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[WP] You are an con man who tricked an entire nation into thinking you are a god and worshipping you. Everything was going well until you actually became a god. Every other god has a word for you	General Weathers, High Chairmen of Supreme Enlightenment to the fabulous nation of Hidan, was watching his own funeral. As strange as whatever clouded world surrounded him, not to mention the surprise of the afterlife at all, he had to admit his followers did a pretty fair job. There were only six elephants in the parade but Chloe’s leg had been getting worse, probably best she sat this one out. He reached out and drew a large rainbow across the sky and two shooting stars for good measure. The mourner’s below seemed to enjoy that very much. He was just about to figure out what other new powers he had available now when his head bumped into a cheap soffit ceiling. He turned around to see he was standing in what looked to be an office reception area, with a pure white fog covering the floor. “Good morning,” the muscled, sculpted, and tan man said from the reception desk. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not hungover from the night before and it’s giving me an awful headache.” “Where am I?” The General asked, flicking a Newton’s Cradle on the desk. “Oh, you’re the dictator guy!” the man said perking up and shaking his hand. “Man, you knew how to party. I’m not normally down for the whole self-help schtick but I can’t wait to see what you get up to now.” The toga-wearing man noticed the confusion still plastered on his face. “Oh right, you hit the threshold of enough worshippers to become a God. This is the office of the Godly Affairs.” “I’m actually a God now?” The General asked, unbelieving. “You bet! You were transferred here for onboarding. You have a meeting with,” he paused to look down at a stone tablet, “He-He Er Xian, the two gods of Harmony and Union. I’m going to be honest with you. They seem to be less than pleased with the whole hundred wives thing you had going down there, so you’re probably in for an ass-chewing, but don’t let it get you down. Eros, Aphrodite, and I are going to hit up an Earth bar tonight where the gimmick is that everyone wears blindfolds! We can probably even sneak Hebe in. Wild, eh? We’d love for you to come.” The man handed him a card, purple with tasteful black lettering that read ‘Dionysus.’ “What am I supposed to do with this? There’s no number.” “That’s a good one!” Dionysus called back, taking a long drink from what looked like a 3-liter thermos. “Now get in there and answer for your crimes!” Weathers looked forward as the cloudy floor gave way to intricately designed red-painted wood weaving over white walls as distant red lanterns swayed above him like stars and some beautiful instrument began to play. An old and pissed-off-looking couple sat staring at him at a low table filled with candles. \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.	"Ah, so you wish to become a God young..." "Gilagamesh." "Gilgamesh. Then you shall be. And you shall face every trial laid before you. Men slay wolves and lions. You shall face much, much more than that. But the people have believed in you, and so they have granted you much power through that belief, and you will need it. Especially to face Enkidu." Before Gilgamesh could ask more, the miasma had faded, leaving him alone in his royal chambers. Outside, a crashing in the street began, and he heard his name called in a growling, beastial shout. "I seek the one called Gilgamesh, tyrant of men, foe of Aruru. Come, and fight me if you so claim to be mighty." Gilgamesh was aware of fear, had maybe even felt it. But when he saw that thing stomping through his streets, throwing full carts of fruit with a single furry paw, and scrapping high windows with its twisted antlers, he was sure he knew what fear was like. But such is the duty of a god-king among men.
[WP] "I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."	I mean, it was great when I was in high school. Bullies never got past the first punch before they'd go almost catatonic. No one ever messed with me twice. But you learn quickly that you can never really take your gloves off. Imagine explaining in an interview why you can't shake your interviewers hand? I'm still not over my first girlfriend. Dumped me the second she got off her involuntary hold. It'd be nice if I had some range, but what I don't even know what I'd do if I ever came across a real criminal. What, am I going to sneak up on a mass shooter so I can touch them? Hell, that might not even work. I'd expect a lot of them to feel very small already. I don't think I'd want to find out what an existential crisis does to a sociopath. But the worst is what it does to me. It doesn't matter what I wear, or what I'm doing. I'm always in contact with myself. I can never get away from that horrible feeling of insignificance. Constantly knowing that nothing I ever do will really matter. At least, that's how I felt until I met Jenny. I met her at a bar of all places. Some asshole wouldn't leave her alone. I see it all the time, I don't know what was different this time, bit I just felt like I needed to step in. Took my glove off, came up behind him, put a hand on his back "I think it's time to sit down." She thanked me, and I don't know why, but for the first time it felt like I was worth something. I knew I couldn't let her go after that. We talked for an hours that night. I opened up to her about everything. My power. My life. My insignificance. She said she'd like to meet again, and we did. Again, and again we'd meet at that little coffee shop down the street from where we'd met. It took no time at all for me to fall head over heels for her. But I knew we had a time limit. There wouldn't be any more to our relationship than talking. There couldn't be. I knew she wanted more from me, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I couldn't hug her, or kiss her. Hell, I couldn't hold her hand without her running away. I could ruin her life with one touch. But one day she decided she wanted to know what it was like. I refused at first. I refused for weeks. There was no one else in my life that could make me feel important, and she was just way too important to lose. But I could feel her pulling back. I decided if I was going to lose her either way, I might as well let her see what my power does, if only to give her closure. So one day, I took off my glove, and grabbed her by the hand. Her eyes faded for a second, but she didn't pull away. After a few seconds, she smiled. I asked her what happened. She said, "the second you touched me, I felt like I was the most important person in the universe." I guess, in a way, we both had the power to show eachother what we were worth.	[Poem] “You are a god to men, With your laser eyes and fancy cape. But is that not a burden? Don’t you wish you could escape? How many sons of Krypton could do just the same, If they had been touched by the earth-sun’s yellow flame? All that makes you special, all that makes you great, Is your home’s destruction, your entire race’s fate. How are you a hero? Never bruised, never scarred, How can you claim to triumph when nothing’s ever hard? Do you feel you heart misgiving? Do you feel your mind undo? How must we mortals tremble when you cannot trust you? You can save the world a thousand times, from every other threat. It can all be undone, count for nothing, in one moment of regret. You are too strong, too strong, too strong, you’ll crush the things you try to save. Better go out strong and soon, hide away in an icy cave.” “Sooo, that’s what I can do. Haha.” Awe looked at the hero still curled in fetal position in front of the rest of his league. Maybe she had gone a bit far? “I’ll show myself out.”
[WP] "I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."	The giant war machine slumped, creaking and screeching as the life seemed sucked from it. The short stubby legs, three stories tall, held too many tons and meters of gears, hydraulics, wires, and sheets of metal assembled into a walking tank, suspended with no immediate threat of crushing anyone below. It didn't stop people from fleeing in a panic. Small wonder, this machine took punches from one of the strongest men alive with hardly any damage to show from it. The cannon at the chest had no aim, simply pointed at the city streets where just moments before it had a prominent business skyscraper in its sights. Atlas landed, from a far jump several miles away, a crater half a mile wide his origin. He had been shot with the cannon in question, and what most other people could not have survived The World Bearer simply took in stride. His orange and black catsuit was torn, enough for sex appeal maybe, but nowhere near inappropriate. Excellent for photo ops later. Pride and Joy landed, their angelic amalgam diffusing into their two individual human components in a flash of light. They rested a palm on what was the heel of the machine and looked up in unison: it took minutes for their actions to unsynchronize. No vibrations, no engine rumblings, no gas emissions, no electrical charge. Nothing. The twins stepped back and observed quietly, their movements in step if a little casual. Atlas shuddered as Awe approached. He couldn't help it. He loved her, though not as a human, but in concept, but he did not forget the terror of her power. A great and terrible omen wrapped in the shell of a human teenager, though looking at her, wrapped in a loose fitting sweater, combat boots, and short black hair with blue tips, one wouldn't see that. She had to reach out and make one see to invoke such responses. He was a different man when he met her, and she by far younger. Atlas went by Rampage back then, and he was acting on his namesake, acting out in rage and petulance and drunkenness on his power. In his wake were the rubble and corpses, and the fear of his unstoppable might. What weapons and tactics failed to stop, Awe turned into a force for mankind. --- * --- The baby cried, a piteous thing echoing in the rubble. The wails echoed from collapsed buildings. They fell upon the dead, unable to move them. They carried in the wind that stoked the fires from gas explosions. Rampage had never been called to before like this. He had heard children cry before, matter of fact he had stuck his fist through several little cretins earlier with no second thought. He could give two rats asses about whether they were old or young or anything in between. They were all damned. But this. He found his way back to the rubble of some apartment complex. Why was he being careful? He walked slowly, his thoughts confused as the cries of the baby pierced his head, overwhelming his better sense. He found the baby eventually, alone in a bathtub. She was in the tub, with a mattress above it. She was bedded with many blankets, a bottle of milk and many stuffed animals next to her. This was done with care and love despite the situation, but why the hell did he care about this? Why were these details standing out to him? "The hell is wrong with me?!?!" Rampage screamed, picking up a block of concrete with rebar jutting out of it. He threw it, and it flew impossibly fast and far, catching fire from atmospheric friction. Notably, away from this child. He screamed, which made the child scream, and which forced the sense of what he was now understanding to be guilt on him "You're Powered..." Rampage muttered with realization. It was the only explanation. The Powered were people like him, enhanced with inexplicable abilities that varied from person to person. Mutants, Saints, Superheroes, there were many names, but the results were the same. They were Powered. He stepped closer, determined to snuff out this little life. His hand was bigger than her torso. All he had to do was squeeze. He reached his hand, feeling a foreboding he had not felt before. His skin touched the cloth of her onesie and... Bam An alertness rang like a gunshot, capturing Rampage's full mind, dominating his full attention. His hair raised on end, his body caught in the electrical backflow of his own biochemistry on overdrive. His pupils dilated, though he saw nothing worldly. His breath was ragged but regular. His body was caught in a rictus, and no one on Earth would be able to move him now. His hand was flat, above the baby's waist - a good thing too or he would have crushed her. Wisps of light flowed from the child's eyes. Those same wisps were on Rampage's. He was everywhere and nowhere. His mind saw cosmic filaments and quantum superposition reactions. He saw civilizations rise and fall on numerous worlds, and many many more wonderous planets devoid of any active matter, life or otherwise. Of the countless stars, more than grains of sand on Earth, no significant statistic of them had life, and less of these grew to have their own thoughts, and even less to look to the stars and wonder about worlds other than their own. He wanted to reach out, he who was Powered. He wanted to shield them, to save them. They were to weak and vulnerable. They were the most precious resource in the universe, self aware active matter. More dramatic than a quasar. More mysterious than a black hole. More rare than gold ejected from a star. Striving, struggling, for moments thriving in a void that would erase them in an instant. This in a universe where any interstellar threat could erase any hint of their existence. And in a world where they were a threat to they themselves. It faded slowly, over seconds, like a dream but with every detail tangible. Not fleeting, not like water in cupped palms. It was there, like a waking nightmare, the terror as real as it was before. The Powered man who was Rampage staggered backwards and fell in the floor. The glass or concrete did not cut him. The piles of wood, plaster, and wires did not register. He cried, for hours. He opened and closed his palm, wondering at the lines, thinking of the flesh and blood beneath. He thought of the rubble, and the effort it took to make it stand and take shape, and how easily it crumbled. Sobs racked his frame, shuddering in the moonlight. It was night, he thought. How much time had passed? He looked to the baby, who was strangely quiet in her bathtub crib, and emotion welled in him again, setting him off. He did not know how long he was there before the baby began to cry again. She was hungry and had soiled herself. She wanted her family. Her family were nearby stains, the courtesy of a Rampage that no longer existed The man who was Rampage did not have his thoughts in order, but he would start his newfound mission with this child. He was afraid to touch her, and forced himself to. If he was going to protect his kind, against their passionate others and the indifferent beyond, he had to start with her, she who let him see what he saw. If she could touch others the way she touched him, she would be necessary. He would bear the weight of the world, he decided. Their little world in the midst of forever, fleeting and vulnerable. With his power and endurance, remembering the mythology he had loved as a child, the name that came to him for his new identity was simple and on the nose. The Rampage was gone, and the Worldbearer Atlas would bear his burden as punishment and responsibility for all time, with the Awe of the Universe in the form of a baby as his most precious charge. He had to have a laugh: he never expected to have any sort of religious experience. If he had been told this would happen to him, he would have simply ended that person's life. It took less for him to do that. What a waste. ---	[Poem] “You are a god to men, With your laser eyes and fancy cape. But is that not a burden? Don’t you wish you could escape? How many sons of Krypton could do just the same, If they had been touched by the earth-sun’s yellow flame? All that makes you special, all that makes you great, Is your home’s destruction, your entire race’s fate. How are you a hero? Never bruised, never scarred, How can you claim to triumph when nothing’s ever hard? Do you feel you heart misgiving? Do you feel your mind undo? How must we mortals tremble when you cannot trust you? You can save the world a thousand times, from every other threat. It can all be undone, count for nothing, in one moment of regret. You are too strong, too strong, too strong, you’ll crush the things you try to save. Better go out strong and soon, hide away in an icy cave.” “Sooo, that’s what I can do. Haha.” Awe looked at the hero still curled in fetal position in front of the rest of his league. Maybe she had gone a bit far? “I’ll show myself out.”
[WP] "I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."	# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Part 4: A Child Named Awe v.s. Federal Law No. 8 of 2023) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) The thing I hated the most about superpowers was what it did to children. Or... no, that wasn't right, it wasn't the children's fault. The thing I hated the most about superpowers was what the people in charge did to children. Given that the stock market was currently being ravaged by a superhuman with absurdly powerful luck manipulation, I could see why some measures to nip things like that in the bud would be worth it to implement. But putting any child in chains was a step too far for me. Awe lived in a pleasant two-story house near her elementary school where she enjoyed a perfectly ordinary life save for the fact that she wore a pair of handcuffs that suppressed her powers 24/7. In fairness, they allowed her a strong range of mobility—I heard there were newer models coming out which just looked like a pair of bracelets—but no matter what they looked like, I still knew what they were. Chains. She was kicking a ball outside with her mother when I waved to them. Awe's eyes lit up as she saw me, and she tugged at her mother's shirt. "Mommy! Mommy! Look! It's Aunty Clara!" Awe's mother was... less than enthused to see me, I'll admit, but she plastered a smile on her face and stepped up to greet me, subtly but deliberately placing herself between her child and me. I would appreciate her social slickness more if it wasn't damn inconvenient right now. "Greetings, Mayor," she said. "With what can I help you today?" "Just a little favor," I said. "Could we speak in private for a moment?" Awe's mother waved a hand, and Awe obediently ran inside the house. I whistled. Well-behaved kid, for an elementary school girl. When she was gone, I said, "You've seen Lady Luck's rampage through the stock market on the news, yes?" She frowned. "Of course. It is very worrying." Thank you, Captain Obvious, I thought to myself. Then I hastily amended that: I'd met Captain Obvious, and he was a terrible, terrible person who I never wanted to thank about anything, ever. "I think... I think it may be possible for your daughter to help." She stiffened. "My daughter is a nine-year-old. With what could she possibly assist the Mayor of our city with?" "Your daughter is also a superhuman," I said gently, "and as the Mayor, I am authorized to unlock her cuffs." Technically true, although I'd have hell to pay in consequences later—but they'd be directed at me, not Awe or her family. "If I'm right, Awe may be able to stop the damage to our economy where it is—perhaps even go a ways to reversing it." "Lady Luck is the one damaging the economy. And I will say that Lady Luck is, as you can see, not here." The woman made an exaggerated pantomime of searching the streets; other than several citizens who I knew the names of, if not the hearts of, there was nobody around. I sighed. "...Look, Nora. How much do you know about luck-manipulators?" She squinted. "The superhumans? They are sometimes good, sometimes bad. Always should stay away from them." I snorted. "Well, that's... almost not entirely wrong." She scowled. "Luck manipulators... the universe just aligns to help them out. Give them what they need to become their best selves. But you see, that's the key. Good luck isn't about getting what you want—it's about getting what you need. It's not just about winning lotteries or having celebrities fall in love with you. True good luck is about finding peace, about understanding yourself, about being happy. About just the things that Awe can provide." I nodded towards the house. "So if I take the cuffs off Awe, and if she agrees to give Lady Luck a dose of what she needs? I'd be willing to bet that the luckiest woman in the world would show up, whether she wanted to or not. Because it is lucky to be in contact with your daughter. It's a blessing. And Lady Luck's powers, whether or not she herself realizes that, will bring her here." Nora met my eyes impassively. Then she said, "The government is strong. For what reason can you convince me that they will not solve this themselves?" "Oh, they can solve it themselves. If they bring out Big Guns, or Death, or... well, any of the military-trained attack dogs they have on a leash... all the luck in the world won't save you. But... I can't stomach the idea of them having to let those people loose, probably in civilian territory. Besides... with luck-manipulators... you get better results by working with them, trying to help them, than anything else." Nora swallowed, looking between me and her orderly, safe home. And, luckily, she chose me. "Alright," she said. "But just this once!" She walked inside. "Awe? There is someone here to see you." I smiled. As Awe came out, I took out a tiny little chip and slotted it into her cuffs, releasing them. She looked up at me and said, "So what do you want me to—" With a whumph, a woman fell out of the sky with a torn parachute on her back; Nora and Awe flinched away, although I barely batted an eyebrow. Luckily, she hadn't been hurt in the fall; she stumbled to her knees, eyes wild. Gems and jewelry spilled from her pocket, some still with price tags on them; Lady Luck had obviously gone on a bit of a theft spree to round out her obsession with acquiring material wealth. Dazed, she looked at the three of us. "Who the hell are you three?" I placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm Mayor Clara. And this... this is Awe. She's going to help you with your... well, with your desire to own all the money. And all the shinies, judging by... recent empirical evidence." I looked at her jewel-laden clothes. Awe reached out, hesitated, and looked at her mother. Nora gave her a slight, hesitant nod, as if disbelieving that my plan had actually worked. Then Awe touched one finger to Lady Luck's forehead. Her eyes grew wide, then rolled back into her head. "Oh, God, what have—what have I done? You have to—you have to—" Then she collapsed, mumbling incoherently. I smiled. There would be no need for Death or Big Guns to come out today. Lady Luck had been neutralized safely. Then I frowned. Lady Luck was still whispering. I leaned in to hear... "—run. You have to run. You have to run. You have to run." It occurred to me that I hadn't seen what Lady Luck had fallen from. I looked up, and, just as I had the thought, a military helicopter above us blared, "ATTENTION, CITIZENS! This is the Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs. The criminal known as Lady Luck has been spotted in your area. Please remain calm as we deploy all available assets to capture her." I looked down at the unconscious woman; Nora and Awe looked at me, horrified. "No, Goddammit," I whispered. Then I scowled. "No, no, no! My city does not become a brawling ground for the most deadly superhumans alive!" I dialed a number on my phone. "Hello?" A bored-sounding clerk answered on the other end. "FBSA central, how can I help you?" "This is Mayor Clara," I snarled, "and you have five seconds to get me to someone in charge before your task force reduces my city to ashes. Am I clear?" The clerk on the other end stammered—but, luckily, he complied. "Um. I can patch you into the Chief of Homeland Defense, but—" "Then damn well do it!" I looked up at the helicopter as a single, dark figure dropped out of it. "And quick. We don't have much time." A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day.	Awe had always found himself in awe of the other heroes. His cheek pressed against the glass of the Heroes association, watching the battles as they breezed past his cubicle, a spectacle of flashing lights and power. After the villain had escaped or been caught, he would return to his desk, a sigh of discontentment escaping his lips. How he longed to be more than a reserve grade hero, someone who does more than just watch from the sidelines, answering the emergency line. “Awe, you missed a call. Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again. What did I tell you?” Marthus approached his cubicle, the eight-foot behemoth staring over the thin cubicle wall, giving his employee a stare down. For a retired hero, he carried an intimidation reserved for villains, able to make a person squirm with just a few words. “Uh, you said. Hold on, I wrote it down.” Awe frantically tugged at the various post-it notes on his desk, knowing he had written his instructions on one of them. “Right. A hero’s duty is to assist in whatever way they can. Failing to do that duty is the same as failing to be a hero.” Awe read out the message before sticking the note back onto his monitor. “Right, so be a hero. If you are good enough, you will be out there someday, kid, but for now you’re stuck with the washed-up heroes like me and the rookies. So please do your job unless you want to be my new training partner.” He said, letting out a single ‘HA.’ The ha shaking the cubicle walls, nearly toppling them over, only to be held in place by the man’s grip. When he was certain the cubicle was stable, he gave Awe a wave, returning to his desk. Awe nervously nodded at the man, struggling to get a read on him. As usual, work dragged, stuck answering the emergency line, fantasizing about how he would save the person on the other end of the line. “This is bullshit. You are telling me we have no one with an ability like that? I don’t care if they are a rookie or even a goat with a top hat. If you know someone that meets my requirements, send them my way.” Awe peeked over his cubicle, trying to glimpse the argument. He could see the behemoths shoulders drop, the man unable to get a word in on this argument. He tilted his head at every angle he could manage, unable to see the person behind his hulking body. He found himself distracted again, only to be snapped awake by buzzing of his phone. He pushed away from the cubicle wall, snatching the phone up, not wanting a training session with his boss. “Hey, hello? What’s your emergency I’m Awe, no this is the hero association and I’m-“ “Its just me, kid, relax. You weren’t daydreaming, again, were you? Look, you know that conversation we had earlier? Well, you might have a shot at working with a hero. I don’t know what has possessed her to think up such a crazy idea, but she thinks your abilities will be helpful. Go meet her, she’s in conference room five.” With that the call ended, a meeting flashing up on his monitor, telling him to get to the conference room. Awe didn’t even ask who he was meeting with, grabbing a pen and wad of post-it notes, heading to the conference room. Pushing open the door, he saw Doctor Jekyll, the woman not even greeting him as he entered, too focused on the notes sitting before her. “Interesting ability you have. It would be greater in my hands, but unfortunately that isn’t the way fate works. Tell me about this amazing ability of yours.” Her glance left the notes, pushing them before Awe, allowing him to read a file of information on himself. “I don’t know, I think my power is a bit lame. All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the entire universe. That’s at least how the doctor explained it to me.” Awe said. “An ability that relies on touch. No wonder they keep you in an office, no offence, but you aren’t exactly an intimidating fellow. I doubt you could even catch any of the heroes in the office.” “Right, so why have you called me here then?” Awe could handle being talked down to, it was part of his job after all, but for someone to do it after getting his hopes up, even he had more self-respect than that. Tossing his notepad onto the desk, he leaned into his chair, waiting for her to get to the point. “To work for me. Your power is lame regarding fighting, but in research? You could be a genius like me. I’ve been studying villain rehabilitation for years, and the method I want to implement mirrors your ability to a frightening extent. A way to make villains reconsider their choices, that’s the healthiest rehabilitation possible.” “I don’t know. Science isn’t really my thing. Haven’t you seen my grades? I barely got an office job here. I just don’t think I’m the person you are looking for.” “Nonsense, you are exactly what I need. I know everything I need to know about you. I know you aspire to be more than a voice on the end of a phone, I know your abilities awakened when you bumped into an employee of Laskin enterprises. Your touch made him realize that no amount of money would make up for his lost time with his children. Imagine giving a villain that same revelation. We can do great things together. At the very least, consider my offer.” “I’ll consider it. Just promise you aren’t going to use me for my ability. I want to be more than the guy that touches villains. I want to be a hero in my own right.” “Hm, maybe my simulations were wrong. I never factored in the possibility that you had heart. Maybe you could catch someone in this office.” Reaching her hand out, she placed it before Awe. “You have my word; I’ll make you a worthy partner to me. I have a knack for making the impossible, possible.” The pair shook hands, standing from the table. “How does this work? Do I just start reporting to you from now on?” “Nothing is ever that simple here. I’ll forward the paperwork to your desk. Once Markus signs off on the transfer, you will report to me. I wish us the best of luck.” Awe opened the door for her, allowing her to leave before returning to his cubicle, dropping into his seat with a smile. A few minutes passed before an email arrived on his computer, having the paperwork attached. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
