I stayed away from people's notice." Zelia humbly bragged.
"Being noticed is *not* what you want." Percy noted emphatically.
Zelia gave her a quizzical look, and Percy adopted an apologetic tone.
"I'm in the same business as you, you see," she explained, "and I think I'm entitled to a little say on the way it should be done. You haven't been in the business for 14 years, have you?"
Zelia swallowed in the presence of a woman who must be a successful photographer.
"Nine months in, yeah. I suppose you would know better."
"Thought so. You still had that adrenaline high when you walked in, the leftover nerves. Anyways, where was the shoot?" Percy asked.
Zelia sighed. "Oh, this beautiful wedding in the south. Everything lined up so well."
Percy let out a low whistle. "Wedding? First nine months? Better make sure you're not stealing all my business by next year!" She playfully elbowed Zelia.
Zelia giggled, and accepted her vodka from the bartender. "Oh, the client was a family friend. He knew it was big, but he wanted to make sure it didn't go to those faceless corporate people."
Percy pointed her glass at Zelia. "I'll have you know I myself am one of the faceless corporate types. I like to think we exchange the personal touch for a certain anonymity some people need.
The photographer nodded, not wanting to imperil her newest friendship by speaking about the corporate gigs that small businesses *can't* get, and--
Zelia exhaled. Learning experience, learning experience. You've got a veteran here to ask for advice.
"So, what equipment do you use? I swear by whatever the latest Japanese technology is, myself."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "Japanese? Huh, they must be really cutting edge. Myself, I find a good Russian make is often the way to go."
"Hey, at least we can agree to not use American trash!" Zelia joked.
Percy let out a bark of laughter. Feeling something niggling at her mind, she checked her phone. 8:17.
"Sorry, I gotta get going. Meeting with a client. But it's good to meet someone else in the trade. I'm Percy, by the way."
"I'm Zelia. Hope they don't shaft you with the payment."
Percy let out her second laugh of the night. "Well, I hope so for their sakes if not mine. And hey, wait a sec..."
Zelia watched her dig around in her pockets, and produce a pad and paper. Percy scrawled something down, ripped off what she had written, and presented it to Zelia.
"Here's my number, if you ever need advice or an extra hand. Or, y'know, if you want to get together some other time. Good luck."
Percy patted Zelia's shoulder as she handed off the paper, checked the time once more, and dashed out of the bar.
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"The perfect shot," Shawn said, "leaves people breathless."
"Yes. I agree. There's something so beautiful about it," Ray replied.
They were at the bar, seated on barstools, whiskey sours in front of them. Shawn was the taller of the two and was dressed in a black tee and black jeans. Ray was more casual, he wore brighter colours -- olive shirt and khaki trousers -- and was very scrawny.
"You shoot much?" Shaun asked.
"I have my gigs."
"Turned professional? Or just side gigs?"
"Side gigs, for now."
Shawn sipped on his whiskey and said, "What shot you most proud of?"
Ray stared at his glass for a while, his eyes hazy. "The senator Dobbins. Yes, that was my best shot."
"Perfect shot?"
Ray smiled. "No. Can't be perfect. It's not something you achieve."
Shawn took a swig from his whiskey, "True, very true."
"You know, Ray. I missed one today."
"What?"
"Missed a shot," Shawn said and sighed.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The dude died. My camera was on him. The lighting was perfect. But just as my finger reached the button. Poof, he dropped dead."
Ray drank his whiskey absentmindedly. "Was it Winston?"
"Yes. How do you - You were on the same -"
"Yes, I was. I got it. I got the shot."
"Lucky bastard," Shawn said and flashed a weak smile. "You have it with you now? The shot?"
"What? No. I did it from afar," Ray said and made a finger gun. "Bam!" He finished his drink and got up.
Shawn was speechless.
"I've got it, alright. I've got it printed right here," Ray said, stabbing his forehead with his index finger.
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"Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.]
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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The two men walked out of the bar. They had been making small talk when one asked what the other was doing in town.
"Oh, I'm here to shoot the president." the shorter of the men said. His new friend looked slightly surprised but eventually replied.
"REALLY? wow. Me too. Small world huh. Still, I guess the way this year has gone there are going to be loads of people there with the same plan." They conferred for a minute and agreed that yes, there would be many. It was going to be big news and they both wanted to be the one to get that perfect shot.
The taller man was clearly expecting more money, the other decided to look him up later to check out his work. They discussed some of their plans.
"Yeah, I have a great vantage point picked out on a building nearby." the shorter one confided, he was insistent that being higher up and further away was a better vantage point. "I can shoot from there and nobody gets in my way you see. Clear line of sight, right at the guy. If you are down on the ground there are too many people about to get in the way. Plus it's easier to get away afterwards."
"Sure, but I like being closer, it's more personal. When I take that shot I want to be able to look him in the eyes, catch that perfect moment. The crowds don't bother me so much as long as I can take care of my equipment.
They both nodded in agreement at the others perspective. After all, both ideas clearly had their own merit. What neither realised was they were not both in the same line of work.
They eventually parted ways. The shorter man heading towards the building he had indicated and the taller man begun pushing his way through crowds, a small black bag slung over his shoulder. As the short man ascended the stairs, a large long black case in his hand, he thought about how much easier it would be up close, without all these stairs.
As the other pushed through the crowds he could hear almost nothing against the background of cheering, jeering and other noise. He needed to be right at the front and this was no time for being nice to others. He was tall and quite fit, elbowing people and shoving his way without apology leaving a trail of annoyed people behind him. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, of course most of the people here were wearing masks which was a relief, the last thing he wanted was to get sick from this.
The last stair climbed the shorter man begun to open up and unpack his equipment. An array of adapters and optics, clip on attachments etc. A small bipod which he much preferred to most other supports. He had found a broken window so he could get a nice clear shot, pulled a table up to it and placed a plastic sheet over it before laying down on the table and setting up pointing out of the window. Wind whistled in through the hole and he was thankful for the leather gloves he was wearing. He had checked out this building before and there were no regular security patrols. It had been closed for some time after the company went under.
He was at the front of the crowd. The president was on stage. His "press" credentials had allowed him closer than most, in a small dedicated area. He wasn't as jostled here. Some elbow room. He was holding a nice DSLR with a huge lens balanced only in his hands. The others with all sorts of tripods laughed at him. He pulled the scarf up around his face. Only the tops of his eyes poking over. His hat was pulled down low over his head.
From up this high the president looked small, but with such a powerful zoom it would be easy. He just had to wait for the perfect moment. Maybe a heckler, or protest? Something was bound to happen that would take everybody's attention, cause a scene. Make some noise. Slowly as he aimed down at the president he took the lens cover off.
Both men had the president in their sights. Both men were ready to take their shot.
A crazed woman burst out of the crowd screaming about something, this was it. She hurled something at the president. An egg. Security guards rushed towards her.
The tall man in the crowd waited for the split second the egg hit. The president had his eyes shut, security were all focused on the woman.
The short man pulled his trigger as he saw the same moment.
A soft snap sound from both men. Inaudible to anybody in the crowds.
Somebody in a suit reached the president and tried to wipe the egg off his face only to have him slump into their arms.
Panic.
The president was dragged off stage, security fired, killing the woman who had thrown the egg. More shots rang out from the crowd and chaos ensued.
The tall man turned and left, running with the crowd.
The shorter man slowly packed up his gear. Slowly and methodically ensuring everything was put away and not a trace was left behind. He rolled up the plastic sheet and tucked it away in the case with everything else. He left too, eager to report to his employer. He was going to be rich.
"Up there! I saw a reflection!" somebody shouted, eyes turned to the tell tale flash of light that had reflected for a moment in the window high up, security rushed to the building.
The tall man flashed his press badge as he left in the opposite direction and slowly walked away.
Security converged on the empty building, all exits covered. A door opened, a short man tried to slip out of a rear fire exit unnoticed. A hail of bullets took him down in seconds. His limp body lay on the ground, blood covering his large black flight case.
Another man got on a bus, then a plane.
Various agencies surrounded the scene. They were searching for bullet casings and evidence high up in the building while a robot operated by bomb disposal carefully opened the clasps on the case and lifted the lid.
A dozen men in suits stared in horror at the contents of the case. An array of lenses. A bipod, tripod, monopod, remote camera trigger, a very expensive DSLR and a huge very expensive zoom lens, the sort the paperazzi use to get photos of celebs from miles away. The photographer lay dead in a pool of his own blood.
The hitman opened up his modified camera to clean the gun mechanism hidden inside it. The long lens had hidden the silencer and had been removed. Everything had gone exactly as planned, he was just glad he got his shot off before that idiot sniper had missed and alerted everybody.
Weeks later, the most published photograph of the decade, taken by the late photographer showed the president with egg on his face and a bullet a fraction of a millimeter away from his head. He would have earned millions had he been alive, instead there was a lot of argument over ownership of the image that had been leaked from one of the various three letter agencies.
"Oh! He really was there to shoot the president" the tall man said as he relaxed on a beach, chuckling to himself at the miss-understanding. At least he didn't have to go back and kill the man for knowing who he was.
​
\--- Ok, so I edited it to correct the mistake with the short/tall getting mixed up. A couple of other typos too. I guess I rattled this one out too quick! Thanks for all the positive comments. Re-read if you want to see the slightly clearer version...
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"Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.]
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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"The perfect shot," Shawn said, "leaves people breathless."
"Yes. I agree. There's something so beautiful about it," Ray replied.
They were at the bar, seated on barstools, whiskey sours in front of them. Shawn was the taller of the two and was dressed in a black tee and black jeans. Ray was more casual, he wore brighter colours -- olive shirt and khaki trousers -- and was very scrawny.
"You shoot much?" Shaun asked.
"I have my gigs."
"Turned professional? Or just side gigs?"
"Side gigs, for now."
Shawn sipped on his whiskey and said, "What shot you most proud of?"
Ray stared at his glass for a while, his eyes hazy. "The senator Dobbins. Yes, that was my best shot."
"Perfect shot?"
Ray smiled. "No. Can't be perfect. It's not something you achieve."
Shawn took a swig from his whiskey, "True, very true."
"You know, Ray. I missed one today."
"What?"
"Missed a shot," Shawn said and sighed.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The dude died. My camera was on him. The lighting was perfect. But just as my finger reached the button. Poof, he dropped dead."
Ray drank his whiskey absentmindedly. "Was it Winston?"
"Yes. How do you - You were on the same -"
"Yes, I was. I got it. I got the shot."
"Lucky bastard," Shawn said and flashed a weak smile. "You have it with you now? The shot?"
"What? No. I did it from afar," Ray said and made a finger gun. "Bam!" He finished his drink and got up.
Shawn was speechless.
"I've got it, alright. I've got it printed right here," Ray said, stabbing his forehead with his index finger.
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The shooting was done. The event had already ended. Both men sat in a bar on the other side of the town. Both obviously surprised by what had just happened. One man with glasses, a ponytail and a camera bag. Other with clean-shaven head and a glass of whiskey in his hand. Both sat silent. The man with the ponytail looked absolutely shaken and did not take his eyes off his glass of Pina Colada.
"No I mean..." the bald man spoke up. "I mean, it is kind of funny when you do think about it."
"I don't want to think about it," responded the photographer, clearly thinking about it.
"I mean... What are the chances, eh? You said you shoot, I agreed, I mean... Nothing left for us than just to see the funny side of it."
"His head exploded!" the man exclaimed and was shocked about the volume of his own voice. Both looked around, but there was no one at the bar.
"Yes. Well. I mean... You are not a man for "looking at the funny side" now, are you? Ok, I mean... Listen these things happen."
"Yeah. Heads just kind of explode" snapped the photographer.
"They do, if you shoot them right. I thought we had a deal. When we met in the wedding and you said you were here to shoot the wife for the first time, I was surprised that you were so open to me about it, but I just figured that we had met on a job sometime in the past and I just don't remember you. And then I said that I am here to shoot the husband for the last time and had a good laugh. Now I understand your confusion at the moment. But you got to admit. It was a real good plan to decide to both shoot when the groom and the bride open their champagne. I mean, that's just class. Well, it would have been, if not for the whole..."
"The whole exploding head." finished the photographer.
"The whole shebang, yeah. I mean, you think you're surprised. I mean, I shoot, turn to look at you, and you're standing there with the camera like a nitwit. I thought it's some sort of a James Bond gadget or something, still waiting for that shot and you just puke on the ground. What was that all about..."
Both sat silent for a while. Pina Colada was left untouched.
"....The photo is probably banging though. Show it."
"I can't now. I have to do some post editing and all. It's unfinished now."
"Ah... ... Good that I don't have to do any cleaning and touching up. Well. It's been a.... day."
"You think they'll pay me for the photography anyway?"
"Eh..." the shaven man stood up, finished his glass and took his coat "Fuck that. Go straight to New York Times and such. They'll give you a better dollar. "Newlyweds try to open champagne. You'll never guess what pops next!" Alright. Take care. See you at the next shoot."
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/)
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[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
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The two men walked out of the bar. They had been making small talk when one asked what the other was doing in town.
"Oh, I'm here to shoot the president." the shorter of the men said. His new friend looked slightly surprised but eventually replied.
"REALLY? wow. Me too. Small world huh. Still, I guess the way this year has gone there are going to be loads of people there with the same plan." They conferred for a minute and agreed that yes, there would be many. It was going to be big news and they both wanted to be the one to get that perfect shot.
The taller man was clearly expecting more money, the other decided to look him up later to check out his work. They discussed some of their plans.
"Yeah, I have a great vantage point picked out on a building nearby." the shorter one confided, he was insistent that being higher up and further away was a better vantage point. "I can shoot from there and nobody gets in my way you see. Clear line of sight, right at the guy. If you are down on the ground there are too many people about to get in the way. Plus it's easier to get away afterwards."
"Sure, but I like being closer, it's more personal. When I take that shot I want to be able to look him in the eyes, catch that perfect moment. The crowds don't bother me so much as long as I can take care of my equipment.
They both nodded in agreement at the others perspective. After all, both ideas clearly had their own merit. What neither realised was they were not both in the same line of work.
They eventually parted ways. The shorter man heading towards the building he had indicated and the taller man begun pushing his way through crowds, a small black bag slung over his shoulder. As the short man ascended the stairs, a large long black case in his hand, he thought about how much easier it would be up close, without all these stairs.