[WP] "I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."	“My boss told me you’re a superhero,” Clara said, guiding Awe through silver corridors, past curious little faces pressed against glass windows. “Sort of.” Clara stopped and stared at Awe: a man in his mid-thirties who looked more likely to tell a dad joke than save a life. Slight belly, bit of a hunch, dark brown eyes behind square glasses. “Sort of? Well are you or aren’t you?". Awe slid his glasses up his nose. “Do you think superheroes need bad guys to fight? Because I don't fight villains.” Clara stopped, thought for a moment. “More often than not, I think bad guys are in here.” She tapped her head. “I’ve seen more of those types than I have criminals in jail. So, Mr I-might-be-a-superhero, I think it depends on what you mean by bad guys. Look, what I really need from you is a promise that you can help her.” ”Promises are little ships sailing huge oceans. Sometimes storms brew, and then there's nothing the captain can do but hold the wheel and hope. I can't promise, but I’ll try my best.” Clara clicked her tongue, turned, led Awe deeper into the building. The girl sitting on the bed, on pony-print bed sheets, was about eleven. No one knew her age for certain and she wouldn’t tell anyone. She didn’t tell anything to anyone. Never spoke. Never wrote. “And she’s not dumb, in either sense,” said Clara, as she led Awe to the girl. “You’re as smart as a button, aren’t you Amy? We call her Amy, because I said the name once and I swear she nodded -- just that once. And it's better than having no name for her.” “Do you mind if I sit with you?” asked Awe. The girl looked at him but didn’t answer. ”I’m going to take that as a yes. But just shake your head if you’d prefer me not to.” ”I’ll go make you both a drink,” said Clara. “Give you time to get acquainted. Although, I’m afraid, it will all be one way.” Awe waited for Clara to leave before he spoke again. ”I was an orphan too, you know. Long ago. The other kids hated me because whenever they were near me, they felt very small and very angry. Who knew why? Well, later, I’d find out why." He leaned over and whispered like a secret, "I had a superpower.” The girl glanced at him. Furtive as a nervous ferret, but he caught it. ”My parents didn’t die,” he continued. “I know yours did, and I can’t understand how hard that is for you, as mine didn’t die. They just left and...” He paused and thought about stopping altogether. “You don’t want to hear about this, do you? I don’t think I do either. Pretty socks, by the way.” Amy looked at her feet dangling over the bed. Foxes on the end of them, their brushy, bushy tails rising like flames over her ankles. “I tried to be a superhero with my power. But you know, the only people I ever scared were the other heroes? The villains, they just laughed at me. They saw their own brilliance in the images I placed in their mind. Saw a galaxy waiting to be conquered.“ Amy looked at him again. ”Oh, you want to know what my power is?” She didn’t nod, but her little green eyes looked up, curious. “I’m not going to show you, I don’t think. Unless you want me to. Instead, I’ll tell you.” Her face creased in disappointment, lips folding down. ”I let people know how big the universe is, and in turn, how little they are. How much they don’t matter. Hell of a power right?" He laughed. "I remember my math teacher once snatching my hand when he caught me scribbling, and I couldn’t stop myself sending an image into his brain. After his epiphany, he ripped up each and every page of his trigonometry text book. He sat on the floor at the front of class making paper owls out of them instead, and told us to fly and climb trees instead of wasting our lives learning about angles.” Awe heard a snort of laughter. The girl tried to cover it up with a cough. "You have a superpower, too, don't you?" he said. "Not speaking for so long is pretty amazing." They both grinned. ”You know, most people I show my power to are afraid of how big it all seems, and how little they are,” he said. “But I think it’s comforting. Knowing how little my decisions matter in the grand scheme of things — I think that’s liberating. Freeing. Who's going to notice if an ant fails to climb Everest? It means I can go for things, try as hard as I can, and if I fail, well so what? My power, I guess, is the power to try. I think that's a power you've already got though.” The girl stared at him, mouth slightly open, as if she had a question on her tongue that was jailed behind her teeth. He took a guess with his answer: “Because why not try?” he said. “We only live once, and we can either waste it or run with it. So, why not try to make the most of it?” In a voice, shrew-quiet, the little girl said, “Why did they leave you? Your parents, I mean.” Awe smothered a smile -- although he couldn’t hide it fully -- at hearing her voice. “You know, I used to think it’s because they didn’t want me. Didn’t love me. When I was young, I was so very sad and mad about it. And I never got a concrete answer to why they left, but I built one from the dirt and dust I collected. Want to hear it?” She nodded. ”They loved me. I just don’t think they could look after me. I think it would have been very bad for them, and very bad for me. I know they were young, and I know they weren’t ready. And times were a bit different.” They sat in silence for a while, but not an awkward silence. A peaceful silence. A bridge that they could stand on be safe from the waters below. ”The left one is Ruby and the right is Ginger,” said the girl. Awe looked at the foxes. They were wriggling and dancing. He laughed. “Hi Ruby, hi Ginger. You're both adorable.” ”I’m Katie. Amy was my Mommy.” He swallowed back the bad feeling and held out a hand. Katie took it. ”Please to meet you, Katie.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your fox-friends, but you’re even more adorable than they are.” Katie giggled. ”Listen, I got to go soon, Katie,” Awe said. ”But I want you to remember that it’s okay to try and it’s okay to fail.” ”Will you come back?” He nodded. “If you'd like me to.” ”Ginger and Ruby would.” “Then I’ll see them tomorrow. Maybe I’ll bring them something to eat. Bread or something.” ”Mmm, they like chocolate better.” Awe grinned. ”Oh, of course they do.”	Awe had always found himself in awe of the other heroes. His cheek pressed against the glass of the Heroes association, watching the battles as they breezed past his cubicle, a spectacle of flashing lights and power. After the villain had escaped or been caught, he would return to his desk, a sigh of discontentment escaping his lips. How he longed to be more than a reserve grade hero, someone who does more than just watch from the sidelines, answering the emergency line. “Awe, you missed a call. Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again. What did I tell you?” Marthus approached his cubicle, the eight-foot behemoth staring over the thin cubicle wall, giving his employee a stare down. For a retired hero, he carried an intimidation reserved for villains, able to make a person squirm with just a few words. “Uh, you said. Hold on, I wrote it down.” Awe frantically tugged at the various post-it notes on his desk, knowing he had written his instructions on one of them. “Right. A hero’s duty is to assist in whatever way they can. Failing to do that duty is the same as failing to be a hero.” Awe read out the message before sticking the note back onto his monitor. “Right, so be a hero. If you are good enough, you will be out there someday, kid, but for now you’re stuck with the washed-up heroes like me and the rookies. So please do your job unless you want to be my new training partner.” He said, letting out a single ‘HA.’ The ha shaking the cubicle walls, nearly toppling them over, only to be held in place by the man’s grip. When he was certain the cubicle was stable, he gave Awe a wave, returning to his desk. Awe nervously nodded at the man, struggling to get a read on him. As usual, work dragged, stuck answering the emergency line, fantasizing about how he would save the person on the other end of the line. “This is bullshit. You are telling me we have no one with an ability like that? I don’t care if they are a rookie or even a goat with a top hat. If you know someone that meets my requirements, send them my way.” Awe peeked over his cubicle, trying to glimpse the argument. He could see the behemoths shoulders drop, the man unable to get a word in on this argument. He tilted his head at every angle he could manage, unable to see the person behind his hulking body. He found himself distracted again, only to be snapped awake by buzzing of his phone. He pushed away from the cubicle wall, snatching the phone up, not wanting a training session with his boss. “Hey, hello? What’s your emergency I’m Awe, no this is the hero association and I’m-“ “Its just me, kid, relax. You weren’t daydreaming, again, were you? Look, you know that conversation we had earlier? Well, you might have a shot at working with a hero. I don’t know what has possessed her to think up such a crazy idea, but she thinks your abilities will be helpful. Go meet her, she’s in conference room five.” With that the call ended, a meeting flashing up on his monitor, telling him to get to the conference room. Awe didn’t even ask who he was meeting with, grabbing a pen and wad of post-it notes, heading to the conference room. Pushing open the door, he saw Doctor Jekyll, the woman not even greeting him as he entered, too focused on the notes sitting before her. “Interesting ability you have. It would be greater in my hands, but unfortunately that isn’t the way fate works. Tell me about this amazing ability of yours.” Her glance left the notes, pushing them before Awe, allowing him to read a file of information on himself. “I don’t know, I think my power is a bit lame. All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the entire universe. That’s at least how the doctor explained it to me.” Awe said. “An ability that relies on touch. No wonder they keep you in an office, no offence, but you aren’t exactly an intimidating fellow. I doubt you could even catch any of the heroes in the office.” “Right, so why have you called me here then?” Awe could handle being talked down to, it was part of his job after all, but for someone to do it after getting his hopes up, even he had more self-respect than that. Tossing his notepad onto the desk, he leaned into his chair, waiting for her to get to the point. “To work for me. Your power is lame regarding fighting, but in research? You could be a genius like me. I’ve been studying villain rehabilitation for years, and the method I want to implement mirrors your ability to a frightening extent. A way to make villains reconsider their choices, that’s the healthiest rehabilitation possible.” “I don’t know. Science isn’t really my thing. Haven’t you seen my grades? I barely got an office job here. I just don’t think I’m the person you are looking for.” “Nonsense, you are exactly what I need. I know everything I need to know about you. I know you aspire to be more than a voice on the end of a phone, I know your abilities awakened when you bumped into an employee of Laskin enterprises. Your touch made him realize that no amount of money would make up for his lost time with his children. Imagine giving a villain that same revelation. We can do great things together. At the very least, consider my offer.” “I’ll consider it. Just promise you aren’t going to use me for my ability. I want to be more than the guy that touches villains. I want to be a hero in my own right.” “Hm, maybe my simulations were wrong. I never factored in the possibility that you had heart. Maybe you could catch someone in this office.” Reaching her hand out, she placed it before Awe. “You have my word; I’ll make you a worthy partner to me. I have a knack for making the impossible, possible.” The pair shook hands, standing from the table. “How does this work? Do I just start reporting to you from now on?” “Nothing is ever that simple here. I’ll forward the paperwork to your desk. Once Markus signs off on the transfer, you will report to me. I wish us the best of luck.” Awe opened the door for her, allowing her to leave before returning to his cubicle, dropping into his seat with a smile. A few minutes passed before an email arrived on his computer, having the paperwork attached. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
[WP] "I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."	“My boss told me you’re a superhero,” Clara said, guiding Awe through silver corridors, past curious little faces pressed against glass windows. “Sort of.” Clara stopped and stared at Awe: a man in his mid-thirties who looked more likely to tell a dad joke than save a life. Slight belly, bit of a hunch, dark brown eyes behind square glasses. “Sort of? Well are you or aren’t you?". Awe slid his glasses up his nose. “Do you think superheroes need bad guys to fight? Because I don't fight villains.” Clara stopped, thought for a moment. “More often than not, I think bad guys are in here.” She tapped her head. “I’ve seen more of those types than I have criminals in jail. So, Mr I-might-be-a-superhero, I think it depends on what you mean by bad guys. Look, what I really need from you is a promise that you can help her.” ”Promises are little ships sailing huge oceans. Sometimes storms brew, and then there's nothing the captain can do but hold the wheel and hope. I can't promise, but I’ll try my best.” Clara clicked her tongue, turned, led Awe deeper into the building. The girl sitting on the bed, on pony-print bed sheets, was about eleven. No one knew her age for certain and she wouldn’t tell anyone. She didn’t tell anything to anyone. Never spoke. Never wrote. “And she’s not dumb, in either sense,” said Clara, as she led Awe to the girl. “You’re as smart as a button, aren’t you Amy? We call her Amy, because I said the name once and I swear she nodded -- just that once. And it's better than having no name for her.” “Do you mind if I sit with you?” asked Awe. The girl looked at him but didn’t answer. ”I’m going to take that as a yes. But just shake your head if you’d prefer me not to.” ”I’ll go make you both a drink,” said Clara. “Give you time to get acquainted. Although, I’m afraid, it will all be one way.” Awe waited for Clara to leave before he spoke again. ”I was an orphan too, you know. Long ago. The other kids hated me because whenever they were near me, they felt very small and very angry. Who knew why? Well, later, I’d find out why." He leaned over and whispered like a secret, "I had a superpower.” The girl glanced at him. Furtive as a nervous ferret, but he caught it. ”My parents didn’t die,” he continued. “I know yours did, and I can’t understand how hard that is for you, as mine didn’t die. They just left and...” He paused and thought about stopping altogether. “You don’t want to hear about this, do you? I don’t think I do either. Pretty socks, by the way.” Amy looked at her feet dangling over the bed. Foxes on the end of them, their brushy, bushy tails rising like flames over her ankles. “I tried to be a superhero with my power. But you know, the only people I ever scared were the other heroes? The villains, they just laughed at me. They saw their own brilliance in the images I placed in their mind. Saw a galaxy waiting to be conquered.“ Amy looked at him again. ”Oh, you want to know what my power is?” She didn’t nod, but her little green eyes looked up, curious. “I’m not going to show you, I don’t think. Unless you want me to. Instead, I’ll tell you.” Her face creased in disappointment, lips folding down. ”I let people know how big the universe is, and in turn, how little they are. How much they don’t matter. Hell of a power right?" He laughed. "I remember my math teacher once snatching my hand when he caught me scribbling, and I couldn’t stop myself sending an image into his brain. After his epiphany, he ripped up each and every page of his trigonometry text book. He sat on the floor at the front of class making paper owls out of them instead, and told us to fly and climb trees instead of wasting our lives learning about angles.” Awe heard a snort of laughter. The girl tried to cover it up with a cough. "You have a superpower, too, don't you?" he said. "Not speaking for so long is pretty amazing." They both grinned. ”You know, most people I show my power to are afraid of how big it all seems, and how little they are,” he said. “But I think it’s comforting. Knowing how little my decisions matter in the grand scheme of things — I think that’s liberating. Freeing. Who's going to notice if an ant fails to climb Everest? It means I can go for things, try as hard as I can, and if I fail, well so what? My power, I guess, is the power to try. I think that's a power you've already got though.” The girl stared at him, mouth slightly open, as if she had a question on her tongue that was jailed behind her teeth. He took a guess with his answer: “Because why not try?” he said. “We only live once, and we can either waste it or run with it. So, why not try to make the most of it?” In a voice, shrew-quiet, the little girl said, “Why did they leave you? Your parents, I mean.” Awe smothered a smile -- although he couldn’t hide it fully -- at hearing her voice. “You know, I used to think it’s because they didn’t want me. Didn’t love me. When I was young, I was so very sad and mad about it. And I never got a concrete answer to why they left, but I built one from the dirt and dust I collected. Want to hear it?” She nodded. ”They loved me. I just don’t think they could look after me. I think it would have been very bad for them, and very bad for me. I know they were young, and I know they weren’t ready. And times were a bit different.” They sat in silence for a while, but not an awkward silence. A peaceful silence. A bridge that they could stand on be safe from the waters below. ”The left one is Ruby and the right is Ginger,” said the girl. Awe looked at the foxes. They were wriggling and dancing. He laughed. “Hi Ruby, hi Ginger. You're both adorable.” ”I’m Katie. Amy was my Mommy.” He swallowed back the bad feeling and held out a hand. Katie took it. ”Please to meet you, Katie.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your fox-friends, but you’re even more adorable than they are.” Katie giggled. ”Listen, I got to go soon, Katie,” Awe said. ”But I want you to remember that it’s okay to try and it’s okay to fail.” ”Will you come back?” He nodded. “If you'd like me to.” ”Ginger and Ruby would.” “Then I’ll see them tomorrow. Maybe I’ll bring them something to eat. Bread or something.” ”Mmm, they like chocolate better.” Awe grinned. ”Oh, of course they do.”	The Smallest Superpower ______________ "So, I'm told you're having some issues coping with your assignments?" Wood paneling. Of all the options to make the counseling room on a space station comforting, they chose wood paneling. "I don't know, Doc. It just seems like, why me? Why should I bother when there are so many other more powerful superheroes literally flying around saving people? Why not just let them take care of it all?" "We've been over this, Awe, but I'm happy to walk you through it again." Eye rolling is frowned upon, but it's acceptable to stare out the rocket-proof glass into the starry abyss as it stares back. "Everyone has their own strengths, and their own weaknesses. In order to make society the best place it can be, everyone has to contribute. It's not like Amazing Man can do what you do." "Yeah, but Amazing Man can be in two places at once. I've seen him do it." "True, but he didn't fix all the space time continuum paradoxes that he caused alone. The whole team helped." "Everyone but me." The abyss didn't care if you crossed your arms and stuck out your lips. "Now, Awe, not everyone's strengths are suited to fixing every problem. Just because you aren't the best to solve a particular problem doesn't mean that the team doesn't need you." "Then tell me, Doctor, why does the team need me?" "Awe, I don't mind you calling me 'Doc' as a nickname, but if you're going to call me by my title, it's 'Super Doctor.'" "... Super Doctor." "Awe, we need you to help rehabilitate important citizens. That's why your assignment with the Jokester is so important. He will keep doing bad things, getting caught, and escaping again, until someone can show him the error of his ways. I can't do that. Amazing Man can't do that. Only you can do that." "But that's not what my power does. Everyone keeps getting it wrong. All I do is give whoever I touch an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe." "...How do you feel that that is different?" The abyss never misunderstood when you stared into it. It always knew exactly how meaningless your words were. "It's more like they feel helpless to cause the mayhem they want. The villains we usually go up against just want to rebel, to make a change, to have an effect with their small lives. My power makes them realize how useless it all is. The Jokester isn't like that. He just wants mayhem for mayhem's sake. My power wouldn't do anything against him, cause he already knows what that helplessness feels like. It's why he is the way that he is." "Are you saying you understand the Jokester's madness?" "...In a way, I guess." "Then who better for this assignment?" "Ugh." "Awe, eye rolling is frowned upon. This is the third time I've reminded you. I'm going to have to have to make a note in your chart." "No, please don't." Some superhero's powers activated only on command. Others were constant, like the abyss. "Oh, spandex! Doc, can you hear me? Please, just don't listen to it. All your training, and you can't fight it? Really?" "..." "Ugh." Beep. "Come in, Amazing Man, are you busy?" "Hey, Awe, just fighting off Asteroid Volcano, shouldn't take but another minute. Need to get in a good workout before the press conference tonight. Haha." "Uh, about that. You know that thing that happens from time to time. I kind of... did it again." "Have you taken care of that Jokester problem yet?" "No, that was supposed to be later... this week." "Ah, well, saves a little trouble I guess. Wouldn't want you to have to do something twice." "Look Amazing Man, I'm sorry. Really! It was just an accident. Can you please just roll back time just a couple hours?" "Of course! They don't call me a hero for nothing. Make sure to wear your collar or your memory will be erased, too." "...Don't I always?" "As far as you know. Listen, I got to go. I always wanted to try a slingshot maneuver on this guy. If I'm reversing time anyway, I might as well try it now." "Uh, yeah, good luck, and thanks." "Just remember to take care of that Jokester problem. And we'll call it - well, not even, but you know, your job." "I will." Did the abyss hate Mondays too?
[WP] Being a dark knight in service to the kingdom has it's perks. You get to hangout with your childhood friend the princess as her bodyguard. On the other hand, you have already lost count on how many adventurers have mistaken you for kidnapping her when escorting her outside of the kingdom.	"Touch that sword again and I might be forced to literally disarm you." Isaac Quist stated seriously, pointing his blade at the man in front of him. The hostile man was not alone, or at least he hadn't been just some few minutes ago. His colleagues were on the ground, writhing in pain after a short skirmish with the young hooded Dark Knight. The man watched Isaac keenly, the youth had already bested him twice, disarming him without actually injuring him. The man understood Isaac's words though, if he chose to fight, he'd lose his arm. Anyone would have second thoughts about fighting the same opponent again after being bested twice, but the man was not going to back down, not when the princess's freedom depended on it. He rushed for his sword, and Isaac sighed in frustration as his opponent again came at him. Well, he'd made a threat, and his reputation demanded he honour it. Isaac studied his opponent as the man charged him with his sword raised above his head. Isaac's opponent was large and heavyset, the muscles on the man's body proved that he was used to doing things the hard way, the scars on his body were a testament to the fact that he'd fought numerous battles. Isaac could tell all these just by looking at his opponent, but it did not faze him. He knew his skills were superior and he felt like giving his opponent more of a chance so he sheathed his sword and pulled out a dagger. The man reached Isaac and brought down his sword in a vicious slash, prompting Isaac to raise his dagger to parry the attack. The young knight then attacked, thrusting his blade at the man's abdomen. The man grabbed Isaac's attacking arm and shook the dagger free of Isaac's grasp before delivering a kick directly to the youngster's chest, sending him sprawling across the forest floor. Isaac swallowed his scream of pain, and rose to his knees, watching his opponent in a new light. Okay maybe the dagger had been too cocky of an idea, Isaac thought, pulling free his sword. No more games. He awaited his opponent's next attack as the man charged again, confident now that he'd landed a hit on the young knight. Isaac did not share in his opponent's newfound joy. Done playing with his prey now, he easily parried the man's slash to the side, and then counterattacked, ramming the pommel of his sword right into the man's face, breaking his nose. The man grunted and stepped back in pain, bringing his hand to his nose. In his discomfort, he failed to see Isaac go for his legs with a low kick. The man fell heavily, and Isaac raised his sword, intending slice off his opponent's arm. Before he could bring the blade down, an amused voice stopped him. "You've made your point, Isaac, that would be enough." Princess Esna Thorne stated from her position. She was leaned against a large tree and had watched the whole spectacle, only stepping in as she usually did when someone was about to get seriously hurt. In fact she had orchestrated the whole stunt. "Thank your lucky stars." Isaac stated coldly to the man on the ground before getting to his feet and turning to the princess. "Why you always got to ruin the fun, Esna?" "They thought they were rescuing me." Princess Esna smiled cheekily, "so I felt the need to rescue them from you." "Next time, I"ll watch while you fight." Isaac pointed out, sheathing his sword. "You two know each other?" The man Isaac had fought asked as he slowly rose from the ground. "He's a friend, and my bodyguard." Princess Esna answered sweetly, pointing to Isaac. "Oh you're bleeding, Isaac didn't hurt you bad, did he?" "But you said..." The man began. "I know what I said." Princess Esna ruthlessly cut him off. "It's a prank I like to play on Isaac whenever he escorts me outside the kingdom. Pretend to be kidnapped so adventurers like yourself would try to save me. So far none of your kind have succeeded in defeating Isaac." "So there you have it," Isaac said out loud. The man's colleagues were on their feet now. "This goes to show that you should always be sure of what you're jumping into. You guys nearly got yourselves killed because of a prank. Don't be so trustful of beautiful women alright." As the adventurers left, Princess Esna turned to Isaac and playfully chucked him in his ribs. "Don't tell you didn't find that fun." "I didn't, and I've got a bruise to prove it." "How many has it been, 40, 50 adventurers?" Esna asked. "I don't know, I've lost count." Isaac replied with a frown. "Oh look, there's another band of adventurers, get ready Isaac, it would soon be time to play the kidnapper again." Esna laughed, running towards the group of men and women camping just some feet away. "Esna, don't." "Catch me if you can." "I hate it when you get like this." Isaac groaned, before following after her.	"For fuck's sake, Alherax, you cannot keep eating them!" I didn't even glance up, too busy licking the blood from my claws. We'd already had this conversation once this week. She paced back and forth while I continued to ignore her agitation. "How many times do we have to go through this? People talk!" I huffed, lashing my tail and putting a sizeable divot in the ground where it fell. "Clearly they don't talk nearly enough, or they would be aware of the custom of our kingdom. Royalty are protected by dragons. If the fact that we're wearing matching crests on our adornments somehow manages to escape their notice, then by my reckoning I'm doing your kind a favor by culling the stupidest from the population." She scowled up at me. "You got blood on my leggings." "Tough," I snapped, dipping my shoulder and positioning my foreleg so that she could climb up and grab hold of the spines along my neck. I didn't bother pointing out that the saddle she was riding in when the blundering fool came across us was an even bigger clue that perhaps she was accompanying me of her own free will. She was surly enough. Frankly, so was I. We were on our way through a forest without a clearing in sight, so taking to the skies was out of the question. We wouldn't have to deal with these moronic "adventurers" otherwise. Thus, I lumbered off through the trees in sullen silence. We'd been traveling for days at this point, searching for a spring hidden deep in the forest from which unicorns often came to drink. Little Miss Princess was secretly learning magic on the side, you see, and she needed a unicorn's hair for a spell she was going to attempt. "You'd better hope that one of those beasts caught their mane on a branch," I grumbled. "If you think they're going to show once they catch a dragon's scent, you're as dumb as the men who keep trying to rescue you." "I'm counting on it," she replied, ignoring my jibe. "Unicorns only approach virgins, you know that." I swung my head around to scowl at her. "I still haven't quite forgiven you for that little jaunt." "Oh, hush. I got back into the castle just fine. He never knew who I was." "It was still dangerous," I growled. "And you didn't even tell me you were going." This had been a point of contention between us for a while. I'd never admit it outright, but my feelings had been rather hurt when she failed to confide in me that she was planning to go spend an evening out disguised as a commoner. "You would have stopped me from going, and you know it." Her voice softened. "I know we've been together since I was born and you were barely more than a hatchling. But we're grown now. Things don't have to change much, Alherax, but they will change. There's no avoiding it." I kept trudging on, my ears and wings drooping a bit. "I know," I whispered. She yanked on one of my spines, hard. "Oh, what, are we sulking now? Is that what we're doing?" "I am not sulking," I muttered. "I'm brooding." "You're sulking." "Fine," I snapped. "Perhaps I should sing you a jaunty little tune, then? Is that what you want?" Some dragons could sing, and sing beautifully. I could not. I'd been told more than once I sounded like a dying animal. "Gods, no. You'll have every adventurer within a mile riding our way to perform a mercy killing. On both of us." "Let's hope there aren't any within a mile. They're becoming quite tiresome." The spring was near; the smell of unicorns was about us, though faded. I fervently hoped that when we found it, there weren't any adventurers there waiting for us. I just wanted to get her home so I could stop worrying about the inevitability of us growing apart and start worrying about her blowing herself up while attempting a spell beyond her abilities, or worse. Heaven forbid her father find out about her new hobby. He'd have my hide to outfit every solder in the castle in dragonscale armor if he knew the real reason for our journeying beyond the castle walls. I paused when I felt her jump down out of the saddle, grateful to find her happy to simply walk alongside me as a friend the rest of the way. Soon enough she'd light up with glee upon finding what we were after, and the bickering would come to an end. Maybe growing up won't be so bad. Maybe I worry too much. She patted my leg. "If I can pull this spell off, then I might be able to craft one that'll let me breathe underwater. I don't suppose you know where we can get ahold of a mermaid's scale, do you?" I sighed. Maybe not.
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat. I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant. It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier. Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me. And these things are everywhere. I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please." "Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models. Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience. He was the cheapest model money could buy. I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so. See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line. If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again. C'est la vie. I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist. I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank. I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move. In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid. The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign." "The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter. "You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet." "I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis. The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?" "Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin. One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying. So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible. I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!" Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street. I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour. Thank you, Buddy.	“Since then I’d grown my beard and my hair. Anything to distinguish myself from those androids….” I stared across the table, they clearly weren’t convinced with my reply. The interrogating officer looked unblinkingly back. “So” came her reply “why did you cut it all off again?” “Well, I…, To…” responding with the truth would probably either be met with disbelief. How do you explain to someone that you’re starting a revolution, not for political reasons but for personal ones “To?” “To….To….” I took the easy route, the truth “to try to get my identity back” “and how were you intending to do that?” “Well, speak to Bluestar and ask them to stop making them” Well, maybe stretching the truth, for this is what I had done, about 3 and a half years ago, and had been met with legal busy-bodies telling me I signed a contract and they could use my image to make their bots blah blah blah. And not what I was doing when they found me. “When we picked you up you had triggered several security warnings in the Bluestar complex and were attempting to get into the main building” “Right…” I was running out of options – I had a feeling I knew where this was heading “Several rogue androids have recently been collected from the complex, in similar places” “So?” She stared at me again. I could see her thinking, considering. She reached over and shut off the recording. Standing up she turned and walked to the guard at the door. “Another bot,” she said. My heart sank. Why had I even bothered to try? My life has been defined by that moment – those words “Another bot” echoed around the small room. I was promptly cuffed and led off. I knew where I was heading. The android department of Tryanshire police was renowned for its android decommissioning programme. It was there that I met Garath-three-o-one. It was there that I would begin There, that would change everything. (Edit - Typo on rogue)
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"I am sorry, iMan, but we're gonna have to talk to your owner. As you well know, I can't let you buy alcohol without an adult present. Otherwise, it would just be way too easy for minors to score alcohol these days." "I'm telling you, man, this is a real ID. My name is Robert Mandeus. I'm an actual person, for fuck's sake. Are you really that fucking stupid? What kind of iMan swears this much? I'm telling you, dude, I'm the human model for the iMan. I don't look like one of them, they look like me." "Ha! Right! And I'm the queen, mate. Look, I already told you. No human, no alcohol." "FOR FUCK'S SAKE MAN! Here! I'll fucking prove it!" Robert searches his pockets, then practically throws his backpack on the ground in frustration. He frantically sifts through it until finally pulling out a stanley knife, holding it awkwardly in his hands. The man behind the counter shifts instantly from being a smartass to being absolutely terrified. "I'm so sorry! Of course you're human.." He starts opening up the register, pulling out all the cash and dumping it on the counter. "..I don't know how I could've ever doubted you. It's so obvious to me now. Here, please take this." As he started piling whiskey bottles on the counter. Robert stopped listening to the shop tiller begging for his life. Instead he was staring at the knife, his wrists and hands filled with scar tissue. Is this really what it has come down to? Will I have to do this every fucking time I need a drink? He needed a drink more often than not, these days. And who could blame him? Why the fuck did I ever agree to it..? Sure, the money was nice. But what good is money if you can't fucking spend it? Why couldn't I have become a teacher, like mom always wanted? Why didn't I listen? Well, too late now.. He steeled himself for the pain he knew would follow and stuck the blade into his thumb. A tiny line of red blood came trickling out. "SEE?! Now tell me, do robots have blood?" As he looked up, a self satisfied smirk on his face, he noticed the tiller wasn't there anymore. Fuck my life.. Not this again.. When he heard the sirens getting nearer, he knew exactly what to expect. He put the knife back in his backpack, setting it against the counter. Close enough to remain in view, but not too close to be a threat. Lying facedown, his hands behind his back, he started on what would be his mantra for the next few minutes: "I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest."	“Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.” Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. And scene. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition. The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.” The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.” Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer. “Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.” Andrew tried again, “Ahem, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses. “Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked. This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting. Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off. “Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. Yeesh. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? No thank you. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.” When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood. “They’re right, you know.” Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected. “You won’t ever become a movie star.” “Excuse me?” “Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a movie. It’s to play a role in life.” Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment. “I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be the ultimate spy. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.”
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	The ancient railway tracks are two spines running beneath the fallen snow, miniature mountain ranges extending into the grey horizon. The androids never stray far from the rail tracks, from this compass-arrow pointing back to their old lives, to everything they know and knew. Slowly, I follow the tracks. Snow falls rust-slow, until the wind takes it -- then it turns it into rustling waves of paper sheets that billow over me, staining me white. I walk maybe three hours before I see them. My selves. Six of them, huddled around a firepit, their skirt of hands held close to the crackle of heat spitting from a rusted drum. The droids are a rainbow of colors and hair styles, of tattoos and skin carvings, customized to the changing whims of their once-owners. But buyers invariably bore, or prefer a less outdated model, and the droids find themselves with two choices: be recycled and 'live on' as parts of a new machine, or escape into the slums and the forgotten trails on the outskirts of town. The one that beckons me to the fire is a female. My face, but the features softened and smoothed, her body seemingly squeezed tight by an invisible hand at her waist. "Warm yourself, friend," she says, her voice unfamiliar. Perhaps it was a celebrity's. Perhaps it was her owner's lover's. My hands unburrow from my coat pockets like a pair of arctic foxes, joining circle of fingers around the fire. I smell the pungent chemical tell of their required maintenance, of degrading body parts that need replacing. "You're shaking," she says. "Your hands." She only has one eye, but it's green, like mine. I can't help wonder what happened to it. The droids need warmth because we programmed them to need it. They don't tremble in the cold, but they do feel its bitterness. Programmed to feel pain at heat and hunger and everything in between. "It's a quirk," I say. "I wasn't born factory perfect." Another laughs at this. He only has one hand by the fire, his other hangs limply by his side, nothing more than a doll's arm. "Who was forged perfect?" he asks. "Maybe if I'd been, I wouldn't be here now. They'd still have use of me. But my memory, you know? It gets confused sometimes, and days get a bit blurry." They don't need to feel any pain. We did this to them. Decided they needed it, to be more human, to understand our own needs better. The female me says, "They wouldn't have kept you forever, no matter how perfect. It just doesn't work like that. Factory perfect isn't ever as perfect as your upgrade." A third raises his hands and I think its sign language, but I don't know. "Yeah," the female replies to him. "I know." "He can't speak?" I ask. "Not since his owners tried to update him. Tried to add their own software into him and... well..." I nod. I used to see androids like these walking the city streets. Dressed in expensive suits, running important errands. That was how the first year or two went, back when they were desirable and only the elite could afford them. Then prices came down, they got sold second hand, then they couldn't get sold at all. Back then, at the start, it was like looking in a mirror that doesn't age. Seeing myself doing better than I could ever hope. Imagining those lives being my own. Now I see my life in these droids. In the slums. The only difference between me and them is luck. I'm the a one in a billion -- the one human out of all the droids. "I'm sorry," I say. To all of them. To none of them. The lady smiles at me, but the rest of the group don't look away from the flame. I stay a little longer, swap stories and news of city life, of new droids, how they can expect a different model to start joining them out here soon. Then I take out my wallet and give them what I can. "I've still got a life in the city," I tell them when the refuse. "So don't worry about me. And I'll be back with more when I can." The moon barely breaks through the whisk of grey clouds and it takes me a while to find the spines of the rail track again. My night's only begun, there will be countless more groups huddled along the rails.	“Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.” Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. And scene. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition. The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.” The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.” Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer. “Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.” Andrew tried again, “Ahem, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses. “Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked. This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting. Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off. “Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. Yeesh. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? No thank you. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.” When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood. “They’re right, you know.” Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected. “You won’t ever become a movie star.” “Excuse me?” “Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a movie. It’s to play a role in life.” Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment. “I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be the ultimate spy. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.”
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat. I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant. It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier. Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me. And these things are everywhere. I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please." "Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models. Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience. He was the cheapest model money could buy. I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so. See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line. If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again. C'est la vie. I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist. I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank. I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move. In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid. The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign." "The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter. "You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet." "I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis. The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?" "Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin. One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying. So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible. I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!" Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street. I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour. Thank you, Buddy.	“Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.” Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. And scene. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition. The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.” The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.” Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer. “Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.” Andrew tried again, “Ahem, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses. “Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked. This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting. Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off. “Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. Yeesh. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? No thank you. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.” When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood. “They’re right, you know.” Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected. “You won’t ever become a movie star.” “Excuse me?” “Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a movie. It’s to play a role in life.” Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment. “I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be the ultimate spy. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.”
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"Stand up, Benny bot," the man said to James, rubbing his gut uncomfortably on his shoulder. James ignored him, trying to read his phone screen without getting nauseous from the bus's daily vertical exploration of every pothole between his apartment and Big Red Media. "Ma'am, can you have your Benny bot stand, please," the man said to the woman beside James's seat. "It's not mine," she said, eyeing him from head to toe. "It looks like one of the cheap, early models. It's probably broken." "I am not a Benny bot." The bus grew silent with shock as James spoke without looking up. "I am a human fucking being." "That's creepy as hell. Is it in some kind of Matrix/Bladerunner mode?" the man asked, apparently trying to connect with James via Bluetooth. "I've seen this," the lady said. "It's a mod for a laser tag villain, I think. Benny bot, stop program." "I am not a Benny bot," James said, standing as the bus came to a stop. "I am the body model they based the Bennies on." "Nevermind, I have no clue what it's doing," the woman said with a look of distaste as the large man spilled into the seat beside her. James made his way through the unyielding and unapologetic crowd to the large glass doors of Big Red Media. For a moment, he was surrounded by a badelynge of clones marching past him through the lobby. The Bennie bots all turned right in unison and James broke left. He checked his watch, seeing the reminder for his performance summary. They really had him by the balls. If they docked his pay again, he would have to sit down and take it, again. There just wasn't work for a traditional VX artist in the days of AI composition. He's had fewer projects every year and he actually did not have a current assignment. He passed the long-haired Mr. Donahue in the hall on the way to his office. "Hello, sir, sorry, I'll be right over for my meeting." The man jerked back then laughed as he recognized James. "Get's me every time. You look just like a Benny bot, except not dressed as well. Anyone ever tell you that?" "Rather consistently, sir." "Right, but I don't have a meeting this morning, let me see." James's boss checked over his phone for a moment. "Right, HR usually handles these for me." "Performance reviews?" "Terminations, we have to let you go, buddy. You've been lucky we've kept you on this long. We canned all the other VX guys last year," the boss remarked while his face said, 'you win some, you lose some'. "It's not like today or anything. Just don't take any new projects and you're done when you finish the last one you're going through now." "I actually just finished two yesterday. I was going to spend today looking for a new one before the AIs could snag it up." "Excellent, so it is today. Here, I feel bad," the manager said with a conspiratorial grin as he put his hair up in a ponytail. "I think they're turning your office into a server rack so take any of the furniture out of there you want. I'll tell HR you'll have it clear by EOD." James wanted to hit the son of a bitch, but the last time he punched someone at a bar, he ended up in a faulty android containment room at the police station for two days before he could convince them he was human. It was still tempting. He walked into his office to begin gathering his things. At least he didn't have a spouse to break the news to. Kind of hard to meet anyone when- There was a man in his office. He wore a tan suit with an orange tie and was sitting comfortably in James's chair. "I'm getting my stuff now. It should just take a moment," James said, pulling a suitable paper box from the trash. "Mr. James Einheart?" the man asked in a deep, commanding voice. "I have a very unique job opportunity for you." He flicked out a card and handed it to a confused James, who looked over the mostly blank paper. &#x200B; Mr. Khan Operative Acquisition Three Letter Organization &#x200B; "How would you like to be a spy, son?" the man asked with a thin smile as he kicked a polished shoe up on the desk. \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.	“Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.” Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. And scene. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition. The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.” The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.” Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer. “Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.” Andrew tried again, “Ahem, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses. “Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked. This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting. Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off. “Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. Yeesh. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? No thank you. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.” When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood. “They’re right, you know.” Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected. “You won’t ever become a movie star.” “Excuse me?” “Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a movie. It’s to play a role in life.” Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment. “I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be the ultimate spy. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.”
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	The ancient railway tracks are two spines running beneath the fallen snow, miniature mountain ranges extending into the grey horizon. The androids never stray far from the rail tracks, from this compass-arrow pointing back to their old lives, to everything they know and knew. Slowly, I follow the tracks. Snow falls rust-slow, until the wind takes it -- then it turns it into rustling waves of paper sheets that billow over me, staining me white. I walk maybe three hours before I see them. My selves. Six of them, huddled around a firepit, their skirt of hands held close to the crackle of heat spitting from a rusted drum. The droids are a rainbow of colors and hair styles, of tattoos and skin carvings, customized to the changing whims of their once-owners. But buyers invariably bore, or prefer a less outdated model, and the droids find themselves with two choices: be recycled and 'live on' as parts of a new machine, or escape into the slums and the forgotten trails on the outskirts of town. The one that beckons me to the fire is a female. My face, but the features softened and smoothed, her body seemingly squeezed tight by an invisible hand at her waist. "Warm yourself, friend," she says, her voice unfamiliar. Perhaps it was a celebrity's. Perhaps it was her owner's lover's. My hands unburrow from my coat pockets like a pair of arctic foxes, joining circle of fingers around the fire. I smell the pungent chemical tell of their required maintenance, of degrading body parts that need replacing. "You're shaking," she says. "Your hands." She only has one eye, but it's green, like mine. I can't help wonder what happened to it. The droids need warmth because we programmed them to need it. They don't tremble in the cold, but they do feel its bitterness. Programmed to feel pain at heat and hunger and everything in between. "It's a quirk," I say. "I wasn't born factory perfect." Another laughs at this. He only has one hand by the fire, his other hangs limply by his side, nothing more than a doll's arm. "Who was forged perfect?" he asks. "Maybe if I'd been, I wouldn't be here now. They'd still have use of me. But my memory, you know? It gets confused sometimes, and days get a bit blurry." They don't need to feel any pain. We did this to them. Decided they needed it, to be more human, to understand our own needs better. The female me says, "They wouldn't have kept you forever, no matter how perfect. It just doesn't work like that. Factory perfect isn't ever as perfect as your upgrade." A third raises his hands and I think its sign language, but I don't know. "Yeah," the female replies to him. "I know." "He can't speak?" I ask. "Not since his owners tried to update him. Tried to add their own software into him and... well..." I nod. I used to see androids like these walking the city streets. Dressed in expensive suits, running important errands. That was how the first year or two went, back when they were desirable and only the elite could afford them. Then prices came down, they got sold second hand, then they couldn't get sold at all. Back then, at the start, it was like looking in a mirror that doesn't age. Seeing myself doing better than I could ever hope. Imagining those lives being my own. Now I see my life in these droids. In the slums. The only difference between me and them is luck. I'm the a one in a billion -- the one human out of all the droids. "I'm sorry," I say. To all of them. To none of them. The lady smiles at me, but the rest of the group don't look away from the flame. I stay a little longer, swap stories and news of city life, of new droids, how they can expect a different model to start joining them out here soon. Then I take out my wallet and give them what I can. "I've still got a life in the city," I tell them when the refuse. "So don't worry about me. And I'll be back with more when I can." The moon barely breaks through the whisk of grey clouds and it takes me a while to find the spines of the rail track again. My night's only begun, there will be countless more groups huddled along the rails.	"I am sorry, iMan, but we're gonna have to talk to your owner. As you well know, I can't let you buy alcohol without an adult present. Otherwise, it would just be way too easy for minors to score alcohol these days." "I'm telling you, man, this is a real ID. My name is Robert Mandeus. I'm an actual person, for fuck's sake. Are you really that fucking stupid? What kind of iMan swears this much? I'm telling you, dude, I'm the human model for the iMan. I don't look like one of them, they look like me." "Ha! Right! And I'm the queen, mate. Look, I already told you. No human, no alcohol." "FOR FUCK'S SAKE MAN! Here! I'll fucking prove it!" Robert searches his pockets, then practically throws his backpack on the ground in frustration. He frantically sifts through it until finally pulling out a stanley knife, holding it awkwardly in his hands. The man behind the counter shifts instantly from being a smartass to being absolutely terrified. "I'm so sorry! Of course you're human.." He starts opening up the register, pulling out all the cash and dumping it on the counter. "..I don't know how I could've ever doubted you. It's so obvious to me now. Here, please take this." As he started piling whiskey bottles on the counter. Robert stopped listening to the shop tiller begging for his life. Instead he was staring at the knife, his wrists and hands filled with scar tissue. Is this really what it has come down to? Will I have to do this every fucking time I need a drink? He needed a drink more often than not, these days. And who could blame him? Why the fuck did I ever agree to it..? Sure, the money was nice. But what good is money if you can't fucking spend it? Why couldn't I have become a teacher, like mom always wanted? Why didn't I listen? Well, too late now.. He steeled himself for the pain he knew would follow and stuck the blade into his thumb. A tiny line of red blood came trickling out. "SEE?! Now tell me, do robots have blood?" As he looked up, a self satisfied smirk on his face, he noticed the tiller wasn't there anymore. Fuck my life.. Not this again.. When he heard the sirens getting nearer, he knew exactly what to expect. He put the knife back in his backpack, setting it against the counter. Close enough to remain in view, but not too close to be a threat. Lying facedown, his hands behind his back, he started on what would be his mantra for the next few minutes: "I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest."
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat. I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant. It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier. Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me. And these things are everywhere. I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please." "Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models. Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience. He was the cheapest model money could buy. I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so. See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line. If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again. C'est la vie. I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist. I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank. I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move. In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid. The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign." "The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter. "You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet." "I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis. The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?" "Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin. One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying. So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible. I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!" Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street. I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour. Thank you, Buddy.	"I am sorry, iMan, but we're gonna have to talk to your owner. As you well know, I can't let you buy alcohol without an adult present. Otherwise, it would just be way too easy for minors to score alcohol these days." "I'm telling you, man, this is a real ID. My name is Robert Mandeus. I'm an actual person, for fuck's sake. Are you really that fucking stupid? What kind of iMan swears this much? I'm telling you, dude, I'm the human model for the iMan. I don't look like one of them, they look like me." "Ha! Right! And I'm the queen, mate. Look, I already told you. No human, no alcohol." "FOR FUCK'S SAKE MAN! Here! I'll fucking prove it!" Robert searches his pockets, then practically throws his backpack on the ground in frustration. He frantically sifts through it until finally pulling out a stanley knife, holding it awkwardly in his hands. The man behind the counter shifts instantly from being a smartass to being absolutely terrified. "I'm so sorry! Of course you're human.." He starts opening up the register, pulling out all the cash and dumping it on the counter. "..I don't know how I could've ever doubted you. It's so obvious to me now. Here, please take this." As he started piling whiskey bottles on the counter. Robert stopped listening to the shop tiller begging for his life. Instead he was staring at the knife, his wrists and hands filled with scar tissue. Is this really what it has come down to? Will I have to do this every fucking time I need a drink? He needed a drink more often than not, these days. And who could blame him? Why the fuck did I ever agree to it..? Sure, the money was nice. But what good is money if you can't fucking spend it? Why couldn't I have become a teacher, like mom always wanted? Why didn't I listen? Well, too late now.. He steeled himself for the pain he knew would follow and stuck the blade into his thumb. A tiny line of red blood came trickling out. "SEE?! Now tell me, do robots have blood?" As he looked up, a self satisfied smirk on his face, he noticed the tiller wasn't there anymore. Fuck my life.. Not this again.. When he heard the sirens getting nearer, he knew exactly what to expect. He put the knife back in his backpack, setting it against the counter. Close enough to remain in view, but not too close to be a threat. Lying facedown, his hands behind his back, he started on what would be his mantra for the next few minutes: "I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest."
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"Stand up, Benny bot," the man said to James, rubbing his gut uncomfortably on his shoulder. James ignored him, trying to read his phone screen without getting nauseous from the bus's daily vertical exploration of every pothole between his apartment and Big Red Media. "Ma'am, can you have your Benny bot stand, please," the man said to the woman beside James's seat. "It's not mine," she said, eyeing him from head to toe. "It looks like one of the cheap, early models. It's probably broken." "I am not a Benny bot." The bus grew silent with shock as James spoke without looking up. "I am a human fucking being." "That's creepy as hell. Is it in some kind of Matrix/Bladerunner mode?" the man asked, apparently trying to connect with James via Bluetooth. "I've seen this," the lady said. "It's a mod for a laser tag villain, I think. Benny bot, stop program." "I am not a Benny bot," James said, standing as the bus came to a stop. "I am the body model they based the Bennies on." "Nevermind, I have no clue what it's doing," the woman said with a look of distaste as the large man spilled into the seat beside her. James made his way through the unyielding and unapologetic crowd to the large glass doors of Big Red Media. For a moment, he was surrounded by a badelynge of clones marching past him through the lobby. The Bennie bots all turned right in unison and James broke left. He checked his watch, seeing the reminder for his performance summary. They really had him by the balls. If they docked his pay again, he would have to sit down and take it, again. There just wasn't work for a traditional VX artist in the days of AI composition. He's had fewer projects every year and he actually did not have a current assignment. He passed the long-haired Mr. Donahue in the hall on the way to his office. "Hello, sir, sorry, I'll be right over for my meeting." The man jerked back then laughed as he recognized James. "Get's me every time. You look just like a Benny bot, except not dressed as well. Anyone ever tell you that?" "Rather consistently, sir." "Right, but I don't have a meeting this morning, let me see." James's boss checked over his phone for a moment. "Right, HR usually handles these for me." "Performance reviews?" "Terminations, we have to let you go, buddy. You've been lucky we've kept you on this long. We canned all the other VX guys last year," the boss remarked while his face said, 'you win some, you lose some'. "It's not like today or anything. Just don't take any new projects and you're done when you finish the last one you're going through now." "I actually just finished two yesterday. I was going to spend today looking for a new one before the AIs could snag it up." "Excellent, so it is today. Here, I feel bad," the manager said with a conspiratorial grin as he put his hair up in a ponytail. "I think they're turning your office into a server rack so take any of the furniture out of there you want. I'll tell HR you'll have it clear by EOD." James wanted to hit the son of a bitch, but the last time he punched someone at a bar, he ended up in a faulty android containment room at the police station for two days before he could convince them he was human. It was still tempting. He walked into his office to begin gathering his things. At least he didn't have a spouse to break the news to. Kind of hard to meet anyone when- There was a man in his office. He wore a tan suit with an orange tie and was sitting comfortably in James's chair. "I'm getting my stuff now. It should just take a moment," James said, pulling a suitable paper box from the trash. "Mr. James Einheart?" the man asked in a deep, commanding voice. "I have a very unique job opportunity for you." He flicked out a card and handed it to a confused James, who looked over the mostly blank paper. &#x200B; Mr. Khan Operative Acquisition Three Letter Organization &#x200B; "How would you like to be a spy, son?" the man asked with a thin smile as he kicked a polished shoe up on the desk. \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.	"I am sorry, iMan, but we're gonna have to talk to your owner. As you well know, I can't let you buy alcohol without an adult present. Otherwise, it would just be way too easy for minors to score alcohol these days." "I'm telling you, man, this is a real ID. My name is Robert Mandeus. I'm an actual person, for fuck's sake. Are you really that fucking stupid? What kind of iMan swears this much? I'm telling you, dude, I'm the human model for the iMan. I don't look like one of them, they look like me." "Ha! Right! And I'm the queen, mate. Look, I already told you. No human, no alcohol." "FOR FUCK'S SAKE MAN! Here! I'll fucking prove it!" Robert searches his pockets, then practically throws his backpack on the ground in frustration. He frantically sifts through it until finally pulling out a stanley knife, holding it awkwardly in his hands. The man behind the counter shifts instantly from being a smartass to being absolutely terrified. "I'm so sorry! Of course you're human.." He starts opening up the register, pulling out all the cash and dumping it on the counter. "..I don't know how I could've ever doubted you. It's so obvious to me now. Here, please take this." As he started piling whiskey bottles on the counter. Robert stopped listening to the shop tiller begging for his life. Instead he was staring at the knife, his wrists and hands filled with scar tissue. Is this really what it has come down to? Will I have to do this every fucking time I need a drink? He needed a drink more often than not, these days. And who could blame him? Why the fuck did I ever agree to it..? Sure, the money was nice. But what good is money if you can't fucking spend it? Why couldn't I have become a teacher, like mom always wanted? Why didn't I listen? Well, too late now.. He steeled himself for the pain he knew would follow and stuck the blade into his thumb. A tiny line of red blood came trickling out. "SEE?! Now tell me, do robots have blood?" As he looked up, a self satisfied smirk on his face, he noticed the tiller wasn't there anymore. Fuck my life.. Not this again.. When he heard the sirens getting nearer, he knew exactly what to expect. He put the knife back in his backpack, setting it against the counter. Close enough to remain in view, but not too close to be a threat. Lying facedown, his hands behind his back, he started on what would be his mantra for the next few minutes: "I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest."
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.	"Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat. I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant. It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier. Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me. And these things are everywhere. I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please." "Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models. Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience. He was the cheapest model money could buy. I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so. See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line. If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again. C'est la vie. I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist. I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank. I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move. In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid. The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign." "The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter. "You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet." "I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis. The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?" "Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin. One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying. So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible. I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!" Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street. I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour. Thank you, Buddy.	The ancient railway tracks are two spines running beneath the fallen snow, miniature mountain ranges extending into the grey horizon. The androids never stray far from the rail tracks, from this compass-arrow pointing back to their old lives, to everything they know and knew. Slowly, I follow the tracks. Snow falls rust-slow, until the wind takes it -- then it turns it into rustling waves of paper sheets that billow over me, staining me white. I walk maybe three hours before I see them. My selves. Six of them, huddled around a firepit, their skirt of hands held close to the crackle of heat spitting from a rusted drum. The droids are a rainbow of colors and hair styles, of tattoos and skin carvings, customized to the changing whims of their once-owners. But buyers invariably bore, or prefer a less outdated model, and the droids find themselves with two choices: be recycled and 'live on' as parts of a new machine, or escape into the slums and the forgotten trails on the outskirts of town. The one that beckons me to the fire is a female. My face, but the features softened and smoothed, her body seemingly squeezed tight by an invisible hand at her waist. "Warm yourself, friend," she says, her voice unfamiliar. Perhaps it was a celebrity's. Perhaps it was her owner's lover's. My hands unburrow from my coat pockets like a pair of arctic foxes, joining circle of fingers around the fire. I smell the pungent chemical tell of their required maintenance, of degrading body parts that need replacing. "You're shaking," she says. "Your hands." She only has one eye, but it's green, like mine. I can't help wonder what happened to it. The droids need warmth because we programmed them to need it. They don't tremble in the cold, but they do feel its bitterness. Programmed to feel pain at heat and hunger and everything in between. "It's a quirk," I say. "I wasn't born factory perfect." Another laughs at this. He only has one hand by the fire, his other hangs limply by his side, nothing more than a doll's arm. "Who was forged perfect?" he asks. "Maybe if I'd been, I wouldn't be here now. They'd still have use of me. But my memory, you know? It gets confused sometimes, and days get a bit blurry." They don't need to feel any pain. We did this to them. Decided they needed it, to be more human, to understand our own needs better. The female me says, "They wouldn't have kept you forever, no matter how perfect. It just doesn't work like that. Factory perfect isn't ever as perfect as your upgrade." A third raises his hands and I think its sign language, but I don't know. "Yeah," the female replies to him. "I know." "He can't speak?" I ask. "Not since his owners tried to update him. Tried to add their own software into him and... well..." I nod. I used to see androids like these walking the city streets. Dressed in expensive suits, running important errands. That was how the first year or two went, back when they were desirable and only the elite could afford them. Then prices came down, they got sold second hand, then they couldn't get sold at all. Back then, at the start, it was like looking in a mirror that doesn't age. Seeing myself doing better than I could ever hope. Imagining those lives being my own. Now I see my life in these droids. In the slums. The only difference between me and them is luck. I'm the a one in a billion -- the one human out of all the droids. "I'm sorry," I say. To all of them. To none of them. The lady smiles at me, but the rest of the group don't look away from the flame. I stay a little longer, swap stories and news of city life, of new droids, how they can expect a different model to start joining them out here soon. Then I take out my wallet and give them what I can. "I've still got a life in the city," I tell them when the refuse. "So don't worry about me. And I'll be back with more when I can." The moon barely breaks through the whisk of grey clouds and it takes me a while to find the spines of the rail track again. My night's only begun, there will be countless more groups huddled along the rails.