As the other pushed through the crowds he could hear almost nothing against the background of cheering, jeering and other noise. He needed to be right at the front and this was no time for being nice to others. He was tall and quite fit, elbowing people and shoving his way without apology leaving a trail of annoyed people behind him. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, of course most of the people here were wearing masks which was a relief, the last thing he wanted was to get sick from this.
The last stair climbed the shorter man begun to open up and unpack his equipment. An array of adapters and optics, clip on attachments etc. A small bipod which he much preferred to most other supports. He had found a broken window so he could get a nice clear shot, pulled a table up to it and placed a plastic sheet over it before laying down on the table and setting up pointing out of the window. Wind whistled in through the hole and he was thankful for the leather gloves he was wearing. He had checked out this building before and there were no regular security patrols. It had been closed for some time after the company went under.
He was at the front of the crowd. The president was on stage. His "press" credentials had allowed him closer than most, in a small dedicated area. He wasn't as jostled here. Some elbow room. He was holding a nice DSLR with a huge lens balanced only in his hands. The others with all sorts of tripods laughed at him. He pulled the scarf up around his face. Only the tops of his eyes poking over. His hat was pulled down low over his head.
From up this high the president looked small, but with such a powerful zoom it would be easy. He just had to wait for the perfect moment. Maybe a heckler, or protest? Something was bound to happen that would take everybody's attention, cause a scene. Make some noise. Slowly as he aimed down at the president he took the lens cover off.
Both men had the president in their sights. Both men were ready to take their shot.
A crazed woman burst out of the crowd screaming about something, this was it. She hurled something at the president. An egg. Security guards rushed towards her.
The tall man in the crowd waited for the split second the egg hit. The president had his eyes shut, security were all focused on the woman.
The short man pulled his trigger as he saw the same moment.
A soft snap sound from both men. Inaudible to anybody in the crowds.
Somebody in a suit reached the president and tried to wipe the egg off his face only to have him slump into their arms.
Panic.
The president was dragged off stage, security fired, killing the woman who had thrown the egg. More shots rang out from the crowd and chaos ensued.
The tall man turned and left, running with the crowd.
The shorter man slowly packed up his gear. Slowly and methodically ensuring everything was put away and not a trace was left behind. He rolled up the plastic sheet and tucked it away in the case with everything else. He left too, eager to report to his employer. He was going to be rich.
"Up there! I saw a reflection!" somebody shouted, eyes turned to the tell tale flash of light that had reflected for a moment in the window high up, security rushed to the building.
The tall man flashed his press badge as he left in the opposite direction and slowly walked away.
Security converged on the empty building, all exits covered. A door opened, a short man tried to slip out of a rear fire exit unnoticed. A hail of bullets took him down in seconds. His limp body lay on the ground, blood covering his large black flight case.
Another man got on a bus, then a plane.
Various agencies surrounded the scene. They were searching for bullet casings and evidence high up in the building while a robot operated by bomb disposal carefully opened the clasps on the case and lifted the lid.
A dozen men in suits stared in horror at the contents of the case. An array of lenses. A bipod, tripod, monopod, remote camera trigger, a very expensive DSLR and a huge very expensive zoom lens, the sort the paperazzi use to get photos of celebs from miles away. The photographer lay dead in a pool of his own blood.
The hitman opened up his modified camera to clean the gun mechanism hidden inside it. The long lens had hidden the silencer and had been removed. Everything had gone exactly as planned, he was just glad he got his shot off before that idiot sniper had missed and alerted everybody.
Weeks later, the most published photograph of the decade, taken by the late photographer showed the president with egg on his face and a bullet a fraction of a millimeter away from his head. He would have earned millions had he been alive, instead there was a lot of argument over ownership of the image that had been leaked from one of the various three letter agencies.
"Oh! He really was there to shoot the president" the tall man said as he relaxed on a beach, chuckling to himself at the miss-understanding. At least he didn't have to go back and kill the man for knowing who he was.
​
\--- Ok, so I edited it to correct the mistake with the short/tall getting mixed up. A couple of other typos too. I guess I rattled this one out too quick! Thanks for all the positive comments. Re-read if you want to see the slightly clearer version...
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The shooting was done. The event had already ended. Both men sat in a bar on the other side of the town. Both obviously surprised by what had just happened. One man with glasses, a ponytail and a camera bag. Other with clean-shaven head and a glass of whiskey in his hand. Both sat silent. The man with the ponytail looked absolutely shaken and did not take his eyes off his glass of Pina Colada.
"No I mean..." the bald man spoke up. "I mean, it is kind of funny when you do think about it."
"I don't want to think about it," responded the photographer, clearly thinking about it.
"I mean... What are the chances, eh? You said you shoot, I agreed, I mean... Nothing left for us than just to see the funny side of it."
"His head exploded!" the man exclaimed and was shocked about the volume of his own voice. Both looked around, but there was no one at the bar.
"Yes. Well. I mean... You are not a man for "looking at the funny side" now, are you? Ok, I mean... Listen these things happen."
"Yeah. Heads just kind of explode" snapped the photographer.
"They do, if you shoot them right. I thought we had a deal. When we met in the wedding and you said you were here to shoot the wife for the first time, I was surprised that you were so open to me about it, but I just figured that we had met on a job sometime in the past and I just don't remember you. And then I said that I am here to shoot the husband for the last time and had a good laugh. Now I understand your confusion at the moment. But you got to admit. It was a real good plan to decide to both shoot when the groom and the bride open their champagne. I mean, that's just class. Well, it would have been, if not for the whole..."
"The whole exploding head." finished the photographer.
"The whole shebang, yeah. I mean, you think you're surprised. I mean, I shoot, turn to look at you, and you're standing there with the camera like a nitwit. I thought it's some sort of a James Bond gadget or something, still waiting for that shot and you just puke on the ground. What was that all about..."
Both sat silent for a while. Pina Colada was left untouched.
"....The photo is probably banging though. Show it."
"I can't now. I have to do some post editing and all. It's unfinished now."
"Ah... ... Good that I don't have to do any cleaning and touching up. Well. It's been a.... day."
"You think they'll pay me for the photography anyway?"
"Eh..." the shaven man stood up, finished his glass and took his coat "Fuck that. Go straight to New York Times and such. They'll give you a better dollar. "Newlyweds try to open champagne. You'll never guess what pops next!" Alright. Take care. See you at the next shoot."
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/)
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[WP] Everyone knows that no matter what, you should never EVER pray to the god who only answers at night. But tonight, you are desperate.
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*Now I lay me down to sleep*
*These memories shall make me weep*
*Should I die before I wake*
*I pray that something, something, cake*
Eric shook his head, feeling the too-warm fabric of his pillow scratch against his ears. For the third night in a row now, he had been wholly unable to drift off at a reasonable hour... and his sleep-addled brain seemed to be amusing itself by repurposing old prayers. He sighed and rolled over, knowing that he'd be unable to get comfortable, yet still hoping against hope that he'd wind up in a position which didn't make him feel restless.
It was bad enough to be suffering from insomnia. Worse still, though, were the flickers of half-remembered embarrassments that came dancing into his head each time that his eyelids started to grow heavy. Eric had heard that leaning in to those recollections – embracing them and truly reliving them, rather than trying to internally flee – would render them harmless, but they seemed to flit away each time that he tried to confront them directly. In fact, the only thing that he could keep a mental hold on were the echoes of that damned nursery rhyme, which seemed to shift each time he went through it.
*Now I lay me down to sleep*
*Most censored cuss-words sound like "beep"*
*If in hellfire I shall bake*
*I ask for cookies at my wake*
A sudden chill swept through the room, which might almost have been refreshing if its timing hadn't seemed so ominous. Eric propped himself up in bed, looking for the source of the draught. The curtains were still, touched only by the yellow glow of the streetlight outside. The door was closed, with even the crack at its base having been closed off by a fallen bathrobe. In fact, the only motion in the room was that of the dark figure's hands as it seemed to pick at a hangnail.
Something was wrong with this situation, but Eric couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
"Hey," he said aloud, "did you feel a breeze just now?"
The figure's form shifted, presumably as it looked up. It appeared to glance around the room, ignoring only the wall against which it was standing. "Sorry, what? A breeze?" Its voice could have been compared to a mocking whisper, but its tone was one of calm and earnest curiosity. "No, I didn't feel anything."
"Huh." Eric lay back within his covers, struggling to understand what was suddenly bothering him. "I swear I felt something."
"Well, I didn't," replied the figure, prodding experimentally at its pillow. *Was it always lying here next to me?* Eric heard himself silently ask. *Wasn't it... somewhere else?*
"No, hang on, this isn't right." It took a strange amount of effort, but Eric managed to sit up again. "Has something changed in here?"
An impatient sigh preceded the figure's next words. "Look, man, what's going on with you? First it's a breeze, then it's... what?" Irritated though it sounded, at least the figure did Eric the courtesy of spinning around in its chair. The motion made the fire in the hearth flicker slightly, but the invisible gust didn't reach Eric's place on the couch.
"I... I don't know," murmured Eric. "I remember trying to get to sleep, then making up parody prayers."
"Uh huh. Then what?"
It was like a dense fog had settled somewhere just behind Eric's forehead. "I can't remember. Something woke me up."
The figure snorted this time. "No, it didn't. You're asleep."
Eric glanced around the cabin's interior, staring intently at every detail. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but the ocean outside the porthole looked quiet, and the hatch in the roof seemed like it was still securely shut. "I don't feel asleep," he protested. "This all makes too much sense to be a dream, too." He reached over to his bedside table, depressing the lever on the toaster that stood there. A warm glow illuminated the space, proving to Eric that he was – as he had expected – still lying on a marble slab in the middle of a deserted museum.
"Yeah, well, that's the thing about dreams," the figure replied. It climbed off its motorcycle and approached on foot, hopping slightly to avoid a large crack in the pavement. "They aren't just images, you know. There are sensations associated with them... *mental* sensations, that is. For instance, I bet this place feels familiar, doesn't it?"
Once again, Eric examined his surroundings. *Of course it feels familiar*, he thought. *We just finished building this hut!*
"Aha!" the figure shouted. "See? Now you're experiencing manufactured memories. All of those little details give dreams their cohesion. You *think* you're lucid, though, so you just accept your shifting reality." It moved closer, brushing the reeds aside as it climbed onto Eric's rock. "Here's another question, if you think you can handle it: What has been the one constant?"
"Just tell me," replied Eric. "And put your seatbelt on. We don't want to get pulled over."
The figured complied with the instruction, attaching itself to the three-legged stool. "It's me, Eric. I've been here the whole time. You don't remember calling for me – praying to me, really – because it happened right before you fell asleep."
"I'm not asleep!" Eric insisted. He threw the controller down in a huff. "If I were asleep, would I be playing video games with you?"
"Well, hopefully," answered the figure. "I mean, we're going to have to find *something* to do to kill the time."
"What are you talking about?"
The figure offered a halfhearted gesture... and suddenly, Eric was back in his bedroom. Moreover, he was actually aware of the change, and of the many bizarre shifts that he had somehow overlooked. "That was the deal, Eric. You'll never again suffer from insomnia... but now I get to share your dreams."
Eric felt another chill.
This one had nothing to do with a phantom draught.
"Don't worry, though," the figure whispered. "I'll look away during the *embarrassing* ones."
Eric sat bolt upright in bed. The curtains were still, touched only by the yellow glow of the streetlight outside. The door was closed, with even the crack at its base having been closed off by a fallen bathrobe. In fact, the only motion in the room was that of his own chest, rising and falling as he took deep, panicked breaths.
*Ugh*, Eric thought to himself, *I finally fall asleep, and I get woken up by a nightmare that I can't even remember.*
He rolled over again, pulling the covers around himself.
*Now I lay me down to sleep*
*My visions all watched from the deep*
*Should I pass before I rise*
*The deep may see life through my eyes*
A content smile crossed over Eric's face. That rhyme wasn't half bad.
It just seemed familiar somehow...
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I never thought I'd be here. It's been two years since I lost you, felt you, seen your smile. I remember the day that it became my reality. The sirens wailing in the distance disrupting the dawn light and wreaking havoc on the solace of the night. The shrieking of children calling out for their parents and wandering through the thick fog that lay eerily across the landscape.
No more were the comforts of our world guaranteed. The City had fallen. It's been two years and now the growing desperation of the many are looked down upon by the few. They told us that the gods would not hear at night and that the demons were prowling the aether awaiting the fainted cries of the lost. They told us that we'd never stand a chance against the darkness that enveloped our world. That we were only saved by the red half-sun that shined upon us.
"Insolatsium, I pray to you now."
I don't even know how to do this. I've not prayed in much time, but remembering you gives me some hope.
"Bring to me that which you brought before. I light three candles to honor the elements of the night. First, the candle of water where the dew starts to set. Second, the candle of fire as the stars burn eternal."
I can't do this... can I? I wish you were here with me. I was always stronger with you near.
"Th..th..third, the candle... of spirits, that I may be guided by the shadows of the fallen."
I cannot go back any longer. The words have been spoken. My heart is racing. My head pounding. These utterances cannot be retracted. They told us that praying at night would bring the unspeakable and the undesired.
But there's no chill filling the room. No rage or sadness unleashed.
It's been two years, and for the first time, I feel...nothing.
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[WP] a cult has kidnapped you to sacrifice you to their God, problem is you are actually a demi-god and the god they are trying to sacrifice you to is your parent.
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Being a demi-god suck. Especially in this era when no one even believes in gods. Making things worse is that you parent isn’t even that successful, no god is now a days, other than maybe Ahdev, the god of diseases, pandemic and corruption. When your parent god is one of those old age ones that thrives to bring back the good ol days when blood flowed like rivers you tend to stop talking to them. The best achievement of my parent in modern times is probably forming an active cult that is semi powerful with the right people in the right places. The last time we had any contact was back in 01 just to check if they had anything to with the mortal problem. Gods in general hate when mortals try to reach the stars, crashing planes, exploding rockets you get the idea. They came up with gravity back when they were powerful enough to keep the mortals glued to the ground. But mortals don’t give up do they, even if they end up dying. That’s exactly why I’m married to engineer that builds skyscrapers.
The day in the life if a demigod that hates their parent is boring and uneventful. No, monsters don’t hunt you down, they don’t have summer camps, gods don’t even use us as pawns(why would they when mortals can do that for them). I don’t even age, but I can change my look as I please, age, gender, skin colour.
This story though does get interesting. I was getting coffee at a café near my residence and as I exited the shop a police cruiser pulled up next to me. See this is interesting, I could have kept walking and I would have been on my merry way, but I was bored. I flashed the officers a smile and asked them if I could help them. Of course I couldn’t, gods don’t help people, we just let them entertain us. So, when they pinned my hands behind my back, cuffed me and shoved me into the back seat of the cop car I didn’t even protest. Anyone who might have watched the scene didn’t bat an eyelid. I mean the brown guy with long flowing hair and beard in sweatpants probably deserves it right.
I stayed silent the whole car ride. The city scape turned into the suburbs, then into the outskirts. We stopped in near a factory that seemed to be still operational but not thriving. I already figured this wasn’t going to be a normal ride when they picked me up. I mean I definitely don’t have a record, not like I was a law abiding “citizen”. I just take precautions to not leave anything that could be tracked back to me, for example using a whole different face, being totally invisible, walking through walls, I have my ways. So when they pulled me out of the car and shoved me towards the factory entrance I didn’t protest.
Inside the factory I got a hood over my face, which I just saw through with barely any effort. They put me in a cell, undid the hand cuffs and left. The cell reeked of human urine, hastily cleaned feces and the strong iron scent of decaying blood. There was a single florescent light on the high ceiling too high for any mortal to reach, a wooden pallet in a corner which was probably supposed to be a bed, and a single metal door. The floor was shiny black with a red eye in the center of the room. I ran my fingers along the wall feeling the cushioning around the room, whatever these guys and planning for me they didn’t want me heard. I ended up at the metal door, and I phased through it, naturally. I wasn’t going to stay in a room that was definitely part of a cult, I was going to explore.
There was a staircase leading to a basement right beside the door I exited through, so I ignored it promptly and explored the floor I was already on, which was just a normal warehouse that held boxes and boxes of clothes ready for shipping I guessed. I headed back to the staircase and went into the basement. The white florescent light slowly turned into flickering candle light. The staircase and the basement both had candle holders along the right wall caked what seemed to be melted wax, hardened into stalagmites or icicles. Once in a while a draft would blow out a candle that would immediately light back up. Now I was intrigued. There was definitely something supernatural happening here.
I could hear soft moaning like chanting coming from a room at the end of the hallway, as I reached the end of the stairs. I could see light pouring through the edges of the door, a flickering light unlike the candles, maybe an actual bonfire. There was only one other door besides the one the chanting was coming from. As I reached to open the other door, I heard a voice that chilled me to my bones coming from the room with the bonfire, I was sure it was a bonfire at this point. That voice meant bonfires, meant flames, meant charring, meant the smell of cooking human flesh. Rage like I haven’t felt like in a long time burned thru my veins. I stomped to the other door and threw it from its hinges, flames jumping from charred handprint that appeared where my hand had touched. Light filled the doorway illuminating me.
There was a ring of mortals around a massive bonfire that came from a single uncharred log. A lone figure stood in the middle of the circle in front of the bonfire, hands raised talking while the rest chanted and danced around the fire, celebrating before the sacrifice was made. The revelry stopped as I entered. The mortals stared at me, the two police officers suddenly realizing the mistake they had made but not grasping the full magnitude of it. A huge smile split the face of the man in the middle. “Ah, have you finally decided to join us? You’re right on time for the offering”, he sneered.
I took a step forward, the muscles under my skin obviously squirming and bulging, growing. Bones cracked and grew and snapped as my legs grew thick and long, ripping my pants apart. Fur grew out of my thickening taught skin from the bulging muscles. My jaw was growing out long forming a snout as my mortal molars and scissors fell out of my mouth only to be replaced by wicked sharp canines. My pupils narrowed into yellow sickly pupils, hands and feet becoming huge paws tipped with razor sharp claws. Each step I took, left the stone floor under my paw charred and burning and melted. I was towering the cops that had brought me here by the time I reached them. A smoldering humanoid creature.
“I was the offering”, came a guttural snarl from the bestial throat, as I dug my sharp claws into the skull of the first cop, the burning smell and smoke pouring out of his ears and nose and mouth and eyes, his brain melting like butter in his skull. The second cop got an easier death when my jaws clamped around his throat, the blood that spurted out boiling in my jaw. “All of you have killed”, I howled, ripping and slicing and ending every mortal in the room. Flames spreading from everywhere I stepped, dancing in their smokeless glory, throwing shadows up walls, the shadows dancing a duet with the fire. When I was done, only the man before the single uncharred log bonfire stood.
“Do not play games, father”, I said my bones cracking again as my body shrunk and I stood in front of him wearing a different face, one he would recognize, one he would not dare hurt. I left the burning factory, in the skin of a woman in her 50’s.
That night I slept peacefully. Dreaming about the lives I took. I could pretend to be nice, caring, thoughtful. But I am a demigod. And gods kill.
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"I swear, I am Barron Trump"
The cultists wouldn't listen, as they approached me with their AR-15s.
All I had was my lousy MP7.
As they came within 100 meters of me, they started chanting "May the Emperor accept this humble sacrifice.
Fortunately, their chanting was muffled by their distasteful Proud Boys face coverings.
I had to make a plan, just what would I do...
Suddenly, a crash of lighting vaporized the front row of cultists. The rest stepped back in awe and fear.
UHHH... LEAVE MY SON ALONE. MY GREAT AMERICAN SON, THE BEST SON YOU'VE SEEN, HE'S SOOOO BETTER THAN YOURS, lisped a majestic yet pathetic booming voice from the gray, polluted skies.
As the cultists ran away, I faced the glowing figure in armor floating 10 feet in the air.
"Thanks, Mr. God-Emperor."
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[WP] When you requested a bard from the adventurers guild you expected a scrawny lute player or something. The earth shook as you saw him, a giant man carrying an even larger piano.
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The behemoth stopped in front of me, setting the piano down with the utmost care. I looked around the man mountain to see where the player was but the street was bare save for some gawking onlookers. I looked lower down, perhaps expecting a gnome musician. All that was there was the man's huge feet, encased in a pair of supple suede shoes.
"Uh...I'm..."
"Sir Henrik the Knight?"
"Yes...yes. uh."
I paused, blinking up at the man for a few moments. He was truly massive, standing nearly seven feet tall. At well over six myself, it was rare I felt small. The Wizard, Solandra, was also sizing up this newcomer while Brandurn's thick beard was split by his wide grin as he stared at me. I subtly flipped him off.
"Then you would be?"
"Wolf," the giant rumbled, sweeping his brightly coloured hat from his head and bowing.
"Of course it is," Solandra murmured as Wolf straightened up.
"It is short for Wolfgang Asmodeus Morehart."
"Of course it is!" Brandurn exclaimed delightedly, draining half of the tankard of ale he had carried with him from the tavern.
Wolf smiled at them both of them, shuffling his feet. The noise was like dragging a heavy crate across gravel.
"The guild inform me that you require a bard for your latest adventure."
"Uh yes. Yes we..."
I trailed off, for once at a loss for words. Wolf offered me another shy smile, resting one gargantuan hand on the piano's top. I looked to the others for help. Well I looked to Solandra for help. Brandurn was now slowly circling the substantial Wolf and his equally sizeable instrument.
"Our journey is far....bard," Solandra began. "We have no cart. Will you be able to keep up?"
She nodded towards the piano to emphasise her point, throwing an irate look at Brandurn who had scrambled on top.
"It is lighter than it looks lady sorcerer," Wolf said graciously, casually reaching out to pluck Brandurn up and off the lid.
"Well the main thing big man, is are you any good?" Brandurn asked as he dangled six feet in the air, suspended in Wolf's giant paw. He was lowered gently.
"I shall show you my credentials, before we set off."
"Uh yes, lets."
I watched as Wolf flipped open his piano's lid with a practiced air. He stood over the keys, cracking his knuckles like rolling thunder. His back to us, I made a "what by the Gods" gesture to my companions, which was returned with two very different expressions. Before I could respond further, a soft, mournful tune began to emanate from Wolf's rapidly moving, thick fingers. They danced swiftly and delicately despite their size, the music swelling and growing as he continued. He glanced back, and a few feet down, at us. He opened his giant maw and a gorgeous rich baritone burst forth, singing a slow, measured song.
​
​
*I left my woman at the farm, When I went off to war.*
*She said that she would wait for me, For forty moons or more.*
​
*My father he was proud of me, My mother she did cry.*
*But I went to do my part, With nary a weary sigh.*
​
*They talked of glory, Oh the names that we would make.*
*They talked of coin, Oh the riches that we would take.*
​
*Their words rung heavy in my ears, As my axe sunk deep.*
*Their pay sat heavy in my purse, As I struggled that night to sleep.*
​
*I saw boys the same as me, Simply doing as they're told.*
*I saw many more boys the other side, Who now would never grow old.*
​
*I left my woman at the farm, When I went off to war.*
*My darling had waited for me, But I was that man no more.*
​
​
Silence reigned in the street as Wolf finished, lifting his hands from the keys and flashing that semi shy smile. I closed my mouth, trying to speak but finding a knot in my throat. I coughed, chuckling softly as a gentle applause began from the sparse audience gathered around.
"Welcome to the team Wolfgang."
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The Queens General stood back in shock, the man towering over even him. On his back was strapped a large piano, a beautiful instrument with delicate gold patterns adorning it. The Pianist smiled at the general, a sincere expression on his broad face.
"Greetings, my good man. I am Gelrog the Pianist. You requested the services of a bard, and may I say that I am pleased as punch to take up that offer."
He held out his hand, which the general took. It was a surprisingly gentle handshake, considering his hand was engulfed by Gelrog's gigantic paws.
"Well met. I am Hargrawn, the Queen's General."
Gelrog bowed his head at that.
"I hope our relationship proves fruitful, General. I was informed your troops required inspiration and a morale boost. May I ask for more details on the situation, such that I can have a better idea of how best to assist you."
Hargrawn nodded.
"Of course, however due to some of the more.... sensitive details, I will wait until we are out of the city."
"No worries, General. My mouth may be big, but I can keep it shut."
He winked at Hargrawn, who found himself smiling despite himself. Gelrog had such an upbeat attitude about him, it was infectious.
"I am ready to head out, do you need to find somewhere to store your piano before leaving?"
Gelrog shook his head, reaching a hand up to lovingly caress the side of his beloved instrument.
"No need. Where I go, she goes. I have all I need, so let us be off!"
They proceeded to exit the city, a comfortable silence around them. Hargrawn lead the way to a squad of soldiers, who looked surprised to see Gelrog, but shook it off in a professional manner. They retrieved horses from the stables, each a fine warhorse. Gelrog took his own, a beast that they hadn't seen before, but heard tales of.
He rode an oversized ant, its body larger then that of even their horses. Its chitin was polished to a brilliant shine, and it moved gracefully, despite its size and burden. The horses shied away, intimated by its powerful physique. It paid no attention, instead nuzzling Gelrog as he walked it out into the sun.
Accompanied by their strange addition, the squad rode, making camp later in the day. Once the tents were set up, and they were sharing a pot of travellers stew, Hargrawn looked at Gelrog.
"So, the reason we requested your help. About a month ago, the band of adventurers called Grey Breakers found evidence of a cult attempting to make a portal to the Hells. They sent word to the Royals, to warn them of a potential invasion.
After sending word, they managed to disrupt the ritual, but instead of preventing the portal from opening, it was... shifted. It seems to open to a plane of despair. Now, we have mages to seal it, but there are devils around the area who have a despair aura around them.
The troops are brave men and women, but this is magical, and more then they can be reasonably expected to handle. We are hoping you can inspire them to push past the despair, so they can clear the area so the portal can be closed."
Gelrog nodded, finishing a mouthful of stew.
"Inspiring a group of soldiers against a mental threat? I can promise you that when I play, they won't have room for fear or depression in their hearts."
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Edit: whoever gave this a helpful award, thank you!
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[WP] Exactly one hour before death, everyone is approached by a man in a grey suit that nobody else can see or hear. He makes the same deal for everyone he meets. If they refuse, they die as normal one hour later. If they agree, they disappear and are never seen or heard from again.
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I sat in my rocking chair, sipping on a cup of tea. I didn't even like tea, but my wife brought me a cup every morning regardless. 45 years after she was gone, and I still drank a cup every morning. I glanced over at the picture of her on the end table. God, I missed her. I'll never forget that day, I came home, and she was just gone. No body in the house, her car was still in the driveway. To this day I'll never understand how a perfectly healthy 40-year-old woman drops off the face of the earth without a trace.
It took me years to adjust. Ten years ago when my neighbor, Lisa, moved in she asked if I was married, I said yes. I had to apologize on behalf of my memory when I realized my mistake. She was the only one I had left now, although I didn't care for her much. She was 45 and had no spouse or kids. About every other week her lawn mower "Broke" and she'd ask me to fix it. I tried to be kind but after Ruth disappeared I've wanted nothing more then to be left alone.
I squinted down at my watch, 10:47am. When I looked back up a man stood before me. He was young and deathly pale. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his charcoal grey suit. "Bill Johnson?" He asked.
I nodded.
"You are going to die in one hour."
I stared at him, taken aback by both the statement and his blunt delivery. "Pardon?"
"You are going to die in one hour." He repeated. "At 11:47 am you are going to suffer a fatal heart attack."
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I'm here to offer you a deal. Continue on this path and die in 57 minutes or start over."
"Start over?"
"Yes, you'll be born again with little memory of this life."
"And why in the hell would I want to do that?"
"Humans tend to cling to life, always pleading they're being taken too soon."
'Boy I'm 86 years old too soon ended a decade ago."
"Are you sure?"
"I've been ready to go for damn near fifty years. Besides, there's someone on the other side I'd like to see."
The man nodded. "Very well, I'll see you in-" he checked his watch. "52 minutes."
With that he disappeared. I sat in silence for 45 minutes, glancing at the clock every so often. A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I opened the door and found Lisa standing on my porch with a plate of tea cookies. I reluctantly took them, doing my best to end the conversation so I could get back to dying. It was too late. My chest started to burn, and I crumpled to the floor. My vision blurred and my chest was screaming. The last thing I heard before it all went dark was Lisa's voice.