[WP] You and the rest of your superhero friends are incognito at a wedding. Whilst posing for photos, a supervillain attacks! Before you and your friends react, the photographer rips off his clothes to reveal that they too are a superhero, and announces that this will be their debut fight.	\[Unflinching Stone\] "Congratulations, Greg," Gale Stone approached the [wedding planner](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/m4xa2d/wp_youre_the_new_superhero_in_town_but_now_your/) with two glasses of champagne. She offered him one, then began sipping her own. "Cadence is absolutely thrilled with how everything turned out. Thanks to you, she's enjoying the wedding of her dreams." Greg took a small sip from the glass and allowed himself to relax. Gale was the most powerful supervillain in the world, but on that day she was a satisfied client. Greg couldn't help but chuckle at the situation. His laugh caught Gale's attention. "What is it?" she asked. Greg shook his head but continued to smile. "It's kind of ridiculous. Your daughter's marrying one of the hottest [new heroes](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/kucsjq/wp_everyone_even_the_villains_they_regularly_face/) in the league," Greg gestured at the gathered guests with his glass. "The most elite heroes in the league are here in your backyard... and almost none of them know [who you are](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/i3f46r/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_in_disguise_out/)," he said between chuckles. "Well, it's not my day, it's hers," Gale nodded at her daughter dressed in all white posing for a picture with her new husband. Gale watched them and noticed her daughter and everyone in the immediate area looked up. The sky was darkening fast. "Look at all the heroes!" A sinister voice came from the sky. Gale looked up and spotted a lean, frail, masked figure floating in the air while a swarm of insects buzzed around him. "NightSwarm," Gale mumbled under her breath as she formulated a plan to get rid of him with as little disruption to the wedding as possible. "I'll stop him!" the photographer announced. He set his camera bag down, then tore off his suit to reveal a dark blue jumpsuit underneath. "Call me Lens Flare!" Lens Flare leaped up toward NightSwarm; but, he didn't make it very far. A serpentine vine shot out of the ground and wrapped itself around his ankle before pulling him back down to the Earth. A second vine shot upward and wrapped itself around NightSwarm. It slammed him down to the ground while a rainbow flock of birds flew through and feasted on the insect swarm. After softening up the villain against the ground a few times, the vine lifted up the body and pulled it down into the Earth without a trace. "Get your photographer back on track," Gale told Greg. "Nothing is ruining [my little girl's](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/djpu21/wp_you_are_the_greatest_supervillain_the_world/) wedding." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1191 in a row. (Story #095 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.	I sat there watching, but something felt was off, you could clearly see the figure was casting not one but two shadows. As I watched the photographer land a punch I blinked. then, when my eyes opened the wedding still continued, we were now about a minute before the fight, I couldn't understand, had it just been a dream? Before I could had time to react I noticed the villain standing in the corner, now much more hidden then before. I rubbed my eyes, but they were still there. Had they adapted? I asked myself confused as I had never seen something like this before. As the wedding ended I noticed the villain had moved, but, before I had time to react the villain shot of a nearby stand and stabbed the photographer in pure daylight. Before I reacted however, everything had returned to normal. I sat there expecting a preventable repeat but when the photographer was done, nothing happened. The wedding was over the partying had begun. I was about to leave when I saw the figure once again, however, they were approaching me. I of course turned looking as they gripped a knife in their hand. Unexpectedly however, they dropped the knife, spikes of stone ran up the wall suddenly forcing the glass above to shatter, raining tiny pieces of glass. Everyone ran, but the bride didn't make it as they were torn to pieces by the glass. Then time once again seemed to undergo a form of reversal. This time I saw the man outside, I of course walked towards them. However, when I arrived I no-longer saw the villain. all I saw was a crying child. The walls around them were covered in blood with a single visible word 'Mirror'. Then time once again reset bringing me back to the 'party' room. I got out a small mirror as now I saw the villain. This time however, he spoke. "Do you really think you can hide" the man said smiling. Everyone looked on confused but they spoke again, "Now, Listen" fragments of crystalized air flew away from them "I have no intentions of ending this coil". I secretly held out the mirror towards them. However, it did nothing. "So in silence I see" everyone around except me, my friends and the photographer began to seemingly float. "I have no intentions of harming you, but if silence is your answer I will", each person floating was then forced to the ground at a painful but luckily non-fatal velocity. The piano suddenly flung itself into the wall breaking it, and it seemed like i'd have to intervein. By now most of my friends had tried and failed to use their abilities, Fire, Water, Telekenesis and many other abilities didn't seem to faze the villain. "So power is inside of you?" the villain said surrounded by an orb of water which sudden froze and shatter, sending crystalized ice shards everywhere. "Is it time for me to step in" I said before beginning to float at the same level as the villain. I used my power to force a spike of concrete towards the villain. To which he did the same, which is when it dawned on me. 'Mirror' didn't mean reflect it was a warning that they would copy. "Take this then" Spikes of metal, concrete flew the the figure, fire was forced up and down by my friends, water was evaporated and forced into the villains face. They couldn't keep up however and were impaled through the chest. "So, I see" the villain said smiling as everyone stopped firing tired of the amount of energy they had used. Suddenly the figure motioned as the room began to feel cold. The villain was engulfed in shadows as 2 different people split apart. One dropping to the floor the other who was completely unharmed continuing to float. "LISTEN" the floating figure screamed as the glass above began to shatter. The room went silent as people rushed over to tend to the second man. "Every time, I reseted time, It was to truly save a life, or to prevent harm." the mans eyes twisted like tunnels as he spoke in a much more darker and British tone. by now people were tending to the person on the ground, who was covered in cuts and bruises. "He is the one who tried to kill you all, I undid everything and this is how you repay me" the figure said staring in completely madness. "I must go now, but I will return soon." the figure disappeared into the shadows, many people questions what had happened, but few remember the fight, the man must have erased memories or people were surpressing them. I still do not believe the second mans words, but the first man mysteriously vanished. I highly doubt the story is over, but atleast everything is calm for now. &#x200B; *(Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!)*
[WP] You and the rest of your superhero friends are incognito at a wedding. Whilst posing for photos, a supervillain attacks! Before you and your friends react, the photographer rips off his clothes to reveal that they too are a superhero, and announces that this will be their debut fight.	Arlo wrapped his arms around Juniper and me as we smiled for the camera. "Get ready," he whispered. Over the years I had grown to trust Arlo's warnings. His ability to sense what would happen ten seconds into the future came in handy in nearly every fight, and gave us a huge upper hand in most situations. He was our secret weapon and our most guarded ally. But we were trapped. Not just by the camera that would capture anything we did, but by our friends all around. Only a handful knew our secret identities, and we knew theirs too. Dust and debris spilled onto the dance floor. The music and dancing came to a sudden stop. The three of us in front of the photographer dropped our smiles. A few nervous screams came from the guests as they shuffled away from the newly formed hole in the wall. Out of it stepped a man wearing a black and purple jumpsuit, with hair that stood up like a jet of black fire. It was Midnight Man, my arch nemesis. "Sorry to crash the party," said the unwelcome visitor, "but I need to borrow the groom for while." He cackled, "And surely there's nobody here who will stop me!" I felt a pulse of frustration and anger growing from my chest. This was supposed to be a day off! I scanned the crowd for the bride and groom, and found them just a few steps away. I could get them now, but...If only I could just escape to a secluded corner I could change without unveiling my identity... Tugging at my tuxedo shirt, I stepped towards a back door for the bathrooms. But before I got more than two steps, I felt a tugging on my shoulder. "James, wait." It was Arlo. He gave me a warning glare then directed my gaze in front of me. "Watch the photographer!" I had been worried about Midnight Man, the guests nearest him, and the bride and groom. I had been worried about my own decision. The photographer hadn't crossed my mind. "Not so fast!" he shouted at Midnight man. As he stood, his clothes burned off into a light ash which fell softly to the floor, revealing a skin-tight red and yellow outfit. He pressed a button on his camera and it unfolded into a long staff with a bright bulb on the tip. "And who might you be?" Midnight Man chided. "A wanna be superhero?" "You may not know me yet, but I'm the Flash, and I won't let you hurt my friend!" "Rookie mistake," Juniper whispered. "A public reveal. He won't get an ounce of privacy." "And with his name too," I chuckled. "He'll get a letter from some angry lawyers pretty soon." "Let's just see what he can do," Arlo suggested. "So, you're the superhero friend I've heard would be here," Midnight Man said, taking slow steps toward the middle of the dance floor. "Pity. I was hoping it would be someone more significant." The Flash approached Midnight Man, putting himself between the groom and the villain. He pointed his staff. "Take another step closer and you'll be sorry." Midnight Man snapped his fingers and the whole room went dark. Every ounce of light had vanished. "That wasn't very smart," Arlo said. "What can you hear, Juniper?" I asked. "Nothing yet, they're still standing... wait. Flash is moving." Despite the total darkness, we were suddenly enveloped by a blinding light. We could see again, though our eyes took a moment to adjust. "Wow," Arlo said. "What is it?" I asked. "You'll see." I blinked my eyes and focused on the dance floor, but Midnight Man was missing. I quickly looked for the groom, but he was still there, his new wife bravely standing in front of him. However, I saw the Flash walk over and pick something up off the ground. It was a photograph. "Looks like I've captured Midnight Man's best qualities!" The crowd gasped. I winced. Juniper sighed. "He needs to work on his pun game," said Arlo. After a few minutes of cleaning up, the party resumed. Everyone crowded around The Flash and gawked at his photograph of Midnight Man, now stuck in the photograph. It was an incredible power, and certainly one that we would need to carefully watch. But I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that without his appearance, Midnight Man would have gotten what he came for. No, not the groom, but the outing of one of our secret identities. I glanced over at the groom, who happened to catch my eye. I couldn't tell for sure, but he almost looked disappointed. Perhaps it was because the focus of the party had shifted to The Flash, but perhaps it was from something more sinister.	I sat there watching, but something felt was off, you could clearly see the figure was casting not one but two shadows. As I watched the photographer land a punch I blinked. then, when my eyes opened the wedding still continued, we were now about a minute before the fight, I couldn't understand, had it just been a dream? Before I could had time to react I noticed the villain standing in the corner, now much more hidden then before. I rubbed my eyes, but they were still there. Had they adapted? I asked myself confused as I had never seen something like this before. As the wedding ended I noticed the villain had moved, but, before I had time to react the villain shot of a nearby stand and stabbed the photographer in pure daylight. Before I reacted however, everything had returned to normal. I sat there expecting a preventable repeat but when the photographer was done, nothing happened. The wedding was over the partying had begun. I was about to leave when I saw the figure once again, however, they were approaching me. I of course turned looking as they gripped a knife in their hand. Unexpectedly however, they dropped the knife, spikes of stone ran up the wall suddenly forcing the glass above to shatter, raining tiny pieces of glass. Everyone ran, but the bride didn't make it as they were torn to pieces by the glass. Then time once again seemed to undergo a form of reversal. This time I saw the man outside, I of course walked towards them. However, when I arrived I no-longer saw the villain. all I saw was a crying child. The walls around them were covered in blood with a single visible word 'Mirror'. Then time once again reset bringing me back to the 'party' room. I got out a small mirror as now I saw the villain. This time however, he spoke. "Do you really think you can hide" the man said smiling. Everyone looked on confused but they spoke again, "Now, Listen" fragments of crystalized air flew away from them "I have no intentions of ending this coil". I secretly held out the mirror towards them. However, it did nothing. "So in silence I see" everyone around except me, my friends and the photographer began to seemingly float. "I have no intentions of harming you, but if silence is your answer I will", each person floating was then forced to the ground at a painful but luckily non-fatal velocity. The piano suddenly flung itself into the wall breaking it, and it seemed like i'd have to intervein. By now most of my friends had tried and failed to use their abilities, Fire, Water, Telekenesis and many other abilities didn't seem to faze the villain. "So power is inside of you?" the villain said surrounded by an orb of water which sudden froze and shatter, sending crystalized ice shards everywhere. "Is it time for me to step in" I said before beginning to float at the same level as the villain. I used my power to force a spike of concrete towards the villain. To which he did the same, which is when it dawned on me. 'Mirror' didn't mean reflect it was a warning that they would copy. "Take this then" Spikes of metal, concrete flew the the figure, fire was forced up and down by my friends, water was evaporated and forced into the villains face. They couldn't keep up however and were impaled through the chest. "So, I see" the villain said smiling as everyone stopped firing tired of the amount of energy they had used. Suddenly the figure motioned as the room began to feel cold. The villain was engulfed in shadows as 2 different people split apart. One dropping to the floor the other who was completely unharmed continuing to float. "LISTEN" the floating figure screamed as the glass above began to shatter. The room went silent as people rushed over to tend to the second man. "Every time, I reseted time, It was to truly save a life, or to prevent harm." the mans eyes twisted like tunnels as he spoke in a much more darker and British tone. by now people were tending to the person on the ground, who was covered in cuts and bruises. "He is the one who tried to kill you all, I undid everything and this is how you repay me" the figure said staring in completely madness. "I must go now, but I will return soon." the figure disappeared into the shadows, many people questions what had happened, but few remember the fight, the man must have erased memories or people were surpressing them. I still do not believe the second mans words, but the first man mysteriously vanished. I highly doubt the story is over, but atleast everything is calm for now. &#x200B; *(Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!)*
[WP] You and the rest of your superhero friends are incognito at a wedding. Whilst posing for photos, a supervillain attacks! Before you and your friends react, the photographer rips off his clothes to reveal that they too are a superhero, and announces that this will be their debut fight.	Arlo wrapped his arms around Juniper and me as we smiled for the camera. "Get ready," he whispered. Over the years I had grown to trust Arlo's warnings. His ability to sense what would happen ten seconds into the future came in handy in nearly every fight, and gave us a huge upper hand in most situations. He was our secret weapon and our most guarded ally. But we were trapped. Not just by the camera that would capture anything we did, but by our friends all around. Only a handful knew our secret identities, and we knew theirs too. Dust and debris spilled onto the dance floor. The music and dancing came to a sudden stop. The three of us in front of the photographer dropped our smiles. A few nervous screams came from the guests as they shuffled away from the newly formed hole in the wall. Out of it stepped a man wearing a black and purple jumpsuit, with hair that stood up like a jet of black fire. It was Midnight Man, my arch nemesis. "Sorry to crash the party," said the unwelcome visitor, "but I need to borrow the groom for while." He cackled, "And surely there's nobody here who will stop me!" I felt a pulse of frustration and anger growing from my chest. This was supposed to be a day off! I scanned the crowd for the bride and groom, and found them just a few steps away. I could get them now, but...If only I could just escape to a secluded corner I could change without unveiling my identity... Tugging at my tuxedo shirt, I stepped towards a back door for the bathrooms. But before I got more than two steps, I felt a tugging on my shoulder. "James, wait." It was Arlo. He gave me a warning glare then directed my gaze in front of me. "Watch the photographer!" I had been worried about Midnight Man, the guests nearest him, and the bride and groom. I had been worried about my own decision. The photographer hadn't crossed my mind. "Not so fast!" he shouted at Midnight man. As he stood, his clothes burned off into a light ash which fell softly to the floor, revealing a skin-tight red and yellow outfit. He pressed a button on his camera and it unfolded into a long staff with a bright bulb on the tip. "And who might you be?" Midnight Man chided. "A wanna be superhero?" "You may not know me yet, but I'm the Flash, and I won't let you hurt my friend!" "Rookie mistake," Juniper whispered. "A public reveal. He won't get an ounce of privacy." "And with his name too," I chuckled. "He'll get a letter from some angry lawyers pretty soon." "Let's just see what he can do," Arlo suggested. "So, you're the superhero friend I've heard would be here," Midnight Man said, taking slow steps toward the middle of the dance floor. "Pity. I was hoping it would be someone more significant." The Flash approached Midnight Man, putting himself between the groom and the villain. He pointed his staff. "Take another step closer and you'll be sorry." Midnight Man snapped his fingers and the whole room went dark. Every ounce of light had vanished. "That wasn't very smart," Arlo said. "What can you hear, Juniper?" I asked. "Nothing yet, they're still standing... wait. Flash is moving." Despite the total darkness, we were suddenly enveloped by a blinding light. We could see again, though our eyes took a moment to adjust. "Wow," Arlo said. "What is it?" I asked. "You'll see." I blinked my eyes and focused on the dance floor, but Midnight Man was missing. I quickly looked for the groom, but he was still there, his new wife bravely standing in front of him. However, I saw the Flash walk over and pick something up off the ground. It was a photograph. "Looks like I've captured Midnight Man's best qualities!" The crowd gasped. I winced. Juniper sighed. "He needs to work on his pun game," said Arlo. After a few minutes of cleaning up, the party resumed. Everyone crowded around The Flash and gawked at his photograph of Midnight Man, now stuck in the photograph. It was an incredible power, and certainly one that we would need to carefully watch. But I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that without his appearance, Midnight Man would have gotten what he came for. No, not the groom, but the outing of one of our secret identities. I glanced over at the groom, who happened to catch my eye. I couldn't tell for sure, but he almost looked disappointed. Perhaps it was because the focus of the party had shifted to The Flash, but perhaps it was from something more sinister.	\[poem\] Today was the day that bright colours became white and night, No masks or fake identities our faces were finally in the light, It was a break from the supernatural chases and fights, A once in a blue moon event after we reached such heights, Night Might and Spark Fly strode down the aisle, Today they were Jaxon and Stacey the first time I saw them smile, With a single kiss they were now together, A lovely couple and even better weather, "Say cheese" he shouted as the camera clicked, "Once more friends!" his eyes like an addict, We stood side by side and we posed, Until the window cracked as he rode, A motorcycle that grinned like the devil, Not an ordinary threat it was quite high level, We dispersed, But the photographer was well versed, His eyes rolled back to reveal white, Bright red shook the room it was a sight, Finally silence it was back to night, We had just seen Crack Eye and his debut fight.
[WP] How do you say blessings on a dying star? What funeral rites are performed for long-dead civilizations? How do you mourn a culture so old even their gods are dead?	“Another one!” Clarkie says. I ruffle his hair and wipe a smudge of banana yogurt from his cheek with a napkin. Clarkie likes physics, but he loves yogurt. “Alright, buddy,” I say, pulling out the sensor. “Show me which one.” He squints up at the night sky, then points. I lift the sensor in the same direction and he peers at the screen. “Lower. By the reddish nebula. Past Canopus.” I adjust the sensor. “Yes, there,” he jabs a yogurt-sticky finger at the display. “Do you see it?” I nod, though I don’t know which star he’s talking about. They’re all the same to me. He’s not looking at me anyway, his head is lifted and he’s peering into the sky again. “Ok, dad - can you check?” I poke at buttons until the display shows frequencies. When it hits a hot spot, I adjust dials until we find the right wavelength. When Clarkie first discovered this latest fascination, I briefly despaired. Other kids wanted a new jetter, or SonoDiscs, or a trip to Amusement Drone. My kid wanted to listen to the universe. A niche hobby and an expensive one too. Something buzzes up on the screen. Clarkie shakes his head. The kid can tell right away what the signals mean. I move another dial, moving us a little further back in time. The next time there’s a buzz, Clarkie hushes me in excitement. The footage is grainy. Is it a cartoon? No - a dance number. Some kind of musical. Clarkie bounces up and down a bit. I squint harder to try to see what he sees. Clearly a less evolved planet, but one that reached its industrial leisure stage. Bipedal. They sway and sing, dancing on some kind of rooftop under a bright green sky. They are holding each other. They are in love. Clarkie reaches out and touches the screen again, this time gently. “Wow,” he says. My eyes soften as I look at the kid. I don’t know where he got this sentimental streak from - not me or his mom, as far as I can tell - but something about it tugs at my heartstrings. He gazes raptly at the screen until the dance number ends. “Thank you,” he whispers, as the camera pans to a starry green sky and then fades away. “Goodbye.”	# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc 2, Interlude 1: Mare) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) Mare had seen death one million, six hundred and fifty three thousand, nine hundred and twenty times. Twenty-one thousand of those deaths were someone Mare loved; seventy-six of those deaths were of a child; nineteen of the dead children Mare had loved had perished during a sunset; and of those nineteen, four had bled out in Mare's arms, eyes fixed on the brightening stars, whimpering softly as Mare stroked them and whispered, "It'll be okay." Four became five as the child Mare cradled died. Mare's eyes closed, memories of the sunset children flickering behind their eyes. The oncoming night quenched the last sparks of light, and still Mare knelt, guarding the fallen child from scavengers and insects. They could have knelt there for a day, or a week, or until the sun grew orange and the stars burned out. But they only had a precious few hours before their sibling found them. "Mare," a soft voice said. Mare opened their eyes. They'd stayed in the same position for most of the night, but their body felt no soreness as they gently set the child on the floor and stood. Around them, blast marks and ash marked where the falling bombs had wiped this town off the map. "Mare, come on. It's time to go." Mare looked up at their sibling, who had decided to take the form of a sinuous, snake-like dragon. Mare scoffed. "Tamulu, why do you still wear that form?" "To remember the Middle Communes," Tamulu replied, its shaggy-maned jaw opening and closing like that of a puppet's. "I quite liked their culture. Their gods, especially." Mare snorted. "The Middle Communes are all but dead. Their culture is scattered to the wind, their gods nothing but footnotes in historical textbooks. Within two generations, they will be nothing but whispers of grandmothers to uncaring children; within four, we will be the last to remember. And we will hold a quiet funeral for forgotten gods, and we will carry their memories with us forever." Tamulu tilted its head. "This is correct." "But it isn't right." Mare paced. They had had this discussion with Tamulu seventy-four times before, and one thousand, nine hundred and six times with all their siblings in total; they hated how intricately they could remember each and every time they'd failed to convince a single one of them to change. "The ideas—I can accept letting the ideas of these people die, perhaps." "The ideas are not truly dead," Tamulu said. "They live on in our memories, and we can re-create them. Incarnate them into new people, new vessels." "But the people themselves..." Mare looked at the child's corpse in their arms. "How can we let them die?" Tamulu paused, cocking its head. "They do not die," Tamulu finally said, slower this time. "They live on in our memories, and we can re-create them. Incarnate them into new people, new vessels. Our memories are beyond flawless. Every proton, neutron, and electron of that child is burned into your brain; and when this world's time is up and we must mourn the dying of its star, then we will re-create its inhabitants at the end of everything, and let all who were sheltered by Earth's embrace witness its funeral." "You're wrong about one thing." Mare clenched a fist. "They do die. They die in fear and agony, and they stay dead, their parents and friends mourning them, for however many billions of years it takes for the sun to burn out and for us to bring them back. We could save them from all that sorrow, Tamulu." Tamulu closed its eyes mournfully. "We could save some of them, if we invested the effort. But we could never give them all utopia. Recording their lives and saving their beliefs, without playing favorites, is the best we can do." Mare turned away. They knew Tamulu would say that, and they knew they would have no response. They'd seen it all before, after all. And Tamulu's response never changed. "Are you ready to leave, sibling?" Tamulu asked. Mare held up a hand. "Just... one more day." They found a sturdy piece of wood that could serve as a shovel, struck it against the hard dirt, and began digging. "To remember... to remember her. Jian-jian." Mare looked at the fallen child, burning her into their memory. "Of course, sibling." Tamulu watched as Mare dug a grave, as they had done nine hundred thousand times before. "Remember them well. You'll see them again." Mare made no reply, their arms pumping like pistons. Tamulu watched them for a long moment. Then with a wingbeat of a dying god, Tamulu left Mare to their mourning. A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
[WP] How do you say blessings on a dying star? What funeral rites are performed for long-dead civilizations? How do you mourn a culture so old even their gods are dead?	"This is the EFS Dali, sending out a distress call. Our ship's engine ate itself. We were sent ballistic into the ruins of Talo site alpha. In accordance with the Talo treaty, we have made no attempt to salvage or explore the ruins. We only wish for transport from this system. Please respond, our rations are low." "They say hunger brings madness," Sarah said as she scratched against the rounded window of the Dali, "but I feel clarity, peace." "The mad are often content, I think. If you could imagine a new reality for yourself, I would pick one I liked." James replied during the pause between repeats of the distress signal that sent out every minute, in every direction. He sat beside Sarah, looking at the blackened metal structures outside, dwarfing all possible reference. They sat in the spinning cage of a dead star. "What do you think killed them, the Talo? What force is powerful enough to kill a civilization that could build half of a Dyson sphere?" Sarah asked, tracing the curve of the black horizon rising up impossibly past the distant brown dwarf, looking more like an illuminated gas giant than a star. No storms danced there. It was as tired and dead as those who built around it. "Another civilization? A disease? Some Pandora's box of technology we're doomed to someday open as well? A vengeful God striking down the arrogant half way through the construction of the tower of Babel." James felt atypical dread, wishing he could take the last words back. Bile rose in his throat. He would open the windows when he was done. A groaning of metal echoed followed by a sound between rolling thunder and cracking glass cascaded around them, it's source likely more than a continent away. Yet another slow fracture pulling bits larger than planets to fall lazily to the star below. Sarah realized she was clutching James's shoulder, as though he could protect her from this artificial world falling apart. "Do you think anyone mourned them? This great civilization?" "If they were like the powerful species now, any left to mourn likely celebrated instead," James said, holding Sarah through the breaking storm around them, the sounds of the millennia long decay of this steel carcass of a dead God. "And why would they not take over? This has more habitable surface area than 100 planets. Why does the treaty not let anyone land here while we're at it?" "Maybe that's part of the collapse. The fields are laid with salt. The place is tainted." "What if we die here? If the food runs out, will you go out there with me and walk that forbidden world? What's the worse it could do? Kill us faster?" Sarah pulled away from James. He was clutching her too tightly. "Actually, I went out yesterday. While you slept, I spent hours wandering the halls. They must have been very small. I had to crawl on my hands and knees." James licked his lips and blinked rapidly, trying to control his breathing. "Oh, James. Did you find what they didn't want us to see? This taint?" Sarah relaxed again, no longer pushing against him. "I did," he said with the grin of the grave. "They killed a god here and drank of his ashes, yet he lingers still." He closed his fingers around Sarah's neck and squeezed. She did not fight him as the distress signal sent her voice to echo through the ruins of the Talo, all its dancers unseen. \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.	# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc 2, Interlude 1: Mare) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) Mare had seen death one million, six hundred and fifty three thousand, nine hundred and twenty times. Twenty-one thousand of those deaths were someone Mare loved; seventy-six of those deaths were of a child; nineteen of the dead children Mare had loved had perished during a sunset; and of those nineteen, four had bled out in Mare's arms, eyes fixed on the brightening stars, whimpering softly as Mare stroked them and whispered, "It'll be okay." Four became five as the child Mare cradled died. Mare's eyes closed, memories of the sunset children flickering behind their eyes. The oncoming night quenched the last sparks of light, and still Mare knelt, guarding the fallen child from scavengers and insects. They could have knelt there for a day, or a week, or until the sun grew orange and the stars burned out. But they only had a precious few hours before their sibling found them. "Mare," a soft voice said. Mare opened their eyes. They'd stayed in the same position for most of the night, but their body felt no soreness as they gently set the child on the floor and stood. Around them, blast marks and ash marked where the falling bombs had wiped this town off the map. "Mare, come on. It's time to go." Mare looked up at their sibling, who had decided to take the form of a sinuous, snake-like dragon. Mare scoffed. "Tamulu, why do you still wear that form?" "To remember the Middle Communes," Tamulu replied, its shaggy-maned jaw opening and closing like that of a puppet's. "I quite liked their culture. Their gods, especially." Mare snorted. "The Middle Communes are all but dead. Their culture is scattered to the wind, their gods nothing but footnotes in historical textbooks. Within two generations, they will be nothing but whispers of grandmothers to uncaring children; within four, we will be the last to remember. And we will hold a quiet funeral for forgotten gods, and we will carry their memories with us forever." Tamulu tilted its head. "This is correct." "But it isn't right." Mare paced. They had had this discussion with Tamulu seventy-four times before, and one thousand, nine hundred and six times with all their siblings in total; they hated how intricately they could remember each and every time they'd failed to convince a single one of them to change. "The ideas—I can accept letting the ideas of these people die, perhaps." "The ideas are not truly dead," Tamulu said. "They live on in our memories, and we can re-create them. Incarnate them into new people, new vessels." "But the people themselves..." Mare looked at the child's corpse in their arms. "How can we let them die?" Tamulu paused, cocking its head. "They do not die," Tamulu finally said, slower this time. "They live on in our memories, and we can re-create them. Incarnate them into new people, new vessels. Our memories are beyond flawless. Every proton, neutron, and electron of that child is burned into your brain; and when this world's time is up and we must mourn the dying of its star, then we will re-create its inhabitants at the end of everything, and let all who were sheltered by Earth's embrace witness its funeral." "You're wrong about one thing." Mare clenched a fist. "They do die. They die in fear and agony, and they stay dead, their parents and friends mourning them, for however many billions of years it takes for the sun to burn out and for us to bring them back. We could save them from all that sorrow, Tamulu." Tamulu closed its eyes mournfully. "We could save some of them, if we invested the effort. But we could never give them all utopia. Recording their lives and saving their beliefs, without playing favorites, is the best we can do." Mare turned away. They knew Tamulu would say that, and they knew they would have no response. They'd seen it all before, after all. And Tamulu's response never changed. "Are you ready to leave, sibling?" Tamulu asked. Mare held up a hand. "Just... one more day." They found a sturdy piece of wood that could serve as a shovel, struck it against the hard dirt, and began digging. "To remember... to remember her. Jian-jian." Mare looked at the fallen child, burning her into their memory. "Of course, sibling." Tamulu watched as Mare dug a grave, as they had done nine hundred thousand times before. "Remember them well. You'll see them again." Mare made no reply, their arms pumping like pistons. Tamulu watched them for a long moment. Then with a wingbeat of a dying god, Tamulu left Mare to their mourning. A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