"I came back for you."
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Every culture has their own beliefs about the nature of death. There might be multiple words for snow in some languages and no concept of snow in others, but death was something that we all shared. All plants, all animals, all single-called organisms around the Universe had their beginning and their end.
I thought that I knew what death would be—not a religious affair, but a simple matter of science as the heart stopped beating and the body shut down.
I had no idea just how wrong I was.
The day started like any other. I drove into the office, dreading whatever “urgent” report my manager would put in front of me to finish that day. I wondered how many weeks it would take for her to get to it this time.
I looked up at the clock and saw that I was 59 minutes from my lunch break when I noticed him. He had an old-timey mustache that looked like something out of an 1880’s baseball picture, a top hat, and a pale grey three-piece suit. I wondered briefly why security hadn’t stopped him before he noticed my gaze and approached me.
“Good day, sir, can you hear me alright?” he said in an accent that sounded vaguely British but...off...somehow.
I puffed out my chest, even though I had a good six inches on the rail-thin man. “Sir, you need to check in at the front desk and get a visitor’s badge.”
“Do not fret, young man, they cannot see me.”
“E-excuse me?” I scanned around the office but apparently nobody else had noticed him.
“I am here because your time has come. Well, almost come would be a more accurate way to put it, I suppose, but that is quite beside the point,” he said in a casual tone, like this visit was nothing more than a walk in the park.
“Wait, my time?!”
“Oh yes. In approximately 58 minutes and 34 seconds, you will be hit by a motor vehicle as you cross the roadway in front of this establishment. If you decide to remain in the building, you will instead suffer a rather fatal brain aneurysm. That is, unless you accept my deal.”
I took a deep breath in through my nose, as I tried my best not to scream. “What is the deal, exactly?” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Quite simple, really. Whenever a sentient dies, the Scions of Death must arrive to collect them. Humans might be on the lower end of that sentience spectrum, but you can be useful, in your way. Decline my offer, and you will perish within the hour. Accept, and a new universe shall open to you.”
Despite my impending doom, I somehow had the presence of mind to be suspicious. “And what is it that I am supposed to do?”
The man winked at me, and for the first time I noticed that his eyes were lidded.
“Well, that is quite simple as well. Just do as I do.”
“So...talk to people before they’re about to die?”
“You offer them a choice,” he said, looking serious for the first time in our conversation. “They can choose to die, to fade away. Or they can choose to endure, and to keep the cycle of life and death going. The more sentients there are in the universe, the more work there is for us.”
“Us? I haven’t agreed to anything.”
The man laughed at that, a strange sound between a belly laugh and a hiss.
“You would not still be speaking to me if you had not made your choice.”
I nearly decided to decline then, out of spite for his arrogance. Then I remembered the last conversation I’d had with my sister, about leaving this banking job because I wanted my life to MATTER.
I wanted to make a difference.
“Fine, I accept. What do I do now?”
The man grinned at me, but his eyes told me a different story, one of countless conversations just like this one. He seemed as if he was more unsure of my choice than I was.
He reached behind him and pulled something seemingly out of thin air.
“Put this on,” he said hesitantly as he threw me a bundle of gray fabric.
A three-piece suit, just like his.
As soon as I tied up my right shoe, I heard a horrible scream.
“Ted?! TED!!!”
“Jennifer!” I screamed back, remembering all of the times that I’d passed her in the hallway and all of the jokes we’d shared and all of the words we’d left unsaid.
“Time to go,” the man in the gray suit sighed. He traced his finger in a circle and opened up a portal in the middle of the office.
“Jennifer!” I screamed again as I ran towards her. “It’s OK, I’m here, I-“
“He was RIGHT HERE! Where did he go?!” she continued to shout as she spun around helplessly, trying to find a corner that she’d missed before.
“It’s OK, it’s OK, I’m right-“
But my hand passed right through hers as if I wasn’t there.
“She cannot hear you, Theodore,” the man in the gray suit said as his shoulders fell.
“Come now, through the portal.”
His eyes wouldn’t meet mine as I made my way towards him, and to be honest I was grateful for his apparent sense of shame.
At least he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down my cheeks.
I stepped into the portal, and towards a new life of horrifying possibility.
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If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux
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[WP] Zombies cannot swim. But they will attempt to follow targets in boats by walking into the ocean. Centuries after the cure was found, groups of zombies are surfacing on the other end of the atlantic. You are one of the first to be cured, and have to adapt to this new society.
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I came awake suddenly. My body felt strange, as if it had not been properly used in years. I thought my eyes were open, but everything was a dark haze.
I think I was dreaming. I was with.. others. They may have been people, but they didn’t seem very much like the people I know. They didn’t speak. No one wondered aloud at the darkness they wandered through. It was so dark. The strangest dream. Sometimes I would see luminescent.. things. They looked like they were floating, but that wasn’t possible. That is how I knew it was a dream, you know. The strange gooey things drifting around me.
All of a sudden I I saw a bright light in one eye. Then it was in the other eye! What is going on here? “No pupil dilation. The eyes are the same as the others.” What? It had been quiet before, like putting your ear up to a seashell and listening to the sound of it. Now there was... a voice.
“The intense pressure must have damaged them. Use healing factor 37Q. That is the one that has been tested most for corneal tissue.”
I felt something come down on my mouth, forcing air into my lungs. What in.. the.... darkness.
When I awoke again, it was more gradually. My eyes felt glued shut. I gradually drifted back into oblivion.
The next time I awoke, something was being rubbed into my eyes. I opened them, and suddenly the world became clear. Once the ..woman?.. playing with my eyes realized I was awake, she let out a little squeal, and ran out of the room.
..if you like this I’ll continue. This is my first shot doing something besides voyeuristically reading in WP, so feedback is good!
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When i first opened my eyes, it felt like i was waking up after a century long nightmare.. remembering the deep, dark world under the ocean. The teeth, the fins, the big aquatic creatures, the pressure.. and now i was on land again, i was safe now.
The first thing i saw was a group of doctors hovering over me. The room was loud with lots of beeping, mechanical noises and chatter. As i started to regain my sense of awareness, i asked "Where am i? W-hhat's happening?".. and just with those simple questions, the once loud room fell quiet.
The group of doctors who were once chattering and hovering over me had grown completely silent. The silence was deafening and terrifying, lasting several seconds as i waited hopefully for someone to answer.
Finally one of the doctors replied.. "You're in a hospital along the atlantic coastline. You've been a zombie for 200 years now but we're trying to cure you." The room got quiet again. I took a few moments to take that in before asking two more "Where is my family? What was that darkness i was in with monsters all around me?"
Another doctor replied "We're looking for them still. You're one of the first recovered. You were under the ocean for 200 years because we led the zombies into the ocean to keep the rest of us alive and safe." i grew quiet and began to remember my time in the ocean. At least the nightmare was finally over.
The next few days were all a blur. Being tested repeatedly, being surrounded by more doctors and being watched carefully until they finally said i was good to go. It felt like weeks to months i was in there but the doctors said it was only a few days.
One of my doctors sat down on my bed.. "Son, you get to leave today but i want you to know that this world is a lot different from the one you're used to." i took a few breaths then replied "I know.". The doctor then began to tell me that the recovered had free housing and financial aid set up for us for the first few years so we could adjust in peace.
I was grateful for that. At least I'd have time and freedom to think about everything and come to terms with it. A few more hours passed and i was ready to go out now.
The doctor from earlier had offered to drive me to my new home and let me know a car had already been prepared at my new house for when i needed to go out. I was given all the doctor's numbers in case i needed help or was having any side effects.
As the car was driving i sat in silence. Looking out the windows in awe and pain. Everything had changed so much and i was alone now. It was a feeling of both amazement and loneliness.
I finally got to my house and my doctor showed me inside, gave me my keys and left. I sat down on the couch and took a long, deep breath. I was at my new home with my new life but i was alone now. What was i to do?
I began to pick up whatever computer looking device i could find. The tech looked advanced by far and was difficult to understand but i was able to get to the news. I was looking to see if any others had been recovered. Maybe my family..
I didn't find anything on my family being recovered but i did find a link saying they were searching the beaches for others and taking them straight to the hospital for treatment. The treatment only takes a few days so others like me would be rescued soon. That made me feel some comfort.
While looking on the device i found that recovered are expected to need extensive therapy for ptsd. I've been so busy i haven't really had much time to think about it. I might end up needing that.
"I should go explore and take things in. Maybe adopt a pet to keep me company while i look for my family." i thought to myself but that hope faded into a more depressing question, "What was i to do in this new world? I was alone and without purpose."
I had an idea. I opened my device again and began looking for a job in the rescue team. I would be one of the people to help search for my family, That would be my purpose. I'll find them.
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[WP] Zombies cannot swim. But they will attempt to follow targets in boats by walking into the ocean. Centuries after the cure was found, groups of zombies are surfacing on the other end of the atlantic. You are one of the first to be cured, and have to adapt to this new society.
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Everything about the human body has evolved to live on land.
We walk on 2 feet, breathe oxygen from the air, and drink fresh water.
Even so, there is something so wonderfully primal about bobbing around the ocean's surface, as if some vestigial remnant of our animal ancestors still longed to swim.
For me, in particular, the water means something even more.
A few years ago, there was an outbreak of an unusual plague that extended to every society known to man.
Unlike ordinary diseases, this one did not merely kill its victims.
No, it haunted them even into the afterlife.
Its first symptom was something akin to leprosy, where human flesh would start to sag before falling off completely.
After that, the infected would experience an insatiable desire to eat other humans.
Finally, they would stop breathing altogether; however, even without breath, they could still walk and transmit the disease to others.
It was nothing short of the zombie apocalypse.
At first, there was nothing humanity could do to protect themselves.
They huddled in their houses, waiting for the hordes of zombies to overtake them.
Soon, certain societies made a fascinating discovery: the zombies, like moths, were attracted to light.
This lead to the Great Extermination, where citizens of all different countries banded together by creating giant bulbs of light and casting them just beyond the shore.
Eventually, every single zombie left the land and turned to the sea.
Although this did not kill them, it did allow humanity to return to living life as they once did in relative peace and luxury.
Over the next few centuries, a cure was developed to partially treat the zombie outbreak.
In particular, it solved the patient's insatiable hunger by preventing them from ever being hungry again.
It cured their decaying flesh by preventing them from aging further and allowing them to regrow the skin they once had.
After a few years of therapy, zombies were later re-integrated into society as immortals, also called "the Cured."
The Cured existed as strange outcasts to modern society.
They did not understand technology and had no need to work to eat.
Even after therapy, they were often still unable to act as humans normally would.
Their speech might be slurred or gait slightly askew.
In addition, almost every single Cured suffered from an intense form of PTSD from centuries of drowning and decay.
I had recently taken up a new job to fill the Cured hospitals to capacity by swimming out to the ancient bulbs with a floodlight on my waist.
I would then set the bulb on a 20 second timer and turn on my own floodlight before swimming back to shore.
A few of the zombies would follow, and I would trap them in a cage to be transported to the nearest hospital.
This was why the ocean was so special to me.
It was more than just a body of water.
It was the home to millions of people, counting on me to save them.
I knew my family was out there somewhere, lurking in the depths of the ocean, slowly making their way to shore, and it was my duty to guide them home.
After all, I was Cured from the same disease, myself.
I wouldn't rest until they were found.
[Day 12](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1TeOBXcjIHR1CbMnQWSYB1czJW-yCHCejowe1qYlmNT8/edit?usp=sharing)
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“Thank you Ethel.”
She seemed nice enough, a welcome contradiction to the sterile white room I find myself in. Room 4.
I tugged at the manacle holding me to the shiny metal bed. It had padding which was was considerate I guess, but not too considerate to NOT manacle me to a bed. I wondered if they would ever be happy to let me out of this room. Not that I blame them, things were pretty bad the last I remember. I wouldn’t trust me either.
I am one of the first “rescued”, sorry “Rescued”, (the capital R being important). One of the first not to just be mowed down by gunfire when hitting the shoreline.
Ethel said that she was happy to be working with people like me, and that she couldn’t wait to tell her kids about us when she is allowed some leave. Maggie is 5 and likes to paint whilst Dawson is 15 and… just does stuff that 15 year olds would do. I wonder if those kids are even real of if it’s just part of script being spat out verbatim to me to see how I respond, see if I understood what kids are. It’s what I would do…
I had been out for about 300 years, I don’t remember anything about my time under. Last thing I remember-
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[WP] Zombies cannot swim. But they will attempt to follow targets in boats by walking into the ocean. Centuries after the cure was found, groups of zombies are surfacing on the other end of the atlantic. You are one of the first to be cured, and have to adapt to this new society.
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Everything about the human body has evolved to live on land.
We walk on 2 feet, breathe oxygen from the air, and drink fresh water.
Even so, there is something so wonderfully primal about bobbing around the ocean's surface, as if some vestigial remnant of our animal ancestors still longed to swim.
For me, in particular, the water means something even more.
A few years ago, there was an outbreak of an unusual plague that extended to every society known to man.
Unlike ordinary diseases, this one did not merely kill its victims.
No, it haunted them even into the afterlife.
Its first symptom was something akin to leprosy, where human flesh would start to sag before falling off completely.
After that, the infected would experience an insatiable desire to eat other humans.
Finally, they would stop breathing altogether; however, even without breath, they could still walk and transmit the disease to others.
It was nothing short of the zombie apocalypse.
At first, there was nothing humanity could do to protect themselves.
They huddled in their houses, waiting for the hordes of zombies to overtake them.
Soon, certain societies made a fascinating discovery: the zombies, like moths, were attracted to light.
This lead to the Great Extermination, where citizens of all different countries banded together by creating giant bulbs of light and casting them just beyond the shore.
Eventually, every single zombie left the land and turned to the sea.
Although this did not kill them, it did allow humanity to return to living life as they once did in relative peace and luxury.
Over the next few centuries, a cure was developed to partially treat the zombie outbreak.
In particular, it solved the patient's insatiable hunger by preventing them from ever being hungry again.
It cured their decaying flesh by preventing them from aging further and allowing them to regrow the skin they once had.
After a few years of therapy, zombies were later re-integrated into society as immortals, also called "the Cured."
The Cured existed as strange outcasts to modern society.