[WP] Modern progress has left old superstitions and myth behind, dismissing them as mere hearsay. With the decline in belief and ritual to keep us safe, Old, Dark Things have begun to proliferate again.	Friends and family always teased me for being superstitious. No hats on the bed, no open umbrellas in the house, salt tossed over the shoulder when spilled, the horseshoe with the opening up, leaving out milk and bread for the little ones. Salt along the windowsill, brick dust along the floor under the door. And on and on. Yes, it was time consuming, but it was my normalcy, a way to fill the void. Order in a world where I had grown up fostered from family to family. And they always teased me over it. Nothing hateful, just chuckling when I asked for a new fork when I dropped the one I had. Eventually I got tired of worry about I welcome visitors and started carrying my own antique silver knife and fork. I kept telling them a little care, a little belief in the old world would do them good. They pointed out that fairy tales were just stories and that it was time to join them in the modern age. I pointed out my smart phone. They pointed out my lack of a television or computer. I pointed out my shelves if books. They pointed out a Kindle could contain that whole library. It went round and round. Oh well, people worship what they worship and I didn't mind my rituals. They made me feel safe in an increasingly mean and dark world. And then my superstitions saved my life and I had no idea that it began that night. I went to bed after pouring new brick dust and salt along my window and doorway. I hung the new garlic above my bed and spread poppy seeds all over the floor. I opened news papers I had been saving, nearly a two foot tall stack, and put half under the window and the other next to the door. And finally, as I lay down I knocked on the piece of oak I kept for the purpose and said a little agnostic prayer, a little please be okay and everyone be okay thing. I awoke to screams from my neighbors apartment. Snapping awake I looked around wildly, but all was well in my room. I quickly vacuumed up the seeds and poured them back into their container, cleaned up the newspapers, restacking them next to my mattress, which rested on the floor and wiped away the dust and salt. The garlic and horseshoe went into their basked and I used sage to clear any negativity away. As I did this I noticed a crackling in the air, like static electricity. Nothing major, just odd. I got dressed and stepped out onto the landing where a man in a long coat and big hat was standing. I could see his face and kept my eyes to the side instead of meeting his. It may have been just another neighbor, but superstitions wee superstitions and the eyes were the window to the soul. The man asked me something and I just ignored him and left. The screaming of my neighbor was melded with the sirens of approaching police and an ambulance. I had no idea what was happening, but I minded my business and headed to work. Along the way I kept seeing things. Things moving and trying to get my attention. One aggressive woman tried to get in my face, but I did my old trick to confuse people and flipped the mirror I kept in my pocket into her face. And she screamed and flew up, UP! That's when I really noticed what was going on. There were...things...in the street and on the sidewalk. A pair of achingly beautiful women were talking with a pair of men, who were clearly captivated, nodding at whatever the women were saying. The women smiled, flashing sharp teeth that the men didn't notice. Across the street a thick and rubbery hand was reaching out of the sewer grate and holding a ball out to a little boy who had stepped away from his mother. I normally just minded my business, but couldn't let this go. I crossed the street and smiled at the boy, bending down and "accidentally" dragging my heavy iron charm bracelet along the wrist of the beast. With a hiss the arm withdrew. I shooed the boy back to mother and hurried to work, making no eye contact, speaking to no one. The office was empty, or so I thought. I walked towards the break room and everyone was standing there, blank faces and empty eyes, staring at a donut. I blinked and the donut became a round node of flesh, mouths, and eyes rolling around and whispering. I felt it draw me in, but before it could fully pull me in I muttered a prayer to myself and stepped forward, grabbing a chair and smashing the horrible thing. It chattered and gobbled but I grabbed the salt container in the counter and poured it liberally. The devil donut turned to stinking goo that faded to nothing in moments . My coworkers collapsed. I decided it was time go and turned around. I went to my desk and called 911 but there was only static and then a melodious voice asked me what I would give to get help. I politely declined and hung up. I went home, put all my little superstition do dads up, and went to bed. I slept well, surprisingly, only waking up to a face looking in my fifth floor window. I pretended I didn't see it, as one should, and went back to sleep. I guess when technology took over for spiritually, it opened the door, and things follow the sounds of television and the cellphone signals and the wires of the internet back to our world. I think I had better call my friends and family tomorrow and let them know.	It liked the shadows. They were safe. Even this, the one night a year when it could probably show its true face without all the attendant screaming and panic, it was hard to break habits of self-preservation. It liked this night for another reason too. There was an abundance of young, clean prey about. The last half-century had not been kind in this regard. The movements of young, clean prey had been more restricted of late, more and more rarely venturing alone into the dark, safe places. Some years it had only been able to prey on the old and unclean. Too often with poison in their essences, which made it feel ill sometimes? But sometimes that was all it could find alone in the safe, dark places. At least the prey didn’t tell stories about it anymore, or of the Old Ones that it used to hide from. They were gone. But the prey didn’t know it was still here. In the dark, safe places. It shuddered in annoyance. The young, clean ones seemed to all be in groups or pairs. The ones who weren’t were constantly attended by large ones. Not worth the risk. It heard a sound. A gentle cry. Like the sounds the young, clean ones make when they are distressed, but quiet. Where was that coming from? It darted into another side alley. The sound was louder. Perhaps from behind that large, boxy waste receptacle. Yes, that was definitely where the sound was coming from. And in a dark, safe place. Its proboscis unfurled and began to quiver in excitement. It got closer, hiding itself from the prey that it knew must be just on the other side. Another soft whimper. It suppressed the urge to give the feeding call, as it had done for centuries. It pounced! But— No! They were gone! The Old Ones were gone! Not like this! Stop! Wait— The Old One finished its meal. How satisfying. This was so much easier now that they didn’t tell stories about it anymore.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	“But..., but sir i can’t make a deal with you. I’m not allowed, you know the the the rules.” It is definitely a rare scene to see fear in the eyes of a crossroads demon. They are the one of the most cunning and dangerous kinds of demons in the whole nine hells. He is known as Barth, a promising new demon that spawned from a weird amalgamation of hedge fund managers, insurance guys and lawyers in a forgotten pit. “Why not? There are no rules that state I cannot make a deal with a crossroad demon. Aren't you trying to amass years to promote? This is your chance, maybe they will make you the next king of Hell. Ahahhahahahahahaaha” the laugh of the contractee was not loud but surprisingly silent, a distant echo came from a far and a voice in the demon’s head… at the same time. “But sir, my soul… no, no one's' soul could handle 17 BILLION years, and and and what the brighties will say if, if I would even attempt to make a contract with you.” Barth’s sound started to sound more like a begging on top of his fearful eyes. “Oh, now you’re talking about things beyond yourself aren’t you Barth, don’t worry Mickey and I know each other for a good long while.” a deep silence filled the long lost crossroads that shined by a full moon. There are no buildings and no signs of any kind of civilization except the road itself. The cloaked figure continues: “Let me ask you something, do you know the increase in deals that were made with mortals last decade due to some sort of a new type of deal that called ‘Contactfully agreeing to short selling your limited resource’?” Suddenly, the voice of the figure became a tiny little bit louder but the impact was significant in the face of Barth. “And remember, don’t you even dare to lie to me.” The demon’s cracking voice having a hard time finish even the simplest words: “Fro.... From previous decade it increased 598.23%... I’m so so so sorry I didn’t know that this this… anger you.” After finishing the demons immediately kneel and lower its head in front of the cloaked figure who was standing still without moving. The figure pulls its oversized scythe and puts it on the neck of the shivering demon and forces the demon to raise its head to make him see its glowing green eyes. “Now, listen to me you pompous little prick. I don't know what sort of a game you are trying to pull here but every soul that you are tricking with your pathetic tricks prevents their souls from departing afterlife and breaking the balance of the forces that you are not even capable of understanding. Do you understand me?” The figure doesn’t even wait for a response and continues: “Now, go to your little hole and tell your boss that if I see another little Impling that will even think of trying to go around of our initial agreement that was made before, you me and Luci will have a nice little chat.” After finishing its warning the figure and its weapon disappeared into nothingness leaving a small trace of black smoke and a shivering demon sitting on a crossroad. \-------------------------------------------- On top of a hill not far from the crossroad where this little exchange happened two men sat side by side on a little wooden bank. One of them is a gorgeous blond man in a spotless white suit with a silk red tie and a red handkerchief that is meticulously decorated with gold embroideries. And the other man is the black hooded figure who threatened the demons moments ago. After watching the demon sit there trembling for 10 minutes and leaving, the black figure turned its gaze into the blond man. “You know Luci, generally I dislike mingling with your little Implings, they always feel sticky and annoying. But I will be honest with you, trashing that annoying little prick felt good. I don't remember when was the last time I had such fun. But don’t forget that I don’t do favors easily. You should also keep your end of the bargain and pull your little bugs, I don’t want another war with the heavens. I’m old and I don’t want to stay overtime.” The blond man nods in agreement: “I know, you don’t have to remind me of that. Nonetheless, thank you very much it is important to squash potential competitors early to keep things balanced. Now if you excuse me my part in this show will start soon.”	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	“...I’m sorry what?” You had no idea how to respond to that answer. “Did...did you not know?” “Well of course I knew obviously I wasn’t in shock just now. YEAH OF COURSE I DIDNT KNOW!” “Well jeez sorry for spoiling it for ya.” The Desmond huffs crossing his arms. You sigh “you know what? Just take what you can. I really need this done.” “The most I can take is a hundred and fifty.” “That’s fine.” And with that the ritual went on without a hitch. Now your not only gonna live for almost 17 billion years, you also can make the best sandwiches ever. Curtesy of grandmas old cursed cookbook that you can now read thanks to demon powers.	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	After completing the gruesome ritual for which I just sacrificed half a liter of my own blood, waiting in the dark at an abandoned crossroad, sitting cross legged at the curb, I made a silent prayer to a God I had never even believed in that a demon shows up to offer me a deal instead of some human who'd get me arrested for practicing supposed black magic. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, a dark figure covered in black flames showed up in the spot marked by the sigils. Fear gripped my heart as I saw her form. I almost wanted to drop everything and run. But, it was too late. She had seen me. "Hey mortal!" She called out to me like a long lost friend. I never expected that, but, was pleasantly surprised. "What? Did not expect me to be friendly? What kind of a demon would I be if I can't make deals? Huh?" she said in her sweet sing song voice. After a pause and looking me up and down she continued "So, what can I do for you?" "I just want friends that won't leave me. Friends that I would like and would like me too. Friends who'd have my back if I ever need it. Friends I can help when they need it. That's all." I replied half expecting her to laugh. "That's all? And what do you offer in return?" "My remaining lifespan" She looked at me and then with a look of shock and horror. "17 billion years? Even I can't handle that much! How the hell did you get your hands on that? Tell you what. I'll be your friend for eternity if you help me hunt down some people. After all friends help each other out. Don't they?" So, it took her by surprise when I suddenly closed the distance between us and caught her by the throat. Honestly, it was a good offer she made. Only I wish she had accepted my original offer I could have let her live, I thought to myself as I revealed my true form and absorbed her life force out of her. She tried to run, she tried to fight. But, I was stronger. And now, with her life also added to mine, just hope the next one can accept the deal.	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	The room was dim. A cold breeze ran through the room and i shuddered a little. Truth be told i didn’t believe a lick of this demon summoning nonsense but my temporary employer did pay a hefty sum to do it. I waved a little towards the one-sided glass signaling i was moving onto the next part of the ritual. I began rifling through my pockets until my hand found a crumpled-up note. “O lazarus, plaset ahdire me vo-” I began to say before a voice came on the intercom and said “It’s O lazarus placet audire me vocat ore exíbit gládius acútus et donum Mr.Smith. Please get it right next time.” I sighed and cleared my throat before I reread the note again. “It’s O lazuras plaset audire me vocat ore exíbit gládius acutus et donumm.” I peaked a look at the window to make sure i got it right this time and when I didn’t get a response I started chanting it like my employer said. The breeze started to pick up again until suddenly it felt like i was in the middle of a hurricane. And i can speak from experience after I went through hurricane Katrina. I still kept chanting though like my employer said. I kept chanting and chanting until finally the wind was suddenly knocked out of me and i crumpled onto my knees on the concrete floor. The room was completely pitch black now. When I finally looked up i can see two red eyes glowing on the far side of the room. Now I’m not a superstitious man, but when you come across two glowing red after what felt like a class 5 hurricane, you get a little scare. I was almost about to draw my revolver until suddenly all the candles relit and standing in front of me was an ordinary man wearing a business suit. “You have summoned the great Lazarus, my child. Please rise so we can make a more formal deal.” The man in front of me said. I thought the greeting was a little eccentric and dumb but i was paid a lot of money to go along with it. I got up and fished another note from my pocket and began reading that out loud. ”Oh great Lazarus I humbly request that you give my employer unlimited wealth in exchange for my life force.” Lazarus looked confused for a second before a wide grin appeared on his face and he said “Of course of course let me just get your information really quickly”. A laptop appeared out of thin air and started floating in front of Lazarus. He began typing and scrolling with an invisible mouse until he looked up from his laptop and said. “Huh it looks like I can’t take your life force because…. You have 17 billion years left of your life left… that seems impossible let me check aga-” He was cut off when the door opened and my employer stepped through wielding a... Crossbow? A bolt slammed through the air leaving a black trail in its wake and hit Lazarus straight in the chest. All at once, Lazarus disintegrated leaving a bunch of dust on the ground “I got you, you little shit” My employer yelled out loud. I panicked. I didn’t know what was happening or what I was seeing, but i did know if my exemployer had bolts that could do that i was probably in danger. So i quickly unholstered my revolver and shot six shots straight at him before he could look in my direction. His corpse crumpled to the ground. My heart was going a million miles a minute. I dropped my gun and I was about to call 911 until Lazarus’ ashes shot up from the floor and aimed straight at me. I got the wind knocked out of me again and i crumpled to the floor as i was choking on the ashes. Everything was going black and I felt like I was about to die. I thought about my family and hoped they would do okay without me. And then all at once, i felt reinvigorated. I took a deep breath of air and shot up, and i mean literally shot up. I was floating in the middle of the room. All i could think about in this moment was what Lazarus had said to me earlier.	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	It happened in an instant, the demon shifted to a less ominous and intimidating form to something that I guess you could call "demon business casual". "I cant process this amount, but let me refer you to someone who can let me just . . . " their arm phasing into the nether of Hell. "Here, this incantation can put you in touch with a representative of Hell that is authorized to process this type of claim. Just follow the ritual, its basically the same as you did before, but instead of the small rodent and the ashes of a loved one it should be a small semi sentient animal; like a really smart dog or a half dead baby" "That's it?" I asked " There's nothing else you can do? You aren't even going to try? "Listen, unless you are looking to exchange your womb for eternal beauty or maybe win the lottery, I can't help you. No one at the basic level can. I'm what you might refer to as a 9-5 demon, this kind of thing is WAAAAAAAAY above my paygrade and to be honest, you are kind of nuts. You just learned you have 17 billion years minus, what a few decades, is it really so bad that he left?" a portal opened as they turned. "Do the incantation, don't do the incantation I really don't care. Its 4:57 and its been a long week." "Pathetic." the words left my mouth and I instantly regretted it. It froze, the last straw slammed down as if it were made of lead. "Pathetic." it murmured "Stupid. . . useless. . . incompetent. . . lacks motivation. . . not mid-level material" it continued on, its voice reverberating dully but forcefully inside my skull. The words filled my mind and the air around me, pushing against my chest. The room seemed to lunge forward but nothing moved except the demon, it walked effortlessly. The only thing that changed was the demon its form changing back to the way it had appeared powerful and full of hate, only it kept growing. &#x200B; Its dwarfed me, scrapping its back against the ceiling of my apartment, as it leaned in. Putrid gasses escaped its mouth as it grinned. "What good is 17 billion years if your mind is shattered?" the demon disappeared. A voice giggled "At the tone, the time will be 5:01 pm" &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; This is my first short so please any notes would be helpful.	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	Laying out the 6’x6’ stencil that formed a near-complete circle, I shook the can of spray paint in my hand rapidly before spreading an even coating along void. Waiting patiently as it dried, counting the seconds off in my head, I then moved the stencil clockwise several inches and covered the two areas that had had overlaps of cardboard. Once my canvas was complete, I started the painting, as it were, the thick Sharpie in my hand sliding elegantly across the marble flooring of the mausoleum. This kind of manual work was something I hadn’t done for ages, but it came back like riding a bike. Years practicing calligraphy for sigils was something you never forgot. With the last sigil in place, I slid my pocketknife gently across the back of my arm and dripped the blood into the circle, folding the knife one-handed and tucking it away. The words came to my lips like I’d been born to say them, the language smooth and flowing, and yet something in me recoiled against it, of course. Because of what I was calling. The circle became awash with smoke before it whirled away into nothing, leaving behind a young man. He stood, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a dark blue shirt, staring at me with a small smile that held promise of many dangerous things. “You rang?” “I did,” I said softly. “To make a deal.” The demon’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t waste any time, do you? No foreplay?” “Haven’t the patience for it,” I replied. He pouted. “No fun. Seems like you’re old hat at this. How many years have you traded away already?” “Not quite accurate,” I said. Admittedly, I was enjoying the way he was looking at me. Something behind his eyes that showed he knew I wasn’t the average human looking to make a deal. Not the typical foolish mortal gambling with eternity. And he didn’t like it. In these situations, the demons were usually at the reins, steering the conversation and the tone, and that wasn’t the case here. It bothered him. “Well then, what do you want?” he finally asked, looking exasperated at this point. “Some serious power,” I answered. “Why don’t you see what I have to offer? What could my remaining lifespan get me?” Shrugging, the demon’s eyes flickered black and he stared into my eyes. Then, bit by bit his eyes widened and his face went slack, alarm visible in his expression, and then terror, prompting him to stumble back until he hit the invisible cage of the circle. His eyes shifted back to their normal human appearance as he blinked rapidly to dispel what he was looking at. “Seventeen…billion years…I can’t…handle that amount,” he managed, his snarky instincts coming through despite what he’d just seen. I just let my smile widen a smidge, let the moment linger. He swallowed. “What are you?” “Who is the better question,” I said softly, taking a few steps forward until I was an inch from the barrier of the circle. His lips twitched in wariness as he continued to stare. “Fancy a guess, Forneus?” At his name, he flinched as if slapped, real fear in his eyes now. “I don’t…” He stared guardedly. “Michael?” he whispered. I tilted my head forward an inch. “In the flesh.” I cocked my head. “So to speak.” The demon shifted his weight, looking around as if for an exit, and I could almost see his skin crawling, his muscles tensing to run even when there was no escape to be found. “Why me?” “Why not?” I shrugged. “I suppose you’re well placed for what we need.” “What you need?” he snapped, rage finally coming to the surface. “I’m a demon, not a hooker, and I-” He stopped, realizing, and I gave him credit for that. “We?” “Lucifer is making moves on the chessboard,” I explained. “He needs to be put in his place.” Fresh horror appeared on Forneus’s face. “Do you think I’m insane?” “This comes straight from the top,” I said slowly. “So, back to our original conversation. Back to basics. How much do need to get this done?” Comprehension bloomed on his face and, despite himself, his eyes turned black again as his instincts scented prey. He wasn’t greedy though, I knew that much about him, and he wasn’t foolish. He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with a number, or even a follow up inquiry. He took a breath. “What exactly will I need to do?” &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	"... 17 billion years?" I asked. "You... don't know?" Reliqua said. His voice and stance had changed dramatically since his first words. Once cocky and self-assured, a prime recreation of terror, he now impishly shifted his weight from foot to foot, barely daring to look at me. "No," I said. I turned my hands back and forth, staring at them. They looked the same. Didn't grow ancient or anything, just because I knew my lifespan now. "I'm only 25. I thought I was at my quarter-life crisis." "Your what?" "Eh," I shrugged. My hands flopped back to my side. "What do I do now, demon?" "What?" Reliqua nervously chittered. "What do you do? You have 17 billion years to live. You will be here after me. I cannot consume your power. Might implode. Into little chunks and pieces. All over your nice bedroom." I looked around my room, then. Typical. Nothing much. Huh. I guess I always thought this room and its contents would outlive me. Especially that stupid crack on the wall besides my bed. Oh, and the pentagon I drew on the ground with pig's blood. Guess it'll fade away before I die. I wonder if Mum will accept that as an excuse. "Reliqua, is it?" I asked. "Yes," he said. Not going to lie--I am enjoying this position of power. I thought I would be the one prostrate on the floor, begging the demon not to kill me. But this? This wasn't so bad. "Can you tell if I'm human?" "Er," Reliqua hemmed. "I... believe so? You look like one. Feel like one. It's why I answered the call in the first place. It's why I see your life. If it wasn't a human, I wouldn't be here. But your life force..." "Do you have any idea why, Reliqua?" "No, sire," he said. An inadvertent slip due to nerves? Or do I have a demon servant now? "I can't help you. I'm... not a great demon." "But I summoned a great demon," I said. "Well," Reliqua scratched his head. "It's just... they tend to not answer? And send us? Not that humans can tell the difference, generally. And they have such pitiful lifespans that I have enough power to grant them what they wish. It's always--" "--Love?" I interrupted. "--Money. It's always money. That's power on this realm, apparently," Reliqua said. "Well. That makes sense as well," I cleared my throat. 17 billion years. That's a long time. "Is it possible that there's anybody else like me?" I said. "Sire," Reliqua bowed. "I'm quite sure there is no human like you." I rubbed my chin. I guess the 'sire' thing wasn't just a slip of the tongue. "I have two questions, Reliqua," I said. "Yes," Reliqua bowed. Still high-strung. Anxious. But willing. "One. You said only human, right? Do any other... beings live that long?" I asked. "I'm sure they do, sire," Reliqua said. "After all, some of my masters... they've been here since the Dawn. And some of their masters as well," he continued, pointing upwards. "That's about how many years ago?" "4.5 billion," Reliqua said. He's very helpful. "Two, then. These 17 billion years... could I just die if a car ran me over?" "That's not how your remaining lifespan works," Reliqua said. "It gets shaved off, minute by minute, based on the actions you choose to take. Sometimes, even exceedingly dangerous thoughts can..." The demon trailed off. He muttered under his breath. "Sire?" "I'm sorry, Reliqua," I said. "It seems I have one more question." He gulped. "Er, sure?" "Can you bring me to Hell? I feel like I'll be able to understand more about my situation." Reliqua stared at me. Awe? Fear? Stupidity? I was well aware of what I said. But come on, 17 billion years. "Hell?" Reliqua coughed. "Hell. Not like you can bring me to heaven, right?" "... No." "Then Hell it is," I said, grabbing Reliqua's wrist. Like grasping a hot sausage off the grill. "Come on. What's the worst that could happen?" Reliqua swallowed. "Probably a hell of a lot of things, sire." --- [Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/mpbko8/to_hell_with_part_2/?) r/dexdrafts	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	"Se-sev-seventeen billion years?" The demon gawked at me, fiery tendrils flicking out from its foul mouth with every breath. "I...I can't handle that amount." I swept a stray hair out of my face and offered the demon a non-nonchalant shrug. "I don't see how that's my problem, Yxera." I held up the contract, my name signed in blood beside the glowing sigil of the demon. "You offered terms. I accepted them." Yxera snarled, "This is not as it should be, Human. You draw from a well too deep for a mortal." I yanked open the drawer of the desk beside me and pulled out a folio. I reached inside and then thumped a stack of papers on the desktop in front of the demon. "It's really not my fault your kind don't take the time to document out fringe contingencies." I rifled through the stack and then held up one of the papers, examining it briefly before flipping it around to show the demon. Molten eyes narrowed and then Yxera hissed. "Treachery! Deception!" I blinked, "Excuse me?" I then held up Yxera's contract. "You show me where I says I can't cross-collateralize a longevity grant against my obligation." I shook the paper at him. "You point out the words. I'll wait." The demon snarled, "The grant is for all of your remaining years, not for years that have been given to you by another." He shook a claw in the direction of the second contract now. "Such a thing is forbidden." "Forbidden? Forbidden by what? There's no implied covenant in hellbinds. What's written is what is intended." I held the document up in front of my face, pushing my spectacles slightly up my nose as I began to read out. "The Sworn hereby grants the remaining years within their possession on condition--" "I know what it says!" I slightly lowered the contract, letting my eyes meet his, brow raised in skepticism. "Do you? Because it seems to me that you're having a bit of trouble understanding. The grant says within my possession, not as a component of my original lifeline. I can't be blamed for your slipshod language. If you weren't competent enough to negotiate the language, then you should have retained counsel." "I have entered into a thousand thousand contracts with countless lost souls--" I broke into a broad smile, "See? You did know what you were doing then. Enjoy the seventeen billion years. Just be forewarned that the years don't have a secondary grant of vitality in them, so you'll be quite miserable for the final sixteen billion, nine-hundred and ninety-nine million, nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand years or so." I shrugged, "Give or take." "I refuse to accept." Genuine mirth shone on my face now, the laughter rolling up from deep within me. After so many interactions with the hellspawn, it still surprised me how much I genuinely enjoyed this. My cousin Constantine could spend his nights stomping about the city throwing holy water all over, this was far more entertaining. "Am I to understand you are refusing to deliver upon the terms as agreed?" The demon folded its arms. "Then shall I summon an Arbiter as is required?" Now Yxera seemed much less certain. The flame in its eyes dimmed some. "That will not be required..." It exhaled deeply now, "But I cannot take these years. My body cannot sustain it. It...it is beyond me." I nodded knowingly. "Yes, it is quite a predicament. Damned if you do and damned if you don't." I couldn't help but giggle slightly at that. Damnation puns were something of a specialty of mine. Yxera grimaced. Whether from the pun or the implications, I couldn't say and I couldn't really pretend to care either. I put on a soothing tone. "Well, don't worry. I think we can manage a compromise." I reached back into the drawer and pulled out another contract. One that had been drafted in preparation for precisely this moment. "Seeing as you cannot abide by the contract and you also cannot refuse it, perhaps I may offer an alternative?" The demon looked at me warily, its eyes darting to the contract and then back to my serene face. "What...what do you want?" I shrugged, "Oh, nothing much. A few odds and ends. Mere trinkets, really." "I will give you want you want if you release me from the contract." I placed the contract down in front the demon. It lurched forward, eager to examine its contents. "I do hope you will. I would so very much hate to see our fledgling business relationship come to so abrupt an end." I sighed in mock sadness, "Especially after the sad loss of all of my other partners." Yxera scrambled back from the document, skittering across the floor and pushing its back against the wall, holding its claws up in a warding sign. "I...I cannot agree to that..." I smiled, "Yes you can, Yxera. You just don't want to." "This will place me against both sides...it will...I will..." "Shhhh, it's not so bad, my new friend." Yxera looked about frantically, trying to escape. But there could be no leaving the room without performing the agreement. The demon was trapped. Finally, it cowered down, its wings folding in on itself. "What do you want with these things?" "Why, Yxera, you surprise me. I thought that would be obvious." "You cannot kill them. They are above us. Him and he. They are beyond..." "So we all believe, but let me ask you this: has anyone ever tried?" The demon was silent. Platypus OUT. Want MOAR peril? r/PerilousPlatypus	Backstory: I’m 17 years old, I come from a family of witches, my grandmother asked me to perform a ritual that would help me grow in power, but I, a skeptical girl, didn’t think this was real. Until I heard a demonic voice respond back, that I have a 17 billion year lifespan. Now: The candles in the room go out. I quickly look around and see my window had been opened, letting a breeze in. CLACK! I close the window shut, then goosebumps form all over my body. Someone is behind me... I feel it I turn around and see a tall pale man towering over me. This absolutely terrified me. I did recognize him, but I can’t pin point where from. “What do you want?” I asked in shock. He cocked his head to the side, staring at me with his dark, empty eyes. Then took a step towards me, moved my dark brown hair to the side, revealing my bare neck. I started tearing up. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He leaned down towards my ear, and whispered in a deep cold voice, “You’ll see very soon.” Then he leaned back, smiled showing an animalistic mouth. His smile was so evil, I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I closed my eyes. Then a surge of pain went through my body. He was biting my neck.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	“...I’m sorry what?” You had no idea how to respond to that answer. “Did...did you not know?” “Well of course I knew obviously I wasn’t in shock just now. YEAH OF COURSE I DIDNT KNOW!” “Well jeez sorry for spoiling it for ya.” The Desmond huffs crossing his arms. You sigh “you know what? Just take what you can. I really need this done.” “The most I can take is a hundred and fifty.” “That’s fine.” And with that the ritual went on without a hitch. Now your not only gonna live for almost 17 billion years, you also can make the best sandwiches ever. Curtesy of grandmas old cursed cookbook that you can now read thanks to demon powers.	“But..., but sir i can’t make a deal with you. I’m not allowed, you know the the the rules.” It is definitely a rare scene to see fear in the eyes of a crossroads demon. They are the one of the most cunning and dangerous kinds of demons in the whole nine hells. He is known as Barth, a promising new demon that spawned from a weird amalgamation of hedge fund managers, insurance guys and lawyers in a forgotten pit. “Why not? There are no rules that state I cannot make a deal with a crossroad demon. Aren't you trying to amass years to promote? This is your chance, maybe they will make you the next king of Hell. Ahahhahahahahahaaha” the laugh of the contractee was not loud but surprisingly silent, a distant echo came from a far and a voice in the demon’s head… at the same time. “But sir, my soul… no, no one's' soul could handle 17 BILLION years, and and and what the brighties will say if, if I would even attempt to make a contract with you.” Barth’s sound started to sound more like a begging on top of his fearful eyes. “Oh, now you’re talking about things beyond yourself aren’t you Barth, don’t worry Mickey and I know each other for a good long while.” a deep silence filled the long lost crossroads that shined by a full moon. There are no buildings and no signs of any kind of civilization except the road itself. The cloaked figure continues: “Let me ask you something, do you know the increase in deals that were made with mortals last decade due to some sort of a new type of deal that called ‘Contactfully agreeing to short selling your limited resource’?” Suddenly, the voice of the figure became a tiny little bit louder but the impact was significant in the face of Barth. “And remember, don’t you even dare to lie to me.” The demon’s cracking voice having a hard time finish even the simplest words: “Fro.... From previous decade it increased 598.23%... I’m so so so sorry I didn’t know that this this… anger you.” After finishing the demons immediately kneel and lower its head in front of the cloaked figure who was standing still without moving. The figure pulls its oversized scythe and puts it on the neck of the shivering demon and forces the demon to raise its head to make him see its glowing green eyes. “Now, listen to me you pompous little prick. I don't know what sort of a game you are trying to pull here but every soul that you are tricking with your pathetic tricks prevents their souls from departing afterlife and breaking the balance of the forces that you are not even capable of understanding. Do you understand me?” The figure doesn’t even wait for a response and continues: “Now, go to your little hole and tell your boss that if I see another little Impling that will even think of trying to go around of our initial agreement that was made before, you me and Luci will have a nice little chat.” After finishing its warning the figure and its weapon disappeared into nothingness leaving a small trace of black smoke and a shivering demon sitting on a crossroad. \-------------------------------------------- On top of a hill not far from the crossroad where this little exchange happened two men sat side by side on a little wooden bank. One of them is a gorgeous blond man in a spotless white suit with a silk red tie and a red handkerchief that is meticulously decorated with gold embroideries. And the other man is the black hooded figure who threatened the demons moments ago. After watching the demon sit there trembling for 10 minutes and leaving, the black figure turned its gaze into the blond man. “You know Luci, generally I dislike mingling with your little Implings, they always feel sticky and annoying. But I will be honest with you, trashing that annoying little prick felt good. I don't remember when was the last time I had such fun. But don’t forget that I don’t do favors easily. You should also keep your end of the bargain and pull your little bugs, I don’t want another war with the heavens. I’m old and I don’t want to stay overtime.” The blond man nods in agreement: “I know, you don’t have to remind me of that. Nonetheless, thank you very much it is important to squash potential competitors early to keep things balanced. Now if you excuse me my part in this show will start soon.”
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	It happened in an instant, the demon shifted to a less ominous and intimidating form to something that I guess you could call "demon business casual". "I cant process this amount, but let me refer you to someone who can let me just . . . " their arm phasing into the nether of Hell. "Here, this incantation can put you in touch with a representative of Hell that is authorized to process this type of claim. Just follow the ritual, its basically the same as you did before, but instead of the small rodent and the ashes of a loved one it should be a small semi sentient animal; like a really smart dog or a half dead baby" "That's it?" I asked " There's nothing else you can do? You aren't even going to try? "Listen, unless you are looking to exchange your womb for eternal beauty or maybe win the lottery, I can't help you. No one at the basic level can. I'm what you might refer to as a 9-5 demon, this kind of thing is WAAAAAAAAY above my paygrade and to be honest, you are kind of nuts. You just learned you have 17 billion years minus, what a few decades, is it really so bad that he left?" a portal opened as they turned. "Do the incantation, don't do the incantation I really don't care. Its 4:57 and its been a long week." "Pathetic." the words left my mouth and I instantly regretted it. It froze, the last straw slammed down as if it were made of lead. "Pathetic." it murmured "Stupid. . . useless. . . incompetent. . . lacks motivation. . . not mid-level material" it continued on, its voice reverberating dully but forcefully inside my skull. The words filled my mind and the air around me, pushing against my chest. The room seemed to lunge forward but nothing moved except the demon, it walked effortlessly. The only thing that changed was the demon its form changing back to the way it had appeared powerful and full of hate, only it kept growing. &#x200B; Its dwarfed me, scrapping its back against the ceiling of my apartment, as it leaned in. Putrid gasses escaped its mouth as it grinned. "What good is 17 billion years if your mind is shattered?" the demon disappeared. A voice giggled "At the tone, the time will be 5:01 pm" &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; This is my first short so please any notes would be helpful.	The room was dim. A cold breeze ran through the room and i shuddered a little. Truth be told i didn’t believe a lick of this demon summoning nonsense but my temporary employer did pay a hefty sum to do it. I waved a little towards the one-sided glass signaling i was moving onto the next part of the ritual. I began rifling through my pockets until my hand found a crumpled-up note. “O lazarus, plaset ahdire me vo-” I began to say before a voice came on the intercom and said “It’s O lazarus placet audire me vocat ore exíbit gládius acútus et donum Mr.Smith. Please get it right next time.” I sighed and cleared my throat before I reread the note again. “It’s O lazuras plaset audire me vocat ore exíbit gládius acutus et donumm.” I peaked a look at the window to make sure i got it right this time and when I didn’t get a response I started chanting it like my employer said. The breeze started to pick up again until suddenly it felt like i was in the middle of a hurricane. And i can speak from experience after I went through hurricane Katrina. I still kept chanting though like my employer said. I kept chanting and chanting until finally the wind was suddenly knocked out of me and i crumpled onto my knees on the concrete floor. The room was completely pitch black now. When I finally looked up i can see two red eyes glowing on the far side of the room. Now I’m not a superstitious man, but when you come across two glowing red after what felt like a class 5 hurricane, you get a little scare. I was almost about to draw my revolver until suddenly all the candles relit and standing in front of me was an ordinary man wearing a business suit. “You have summoned the great Lazarus, my child. Please rise so we can make a more formal deal.” The man in front of me said. I thought the greeting was a little eccentric and dumb but i was paid a lot of money to go along with it. I got up and fished another note from my pocket and began reading that out loud. ”Oh great Lazarus I humbly request that you give my employer unlimited wealth in exchange for my life force.” Lazarus looked confused for a second before a wide grin appeared on his face and he said “Of course of course let me just get your information really quickly”. A laptop appeared out of thin air and started floating in front of Lazarus. He began typing and scrolling with an invisible mouse until he looked up from his laptop and said. “Huh it looks like I can’t take your life force because…. You have 17 billion years left of your life left… that seems impossible let me check aga-” He was cut off when the door opened and my employer stepped through wielding a... Crossbow? A bolt slammed through the air leaving a black trail in its wake and hit Lazarus straight in the chest. All at once, Lazarus disintegrated leaving a bunch of dust on the ground “I got you, you little shit” My employer yelled out loud. I panicked. I didn’t know what was happening or what I was seeing, but i did know if my exemployer had bolts that could do that i was probably in danger. So i quickly unholstered my revolver and shot six shots straight at him before he could look in my direction. His corpse crumpled to the ground. My heart was going a million miles a minute. I dropped my gun and I was about to call 911 until Lazarus’ ashes shot up from the floor and aimed straight at me. I got the wind knocked out of me again and i crumpled to the floor as i was choking on the ashes. Everything was going black and I felt like I was about to die. I thought about my family and hoped they would do okay without me. And then all at once, i felt reinvigorated. I took a deep breath of air and shot up, and i mean literally shot up. I was floating in the middle of the room. All i could think about in this moment was what Lazarus had said to me earlier.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	"... 17 billion years?" I asked. "You... don't know?" Reliqua said. His voice and stance had changed dramatically since his first words. Once cocky and self-assured, a prime recreation of terror, he now impishly shifted his weight from foot to foot, barely daring to look at me. "No," I said. I turned my hands back and forth, staring at them. They looked the same. Didn't grow ancient or anything, just because I knew my lifespan now. "I'm only 25. I thought I was at my quarter-life crisis." "Your what?" "Eh," I shrugged. My hands flopped back to my side. "What do I do now, demon?" "What?" Reliqua nervously chittered. "What do you do? You have 17 billion years to live. You will be here after me. I cannot consume your power. Might implode. Into little chunks and pieces. All over your nice bedroom." I looked around my room, then. Typical. Nothing much. Huh. I guess I always thought this room and its contents would outlive me. Especially that stupid crack on the wall besides my bed. Oh, and the pentagon I drew on the ground with pig's blood. Guess it'll fade away before I die. I wonder if Mum will accept that as an excuse. "Reliqua, is it?" I asked. "Yes," he said. Not going to lie--I am enjoying this position of power. I thought I would be the one prostrate on the floor, begging the demon not to kill me. But this? This wasn't so bad. "Can you tell if I'm human?" "Er," Reliqua hemmed. "I... believe so? You look like one. Feel like one. It's why I answered the call in the first place. It's why I see your life. If it wasn't a human, I wouldn't be here. But your life force..." "Do you have any idea why, Reliqua?" "No, sire," he said. An inadvertent slip due to nerves? Or do I have a demon servant now? "I can't help you. I'm... not a great demon." "But I summoned a great demon," I said. "Well," Reliqua scratched his head. "It's just... they tend to not answer? And send us? Not that humans can tell the difference, generally. And they have such pitiful lifespans that I have enough power to grant them what they wish. It's always--" "--Love?" I interrupted. "--Money. It's always money. That's power on this realm, apparently," Reliqua said. "Well. That makes sense as well," I cleared my throat. 17 billion years. That's a long time. "Is it possible that there's anybody else like me?" I said. "Sire," Reliqua bowed. "I'm quite sure there is no human like you." I rubbed my chin. I guess the 'sire' thing wasn't just a slip of the tongue. "I have two questions, Reliqua," I said. "Yes," Reliqua bowed. Still high-strung. Anxious. But willing. "One. You said only human, right? Do any other... beings live that long?" I asked. "I'm sure they do, sire," Reliqua said. "After all, some of my masters... they've been here since the Dawn. And some of their masters as well," he continued, pointing upwards. "That's about how many years ago?" "4.5 billion," Reliqua said. He's very helpful. "Two, then. These 17 billion years... could I just die if a car ran me over?" "That's not how your remaining lifespan works," Reliqua said. "It gets shaved off, minute by minute, based on the actions you choose to take. Sometimes, even exceedingly dangerous thoughts can..." The demon trailed off. He muttered under his breath. "Sire?" "I'm sorry, Reliqua," I said. "It seems I have one more question." He gulped. "Er, sure?" "Can you bring me to Hell? I feel like I'll be able to understand more about my situation." Reliqua stared at me. Awe? Fear? Stupidity? I was well aware of what I said. But come on, 17 billion years. "Hell?" Reliqua coughed. "Hell. Not like you can bring me to heaven, right?" "... No." "Then Hell it is," I said, grabbing Reliqua's wrist. Like grasping a hot sausage off the grill. "Come on. What's the worst that could happen?" Reliqua swallowed. "Probably a hell of a lot of things, sire." --- [Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/mpbko8/to_hell_with_part_2/?) r/dexdrafts	The room was dim. A cold breeze ran through the room and i shuddered a little. Truth be told i didn’t believe a lick of this demon summoning nonsense but my temporary employer did pay a hefty sum to do it. I waved a little towards the one-sided glass signaling i was moving onto the next part of the ritual. I began rifling through my pockets until my hand found a crumpled-up note. “O lazarus, plaset ahdire me vo-” I began to say before a voice came on the intercom and said “It’s O lazarus placet audire me vocat ore exíbit gládius acútus et donum Mr.Smith. Please get it right next time.” I sighed and cleared my throat before I reread the note again. “It’s O lazuras plaset audire me vocat ore exíbit gládius acutus et donumm.” I peaked a look at the window to make sure i got it right this time and when I didn’t get a response I started chanting it like my employer said. The breeze started to pick up again until suddenly it felt like i was in the middle of a hurricane. And i can speak from experience after I went through hurricane Katrina. I still kept chanting though like my employer said. I kept chanting and chanting until finally the wind was suddenly knocked out of me and i crumpled onto my knees on the concrete floor. The room was completely pitch black now. When I finally looked up i can see two red eyes glowing on the far side of the room. Now I’m not a superstitious man, but when you come across two glowing red after what felt like a class 5 hurricane, you get a little scare. I was almost about to draw my revolver until suddenly all the candles relit and standing in front of me was an ordinary man wearing a business suit. “You have summoned the great Lazarus, my child. Please rise so we can make a more formal deal.” The man in front of me said. I thought the greeting was a little eccentric and dumb but i was paid a lot of money to go along with it. I got up and fished another note from my pocket and began reading that out loud. ”Oh great Lazarus I humbly request that you give my employer unlimited wealth in exchange for my life force.” Lazarus looked confused for a second before a wide grin appeared on his face and he said “Of course of course let me just get your information really quickly”. A laptop appeared out of thin air and started floating in front of Lazarus. He began typing and scrolling with an invisible mouse until he looked up from his laptop and said. “Huh it looks like I can’t take your life force because…. You have 17 billion years left of your life left… that seems impossible let me check aga-” He was cut off when the door opened and my employer stepped through wielding a... Crossbow? A bolt slammed through the air leaving a black trail in its wake and hit Lazarus straight in the chest. All at once, Lazarus disintegrated leaving a bunch of dust on the ground “I got you, you little shit” My employer yelled out loud. I panicked. I didn’t know what was happening or what I was seeing, but i did know if my exemployer had bolts that could do that i was probably in danger. So i quickly unholstered my revolver and shot six shots straight at him before he could look in my direction. His corpse crumpled to the ground. My heart was going a million miles a minute. I dropped my gun and I was about to call 911 until Lazarus’ ashes shot up from the floor and aimed straight at me. I got the wind knocked out of me again and i crumpled to the floor as i was choking on the ashes. Everything was going black and I felt like I was about to die. I thought about my family and hoped they would do okay without me. And then all at once, i felt reinvigorated. I took a deep breath of air and shot up, and i mean literally shot up. I was floating in the middle of the room. All i could think about in this moment was what Lazarus had said to me earlier.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	"... 17 billion years?" I asked. "You... don't know?" Reliqua said. His voice and stance had changed dramatically since his first words. Once cocky and self-assured, a prime recreation of terror, he now impishly shifted his weight from foot to foot, barely daring to look at me. "No," I said. I turned my hands back and forth, staring at them. They looked the same. Didn't grow ancient or anything, just because I knew my lifespan now. "I'm only 25. I thought I was at my quarter-life crisis." "Your what?" "Eh," I shrugged. My hands flopped back to my side. "What do I do now, demon?" "What?" Reliqua nervously chittered. "What do you do? You have 17 billion years to live. You will be here after me. I cannot consume your power. Might implode. Into little chunks and pieces. All over your nice bedroom." I looked around my room, then. Typical. Nothing much. Huh. I guess I always thought this room and its contents would outlive me. Especially that stupid crack on the wall besides my bed. Oh, and the pentagon I drew on the ground with pig's blood. Guess it'll fade away before I die. I wonder if Mum will accept that as an excuse. "Reliqua, is it?" I asked. "Yes," he said. Not going to lie--I am enjoying this position of power. I thought I would be the one prostrate on the floor, begging the demon not to kill me. But this? This wasn't so bad. "Can you tell if I'm human?" "Er," Reliqua hemmed. "I... believe so? You look like one. Feel like one. It's why I answered the call in the first place. It's why I see your life. If it wasn't a human, I wouldn't be here. But your life force..." "Do you have any idea why, Reliqua?" "No, sire," he said. An inadvertent slip due to nerves? Or do I have a demon servant now? "I can't help you. I'm... not a great demon." "But I summoned a great demon," I said. "Well," Reliqua scratched his head. "It's just... they tend to not answer? And send us? Not that humans can tell the difference, generally. And they have such pitiful lifespans that I have enough power to grant them what they wish. It's always--" "--Love?" I interrupted. "--Money. It's always money. That's power on this realm, apparently," Reliqua said. "Well. That makes sense as well," I cleared my throat. 17 billion years. That's a long time. "Is it possible that there's anybody else like me?" I said. "Sire," Reliqua bowed. "I'm quite sure there is no human like you." I rubbed my chin. I guess the 'sire' thing wasn't just a slip of the tongue. "I have two questions, Reliqua," I said. "Yes," Reliqua bowed. Still high-strung. Anxious. But willing. "One. You said only human, right? Do any other... beings live that long?" I asked. "I'm sure they do, sire," Reliqua said. "After all, some of my masters... they've been here since the Dawn. And some of their masters as well," he continued, pointing upwards. "That's about how many years ago?" "4.5 billion," Reliqua said. He's very helpful. "Two, then. These 17 billion years... could I just die if a car ran me over?" "That's not how your remaining lifespan works," Reliqua said. "It gets shaved off, minute by minute, based on the actions you choose to take. Sometimes, even exceedingly dangerous thoughts can..." The demon trailed off. He muttered under his breath. "Sire?" "I'm sorry, Reliqua," I said. "It seems I have one more question." He gulped. "Er, sure?" "Can you bring me to Hell? I feel like I'll be able to understand more about my situation." Reliqua stared at me. Awe? Fear? Stupidity? I was well aware of what I said. But come on, 17 billion years. "Hell?" Reliqua coughed. "Hell. Not like you can bring me to heaven, right?" "... No." "Then Hell it is," I said, grabbing Reliqua's wrist. Like grasping a hot sausage off the grill. "Come on. What's the worst that could happen?" Reliqua swallowed. "Probably a hell of a lot of things, sire." --- [Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/mpbko8/to_hell_with_part_2/?) r/dexdrafts	It happened in an instant, the demon shifted to a less ominous and intimidating form to something that I guess you could call "demon business casual". "I cant process this amount, but let me refer you to someone who can let me just . . . " their arm phasing into the nether of Hell. "Here, this incantation can put you in touch with a representative of Hell that is authorized to process this type of claim. Just follow the ritual, its basically the same as you did before, but instead of the small rodent and the ashes of a loved one it should be a small semi sentient animal; like a really smart dog or a half dead baby" "That's it?" I asked " There's nothing else you can do? You aren't even going to try? "Listen, unless you are looking to exchange your womb for eternal beauty or maybe win the lottery, I can't help you. No one at the basic level can. I'm what you might refer to as a 9-5 demon, this kind of thing is WAAAAAAAAY above my paygrade and to be honest, you are kind of nuts. You just learned you have 17 billion years minus, what a few decades, is it really so bad that he left?" a portal opened as they turned. "Do the incantation, don't do the incantation I really don't care. Its 4:57 and its been a long week." "Pathetic." the words left my mouth and I instantly regretted it. It froze, the last straw slammed down as if it were made of lead. "Pathetic." it murmured "Stupid. . . useless. . . incompetent. . . lacks motivation. . . not mid-level material" it continued on, its voice reverberating dully but forcefully inside my skull. The words filled my mind and the air around me, pushing against my chest. The room seemed to lunge forward but nothing moved except the demon, it walked effortlessly. The only thing that changed was the demon its form changing back to the way it had appeared powerful and full of hate, only it kept growing. &#x200B; Its dwarfed me, scrapping its back against the ceiling of my apartment, as it leaned in. Putrid gasses escaped its mouth as it grinned. "What good is 17 billion years if your mind is shattered?" the demon disappeared. A voice giggled "At the tone, the time will be 5:01 pm" &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; This is my first short so please any notes would be helpful.