They did not understand technology and had no need to work to eat.
Even after therapy, they were often still unable to act as humans normally would.
Their speech might be slurred or gait slightly askew.
In addition, almost every single Cured suffered from an intense form of PTSD from centuries of drowning and decay.
I had recently taken up a new job to fill the Cured hospitals to capacity by swimming out to the ancient bulbs with a floodlight on my waist.
I would then set the bulb on a 20 second timer and turn on my own floodlight before swimming back to shore.
A few of the zombies would follow, and I would trap them in a cage to be transported to the nearest hospital.
This was why the ocean was so special to me.
It was more than just a body of water.
It was the home to millions of people, counting on me to save them.
I knew my family was out there somewhere, lurking in the depths of the ocean, slowly making their way to shore, and it was my duty to guide them home.
After all, I was Cured from the same disease, myself.
I wouldn't rest until they were found.
[Day 12](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1TeOBXcjIHR1CbMnQWSYB1czJW-yCHCejowe1qYlmNT8/edit?usp=sharing)
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The coronavirus pandemic of 2020, was just a gentle teaser, a soft prelude to the catastrophe that followed forty years later.
We thought we were prepared. *No one* could have been prepared for what followed. A virus so fowl that the inflicted would lose their sanity in less than three days.
I worked in a testing lab in Manchester, UK. The last thing I remember is suiting up for work, and feeling very hot. Matthew, my colleague, was being particularly annoying. Then... nothing.
“I realise this may be... disorientating.” The doctor said gently. He spoke with an American drawl.
“Dis... orientating?” I repeated, my tongue feeling heavy and the word unfamiliar on my tongue.
The doctor smiled. “Very good!” he said.
I shook my head. I am a Scientist, and a researcher... why is he speaking to me as though I am a child?
The gentle medic must have seen the distress of my face, because he went on. “You have been away for a long, long time... it will take a while to adjust.”
“Whereaam ay” I said, struggling to form the sounds.
“New York,” the man before me answered. “The military led a large number of... the inflicted, into the sea. It was a hard choice, but you have to understand, choices had to be made!”
I closed my eyes against the flashing memory of darkness and, even darker shadows of monstrous creatures... fins and tentacles and sharp teeth.
For a few moments, the only sound I heard was soft classical music coming from another room.
“No one ever thought that they... that you, were somehow still alive,” the doctor went on, “Or we would have come looking when we found the cure.”
*Well*, I thought, *it’s good they found a cure...*
“How long?” I asked.
The man with the gentle voice glanced away, casting his eyes towards the floor. “Twenty years,” he whispered.
My jaw dropped, and the most hideous of sounds began to escape from my mouth... Sounds not made by a humans normal form, but one distorted and misshaped by the unforgiving ocean.
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[WP] Zombies cannot swim. But they will attempt to follow targets in boats by walking into the ocean. Centuries after the cure was found, groups of zombies are surfacing on the other end of the atlantic. You are one of the first to be cured, and have to adapt to this new society.
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The last thing you remember is tripping. You were always clumsy, sure, but you had hoped that in a life-or-death situation that you survival instincts would overcome your intrinsic clumsiness.
Apparently, that wasn’t the case. You’re pretty sure you hit your head on the sidewalk. The spot still aches, even though they tell you it’s been centuries.
God. Centuries. You’re hoping someone you know will turn up in one of the future zombie pods— one of the zombie pods that arrives while you’re still alive. Probably. There might be someone you know in this hospital, you haven’t been allowed out of your room yet. Something something, observing your system, something something, standard procedure.
Sighing, you shift from lying down to sitting up, fiddling with the bracelet around your arm. The doctors called it an IV, although you remember those as bags and stands and needles, mostly from the medical dramas you loved to watch. You’re not sure if you’ll ever manage to watch something like that again.
Your hair has been growing back in. They still haven’t let you look in a mirror— you can make out a vague reflection in the window of your room, provided you manage to ignore the impossible cityscape behind it. Your face still doesn’t look like you, from what you can tell. Maybe it isn’t you. Maybe this is what your brain has melted into, a kind delusion left to what’s left of you as your body shambles around what was once your home.
You try not to think too hard about that.
What you don’t need a mirror to see is enough, anyway. Your arms were in casts, when you first woke up. It had seemed reasonable, at first, and then odd as you were given time to think about it— centuries in the future and they still needed plain ol’ fibreglass. Well. It was mostly for your comfort, turns out. Both familiarity in what you knew, and, well, you’ll never forget when you got your casts changed. You’re just glad that it was growing back.
You remain sitting for a while, staring out your window. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever known. You’re not sure if you’re glad that there was a cure. Maybe you would have preferred a bullet to the head as you crawled your way onto the beaches. Not that you’re suicidal, you never have been, but...
You had a pet cat. A job lined up. You were looking forwards to hanging out with your friends, and playing a new video game. You were thinking of trying to exercise more. And then you tripped.
One of the orderlies gently opens the door, carrying a tray of food. At least hospital food is better in the future. You remember visiting your dad in the hospital once, and buying mushroom soup from the cafeteria. It was practically a solid.
This is fresh, perfectly cooked food. Is a salad cooking? Bread is, at least, bread and the cup of mushroom soup on your plate. You still aren’t allowed meat. You’re not sure if you’ll ever eat meat. Everything still tastes a bit like blood. Psychological, they tell you, it’ll go away, but it hasn’t yet.
The orderly leaves. You eat your food. You stare out the window for a while longer. What will you do out there? What will you see? Who will you meet?
You lie back down, and close your eyes. It’s so much easier to do that now, compared to when you first woke up. Breathing is easier too, and just to savour it you take as deep a breath as you can. It’s something you haven’t done in centuries, apparently.
Maybe they have a cure for clumsiness, here in the future. Maybe you’ll never trip again. Either way, you aren’t planning on ever wearing shoes with shoelaces again. Closing your eyes, you try to sleep with that thought, with the idea of being supernaturally graceful, like a ballerina.
Instead you dream of blue, blue, blue. You dream of black. You dream of blood in the water. You dream of creatures that would eat you whole. You dream of eating creatures whole. You dream of millions of tons of pressure crushing you, you dream of drowning again and again.
You dream of teeth tearing into your arm, of infection spreading up your throat.
You won’t remember any of this when you wake up. The last thing you remember is tripping.
|
Alexei stepped into the hotel lobby, his sweat-soaked shirt instantly cooling beneath the air con. He paused there, stretching his arms to enjoy the chill. Hotel visitors walked by at a wide berth, although their eyes lingered on him until they turned a corner or entered a lift. Lingered over his seaweed colored skin, perhaps, or his cratered face where strips of flesh flapped like decades old wallpaper, or a like a dozen sickly tongues.
He took the stairs to his room, unsure still about a metal box that rose and fell, held only by thick string. The television stayed off. Would always stay off, he'd decided. The last few days he'd learned much about it, having reluctantly appeared on a dozen shows, paraded and talked down to. One show decorated its stage with lime green lights that shone on a squidgy seat crafted to look like a brain.
"Hope that doesn't make you too hungry, Alexei," said the host, his toothy smile flashing as he turned to the audience. "We just wanted to make you feel at home. Don't we just want to make our zombie friend feel at home, folks?" Rapturous applause, as if the man had liberated prisoners.
"We ate fish," he'd replied, factually. "But we didn't eat their brains." The clapping audience drowned out his answer.
"Were you patient zero?"
Alexei didn't know. He tried to explain how he'd been sanding a wooden horse for a child, then began coughing. Stepped outside for fresh air, walked to the water's edge. Walked. Kept walking.
"Like this?" The host raised his arms forward and trudged back and forth. Laughter like a storm erupted.
No more appearances. To hell with them! Let his keepers keep their money and throw him out onto the street. Alexi was a survivor--he'd be okay.
He gazed out of the window. The sun fell over the city and darkness shyly stepped out. It danced with the last rays of light, their arms threaded together, until the sunset finally tired.
The city glistened beneath him, smudges of orange from passing vehicles, apartment windows glossed yellow with their artificial suns.
Beneath the sea, there had been little light. Often none. Less lonely than this though, he thought, at least in some respects. The city in front of him surged with life, even in the night, all the way to oceans edge--but he was not part of it. When he'd walked here, he'd at least been part of something. A family--although not his own. When one collapsed in the roiling water, all would stop. Would pick the fallen up and help them find their footing. And if they couldn't walk, then they would be carried. It didn't matter who they'd been before they'd changed, they were together now and that was enough.
Here, all that mattered was what he'd been before, not what he was now. They'd judged him before he'd spoken, and their perceptions could be changed no more than the past .
Soon, the rest of his travelling family would also be "cured." But the novelty that afforded him his room and the money in his pocket, would be exhausted. The public would bore. His family would need to find work, but where would hire them? A circus, perhaps. But even there, with their rotten, barely responsive limbs, could they be of more use than a freakish statue.
At 1 a.m. he left his room, cap pulled down, coat's collar pulled up.
The walk to the facility might take all night. But he was a good walker and found it cathartic. Tucked deep inside his pockets sat the keys to the facility's various doors. All he needed to do was help his family out of the doors, and lead them back to the ocean.
Perhaps in another few hundred years, when they reached the other side, the world above the ocean would feel less cold than that beneath.
|
|
[WP] Zombies cannot swim. But they will attempt to follow targets in boats by walking into the ocean. Centuries after the cure was found, groups of zombies are surfacing on the other end of the atlantic. You are one of the first to be cured, and have to adapt to this new society.
|
The last thing you remember is tripping. You were always clumsy, sure, but you had hoped that in a life-or-death situation that you survival instincts would overcome your intrinsic clumsiness.
Apparently, that wasn’t the case. You’re pretty sure you hit your head on the sidewalk. The spot still aches, even though they tell you it’s been centuries.
God. Centuries. You’re hoping someone you know will turn up in one of the future zombie pods— one of the zombie pods that arrives while you’re still alive. Probably. There might be someone you know in this hospital, you haven’t been allowed out of your room yet. Something something, observing your system, something something, standard procedure.
Sighing, you shift from lying down to sitting up, fiddling with the bracelet around your arm. The doctors called it an IV, although you remember those as bags and stands and needles, mostly from the medical dramas you loved to watch. You’re not sure if you’ll ever manage to watch something like that again.
Your hair has been growing back in. They still haven’t let you look in a mirror— you can make out a vague reflection in the window of your room, provided you manage to ignore the impossible cityscape behind it. Your face still doesn’t look like you, from what you can tell. Maybe it isn’t you. Maybe this is what your brain has melted into, a kind delusion left to what’s left of you as your body shambles around what was once your home.
You try not to think too hard about that.
What you don’t need a mirror to see is enough, anyway. Your arms were in casts, when you first woke up. It had seemed reasonable, at first, and then odd as you were given time to think about it— centuries in the future and they still needed plain ol’ fibreglass. Well. It was mostly for your comfort, turns out. Both familiarity in what you knew, and, well, you’ll never forget when you got your casts changed. You’re just glad that it was growing back.
You remain sitting for a while, staring out your window. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever known. You’re not sure if you’re glad that there was a cure. Maybe you would have preferred a bullet to the head as you crawled your way onto the beaches. Not that you’re suicidal, you never have been, but...
You had a pet cat. A job lined up. You were looking forwards to hanging out with your friends, and playing a new video game. You were thinking of trying to exercise more. And then you tripped.
One of the orderlies gently opens the door, carrying a tray of food. At least hospital food is better in the future. You remember visiting your dad in the hospital once, and buying mushroom soup from the cafeteria. It was practically a solid.
This is fresh, perfectly cooked food. Is a salad cooking? Bread is, at least, bread and the cup of mushroom soup on your plate. You still aren’t allowed meat. You’re not sure if you’ll ever eat meat. Everything still tastes a bit like blood. Psychological, they tell you, it’ll go away, but it hasn’t yet.
The orderly leaves. You eat your food. You stare out the window for a while longer. What will you do out there? What will you see? Who will you meet?
You lie back down, and close your eyes. It’s so much easier to do that now, compared to when you first woke up. Breathing is easier too, and just to savour it you take as deep a breath as you can. It’s something you haven’t done in centuries, apparently.
Maybe they have a cure for clumsiness, here in the future. Maybe you’ll never trip again. Either way, you aren’t planning on ever wearing shoes with shoelaces again. Closing your eyes, you try to sleep with that thought, with the idea of being supernaturally graceful, like a ballerina.
Instead you dream of blue, blue, blue. You dream of black. You dream of blood in the water. You dream of creatures that would eat you whole. You dream of eating creatures whole. You dream of millions of tons of pressure crushing you, you dream of drowning again and again.
You dream of teeth tearing into your arm, of infection spreading up your throat.
You won’t remember any of this when you wake up. The last thing you remember is tripping.
|
A terrible disease spread through Africa. The infected humans turned into mindless flesh-eating creatures. People fled the continent as quick as they could, on ships and planes. Those that left on ships had to live with the horrifying image of the infected chasing after them and drowning.
A cure for the disease was produced in about half a year, and teams of brave scientists and military men risked their lives to rescue Africa. And once the last man on the continent was cured of the horrible disease people believed the infected to exist no more.
That was until a party of the infected was spotted on the beaches of Florida. There were hundreds of them, and the cures in stock were not enough to deal with them all immediately.
Isaiah, the first of the cured, was perplexed by this. Twenty years ago, the marines had found him in a hospital, feeding on the corpses in the morgue. They had cured him then, and being a doctor and having experienced the infection firsthand, he was considered an expert on the matter.
When the news about the infected party surfacing in Florida reached him, he had an idea. Seeking reassurance and assistance, he went, as he often did, to Dr Maslow.
Dr Maslow was a cheery old fellow with bright white hair and a sparkle in his eye. He was an esteemed researcher who had collaborated with Dr Isaiah on numerous papers about the infected.
Isaiah, or as we should say, Dr Isaiah, went to Dr Maslow's study and sat across his paper-strewn desk.
"Did you see the news about the infected appearing in Florida?" Isaiah asked.
"Yes, I read about it. Reached Florida in one piece."
"And they walked for twenty years, on the ocean bed, mind you, so peculiar."
"You remember the paper we did on the physical capabilities of the infected?"
"Yes, I do, but this is different. It's more than just a feat of physical endurance."
"I know what you're thinking. This feels, looks, more like they're ageless."
"Yes, exactly, they haven't aged a day. I couldn't know much about it because I was infected, for what, four months, six months. But this, this might just have the potential to be the biggest thing ever."
"So, if I'm not wrong, Isaiah, you're proposing that we investigate immortality."
"Precisely," Isaiah said, slapping the table.
"This might not be as easy as you think. The earlier test subjects, they were dead, the infected that were caught dead in battle. Unless one of this lot dies, there are no test subjects."
"Or we could go down the treatment centre, and you know, get one."
"No, we cannot do that, not again. You can't put yourself through that again."
Isaiah flashed a broad smile. "Come on, Maslow. This is something that can change lives. This can change the world."
"What if you fail?"
"Put it all on me, deny everything. Kill me, if necessary," Isaiah said and stared directly into old Maslow's eyes.
Maslow's jaw clenched. He let out a sigh through clenched teeth and closed his eyes. "No need to go to the centre. I have it here."
Maslow pulled a drawer open and produced a syringe and a little vial with red fluid inside.
"Infected blood, huh. Neat."
Maslow glared at Isaiah and proceeded to fill the syringe with the red fluid. Isaiah rolled his right sleeve up, and Maslow injected the red liquid into his bloodstream.
Isaiah laughed. "Back to the dead, huh."
"For the greater good."
"For the greater good," Isaiah repeated and lost consciousness.
|
|
[WP] You've been extremely angry for your entire life. In fact, you've been so angry that the SCP Foundation has just detained you as an anomaly.
|
"THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT"
*Loud banging can be heard as SCP 5--- slams his fists down on the table*
"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE, IT'S UNCONSTITUTIONAL, IT'S GODDAMN ILLIGAL."
"Steve, we're just trying to..."
"TRYING TO DO WHAT, PISS ME OFF? CAUSE YOU'RE DOING A DAMN FINE JOB ON THAT. FUCKING A', YA BETTER GET A PRIZE FOR BEING A MAJOR PAIN IN MY ASS"
*Head researcher Rogers can be heard sighing into his microphone*
"... Help, Steve. We're trying to help you."
"YOU COULD HELP ME GET OUT OF THIS ROOM. THERE'S NOTHING TO DO DO HERE AND WOULD IT HURT YOU PAINT THE DAMN WALLS? WHITE ON GREY IS FUCKING BORING."
"You had a computer and several board games, you smashed those. You also had several posters and paintings of your choosing. You smashed them too."
"WELL THAT'S BECAUSE YOU WERE PISSING ME OFF AND I COULDN'T REACH YA. STOP PISSING ME OFF AND TELL ME WHY I'M HERE"
"You're here because since you were placed in this cell five-hundred and... twenty-three hours ago, you've been having an extended tantrum. You haven't eaten, drank or slept. In the brief time we managed to restrain you enough to put EKGs on you, we discovered that you do not have an heart rate, or have any respiratory functions. Your anger might be the only thing sustaining you."
*SCP 5--- stops for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought*
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF I'M A DAMN RAGE ZOMBIE, YOU STILL DON'T GOT ANY REASON TO HOLD ME HERE. I'M GONNA GET ALL YA'LL NAMES, THEN I'M GONNA CALL MY CONGRESSMAN, THEN HE'LL..."
*A loud groan can be heard right before the recording ends.*
Researchers note: The subject remains uncooperative, and still appears to be oblivious to his anomalous properties. I doubt we can get any headway in communicating with the subject, but I am very interested in testing the limits of their apparent immortality.
|
My whole life I've felt this way. At first I thought it was just borderline rage that accumulated over time, from a psychologically abusive, chaotic, childhood inflicted on me by my parents. Boy was I wrong. The problem with my anger, is that it starts to hurt people around me. Literally. Walls crack in half, bathroom stalls start vibrating, I killed my little brother's hedgehog by accident and I accidentally exploded my high school bully's head during homecoming. That one really takes the cake.
It makes no sense that these powers would start surfacing in high school. Have I had them my whole life? Have they been dormant for a long time? Did something about puberty set them off? These are all questions I will never have the answer to. The only person who could give me answers is dead. My dad committed suicide in the basement last year. I didn't find out until a few weeks ago that he too had powers. Maybe that's the reason he ended his life.
As I sit here in this dreadful, blank, freezing cell, all I can contemplate is regret. I miss my friend Stanley, I miss my best friend Dina. I miss my mom and my little brother. Strangely enough Stanley is the one I miss the most. I mistakenly thought I had feelings for Dina. Then I realized that I was just clinging to her emotionally because she'd been familiar. Dina is- was my best friend. Don't get me wrong. I cherish her, I'm attached to her and I love her beyond clinginess or desperately trying to feel safe. But I know now that I truly love Stanley.
When Stan and I first slept together, it felt kind of off. It felt wrong in some ways. Awkward. But that's how that experience is for teenagers during their first time. It takes a while to adjust to new stages of life. To adjust to your lover. How do I know that I'm in love with Stanley Barber? I just do. I think I started to become aware when I fixated on the soft, brown, curls that rested against his forehead. I think I started to become aware when the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled me to sleep beside him. I think I realized when his peaceful expression as he slept, made my heart break in two. I think I started to realize when we were cruising around smoking, half conscious in his dorky little car. I was in denial about it during the football game where Brad injured his ankle. I started to realize when he started taunting me at the bowling alley in an attempt to help me harness my powers. When his pure laughter, big smile and squinted eyes cut deep into my core. A bittersweet, agonizing, melancholy sadness that hit deep down.
I was a fool Stanley Barber...I miss you. I'd do anything to go back in time and just be with you. I should've just walked away when Bradley di**face Lewis started exposing me at prom.
"Sydney Novak" a voice sounded outside the cell.
"Shhh. You're not supposed to refer to them by their real names. SCP numbers only." A different voice scolded.
The cell door slid open with an alarmingly loud *clank* I sat up a little more straight, hyper vigilant in observing the situation. Two men with hazmat suits walked in. They both appeared to be in their older thirties.
"Good evening SCP 0007." One of the men remarked.
"Yeah, yeah. Am I going to be released from this facility any time soon? Or can you guys just get to the inevitable already and slice me up for your dump research." I asked them with unmistakable boredom.
One of the men started giggling. "It displays the same quippy sarcasm as a teenager."
"It IS. A sarcastic teenager" the other man retorted. "Well, only partially." He stated looking up at me while checking off a list on his check board.
"What the heck do you dingbats want? I already told you everything I know. I already told you about what happened. I already told you EVERYTHING." I snapped impatiently. I'd been here for weeks and still no one had told me anything. There seemed to be no promise of getting out anytime soon if ever. The SCP foundation as they called it.
"I understand your restlessness. We still have pages of tests to run. Including putting you in contact with other SCPs." The man responded. His partner hit him, as if he wasn't supposed to disclose that last bit of information. "For now we are just observing."
I looked down irritably. Trying my best to block these two idiots out of my head. Trying my best to grey rock them so I'd appear as boring as possible and they'd leave me alone.
"Perhaps we should put her in contact with SCP-049"
I tried not to give any indication that I knew what that was. I tried not to give any reaction. SCP-049 was the plague doctor. This was bad. He behaved friendly, but then basically turned people into lobotomized vegetables under the guise that he was "curing them". The only reason I know this is that the walls are thin. Guards walk by in the halls or converse while standing outside my cell door.
"Or perhaps SCP-173 may help instill some manners." The other man chuckled with a nasty smile.
I expertly and physically suppressed a shudder. SCP-173 was a hostile, neck breaking entity that would kill you the moment your line of sight with it was broken. Not that it was a surprise, but the people who worked for the SCP were sadistic, sociopathic, immoral A- holes. A lot of them at least. I'm sure the same was true about Nightmare Hall in Dolce New Mexico and Area 51.
I continued to keep my breathing steady and my eyes locked onto the ground. I tried to keep my facade of ignorance and boredom.
"Whelp. We have completed our brief check up. Enjoy the rest of your time here. You're going to be here for a while." The second man taunted as they both left the room, throwing a small granola bar at me before they shut the door. I shivered from the small gust of chilly air. All I had to cover up was a light, jumpsuit. This was like being in prison. I lunged for the small granola bar. It was all I had been given today. Probably due to the attitude I talked to these patronizing a- holes with. Then I hesitated.
What if this granola bar was an SCP? What if it was poisoned? What if they had lead an invisible SCP in with them, and they were outside observing, waiting for it to do something awful to me? Besides what they'd already done. Black and blue bruises on my forearms seemed darker under the dull lighting of the cell. I was only fifteen years old and these sick jerks had given me the beat down of a life time. Just days ago. I thought I was going to have to receive medical attention. They are pathetic. Over powering someone who was no match for them.
I don't know how, but they installed an ankle clamp around me that somehow rendered my abilities useless. Or else I would have broken out of here already. A different pair of scientists were talking amongst themselves about how they were going to spike my drink with acid, then perform mental experiments. Probably more like torture. You probably had to be sick and deranged as a prerequisite to work in this god forsaken facility. I already had a plan though. I was going to escape. To get back to my family. But not before completely destroying the SCP foundation once and for all. They'd come after my family and I. They'd never stop.
I hope they didn't capture or harm my friends and family already.
........................................................................
Meanwhile Stanley, Dina, a mysterious shadow man that had been watching Sydney weeks before she was captured, a boy by the name of Mike Wheeler and a girl by the name of Jane Hopper were already on the way to bust Sydney out.
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[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
Field Report XT-20200117
Special Agent Smith and myself were responding to atmospheric anomalies that were normal indicators of an extraterrestrial spacecraft entering American airspace. Department of Homeland Security sent us to conduct an investigation and report the situation. Normally we don’t find them before we detect their departure, so it was no surprise that after a week surveying the area north of Lubbock, Texas we found nothing.
Strategic Command (STRATCOM) did not identify any departure signatures, so DHS decided to extend out initial timetable. SA Smith and myself received word from Headquarters at about 2245L, and decided to pick up additional toiletries and other essentials for the mission extension.
We arrived at a local Wal-Mart at roughly 2325L. SA Smith remained in the van and I entered the facility to purchase the supplies needed. Per regulation, my exotic matter detector was fastened to my belt. Almost immediately, it made a hit at around 2335L when I enter the facility. I notified SA Smith who began conducting a sweep of the local area. Inside near the pharmacy was a strong indicator and two possible suspects. One was an adult female, approximately 350lbs at 5’3”. She had electric blue hair and was dress in hot pink spandex, form fitted sweater and leg warmers. The other suspect was male, approximately 100lbs at 6’1”. The suspect was balding with brown mullet, a stained white tank top, white mens undergarments and dinosaur head bed slippers.
Both were discussing the feminine hygiene products and the purpose of them. Following observation protocol, I began surveillance of the suspects without making direct contact. They continued to make off-hand comments about things that should be common knowledge, leading me to believe that both were disguised extraterrestrials.
At 0010, the suspects identified me as following them and approached me directly. They asked if I was an Agent with the “Bee Eyes”, which I was forced to identify myself due to contact protocols. Both appeared distraught and made and appeared upset at “loosing the game”. Both promptly left the store and STRATCOM identified and exit anomaly at 0040L.
No other contact was made. No compromise to non-interference agreement of 1955.
Analysts Note: Would recommended utilizing “People of Wal-Mart” for faster identification of possible suspects.
|
"They don't even sell car parts!"
"In 26 years, through all the bullshit we've thrown at you, *this* is when you question the process?"
He stared me up and down, almost like he was scanning for...something. Arthur Twosing, my handler at the CIA, was a stocky man. Seemingly built for the task, he was able to command a room with a look. And that look disarmed me quicker than I would have liked.
"It's just that, c'mon Art, this doesn't seem fishy to you? A detachment of spooks headed to a Wal-Mart for an alternator? An alternator for a 1973 Pinto? It wasn't even a *good* car in the 70's!"
He dismissed me with the same wave of his hand he reserved for the pimply waiter in the cafeteria. There wasn't any use in questioning him further. I knew when that hand came up, so did Art's ability to tune out the rest of the universe. As it sat, the only things I needed to know was that there's a Wal-Mart in a podunk town, and that I was headed there.
We arrived five shy of 1600, just barely beating the rush hour of horse carts and combines, and garnering a few looks from the locals. I told staging that we needed something a bit more inconspicuous, a large black club wagon with blacked out windows and a dozen antennas dangling off the roof doesn't exactly scream "Tourist". Assembling ourselves in the lot, we each reaffirmed our duty with the handler team. Standard stuff, basically redundancies leading up to the mission, but required. Art, however, was feeding me radio silence. He mentioned a boys weekend with his kids, but he knows the protocol...none of the fellas upstairs are gonna give a shit about anything other than why our check-in was missing.
I tried him on his personal cell, nothing. Called his house, nothing. Pulling out the field book, I could see he was at home, his ready beacon on and inviting, but no answer. Typically problematic, but not the first time Art has pulled something like this.
"Fitzmoore, go time. Your boy toy answer the phone?"
Fucking Grayson.
"Ligma Grayson, more than likely just busy with your daughter. She still dancing at FC's?" The group dissolved into high school boys at the thought, Grayson turning colors of red only seen during the holidays.
"Yeah, she said next time you come through, wash the director's shit off your lips first."
Cold. Fuckin' cold.
*
It wasn't the fact we were in a Wal-Mart, nor the fact we were wearing standard spook suits, but there was something off about this whole situation. Maybe it was missing step one with Art, maybe the stillness of the air, but something just didn't feel copacetic. We'd split into five, three in each team with one mission: An alternator.
Meandering through the isles, moving passed the mountains of Chinese manufactured goods, I saw...Art Twosing? The fuck? I began making my way toward the area I saw him, but was frozen in place once Art's pursuer rounded the corner.
Me. **I** was there, in front of myself, stalking down my CIA handler at a Walmart deep in the midwest. I wigged out, 26 years of bullshit *had not* prepared me for this moment. Breaking any and all protocol, I started screaming for the rest of the detachment, running like a madman toward the entrance. Where was it? Where were the other agents? Where the fuck was Grayson?
I ran for what seemed like ten minutes, which should be impossible inside a building, but didn't reach the doors. My chest was tight, legs on fire. Where the fuck was the front door? Suddenly, I hear faint voices surrounding me, barely audible.