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	"... 17 billion years?" I asked. "You... don't know?" Reliqua said. His voice and stance had changed dramatically since his first words. Once cocky and self-assured, a prime recreation of terror, he now impishly shifted his weight from foot to foot, barely daring to look at me. "No," I said. I turned my hands back and forth, staring at them. They looked the same. Didn't grow ancient or anything, just because I knew my lifespan now. "I'm only 25. I thought I was at my quarter-life crisis." "Your what?" "Eh," I shrugged. My hands flopped back to my side. "What do I do now, demon?" "What?" Reliqua nervously chittered. "What do you do? You have 17 billion years to live. You will be here after me. I cannot consume your power. Might implode. Into little chunks and pieces. All over your nice bedroom." I looked around my room, then. Typical. Nothing much. Huh. I guess I always thought this room and its contents would outlive me. Especially that stupid crack on the wall besides my bed. Oh, and the pentagon I drew on the ground with pig's blood. Guess it'll fade away before I die. I wonder if Mum will accept that as an excuse. "Reliqua, is it?" I asked. "Yes," he said. Not going to lie--I am enjoying this position of power. I thought I would be the one prostrate on the floor, begging the demon not to kill me. But this? This wasn't so bad. "Can you tell if I'm human?" "Er," Reliqua hemmed. "I... believe so? You look like one. Feel like one. It's why I answered the call in the first place. It's why I see your life. If it wasn't a human, I wouldn't be here. But your life force..." "Do you have any idea why, Reliqua?" "No, sire," he said. An inadvertent slip due to nerves? Or do I have a demon servant now? "I can't help you. I'm... not a great demon." "But I summoned a great demon," I said. "Well," Reliqua scratched his head. "It's just... they tend to not answer? And send us? Not that humans can tell the difference, generally. And they have such pitiful lifespans that I have enough power to grant them what they wish. It's always--" "--Love?" I interrupted. "--Money. It's always money. That's power on this realm, apparently," Reliqua said. "Well. That makes sense as well," I cleared my throat. 17 billion years. That's a long time. "Is it possible that there's anybody else like me?" I said. "Sire," Reliqua bowed. "I'm quite sure there is no human like you." I rubbed my chin. I guess the 'sire' thing wasn't just a slip of the tongue. "I have two questions, Reliqua," I said. "Yes," Reliqua bowed. Still high-strung. Anxious. But willing. "One. You said only human, right? Do any other... beings live that long?" I asked. "I'm sure they do, sire," Reliqua said. "After all, some of my masters... they've been here since the Dawn. And some of their masters as well," he continued, pointing upwards. "That's about how many years ago?" "4.5 billion," Reliqua said. He's very helpful. "Two, then. These 17 billion years... could I just die if a car ran me over?" "That's not how your remaining lifespan works," Reliqua said. "It gets shaved off, minute by minute, based on the actions you choose to take. Sometimes, even exceedingly dangerous thoughts can..." The demon trailed off. He muttered under his breath. "Sire?" "I'm sorry, Reliqua," I said. "It seems I have one more question." He gulped. "Er, sure?" "Can you bring me to Hell? I feel like I'll be able to understand more about my situation." Reliqua stared at me. Awe? Fear? Stupidity? I was well aware of what I said. But come on, 17 billion years. "Hell?" Reliqua coughed. "Hell. Not like you can bring me to heaven, right?" "... No." "Then Hell it is," I said, grabbing Reliqua's wrist. Like grasping a hot sausage off the grill. "Come on. What's the worst that could happen?" Reliqua swallowed. "Probably a hell of a lot of things, sire." --- [Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/mpbko8/to_hell_with_part_2/?) r/dexdrafts	Laying out the 6’x6’ stencil that formed a near-complete circle, I shook the can of spray paint in my hand rapidly before spreading an even coating along void. Waiting patiently as it dried, counting the seconds off in my head, I then moved the stencil clockwise several inches and covered the two areas that had had overlaps of cardboard. Once my canvas was complete, I started the painting, as it were, the thick Sharpie in my hand sliding elegantly across the marble flooring of the mausoleum. This kind of manual work was something I hadn’t done for ages, but it came back like riding a bike. Years practicing calligraphy for sigils was something you never forgot. With the last sigil in place, I slid my pocketknife gently across the back of my arm and dripped the blood into the circle, folding the knife one-handed and tucking it away. The words came to my lips like I’d been born to say them, the language smooth and flowing, and yet something in me recoiled against it, of course. Because of what I was calling. The circle became awash with smoke before it whirled away into nothing, leaving behind a young man. He stood, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a dark blue shirt, staring at me with a small smile that held promise of many dangerous things. “You rang?” “I did,” I said softly. “To make a deal.” The demon’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t waste any time, do you? No foreplay?” “Haven’t the patience for it,” I replied. He pouted. “No fun. Seems like you’re old hat at this. How many years have you traded away already?” “Not quite accurate,” I said. Admittedly, I was enjoying the way he was looking at me. Something behind his eyes that showed he knew I wasn’t the average human looking to make a deal. Not the typical foolish mortal gambling with eternity. And he didn’t like it. In these situations, the demons were usually at the reins, steering the conversation and the tone, and that wasn’t the case here. It bothered him. “Well then, what do you want?” he finally asked, looking exasperated at this point. “Some serious power,” I answered. “Why don’t you see what I have to offer? What could my remaining lifespan get me?” Shrugging, the demon’s eyes flickered black and he stared into my eyes. Then, bit by bit his eyes widened and his face went slack, alarm visible in his expression, and then terror, prompting him to stumble back until he hit the invisible cage of the circle. His eyes shifted back to their normal human appearance as he blinked rapidly to dispel what he was looking at. “Seventeen…billion years…I can’t…handle that amount,” he managed, his snarky instincts coming through despite what he’d just seen. I just let my smile widen a smidge, let the moment linger. He swallowed. “What are you?” “Who is the better question,” I said softly, taking a few steps forward until I was an inch from the barrier of the circle. His lips twitched in wariness as he continued to stare. “Fancy a guess, Forneus?” At his name, he flinched as if slapped, real fear in his eyes now. “I don’t…” He stared guardedly. “Michael?” he whispered. I tilted my head forward an inch. “In the flesh.” I cocked my head. “So to speak.” The demon shifted his weight, looking around as if for an exit, and I could almost see his skin crawling, his muscles tensing to run even when there was no escape to be found. “Why me?” “Why not?” I shrugged. “I suppose you’re well placed for what we need.” “What you need?” he snapped, rage finally coming to the surface. “I’m a demon, not a hooker, and I-” He stopped, realizing, and I gave him credit for that. “We?” “Lucifer is making moves on the chessboard,” I explained. “He needs to be put in his place.” Fresh horror appeared on Forneus’s face. “Do you think I’m insane?” “This comes straight from the top,” I said slowly. “So, back to our original conversation. Back to basics. How much do need to get this done?” Comprehension bloomed on his face and, despite himself, his eyes turned black again as his instincts scented prey. He wasn’t greedy though, I knew that much about him, and he wasn’t foolish. He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with a number, or even a follow up inquiry. He took a breath. “What exactly will I need to do?” &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror.	"Se-sev-seventeen billion years?" The demon gawked at me, fiery tendrils flicking out from its foul mouth with every breath. "I...I can't handle that amount." I swept a stray hair out of my face and offered the demon a non-nonchalant shrug. "I don't see how that's my problem, Yxera." I held up the contract, my name signed in blood beside the glowing sigil of the demon. "You offered terms. I accepted them." Yxera snarled, "This is not as it should be, Human. You draw from a well too deep for a mortal." I yanked open the drawer of the desk beside me and pulled out a folio. I reached inside and then thumped a stack of papers on the desktop in front of the demon. "It's really not my fault your kind don't take the time to document out fringe contingencies." I rifled through the stack and then held up one of the papers, examining it briefly before flipping it around to show the demon. Molten eyes narrowed and then Yxera hissed. "Treachery! Deception!" I blinked, "Excuse me?" I then held up Yxera's contract. "You show me where I says I can't cross-collateralize a longevity grant against my obligation." I shook the paper at him. "You point out the words. I'll wait." The demon snarled, "The grant is for all of your remaining years, not for years that have been given to you by another." He shook a claw in the direction of the second contract now. "Such a thing is forbidden." "Forbidden? Forbidden by what? There's no implied covenant in hellbinds. What's written is what is intended." I held the document up in front of my face, pushing my spectacles slightly up my nose as I began to read out. "The Sworn hereby grants the remaining years within their possession on condition--" "I know what it says!" I slightly lowered the contract, letting my eyes meet his, brow raised in skepticism. "Do you? Because it seems to me that you're having a bit of trouble understanding. The grant says within my possession, not as a component of my original lifeline. I can't be blamed for your slipshod language. If you weren't competent enough to negotiate the language, then you should have retained counsel." "I have entered into a thousand thousand contracts with countless lost souls--" I broke into a broad smile, "See? You did know what you were doing then. Enjoy the seventeen billion years. Just be forewarned that the years don't have a secondary grant of vitality in them, so you'll be quite miserable for the final sixteen billion, nine-hundred and ninety-nine million, nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand years or so." I shrugged, "Give or take." "I refuse to accept." Genuine mirth shone on my face now, the laughter rolling up from deep within me. After so many interactions with the hellspawn, it still surprised me how much I genuinely enjoyed this. My cousin Constantine could spend his nights stomping about the city throwing holy water all over, this was far more entertaining. "Am I to understand you are refusing to deliver upon the terms as agreed?" The demon folded its arms. "Then shall I summon an Arbiter as is required?" Now Yxera seemed much less certain. The flame in its eyes dimmed some. "That will not be required..." It exhaled deeply now, "But I cannot take these years. My body cannot sustain it. It...it is beyond me." I nodded knowingly. "Yes, it is quite a predicament. Damned if you do and damned if you don't." I couldn't help but giggle slightly at that. Damnation puns were something of a specialty of mine. Yxera grimaced. Whether from the pun or the implications, I couldn't say and I couldn't really pretend to care either. I put on a soothing tone. "Well, don't worry. I think we can manage a compromise." I reached back into the drawer and pulled out another contract. One that had been drafted in preparation for precisely this moment. "Seeing as you cannot abide by the contract and you also cannot refuse it, perhaps I may offer an alternative?" The demon looked at me warily, its eyes darting to the contract and then back to my serene face. "What...what do you want?" I shrugged, "Oh, nothing much. A few odds and ends. Mere trinkets, really." "I will give you want you want if you release me from the contract." I placed the contract down in front the demon. It lurched forward, eager to examine its contents. "I do hope you will. I would so very much hate to see our fledgling business relationship come to so abrupt an end." I sighed in mock sadness, "Especially after the sad loss of all of my other partners." Yxera scrambled back from the document, skittering across the floor and pushing its back against the wall, holding its claws up in a warding sign. "I...I cannot agree to that..." I smiled, "Yes you can, Yxera. You just don't want to." "This will place me against both sides...it will...I will..." "Shhhh, it's not so bad, my new friend." Yxera looked about frantically, trying to escape. But there could be no leaving the room without performing the agreement. The demon was trapped. Finally, it cowered down, its wings folding in on itself. "What do you want with these things?" "Why, Yxera, you surprise me. I thought that would be obvious." "You cannot kill them. They are above us. Him and he. They are beyond..." "So we all believe, but let me ask you this: has anyone ever tried?" The demon was silent. Platypus OUT. Want MOAR peril? r/PerilousPlatypus	Laying out the 6’x6’ stencil that formed a near-complete circle, I shook the can of spray paint in my hand rapidly before spreading an even coating along void. Waiting patiently as it dried, counting the seconds off in my head, I then moved the stencil clockwise several inches and covered the two areas that had had overlaps of cardboard. Once my canvas was complete, I started the painting, as it were, the thick Sharpie in my hand sliding elegantly across the marble flooring of the mausoleum. This kind of manual work was something I hadn’t done for ages, but it came back like riding a bike. Years practicing calligraphy for sigils was something you never forgot. With the last sigil in place, I slid my pocketknife gently across the back of my arm and dripped the blood into the circle, folding the knife one-handed and tucking it away. The words came to my lips like I’d been born to say them, the language smooth and flowing, and yet something in me recoiled against it, of course. Because of what I was calling. The circle became awash with smoke before it whirled away into nothing, leaving behind a young man. He stood, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a dark blue shirt, staring at me with a small smile that held promise of many dangerous things. “You rang?” “I did,” I said softly. “To make a deal.” The demon’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t waste any time, do you? No foreplay?” “Haven’t the patience for it,” I replied. He pouted. “No fun. Seems like you’re old hat at this. How many years have you traded away already?” “Not quite accurate,” I said. Admittedly, I was enjoying the way he was looking at me. Something behind his eyes that showed he knew I wasn’t the average human looking to make a deal. Not the typical foolish mortal gambling with eternity. And he didn’t like it. In these situations, the demons were usually at the reins, steering the conversation and the tone, and that wasn’t the case here. It bothered him. “Well then, what do you want?” he finally asked, looking exasperated at this point. “Some serious power,” I answered. “Why don’t you see what I have to offer? What could my remaining lifespan get me?” Shrugging, the demon’s eyes flickered black and he stared into my eyes. Then, bit by bit his eyes widened and his face went slack, alarm visible in his expression, and then terror, prompting him to stumble back until he hit the invisible cage of the circle. His eyes shifted back to their normal human appearance as he blinked rapidly to dispel what he was looking at. “Seventeen…billion years…I can’t…handle that amount,” he managed, his snarky instincts coming through despite what he’d just seen. I just let my smile widen a smidge, let the moment linger. He swallowed. “What are you?” “Who is the better question,” I said softly, taking a few steps forward until I was an inch from the barrier of the circle. His lips twitched in wariness as he continued to stare. “Fancy a guess, Forneus?” At his name, he flinched as if slapped, real fear in his eyes now. “I don’t…” He stared guardedly. “Michael?” he whispered. I tilted my head forward an inch. “In the flesh.” I cocked my head. “So to speak.” The demon shifted his weight, looking around as if for an exit, and I could almost see his skin crawling, his muscles tensing to run even when there was no escape to be found. “Why me?” “Why not?” I shrugged. “I suppose you’re well placed for what we need.” “What you need?” he snapped, rage finally coming to the surface. “I’m a demon, not a hooker, and I-” He stopped, realizing, and I gave him credit for that. “We?” “Lucifer is making moves on the chessboard,” I explained. “He needs to be put in his place.” Fresh horror appeared on Forneus’s face. “Do you think I’m insane?” “This comes straight from the top,” I said slowly. “So, back to our original conversation. Back to basics. How much do need to get this done?” Comprehension bloomed on his face and, despite himself, his eyes turned black again as his instincts scented prey. He wasn’t greedy though, I knew that much about him, and he wasn’t foolish. He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with a number, or even a follow up inquiry. He took a breath. “What exactly will I need to do?” &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren
[WP] Every time you successfully get rid of the monster in the closet, there's always another monster to take its place. One day, you decide to investigate once and for all where all these monsters are coming from.	“Go on, get out of here.” I lifted the cup from the old birthday card, breaking the seal and letting the twenty-legged abomination out. I shut and locked the front door as quickly as possible and watched through the window panes as the creature scuttled off my wooden steps and out into the darkness. Shivering from both the cold midnight air and my disgust, I turned the porchlight off and hurried back upstairs. I found my bedroom exactly as I had left it—in pure disarray. Though smaller than the usual beasties that escaped from my closet, this last one had caused the most damage. I rubbed at my tired eyes and picked up the comforter I’d thrown off of myself and nearly twisted my ankle on mere minutes before. The glass I’d used to trap the creature had once been half-filled with water, but it had fallen from my bedside table in the struggle and spilled on the ugly brown carpet. It would dry by the morning, but my underwear drawer wouldn’t pick itself up. Setting my comforter back on my mattress, I crouched down by the drawer and a horrifying thought popped into my head. What if that thing had left eggs behind? Grimacing, I started to inspect every sock, bra, and undergarment in the light from my ceiling lamp. Minutes later, I was happy to report that tonight’s monster hadn’t dropped any spawn in my unmentionables when it tried to hide from the underside of my slipper. With a groan, I lifted the drawer and put it back into place. I put my hands on my sore back, massaging where it hurt the most. I was just about to find the light switch when I saw it. A new Thing. The closet door was ajar. One gray horn was sticking out under the doorknob, as well as a cloven hoof on my ugly carpet. The horn poked out a little more and I caught a glance at a beady eye staring at me. The monster froze, then retreated swiftly back into my closet. “Oh no, you don’t,” I grumbled, darting to the door. “I have had enough of this shit!” I grabbed the wood and thrust it open, seeing the creature struggling, its horns stuck in the loose-knit cardigan my grandmother had made for me. When it laid eyes on me, the monster started squealing an awful, high-pitched noise. For once I was relieved that I lived by myself in the middle of the woods. How the hell would I explain this situation to someone if they came running to help me? Still, the sound was agony on my ears, and I needed to make it stop. “Quit it!” I hissed. I knelt down and grabbed the monster by what appeared to be its shoulders. It continued squealing until I shook it hard, then it ceased moving, save for its shallow breathing. Even in the darkness of my closet, I could see that whatever this thing was, it was terrified—way more than I was the first time this started happening. “I’ll make a deal with you,” I said to the hideous bipedal goat-like thing staring up at me. “I’ll free you, but—” The monster started struggling again, trying to squirm its way out of my grasp. It opened the mouth at the end of its snout to squeal, but I shook it even harder. “But you have to take me to wherever the fuck you come from. Do you understand me?” The monster nodded, the motion of its horns knocking my sweater off of its hook. The thing before me stood still and allowed me to tug the unraveling yarn from its horn, and when I lifted the cardigan off of its head, the way it stared up at me was almost…cute? No. It wasn’t cute. It was vermin. Just like the rest of them. Behind the monster, I could see a hole in the wallpaper of my closet. That was always there, but it didn’t have that blue glowing vortex behind it in the daytime. The creature in front of me followed my eyeline and jabbed one of its horns toward the vortex. It got on all fours and passed through it, disappearing from my sight. With a gulp, I leaned forward onto my hands and crawled after the thing. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the corporate-looking hallway I found myself in. I got to my feet, the tile floor cold against my bare skin. I turned to see where I had come out of and saw that it been a small metal door, not a hole in wall left by water damage. Up above the door was a nameplate. With my name on it. “…The hell is this?” I muttered to myself. I wheeled around, remembering the beastie that had shepherded me through. It was standing there, staring at me with its horned head cocked. Then it turned and started walking briskly down the hallway. “Where are you going?” I asked. The monster didn’t reply, so I started to follow it. All the way down the hallway were posters, ones that looked remarkably like the missing persons ones found on lampposts and milk cartons. I couldn’t make out the twisted letters, but I could see the pictures. The oozing ghoul from three months ago, the blue puff of smoke I once fanned out of my bathroom window, and the banshee who screamed in my face one cold winter morning, amongst many others I’d encountered since I moved into my house in the woods. “Hey, what is this place?” I called out to the goat-thing. That was when it started running. “Hey! Come back!” I hollered. It had been a long time since I’d run track in high school, and it was showing. I huffed and puffed, my lungs aching as I breathed in the cold air of the hallway. My heart hammered as I followed the monster around a corner and down another empty hall. But as soon as my second wind hit me, I powered through and leapt forward, grabbing the horned creature by its bottom hooves and bringing it squealing to the ground with me. “What the hell is going on?” I shouted. “Answer me!” Instead of the goat-thing answering, every single door in the hallway opened but one. Out poured other monsters, all wearing fancy suits and making me feel even more ridiculous in my plaid shorts and old sweatshirt. I let go of the monster, not watching as it scrambled away and hid behind what looked like a large slug. My eyes were locked on the tall specter staring down at me from behind his smoky glasses. “Excuse me, miss, but you are disturbing our work,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Uh, I, um,” I spluttered, rushing clumsily to my feet. My body ached from my fall onto the tiles, but I could put some frozen peas on my bumps when I got back home. “What is your business here, human?” the ghost interrupted. “Make it quick, we are very busy.” Peering through his misty body, I could see another nameplate by his door. This one said, GRADY CAULFIELD, CEO. “M-My apologies,” I stammered. “It’s just that your…employees…?” Grady nodded curtly. “Um, your employees have been terrorizing me for the past six months and I’m tired of it,” I said breathlessly. “I don’t understand what this business is supposed to be, and frankly, I couldn’t care less.” “Out with it,” Grady barked. “Right,” I said, blushing. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could call your people off and leave me alone.” “You come from the Victorian on Sandy Pond, correct?” “Yep.” (continued in reply)	Every day, every single damn day they come, I'm so tired of them, whether it be those pesky shadows, hideous hydras, or even those weird gladiator golem things, they're always coming. I don't even know how they fit through my closet, but somehow they do. the only good thing about all this is that they're easy to kill and I get experience points. Let me give you a bit of information about those. In this world there are the traders, the buyers, the dungeoneers, the soldiers, and the monarch. The dungeoneers kill monsters, creatures, and the like, and they get experience points from the things they kill. The more you kill the more points you get. The traders have a bunch of stuff to trade with the dungeoneers along with items and goods to sell to the buyers, who, since they don't have the ability to kill, buy things with money they earn from working, either as soldiers, or doing other everyday jobs. The soldiers, like I said before, are either the buyers, or they're dungeoneers who can no longer do dungeons. The Monarch is the one in charge of everything else, taxes and that stuff. Because I have these monsters coming out of my closet, I don't ever need to go to the dungeons, even though I'm licensed as a dungeoneer. Though its convenient, I'm getting tired of it, I want to go back into the dungeons, but if I don't kill these monsters, their just going to overflow my house, and I don't want that. I'm not sure where they're coming from, but it seems like they're coming from the dungeons. After all my closet is attached to them, for easy access. I think I'm gonna block up that entranceway so they stop coming into my closet. \--------------------------------------- This is my first comment on here, any advice or constructive criticism would be welcome
[WP] A story where you tell us the main character dies at the end but then proceed to still surprise the reader with that characters death.	Jessica died today. Perhaps not the ideal place to begin a story, but I thought it only fair to prepare you now. Don’t be alarmed when it happens, don’t fail to turn the page. She dies today wether you read it or not, better then to finish the story lest she die in vain. It was a crisp autumn morning, a chill bit at her nose as she jogged down the busy main road. Her phone jostled in her pocket with every footfall, music traveling the length of her headphones to play softly in her ear. With an ease that comes only with time she deftly wove herself around the pedestrian traffic, careful to avoid the busybodies on their way to dead end jobs. It was down to a routine now, leaving her on autopilot as she maneuvered. So lost in thought was Jessica that she hadn’t time to realize the intersection she quickly approached was warning her not to cross. The little red man flashed angrily at her, but the athletic woman paid no heed to its stern beeps. She made it one, two, three steps out into the empty crosswalk. The oncoming bus did everything it could to avoid Jessica, and so it veered into the lane beside it and barreled past the startled woman. A few angry shouts and some unhappy horns later, the mildly embarrassed jogger stood back on the sidewalk, patiently waiting for the little red man to grant her safe passage. If the ground had opened up and swallowed her whole, Jessica thinks that would be quite alright. And that’s how Jessica died. Well, died of embarrassment. Suppose I should have mentioned I can be a bit melodramatic.	In which Ambrose dies Ambrose was a great leader, he lead his army to destroy the tyrannical Wyvern Kingdom, and did good deeds for his people. But all good things must come to an end, for the remaining kingdoms lied to their subjects, they sent innocent warriors to kill him, they even forced the Oracles to prophesize Ambrose’s death. Until a young hero by the name of Ernest joined him, and for years they ruled peacefully. And Ambrose was bedridden with an unknown disease, he asked his trusted friend to finally end it, to fulfill the long-awaited prophecy, to slay the evil villain. And that Ernest did. Author’s note: a broader look on things for another prompt i did
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	They didn't even see what happened. One moment Asiyah had been laughing along with the others. The next, she was collapsed on the floor, the faint glow of her skin fading and her eyes turning black. A pool of yellow liquid grew beneath her, flowing from the cut in her neck. For the gathered Heavenly Beings who could tear their eyes away from this... violation of reality, the sight that greeted them was almost worse. A young looking man, fairly tall, blonde, with pale skin that almost clashed with the black coat he was wearing. The expression on his face was that of vague disappointment. It felt like an eternity passed in silence as Asiyah bled on the floor. "How...?" No one knew who broke the suffocating quiet. And all the stranger did was sigh in response. "That is disappointing." He mused, staring at the now-cold body. His low, whispery voice was deep, rough, worn even. He lifted up one hand. Between his fingers, a stream of black vapour slid into existence before condensing into an object. No one made a move. It was as if he had struck them all down in one fell swoop, rather than just murder Asiyah. Even as the object he summoned was revealed to be nothing more than a long, rather ornate looking smoking pipe, no one could bring themselves to move as he took a drag. "I assume this is your first brush with death?" he asked, red smoke coming forth from his lips. "Monster." He looked up just in time to see Briah fly towards him, metal wings outstretched, ready to cleave him in two. As the room's hearts and spirits lifted, so did his foot. And as it came crashing down, mulching Briah's head like it was just some fruit, so did those lifted hearts and spirits. "Indeed, I am a monster." He continued. "Yet why should you condemn me as one? We're practically the same. Look." The room did look, and the only ones to turn away were the ones that couldn't help but to throw up. Briah... her skin was turning black and... "We're the same!" He repeated, even as Briah's body was slowly defiled. "Do you not devour those weaker than you to claim even greater strength? Is that not how you cheated Death for all these centuries, 'Heavenly Beings'? After all, is that not the purpose of the weak? To provide you the means of ruling forever?" He took a step forward, the only thing left of Briah now being a pair of now-rusting wings. Her wings were rusting. Her wings couldn't rust, and they were rusting. Someone screamed from the crowd, "What do you want?!" He didn't stop. Another stream of vapour came into his free hand, the handle of a long polearm, even as he said "Something which has been denied. I gave out my Silence, and now I take it's Price." Manifesting at the head of the weapon was a large, curved blade. "You, who are drenched in Sin; contain me within your sight, or rise and face me. I will claim my due all the same. "You shall all meet again as Stars."	The Ceaseless warped and twisted, startled and frightened. One of them stood before them blank-faced, one that was once a figure of innumerable eyes that shifted and swallowed and spilt atoms with a blink, became now a statue of a thousand dead mirrors that stared silently in frozen horror at the End. Wearing a cloak of impossible yet present nothing, its self steps forward toward the cowering once Ceaseless and spoke. “Ah, hello” it said, a voice larger than the largest among them. “I assume you all are new to this death thing?” The beings, now pushed against a wall of infinite space, responded in an unification of hushed and hurried tones. “What... are... you?” The End smiled, happy that there was finally something that could speak back to its self. It grew quiet as it remembered the name it was given to describe something so indescribable yet possible “This”, it spoke while gesturing toward its self, “is what the others called the Apocalypse, Judgment Day, Rot, Crunch. Lifting its cloak, the face now of the innumerable eyes of the first Ceased spoke again for the last time to the now Dead before its self “But you all will be unknown as Nevermore, forgotten and fallen” The End began, the eyes blinked, the Dead shrieked, and they were Nevermore.