"Where.....Fitz....masked....."
"Can....hear......stuck"
"Digestion.....phone's out....."
The whole building dimmed, quickly blacking out all light, and in an instant became a vast nothingness of terror.
I could hear him before I saw him, Arthur Twosing making his way through the thick darkness, voice cutting through the veil like a knife through butter. As he grew closer, so did the smell. The sick smell of rotted flesh and crusted blood. I couldn't make any words out, just his tone. Calm and reassuring without uttering an intelligible word, likely how he picked up Handler at 35.
But in the dark, I could *feel* this wasn't Art. I wasn't sure what was coming toward me, but I was sure of one thing...
26 years wasn't enough, and I wasn't going to die here.
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[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
*sigh* "No, again I'm looking for a belt for my *engine* not the type you wear! like as in for a car!"
The walmart auto parts attendant gave me a quizzical look.
"I'm sorry sir I dont think we have anything like that."
I heaved another deep sigh. I could clearly see some of what I was looking for on the racks behind the idiot attendant, which I had pointed out earlier.
However due to the brain damage this man had no doubt suffered at some point in the past he had insisted that they were not fan belts, and instead headbands.
In the auto section.
Ugh.
"Alright look..."
I felt my eyelids grow heavier, it was about 1:30 in the morning after all.
My engine had broken down on my way through town. Fan belt. Obviously.
"I'll just take one of those "headbands" you got over there. That big reddish one.... yeah that one. Thanks."
I yawned wide as I walked my way to where I was hoping the checkout was.
Then something appeared suddenly on my left at the edge of my vision, I turned quickly, startled.
*oh... a mirror.*
Just me.
I looked closely at my own reflection, a young 20 something year-old man in a white shirt and black tie, clearly at the point of exhaustion clutching a fan belt.
And then the most obvious feature, the thing that got him bullied his whole school life.
His pointed ears.
They were something he was born with apparently, and they'd earned him the nickname "spock" wherever he went, whether it was school or at work.
Another heavy sigh.
As I looked in the mirror I realized I was touching them self-consciously. I wonder if I did that often?
It was right then that a hand clapped my shoulder.
"Heh, dont worry pal! You look just like one of em! The ears wont even faze em, trust me."
I turned back to see a bizarre person standing before me.
A young dark-skinned man probably around my age, with shock white hair and a wide mirthful grin, his eyes were a bright shade of purple and his ears.... they were full of piercings but also...
"Your ears..." I said, my eyes and voice no doubt betraying my wonder and shock.
"Eh? Yeah I decided to leave em like this too. It's definitely more fun right? I actually havent gotten any comments at all tonight though..."
He looked disappointed as he fiddled with his pointy ears. Ears that were just like mine.
I was so surprised to see someone with ears like mine that I wasnt even registering what he was saying.
Then I noticed he was looking at me intently with a raised eyebrow.
"Say... you're.... not from *around* here... right?"
I blinked.
"Uh... no, I'm from out of town just passing through."
"Out of town?"
"Yeah, wayyyyy outta town."
*I came all the way from Washington for my assignment after all*
"Phew!" The dark-skinned guy said laughing.
"Man I was actually startin to think you were one of em! You're really committed to the act ain't ya? That dumb confused look was spot on!"
*Huh?*
"How many layers you got on anyway?"
This man was confusing the hell out of me, he seemed to jump from random nonsense statements to random nonsense questions at the drop of a hat.
"Uh, like two... I guess?"
*I'm wearing a singlet under this shirt*
The weirdo put a hand to his chin thoughtfully.
"Mhmm yeah seems like it. It's pretty good, I'm on 3 right now myself. Do you plan on taking any more layers off?"
*what on earth is this guy on?*
"Um... no it's kinda cold."
The weirdo looked surprised and then broke back into a wide smile and loud laughter.
"Wow! Ha ha! That was perfect! That's exactly what these monkeys would say! Ah woops is that speciest? I probably shouldnt use that term right?"
"Uh.. um-"
Obviously *"uh um"* was the height of comedic genius wherever this maniac was from since he had dropped to the floor laughing his head off after I'd spoken.
"Ahhh oh... man you gotta stop you're killin me!"
He got back up wiping a tear from his eye.
"My names Valye by the way!"
He offered his hand which I shook reluctantly.
"Jared"
He tilted his head to the side.
"Jared? Really? That sounds kinda ferushian."
He put his hands up defensively after seeing my face.
"Oh not that theres anything wrong with that! Hey at least it ain't a moko'nobo name right? Heh!"
*Ok. So hes a crackhead.*
"So are you here alone Jared? Doin some solo play? Or are you practicing?"
"Um, I'd love to stay and chat, but it's kinda late and I'd better get go-"
"Nonsense!" He interrupted. "Come with me pal! I came with a whole gang! We've been playin since 11 local time! We were just about to leave to get blasted, you should join us! They're a real fun group I promise, and we Alvens need to stick together!"
The weirdo- Valye had put his arm around my shoulder and was leading me back towards the exit.
Usually I'd have done something but at this point I was to tired to resist. He was definitely crazy but he seemed friendly and harmless enough.
"Hey so do you have a transport around here or something?" Valye asked.
*transport? My car?*
"It broke down"
"Ah! Then its fate! You're comin with us pal, we can come back and pick it up later no problem."
As we turned the corner around an aisle we came into view of the exit. And standing in a group near the checkout was a collection of the strangest looking people I'd ever seen gathered in one place.
|
I have a practiced look my co-workers call “the Contempt.” It works pretty well on common thugs, and when certain people need to know I’m serious. My nostrils flare, my right eye twitches, and somehow manage to tighten every muscle in my face. It is, apparently, a very “universal” expression.
On our way back from Oklahoma, having captured someone we’ve been hunting for months, something was going wrong with my government vehicle. The lights were blinking.
“Fellas,” I called out on the radio,” are you good to go on ahead without me? Something is wrong.”
“What’s up, boss?”
“Engine light. I’m going to stop at that wal mart up ahead and pick up a volt meter, I think it might be electrical.”
“Sir, want me to come with, in case you can’t start it again?”
“Thank you, Stacy, I appreciate that. We’re not far from the hotel anyway, we’ll catch up with the rest of the team. Report to me when we’re checked in.” I ordered.
Two sedans, sparkling and as black as the night they appeared from rolled into a humble wal-mart parking lot somewhere deep in the American South. The nearly barren, but never quite empty, parking lot greeted them with a lurid blue-ish light. They came to a rest, and I, a six-foot, dark skinned man with a former football player’s build stepped out in a neat black suit.
Something was off. I sweared I smelled it in the air. Special Agent Carmichael got out of her car and asked “Need a hand, sir?”
“Not necessary Stacy. I know what I need. But if you need anything inside, I’m still plugged in.”
“Okay. Maybe a clif bar, sir.”
Wandering the aisles, that feeling from the parking lot was amplified ten fold. Maybe it was the fact there was no greeter anymore, but it felt wrong. The light? The strange burning smell? The hairs raised on the back of my neck. I passed a worker, stocking shelves. They avoided eye contact. They were used to this place. They learned to shut off their senses to survive their minimum wage squalor.
But I was trained differently. In all areas of our lives, we were taught to pay attention to our senses. Each one a piece of our puzzle. And my senses were telling me to keep one eye open here.
I found the volt meter quickly, and while looking for the snack aisle, i heard a bizarre noise. An organic clicking, a I followed it around a a corner, across a section to the clothes, and found something I’ll never forget. A man standing there, among others, had a perfectly normal head of a young man just out of his teens, and the body of a fat, unhealthy, older man with love handles sticking out of his belt. What I noticed first was something sticking out of his socks. Then I saw one of his love handles... move? My first instinct was he was hiding some kind of pets under his clothes, squirrels or weasels or a snake, but then I noticed his friends. The only thing normal on any of them was their heads. The rest of their bodies were misshapen sacks barely concealed within their clothing.
There had been chatter in the wire, odd sightings, some people swearing they saw other-worldly creatures. I wondered, as I stepped forward, cautiously, if that’s what was happening, if they were a more advanced society, or rather, a less advanced society with more advanced technology. What were they doing here? How did they see us? Were we 1000 years less advanced? 10,000? How might we see someone approaching us from the treeline with a bow and a spear?
They turned around when they heard the snap from my holster. They saw the gun and the badge. They saw two bulging eyes staring at them with contempt. And they heard me ask in my deepest voice, and I knew they understood, “How dumb do you really think we are?”
They quickly clamored together, eyes wide in shock. One of their heads fell off entirely and two little eye stocks raised out of the shoulders.
“We- aaa...uh... we were... just going...” they started to reach for something.
“Touch whatever it is you’re reaching for, and you **will** die on this planet.”
They were completely frozen. Slimey appendages quivered.
I wanted them to go, however. And never come back. I took a step forward “I’ve never eaten *alien* slug before.”
They sprinted as fast as their boneless legs could take them out of the store.
I strode out afterwards , my things in a bag.
“Sir, I just... saw the strangest thing.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it Agent Carmichael. It was just... dumb teenagers.”
|
|
[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
I saw the alien before he saw me. He was dancing in one of the seasonal holiday aisles, trying on a red Santa hat and belly laughing as if he didn't clearly have two bellies. With his green skin, he looked more like the Grinch than Santa. Which he must have known. So this was some kind of game, one I didn't feel like dealing with when my car had just broken down on the way home from another long night of work.
Sometimes the aliens played, well... kind of dark games. Like, see how many humans you can catch and turn inside out before you're caught kind of games. And then I'm the special agent who has to go out, usually in the middle of the evening when I've just taken the first bite of a meal that took over an hour to make, to scrub all the evidence and issue a stern warning to the aliens. I'm usually left on unread.
But the alien I'd spotted wasn't playing that kind of game. Thankfully. It was just trying to see if anyone else would notice it was an alien. At Walmart on a Saturday at midnight, chances were low.
Another alien in the competition walked - or should I say, *slithered* by in leopard-print suit and a cheeseburger hat that barely covered its third eye. It was blowing bubbles from a neon pink ring at the first alien. Who had just looked over and spotted me, in my obviously special secret government agent suit, staring directly at its green face.
Options. One: Immediately look away and pretend not to see it. Not going to work, because it has at least one brain and isn't stupid.
Two: Smile and wave and pretend I'm another alien in disguise. Doubtful I'll succeed, and if anything it'll just get annoyed I tried to impersonate (imalienate?) its species. Like, attack you with all four clawed hands kind of annoyed.
Three: Pretend to be distracted and run over to join the nearest human. Which was one of the late-night employees who looked like he did not want to be there and, if he found out aliens existed, would instantly run for the gun section and/or start crying and/or do something Very Stupid.
Four, and this is what I was supposed to do anyway, take the alien in for questioning. There had been an increase in abductions lately, and it was starting to get personal. At least three of my coworkers had been turned inside out in the last month. Three too many. Well, okay, Bob was one of them, so depending on who you asked... Two too many. But that was more confusing (and riskier, if you cared about your chances of promotion) to say out loud. If I could at least get a bit of the alien's DNA, we could try to get a match and that would be enough for an arrest warrant.
I sighed and placed a hand on my blaster, which is made to look like a nerf gun but the aliens know to be afraid anyway, and started toward the one dressed like Santa/the Grinch. Its face fell, because it had obviously just lost the game it had been trying to win, and that meant it would have to pay some kind of penalty. Usually that meant the next time they played the turn-humans-inside-out game, the alien would have to be the one to actually disguise himself and come back to Walmart to buy a bunch of not at all suspicious things like rope, duct tape, knives, guns, maybe a candy bar or two to throw special agents like me off the scent. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But the one thing the aliens could count on was that the security guard on duty would always be slower.
"Wait," I called out to the alien. It had stopped dancing and was slowly backing away toward the auto parts section of the store. Which was super convenient for me, but it couldn't have known that, so really it was just going for a crowbar or a wrench or something bludgeony like that.
"I'm just, uh, a local cosplayer," the alien said in a perfectly human voice. "Please be on your way and leave me alone, human, uh, I mean, *friend*." That last word was said menacingly. Well, if he ever tries to turn me inside out, I've got an implant in my tooth that'll detonate and kill it and all its friends.
"No, you're not," I said, and at the same time a small voice said from off to the side, "No, you're not!"
We both turned to see a little girl holding a bucket filled with bouncy balls, the kind you can get from a machine for a quarter, staring up at the alien with wide, determined eyes.
"He's the Grinch," she said to me, pointing at the alien. "See his green fur?"
I almost said, *He's not the Grinch he's an alien*, but I caught myself in time. Instead I said, "He's a cosplayer, honey," which was really irritating because its friend was still watching and now this whole conversation was going to be taken as proof that their disguises had worked. What was the reward for winning this game, again? Oh, right. They would get to be the ones to turn the humans inside out next time.
"Leave the Grinch alone!" the girl said. "His heart is really big now." And I could see her mistake, because the alien's heart was really big, like literally three sizes too big, but that didn't mean anything metaphorically. But try explaining metaphors to anyone at Walmart at midnight.
"Listen here," I started to say, but then the girl screamed, like really loudly, like loud enough that if we'd been anywhere but Walmart someone would have come running, and then she just flung the whole bucket of bouncy balls at the floor and shouted, "Run!" at the alien. It immediately pivoted and started hopping away, an instinctive panic response that made it look unimaginably stupid, but also made it able to avoid the bouncy balls. I lunged at the alien and grabbed desperately at its leg before I fell to the floor. It managed to get away along with its friend, and the girl just stood there screaming and crying the whole time, because the Grinch hadn't turned out to be the Grinch after all, it was some scary green kangaroo thing that had snake fangs for teeth. Obviously.
But I looked down at my hand to find a single tuft of green fur. I'd managed to snag the alien's DNA, and it was in self-defense according to anyone who'd been there who was an adult human, so if there was a match we could finally get our warrant. Which we did. And we managed to get justice for every human in the end, even Bob, and it was enough to keep the aliens from turning anyone inside out ever again.
And *that* was the best Christmas I ever had.
|
In a bizarre way, doing this reminded Bob of his childhood. His teenage years consisted of random behavior such as this. Wandering to Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning, because sleep was overrated.
But, being at such a place at this time of day had it's perks. Namely, no lines and good parking. The good parking part being key. The extra shifts he'd been pulling lately had been causing him to neglect other aspects of his life. Most recently, the lack of coolant in the reservoir of his car. He'd left it to sit in the cold, spending the extra time to google the correct bottle he needed to buy; and also because a pack of Oreos isn't going to eat itself.
Lounging outside of the shuttered Subway near the entrance, he returned to an age old tradition of his. People watching. Perhaps things like this explained why he found himself in the career he'd chosen. But if you wanted to see how bizarre people could truly be, go to a Wal-Mart between the hours of 10 P.M. to 5 A.M. It wasn't an unfamiliar idea to him. As mentioned, he'd made a game of it many times before.
There were a few contenders that made him wonder.
A woman in polka dotted leggings wandering the fruit section. She went from stand to stand, considering options, but never truly willing to buy. She settled on Avocados before wandering towards the bread. He lost track of her behind the wall then.
A wayward affluent soccer mom stereotype, who seemed validly unnerved by the surroundings she'd found herself in. On her way out, she looked over her shoulders every five seconds as if to ward off whatever evil was following her. Lest any residue of this big box store rub off on her shoes.
A man in stained overalls, tucking away cigarettes and wandering to a dusty truck in the row closest to the doors. His weathered face sightly upbeat, a slight grumble escaping his lips. The truck took a little work to start, but before long the vehicle trundled away blaring some old country record Bob couldn't readily remember.
A younger man, carrying a jaded expression under dreadlocks who'd seemingly only came to buy a gallon of milk and some cereal. He locked eyes with Bob for a second on his way out, one hand tucked into his jacket, the other swaying the bag offhandedly. His solitary walk leading him to a sedan which then spun in the snow outside and disappeared.
Some wayward teens, one short, one tall, one wide, wandered in next. They quietly laughed to themselves, before one began making jokes about the tall one's crush at school. They disappeared into the clothes section, before something fell over and laughter rang back.
Bob watched them all disappear one by one. But the one that came in next stole the show.
Maybe he'd been sitting here too long. Either that, or the Oreos were starting to get to him. But if he saw it right, the woman in self checkout to his right just licked a pack of beef jerky. Polka Dots, the leggings. *Okay*. That's already pretty weird. The fact that her tongue slinked out of her mouth again, wrapped the package and dragged it in back into her maw completely was infinitely more concerning.
He shook his head on the off chance that perhaps he didn't see that right. However, she took another pack and began to do it again, dropping it from her mouth as she noticed his concern. The bespectacled man, a wayward cookie jutting from his mouth caught her eye, and she smiled before walking out of view.
Bob stood up at this, the hairs on neck tickling incessantly with concern. The car could wait. He went to follow her, the polka dot legging keeping his attention, until he spotted a man slumped over in a rascal. The machine rolled by him at all of 3 miles an hour, clipped a shelf and rolled over, tossing it's oversized driver into the floor. Polka Dots had stopped to watch. Bob, being the Good Samaritan he was sought to help the man. Until the guy started doing the backstroke across the floor. As fat as he was, its not like he was going anywhere in a hurry.
But, he'd lost sight of Polka Dots, and that scared him more than anything. He had to call this in. But he knew better than to cause a panic. He quietly left his friend on the floor to himself as he sliently began making a lap on his back down an aisle.
He found himself back at register three, trying his best to look assertive at this time of night. The man at the register, a name tag reading "Pete" looked him up and down in concern.
"Hey didn't you checkout a little while ago?" Pete noticed boringly.
"Yes. Umm, do you mind getting someone up here? There's a big guy over there. I think something's wrong with him."
Bob wasn't a big fan of the Sacrificial Lamb idea. But if a couple of Wal-Mart workers bought it first, he figured that'd be enough reason to get the store cordoned off. Unspoken tricks of the bureau.
"He dying or something?" Pete asked accordingly.
"He's... Trying to swim on the floor."
"...Real big dude?"
"Yeah?"
Pete shook his head and sighed. "Fat Eddie. He always comes in on Tuesday, falls off his scooter and does that. Poor guy. I dunno' why he's like that."
"...You're serious?"
The man swished his arms as he slid by the register on the lineoleum, his sweaty face one of pure concentration.
"Hey Eddie, get me a box of donuts from the back while you're down there?"
"Sure thing Coach!" Eddie responded as he kept kicking along the floor.
Bob didn't know what to say, except but to point at Eddie's absurdity.
"See?" Pete waved off, "Don't worry about it."
"Uh, there's a woman in here eating beef jerky too." Bob mentioned next.
"The lady with the polka dots?"
"Yes! You saw her too??"
"She's always shoplifting. I'll call the cops in a bit. Don't worry."
"Seriously?"
"I don't get paid enough to get stabbed."
"Fair point."
Bob had to give Pete silent credit. He knew his place in the world. The toddler lifting the soda machine across from them clearly didn't. He let the rig slam back into place as Bob spotted him, the machine coughing up a soda before he snatched it and darted away.
"Did you see that?!" He whispered.
"What?"
"The soda machine!"
"I don't know who's kid that is. His mom's in here somewhere... Oh, he's fine. See? There they go."
True to his word, the child's mother carried him past him. The little Kryptonian seemingly oblivious to his own deeds, a thumb in his mouth.
"No masks on?" Pete muttered. "Hope they don't catch the Rona."
"You're just going to sit here like that didn't happen??"
Pete yawned and his mask rode up. Underneath seemed to be endless teeth of varying size before he snapped his jaw shut. Bob saw it but didn't want to acknowledge it.
"....Are we good?" Pete shrugged.
"-I'm sorry?"
"You, uhh, need some more coolant?" Pete pointed out. "Oreos?"
"No, um, I just figured you might want to check on things. Have a nice night."
"You too, man."
Bob fell over himself, slipping and sliding on the ice on the way back to his car. He had to tell someone. This place needed to be razed to the ground.
"Really Pete?" Polka Dots complimented. "The cashier?"
"Not my fault you suck at this game. Even Eddie made it farther than you."
|
|
[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in automotive?
By the toy section he noticed something. A patron. But not just any patron. "The people of Walmart" crossed his mind. He already heard the little HR voice in his head about how that's a classist sentiment, but holy COW did it fit here. It was bulbous. A floral print moo moo, so perhaps female... but Todd wasn't sure. There was something neck-like and there were 4 limbs. The wig was obviously fake and yet the most normal part. It was rude, but he honestly had trouble looking away. It was the shoes though. Beyond "big and large". Beyond "customized". These wide-boys were some non-human caricature masquerading as shoes.
Todd James was a federal agent. He was a spy-hunter. HUMINT. An alphabet boy. He was specifically trained to spot disguises. This was literally he job. Okay, his job was mostly sitting behind a desk and telling people how not to insult the locals and how big bribes ought to be. But he had been through classes. Specifically versus humans, but education is broadly applicable. So he tailed the subject. And got more and more alarmed the more he picked up. The position of the joints. The stiffness of the fat-roll on the "neck". And the material of the shoes. For a moment he swore they were painted on, but that'd be ridiculous.
Then he was marked. And he knew he was marked. Because the subject had doubled-back twice. Classic tail-dropper. And only those trained in how to drop a tail knew how to drop a trail. So beyond being in a walmart late at night with a questionable character, beyond being near a HUMINT (XENOINT?) trained questionable character, he was specifically marked by said character. Todd was in danger. He didn't even has his daily carry on him, he was just out for some milk. Stupid. But Todd was trained and proceeded in a tactical retreat under cover, that is to say, he casually directed his shopping cart towards the exit.
It came for him. There was a slowly increasing percussion of heavy footfalls. thud thud Thud Thud THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Todd tipped the cart behind him and broke into a run. Down the seasonal Aisle and into the straightaway to the exit. He saw one "appendage" snake out on the left and he NOPED right into the perfumes. Multiple targets? It's time to phone home. He fumbled with his cell at a run and didn't even see the beast with the mandibles. There was a gas, Todd's short scream died away as he slumpped.
"<You lost Brixle. I told you that moomoo wasn't going to fool anyone.>"
<"Well It's bloody playin' on HARD MODE with a bloody federal agent here!">
<"Relax, I'll reset the pieces and you can try again">
<"Naw mate, he's been up and down this places since 8pm and the sun is risin'. I think it'd best to just call it a night">
...
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in perfumes?
|
In a bizarre way, doing this reminded Bob of his childhood. His teenage years consisted of random behavior such as this. Wandering to Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning, because sleep was overrated.
But, being at such a place at this time of day had it's perks. Namely, no lines and good parking. The good parking part being key. The extra shifts he'd been pulling lately had been causing him to neglect other aspects of his life. Most recently, the lack of coolant in the reservoir of his car. He'd left it to sit in the cold, spending the extra time to google the correct bottle he needed to buy; and also because a pack of Oreos isn't going to eat itself.
Lounging outside of the shuttered Subway near the entrance, he returned to an age old tradition of his. People watching. Perhaps things like this explained why he found himself in the career he'd chosen. But if you wanted to see how bizarre people could truly be, go to a Wal-Mart between the hours of 10 P.M. to 5 A.M. It wasn't an unfamiliar idea to him. As mentioned, he'd made a game of it many times before.
There were a few contenders that made him wonder.
A woman in polka dotted leggings wandering the fruit section. She went from stand to stand, considering options, but never truly willing to buy. She settled on Avocados before wandering towards the bread. He lost track of her behind the wall then.
A wayward affluent soccer mom stereotype, who seemed validly unnerved by the surroundings she'd found herself in. On her way out, she looked over her shoulders every five seconds as if to ward off whatever evil was following her. Lest any residue of this big box store rub off on her shoes.
A man in stained overalls, tucking away cigarettes and wandering to a dusty truck in the row closest to the doors. His weathered face sightly upbeat, a slight grumble escaping his lips. The truck took a little work to start, but before long the vehicle trundled away blaring some old country record Bob couldn't readily remember.
A younger man, carrying a jaded expression under dreadlocks who'd seemingly only came to buy a gallon of milk and some cereal. He locked eyes with Bob for a second on his way out, one hand tucked into his jacket, the other swaying the bag offhandedly. His solitary walk leading him to a sedan which then spun in the snow outside and disappeared.
Some wayward teens, one short, one tall, one wide, wandered in next. They quietly laughed to themselves, before one began making jokes about the tall one's crush at school. They disappeared into the clothes section, before something fell over and laughter rang back.
Bob watched them all disappear one by one. But the one that came in next stole the show.
Maybe he'd been sitting here too long. Either that, or the Oreos were starting to get to him. But if he saw it right, the woman in self checkout to his right just licked a pack of beef jerky. Polka Dots, the leggings. *Okay*. That's already pretty weird. The fact that her tongue slinked out of her mouth again, wrapped the package and dragged it in back into her maw completely was infinitely more concerning.
He shook his head on the off chance that perhaps he didn't see that right. However, she took another pack and began to do it again, dropping it from her mouth as she noticed his concern. The bespectacled man, a wayward cookie jutting from his mouth caught her eye, and she smiled before walking out of view.
Bob stood up at this, the hairs on neck tickling incessantly with concern. The car could wait. He went to follow her, the polka dot legging keeping his attention, until he spotted a man slumped over in a rascal. The machine rolled by him at all of 3 miles an hour, clipped a shelf and rolled over, tossing it's oversized driver into the floor. Polka Dots had stopped to watch. Bob, being the Good Samaritan he was sought to help the man. Until the guy started doing the backstroke across the floor. As fat as he was, its not like he was going anywhere in a hurry.
But, he'd lost sight of Polka Dots, and that scared him more than anything. He had to call this in. But he knew better than to cause a panic. He quietly left his friend on the floor to himself as he sliently began making a lap on his back down an aisle.
He found himself back at register three, trying his best to look assertive at this time of night. The man at the register, a name tag reading "Pete" looked him up and down in concern.
"Hey didn't you checkout a little while ago?" Pete noticed boringly.
"Yes. Umm, do you mind getting someone up here? There's a big guy over there. I think something's wrong with him."
Bob wasn't a big fan of the Sacrificial Lamb idea. But if a couple of Wal-Mart workers bought it first, he figured that'd be enough reason to get the store cordoned off. Unspoken tricks of the bureau.
"He dying or something?" Pete asked accordingly.
"He's... Trying to swim on the floor."
"...Real big dude?"
"Yeah?"
Pete shook his head and sighed. "Fat Eddie. He always comes in on Tuesday, falls off his scooter and does that. Poor guy. I dunno' why he's like that."
"...You're serious?"
The man swished his arms as he slid by the register on the lineoleum, his sweaty face one of pure concentration.
"Hey Eddie, get me a box of donuts from the back while you're down there?"
"Sure thing Coach!" Eddie responded as he kept kicking along the floor.
Bob didn't know what to say, except but to point at Eddie's absurdity.
"See?" Pete waved off, "Don't worry about it."
"Uh, there's a woman in here eating beef jerky too." Bob mentioned next.
"The lady with the polka dots?"
"Yes! You saw her too??"
"She's always shoplifting. I'll call the cops in a bit. Don't worry."
"Seriously?"
"I don't get paid enough to get stabbed."
"Fair point."
Bob had to give Pete silent credit. He knew his place in the world. The toddler lifting the soda machine across from them clearly didn't. He let the rig slam back into place as Bob spotted him, the machine coughing up a soda before he snatched it and darted away.
"Did you see that?!" He whispered.
"What?"
"The soda machine!"
"I don't know who's kid that is. His mom's in here somewhere... Oh, he's fine. See? There they go."
True to his word, the child's mother carried him past him. The little Kryptonian seemingly oblivious to his own deeds, a thumb in his mouth.
"No masks on?" Pete muttered. "Hope they don't catch the Rona."
"You're just going to sit here like that didn't happen??"
Pete yawned and his mask rode up. Underneath seemed to be endless teeth of varying size before he snapped his jaw shut. Bob saw it but didn't want to acknowledge it.
"....Are we good?" Pete shrugged.
"-I'm sorry?"
"You, uhh, need some more coolant?" Pete pointed out. "Oreos?"
"No, um, I just figured you might want to check on things. Have a nice night."
"You too, man."
Bob fell over himself, slipping and sliding on the ice on the way back to his car. He had to tell someone. This place needed to be razed to the ground.
"Really Pete?" Polka Dots complimented. "The cashier?"
"Not my fault you suck at this game. Even Eddie made it farther than you."
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