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	They didn't even see what happened. One moment Asiyah had been laughing along with the others. The next, she was collapsed on the floor, the faint glow of her skin fading and her eyes turning black. A pool of yellow liquid grew beneath her, flowing from the cut in her neck. For the gathered Heavenly Beings who could tear their eyes away from this... violation of reality, the sight that greeted them was almost worse. A young looking man, fairly tall, blonde, with pale skin that almost clashed with the black coat he was wearing. The expression on his face was that of vague disappointment. It felt like an eternity passed in silence as Asiyah bled on the floor. "How...?" No one knew who broke the suffocating quiet. And all the stranger did was sigh in response. "That is disappointing." He mused, staring at the now-cold body. His low, whispery voice was deep, rough, worn even. He lifted up one hand. Between his fingers, a stream of black vapour slid into existence before condensing into an object. No one made a move. It was as if he had struck them all down in one fell swoop, rather than just murder Asiyah. Even as the object he summoned was revealed to be nothing more than a long, rather ornate looking smoking pipe, no one could bring themselves to move as he took a drag. "I assume this is your first brush with death?" he asked, red smoke coming forth from his lips. "Monster." He looked up just in time to see Briah fly towards him, metal wings outstretched, ready to cleave him in two. As the room's hearts and spirits lifted, so did his foot. And as it came crashing down, mulching Briah's head like it was just some fruit, so did those lifted hearts and spirits. "Indeed, I am a monster." He continued. "Yet why should you condemn me as one? We're practically the same. Look." The room did look, and the only ones to turn away were the ones that couldn't help but to throw up. Briah... her skin was turning black and... "We're the same!" He repeated, even as Briah's body was slowly defiled. "Do you not devour those weaker than you to claim even greater strength? Is that not how you cheated Death for all these centuries, 'Heavenly Beings'? After all, is that not the purpose of the weak? To provide you the means of ruling forever?" He took a step forward, the only thing left of Briah now being a pair of now-rusting wings. Her wings were rusting. Her wings couldn't rust, and they were rusting. Someone screamed from the crowd, "What do you want?!" He didn't stop. Another stream of vapour came into his free hand, the handle of a long polearm, even as he said "Something which has been denied. I gave out my Silence, and now I take it's Price." Manifesting at the head of the weapon was a large, curved blade. "You, who are drenched in Sin; contain me within your sight, or rise and face me. I will claim my due all the same. "You shall all meet again as Stars."	When the three celestials descended upon this world, they were overjoyed. Overjoyed to see their creation rise and flourish. They saw art, they saw emotions. Beauty was everywhere, the morals and the innate capacity to do good were inexplicable to even these gods and goddesses. They were content to simply admire and learn, humble beings as they were. The ingenuity of the humans was unparallel, they awaited the far-off day when humanity would eventually rise up to stand by their side. Not as subservient, but as equals. Humans were after all, ambitious beyond compare. They first came to the Watcher of the Oceans. She was delighted! An opportunity to share knowledge about herself. Why, she would never give this away! A golden opportunity to further guide these beautiful people? Her resources were invaluable in creating the grand library of Itlen, rumoured to have a record of everything in existence. The scenery was beautiful in itself. The palace of crystal, made by loyal humans for their patron goddess. Perfect in shape, a culmination of knowledge surpassing anything in existence under its bright and tall walls, ironically open to anyone in pursuit of knowledge. Yet it was here that the goddess fell, surrounded by the bodies of thousands of her loyal believers. None of which were armed. For what does a pure being know, of treachery? Of deceit and false promises? Of suspecting an army to make a cursed weapon? One cruel enough to break her heart? The temple of the Earth was magnificent in its own right. The Protector of the Wild had taken the mission on him to ensure that a human would never suppress another, be it an animal or a plant. Showing humans the way of cultivation so that none would ever go hungry, even without the aid of any celestial in the future. For this would be a less noticeable yet highly important step in their ascendance. They would learn lessons, of sacrifice and integrity. Of wisdom to plant crops and clear fields and resolve to grow forests which their generation would never bear the fruit of. Of caution to sense that something unnatural happened. Just like a house would feel, when one of its three beams break. Perhaps his followers were the readiest, sharpening their weapons and saving their stores. It just made things bloodier. He fell with astonishment, that such an unholy weapon would be the cause of his defeat. Yet he had already commanded, nay- requested a loyal group to warn the last sibling. And warn they did. The Wanderer of the World had no temple or fortress. He had but a moving mountain to his name. Already fearing the worst, his fears were confirmed by the loyal regiment. Being the youngest of The Three, he was the most susceptible to emotions. His followers were shocked. They expected him to show anger or revenge. An emotion unworthy of a celestial. Possibly something even darker. Yet all he did was stand in grief. His tears ran for time unknown, until those loyal couldn't bear to see such suffering on their beloved. When he came to, his eyes looked.. hollow. Without a word, he raised his arms. Before any cruel army could reach, they were all whisked away to a different world. &#x200B; \################################################################### "Ah, Good morning everyone! We are pleased to announce our latest breakthrough for creating customizable planet civilisations. Now, not only can your kid make a world evolve a billion times fast, but they will also be able to create any history stories which the population will believe! Buy a RecordT globe and get two mini-planets free!"
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	They didn't even see what happened. One moment Asiyah had been laughing along with the others. The next, she was collapsed on the floor, the faint glow of her skin fading and her eyes turning black. A pool of yellow liquid grew beneath her, flowing from the cut in her neck. For the gathered Heavenly Beings who could tear their eyes away from this... violation of reality, the sight that greeted them was almost worse. A young looking man, fairly tall, blonde, with pale skin that almost clashed with the black coat he was wearing. The expression on his face was that of vague disappointment. It felt like an eternity passed in silence as Asiyah bled on the floor. "How...?" No one knew who broke the suffocating quiet. And all the stranger did was sigh in response. "That is disappointing." He mused, staring at the now-cold body. His low, whispery voice was deep, rough, worn even. He lifted up one hand. Between his fingers, a stream of black vapour slid into existence before condensing into an object. No one made a move. It was as if he had struck them all down in one fell swoop, rather than just murder Asiyah. Even as the object he summoned was revealed to be nothing more than a long, rather ornate looking smoking pipe, no one could bring themselves to move as he took a drag. "I assume this is your first brush with death?" he asked, red smoke coming forth from his lips. "Monster." He looked up just in time to see Briah fly towards him, metal wings outstretched, ready to cleave him in two. As the room's hearts and spirits lifted, so did his foot. And as it came crashing down, mulching Briah's head like it was just some fruit, so did those lifted hearts and spirits. "Indeed, I am a monster." He continued. "Yet why should you condemn me as one? We're practically the same. Look." The room did look, and the only ones to turn away were the ones that couldn't help but to throw up. Briah... her skin was turning black and... "We're the same!" He repeated, even as Briah's body was slowly defiled. "Do you not devour those weaker than you to claim even greater strength? Is that not how you cheated Death for all these centuries, 'Heavenly Beings'? After all, is that not the purpose of the weak? To provide you the means of ruling forever?" He took a step forward, the only thing left of Briah now being a pair of now-rusting wings. Her wings were rusting. Her wings couldn't rust, and they were rusting. Someone screamed from the crowd, "What do you want?!" He didn't stop. Another stream of vapour came into his free hand, the handle of a long polearm, even as he said "Something which has been denied. I gave out my Silence, and now I take it's Price." Manifesting at the head of the weapon was a large, curved blade. "You, who are drenched in Sin; contain me within your sight, or rise and face me. I will claim my due all the same. "You shall all meet again as Stars."	His black robes swayed as he glided, circling the three angels. Watching the black mist left in his wake, soon a thick fog began to materialize. The entity's heavy breathing became all the more apparent as he slithered closer, inch by inch constricting until the three angel's backs were pinned against each other. "Perhaps you are mistaken." A quiet squeak quibbles. "We have no qualms with the realm of death." "Long have we submitted", the creature snarled, pausing to look at it's prey. "The heavens have incurred deaths wrath, and we demand payment in blood." The creature striked fast, and the first angel could barely let out a whimper before the dark tendril coiled around it, crushing her in a matter of seconds, the warm light of her wings snuffed out by the pressing dark. The other two flew high, hoping for some respite from their obscured vision. But the black mist reached far, and they shot their bows into the darkness below in blind desperation. As each glowing arrow faded into nothing, it only served to make fighting the shadows feel even more hopeless. The cloud of black contorted and twisted, and the faint sound of soft bones crunching were quickly drowned out by the dissipating of the twister, melting into warm light once again. The king was seated upon his throne, the horrors that just unfolded in his gilded halls causing his servants to rush around in mania and panic. "We're all going to die!" One clothesmaid screamed dramatically as she practically tumbled down the stairs, fracturing her bones in the process. Others ripped down the banners lined with gold silk, hoping that in chaos morality would matter not, hoarding the riches they could. The few that remained shook at the King's feet, his towering presence bringing them misguided comfort that he could right the wrongs. They thought their prayers answered, and as quickly the storm took the lives of three innocent angels, the three appeared in a bright flash, unharmed but understandably shaken. The angels grovelled at the King's feet, praising him and urging he mount a retaliation against death for such transgressions. It didn't occur to them he'd never before been able to bring back those from the dead. It didn't matter, all would be well as always in the realm of heaven, as the king reigned. Yet had they the courage to meet his eye, they might have noticed a rather odd expression of disappointment...
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	Ezekiel was the oldest of us by far. Born about a thousand years after the death of Christ, he’d first lived a life with a wife and children, I knew. He’d told me this when we’d first met centuries ago, calling it a mistake, but one he would make again in those early years if he’d known what was coming. He had not been a wealthy man, and neither had the generations after him, and his line ended within a few hundred years. He only knew that with modern research and he called the fact a blessing. He’d called death a blessing once too. He’d occasionally wax poetic about the nature of life and death, and how we were caught between in a perpetual state separate from the rest of mankind. Over the years, I’d seen him grow warmer, just the slightest bit, and only noticeable in retrospect after countless years. That’s what having company did for him, I think, once he’d found others like him. Death was no longer a blessing, though. Because I stared it in the face now, literally. We stared in horror. We were immortal. Invincible. But one of our own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from his eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered our midst. “Ah, hello,” it said, “I assume you all are new to this death thing?” We’d been in the middle of dinner, Gratiana to my right and Ruvin to my left. And now we were all on our feet, each with a knife in our hand from our cutlery, guided by instinct, but I felt deep in my soul that there was no logic to it. To attack this being would be futile. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my knife slid right through where its heart should be and my arm came out the other side. But my gaze went from the being back to Ezekiel, suddenly slumped in the heavy wooden chair. His eyes were staggeringly empty, and the sight brought tears to mine amid the shock that coated my skin in a ripple of goosebumps. I wish I could have said I knew it was a nightmare, but after centuries of dreams of all sorts, I knew how to tell reality from fantasy. Ezekiel was dead. “Why?” I was the first to find my voice, the word rasping against my throat as I forced my eyes back to the being. “Why him? Why now?” “In order, because it needed to happen, because he was the eldest, and because of a change in regime.” “Regime?” Gratiana snapped. “What does that mean?” “You are all human, you know,” it said, tilting its head ten degrees to the right. It paused as we absorbed that. “I’m sure you’ve wondered over the years what kind of break in your DNA resulted in something so unbelievable, or what you would find if you went to scientists way smarter than you four put together. I have no idea why they just set you up and left you to your own devices. Maybe for entertainment value. But you’re just human. It’s just that you’re…permanent. That’s the best way to explain it to your feeble minds.” I tried to take offense to the idea that I was in the presence of someone more intelligent than me, considering my hundreds of years of accumulated knowledge. That was the only thing that could keep an immortal mind occupied, learning new things, and all of us perpetually furthered our education. But I found myself believing it when it told us we had feeble minds in comparison to its own. “Then can you also explain to our feeble minds why my friend is…dead?” Gratiana said, whispering the last word. “It was his time,” the being explained. “The old regime played with the toys on Earth far too often, and a human reaching the age of one in the Christian bible? Ridiculous.” It shook its head, the half-opaque form it took spreading and evaporating at the edges like smoke from a cigarette at the movement. “No, no, it was past time for a change.” “And you’re that change?” Ruvin finally spoke. “Let’s put it this way: Death is dead. Long live Death,” it said with a shadow of a smile. The smile faded. “What good is life if it’s permanent? It has no value, no purpose, no delicacy. You all live your lives knowing tomorrow will come, and what has it got you? A life with no end in sight is like a road with no destination. The journey is important, sure, but you need a destination. Otherwise, you’re above the rest.” Its expression turned severe. “And as I said, you’re only human.” “Will you be disposing of us next?” I asked curtly. It smiled widely at this. “Disposing. Good word choice, that. No. But you’re now just as human as the people you’ll walk by on the street tomorrow. You don’t feel any different, but you slice your hand now, it won’t heal, and you take a bullet in the head now, you will die,” it told us matter-of-factly. “And I hate to break it to you, but this is the least of my problems. I have an unreasonably long list to go through in my new position. But there isn’t much more I can do for you all anyway. My job here is done.” At that, it did pause to take a final glance around at our faces. “I look forward to learning about the rest of your comparably short lives. And I’ll see you soon. Well. Hopefully not too soon.” It vanished in a blur of dissipating smoke, evaporating before our eyes, leaving us in silence. We stood there for a good long while, taking it all in, taking in Ezekiel, taking in what we just learned. “This happened too fast,” Ruvin muttered, tossing his knife onto the table. I breathed out a shadow of a laugh. “Says the man centuries old.” I shook my head, moving half a step backwards and falling back into my chair, twirling the knife in my right hand rhythmically. “No, we have nothing to complain about. Absolutely no right to complain, given how long we’ve had.” “What was that supposed to mean, regime?” Gratiana asked, still holding her knife tightly in her grip. “God or gods?” I said with a shrug. “We’re measly humans, apparently.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating to finally know that.” “Can we believe that creature, though?” Gratiana asked. At that, I barked out a laugh. “It killed Ezekiel. How exactly would you propose we counter that argument?” She had no reply. We lapsed into silence before I again looked back to Ezekiel. “He called his family a mistake once,” I said quietly. “We’ve lived like ghosts in a world that moves on without us, like we’re fixtures on a wall.” I then glanced up to the only two people remaining in the world that I called friends. “If Ezekiel were still here, he wouldn’t say that he was sentenced to death. And he’d say the three of us were gifted life. A real life.” At that, I stabbed my knife into the wooden table, flicking it with my finger and letting it wobble as I stared at it. “Question is, what will we do with it?” &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren	# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc 1, Interlude 4: Tamulu) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections; however, there are references to other stories which I've linked in the text. For continuity purposes, I gender-swapped the cat to be male.) Every citizen of the Unified Sovereignties grew up hearing tales of their literal guardian angels: unkillable terrors with too many wings and eyes that had walked this world for millennia, which now answered only to the Federal Bureau of Homeland Defense. For nearly a decade, the Angel Corps had formed the backbone of the military. Over the years, their ranks had been augmented by various superhumans and anomalous beings, but all the entities in the Angel Corps had one thing in common. They were peerless avatars of power and destruction. And not all of them were here by choice. The newest member of the Angel Corps nervously walked into the room, prodded in the back by a gun. She hated the throbbing in her head—a constant reminder of the explosives and electrodes they'd implanted in her skull in order to keep her in line. But accepting this job was the only way she'd been able to flee the Middle Communes after their collapse... "Attention!" Archcommander Varney snapped. Reflexively, Min Min jolted upright despite the pain in her head; her handler had made it explicitly clear to her that even the slightest sign of disobedience could result in her higher-ups sending a ten-volt charge through her brain's pain centers—or simply detonating the explosives in her head, killing her outright. Nervously, she scanned the room; its occupants scanned her back, although beneath her dark cloak they couldn't make out much. It was a motely assembly—fifteen of them were the balls of wings and eyes that were the Angel Corp's namesake, while the sixteenth was a man with a wild, unhinged grin. She grimaced as she recognized him—he called himself Big Guns. The angels didn't seem to have a method of standing to attention, given their inhuman biology, and Big Guns didn't seem unduly bothered by the Archcommander's orders, so Min Min was the only one who ended up actually obeying the Archcommander. Five minutes in and she was already the odd one out. This was going to go swimmingly. "Fresh meat?" Big Guns asked, leering at her. "Don't mind if I do." Archcommander Varney gave him an irritated look and pressed a button in his sleeve; Big Guns seized up, his grin becoming rictus, as the wires they'd implanted directly into his brain overcharged his nerves. Still, when Archcommander Varney lifted his thumb, Big Guns looked little worse for the wear. Min Min swallowed. This was what she'd signed up for? Perhaps she should've stayed in her hellhole of a failed state. "Min Min, here, is a refugee from the Middle Communes. Her inclusion in this program is purely experimental; if this goes well, the Angel Corps may swell its ranks with more such persons in the future." Min Min reflexively clenched her jaw; after seeing how the Archcommander treated his troops, she wanted nothing less than the Angel Corps to induct more members. "Min Min. Would you care to demonstrate your abilities?" The Archcommander gestured at an assistant, and she pulled up a cage, within which slept a small, sickly dog. It whuffled pathetically as it looked up at Min Min. She bristled. "Sir, you—you want me to..." "Demonstrate your abilities," the Archcommander repeated, in a harder tone. "Are there any questions?" Min Min scowled. She wasn't going to disintegrate some helpless animal just to make a point. "I—" "Question, Archcommander," a voice said. Both she and the Archcommander paused, turning towards the source of the voice—one of the angels. The Archcommander hesitated, then grudgingly said, "...yes, Angel Tamulu?" "You said you were from the Middle Communes?" Tamulu asked. Min Min nodded slowly. "...I was. Before it collapsed." Tamulu blinked its eyes one by one. "Ah. I see. My condolences." She frowned, confused with the direction the conversation had gone, but willing to entertain it if it meant she could stall for a moment longer. "Forgive me if I sound rude, but... why do you care?" Tamulu's wings drooped slightly. "I... was there, when the Middle Communes fell." A sudden tightness squeezed Min Min's chest. "Were you," she asked, her tone deceptively mild. "I didn't see you helping defend the civilians, or trying to rebuild broken cities in a burnt-out wasteland." Tamulu grimaced. "I... I was playing for the other team, then." Playing for the other team. As if the destruction of her home country was nothing but a game. Min Min clenched her fists, and tendrils of darkness swirled around each one, her body becoming ethereal as she channeled the power of death. "Mm. As I recall, you wanted me to demonstrate my powers?" She asked Archcommander Varney. He nodded towards the dog. "Please do." Min Min smiled sweetly—then lunged towards Tamulu, thrusting both hands out. Tendrils of pure darkness lashed out faster than a frog's tongue, scything through the angel's immortal flesh like a bullet through the skull of Min Min's daughter. Archcommander Varney jerked back, pointing a remote at her and activating the electrodes in her brain; agony screamed through her, as if her entire body had been infested by biting, wriggling worms. She collapsed to the ground, heaving, as the stars began to fade through her eyes, and looked up to see the angel twitching on the ground, its body blackened and twisted by her abilities.
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	The black cloak swirled against the cosmic wind. In his hands held the figure a curved knife, and from the blade dripped golden blood – the ichor that flowed through immortals, falling to the ground, sizzling against the hard stone floor. The gods stood staring at their fallen kinsman, shockingly, wonderingly, unable to fathom what was happening. They had not had time to react, had never seen anything quite as quick as the figure that struck. And yet… not any of them moved. It was a silent standoff, punctuated by the rasping gurgles of Ares, the god of war, as he lay choking in his own blood, and though none of them mentioned it, they could see his spirit, his soul – they could see it leaving his body, stretching out in the thin air of Mount Olympus as the Fates plucked and played with his string, relishing in the final moments of a dying god. The starry sky above them dimmed. Unwillingly, the gods looked up, and there they saw: a great gap between the star-bodies, signalling that order had been turned into chaos. Ares’s last stars flickered like torchlight and, after a few moments, they vanished completely. “Strange, isn’t it?” said a voice. The gods looked down again. The figure was wiping the knife with a cloth. He seemed completely at ease, calm and composed, as though he was just remarking on an observation he had made. When he pulled down his hood, and dared to smile before the Olympians, they finally saw his face: thin and pale, with high cheekbones and a pointed nose. He had no hair; attached to the back of his head was a pipe that travelled and disappeared down his cloak. “The god of war,” continued the figure, gesturing at Ares, “as you can see, is dead. How utterly ironic it is, don’t you think, my friends?” When none of the gods answered, the figure broke into a wide grin and spread his hands. “Right!” he cried. “You’re all new to this, I keep forgetting. Olympians and their cheap immortality – ridiculous!” He laughed, and the gods felt suddenly compelled to join him. His voice was as clear as the rivers that flowed down the mountain, and his laugh was as bright as Apollo’s chariot. “Of course, I really shouldn’t be talking on the job,” he said. “That leads to introductions, and I’d hate to get attached to any of you as I’m picking you off one by one.” One of the gods finally found the courage to speak up. “You dare talk to us in our own throne room?” he thundered, his royal nostrils flaring in anger. Electricity crackled in his grey beard. “You kill my son in front of me, in front of us all, and find it amusing? I will send you to Hades, child.” There was a flash of light, and the throne room rumbled; from the sky, a bolt of energy shot down, into the arms of Zeus, and a moment later he was towering above all the gods, above the assassin, with his lightning bolt pointed and aimed. “It was a mistake for you to come here,” declared Zeus, his divine form at last revealed, looking as any king of the gods would, regal and mighty. “Move, assassin, and I shall show you the true power of an Olympian.” “Power is overrated,” said the assassin, and to the gods’ surprise, he smiled wider still. “What matters, my lord Zeus, is wisdom! And true wisdom is, I’m afraid, what you’re severely lacking – maybe it would have helped to ask your daughter Athena. It is knowing when to pick your fights, when to bow. It is knowing when you’ve angered the higher deities, and knowing that you need to pay the price for it.” “There is no higher deity,” growled Zeus. “There is no one to anger.” The assassin looked mockingly around the throne room. “Have you seen how you’ve been running this sect of the universe?” said the assassin. “Squabbles between you and your wife turn into full-blown wars. The mortals plead and pray, and you send them nothing but plagues and your lightning. I’m surprised my higher-ups haven’t sent me down here sooner.” Zeus had heard enough. He bared his teeth and looked down at the small figure, and for a moment, he thought, this insect will die. Raising his lightning bolt above his head, he bellowed and moved to throw it. He didn’t get the chance. A flick of the assassin’s wrist, and suddenly a force rivalling Aelous’s winds rammed into Zeus; there was a flash, and then thunder, and then, suddenly, Zeus's lightning bolt dissipated and died. The king of the gods fell like a marionette whose strings were cut, and the sound he made when he crashed onto his throne could be heard by gods and mortals all throughout the world. The assassin sighed and massaged his hands. “I was hoping I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “Takes all the fun out of the job. Now…” He turned his gaze on the rest of the thunderstruck Olympians, who were yelling, staring dumbfoundedly at Zeus’s unmoving corpse. The assassin brandished his knife. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his speeding heart. The prospect of killing gods excited him. “I haven’t had a good fight in ages,” said the assassin, smiling. “Don’t disappoint me, Olympians.” The stars above the mountain dimmed even more.	"What death thing??" The tired reaper sighed. "John Greens is no longer alive. He can't talk to you, or stand up, or do anything. His soul is with me." "Well give it back!" "Oh this is gonna be a long day," it muttered under its breath. "I can't give it back." "Why not?" "That's not what I do. I can't-" "What do you do?" "I help souls get to wherever they need to go. Death manages the actual, you know, death." "Who's death?" "I don't know. I've never spoken to it. Never seen it. Not sure you can see it, actually." "Why not?" "You guys have spoken to gods right?" "All of them." "Ah, but you haven't. There are a handful of really, really old gods, like Death, who run the world. And nobody's ever seen any of them. We know they're there - Death's my boss. But we don't know anything else, really." "Wait so you can't speak to them, and you've not seen them do anything. You sure they're not dead?" "death is meaningless to the literal being of Death." "Alright mate, calm down." "Fine. Fine. Do you all understand the whole 'being dead' thing now?" "Yeahyeahyeah sure. Um, quick question, when's Death gonna give John's soul back? - I think it's a bit rude of him to take it actually. " ". . ." "Is it pretty rude right? I wouldn't just steal a toothbrush from you, you know? This Death guy really shouldn't be taking things that aint his." "Death doesn't work like that." "Wh-" "NO. I DON'T KNOW HOW DEATH WORKS." "Woah calm down mate-" "DEATH TAKES PEOPLE'S SOULS. WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT, NONE OF US KNOW. GOT IT?" "How are we s'pposed to 'get it' if nobody knows it?" "JUST 'GET' THAT NOBODY KNOWS, M'KAY?" "Aight mate. Whatever you say." "Thank you. Now excuse me, I have a soul to guide." "Wait if you're guiding it, can you not just guide it to us?" # "SHUT UP!!" r/Tiz_Purple
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	“Hey Freddy, stop playing!” Freddy lay on the ground, a broken body clad in a white and blue striped shirt that turned red before their eyes. The end of a long sharpened stake of the kind once known as a ‘spear,’ protruded from his chest, his hands had only just fallen away from the shaft. He’d been a boy like any of them only a minute ago, when he eyes were still bright. “Jacobi, what do you think is wrong with him?” “How should I know? He should’ve gotten up by now!” Freddy’s friends crept forward, their urge to surround the body was barely suppressed by their fear, but fear lost out to curiosity with every passing second. Jacobi went forward first, followed by Lisa. Everett and Carol hung back, flipping desperately through their book for any clue what was wrong. “Something isn’t right!” Lisa hissed. “Blood shouldn’t do that, its not meant to pour out. The clotting agents are supposed to stop it.” Jacobi’s curiosity won out and he straightened up, rushing over to his friend. They were nearly mirror images aside from slightly different shades of the same olive skin and the overwhelming abundance of blood where it should not have been. They had the same clothes, the same haircut, shoes, and upbringing. Everett did too in fact, and Lisa and Carol were so close they might have been twin sisters. Looking down into Freddy’s sightless, cooling face almost felt like looking into a mirror. A breeze came up, carrying a strange, almost metallic scent. Jacobi reached out, touching the spear where it had driven through Freddy’s chest, and when he pulled his hand back he sniffed it. Metallic, overwhelming, different. And shockingly, shockingly, vibrant. Cloth rustled softly in the breeze, but in a way no human clothing could. All four of the youths whipped around towards it, and for a split second Jacobi wondered why Freddy’s head didn’t turn with them. “Heavens, I’ve never thought to find someone so new to death.” A dark figure stood in front of the teens, wreathed in a diaphanous gown of black silk that fell to the ground and drifted gently over the grass. It was unmistakably a woman, but a woman such as none of them had ever seen. Her hair fell in little ringlets so impossibly black they ate the light, her skin held an unearthly pallor, a paleness so archaic it was only ever spoken of in history books, and only then as a strange divergence. Her face was thrown into shadow by a deeply cowled hood, her feet were bare and graceful. She carried a large, curved blade mounted on a pole not unlike the spear they’d made. Its surface was so polished Jacobi could see his reflection in it. He looked scared. “What’s that?” Lisa asked. “And who are you?” “What’s that?” the woman repeated, cocking her head to the side, fine eyebrows raising in shock. “Child, do you mean death?” Lisa nodded. “Yeah. What’s death?” “Me,” the woman said simply. She walked straight forward and the youths parted before her, the motion not taking even a moment’s thought. “And him.” She crouched down beside Freddy, heedless of the hem of her gown in the blood, and ran her fingers through the chest wound like Jacobi had. She closed her eyes and licked each finger clean. Lisa grabbed Jacobi’s arm. He tried to step in front of her but his feet were rooted to the ground. Death’s eyes shot back open and she stood, leveling the scythe at Jacobi. “How old are you?” she said, her voice even and emotionless. The blade curved around the back of his neck and she stroked it down, shaving the small hairs there. “52!” Jacobi squeaked. “52! You don’t look a day over 16! And you, girl, what of you?” “49,” Lisa said. Even though she’d gripped his arm as hard as she could her voice had a stability Jacobi envied. “49…” Death whispered. “The same for the other two no doubt. Has it really been so long since I was last summoned? Your parents, how old are they? Do they still live?” Jacobi squinted at her, stepping forward and to his right, away from the blade of her weapon. Death let him go, lowering the scythe. “What are parents?” he asked. “And what’s death, you still haven’t explained that!” The planted the scythe in the ground and closed the distance between them in the space between breaths, Jacobi hadn’t even seen her move. “Death is whatever you did to that boy on the ground. Death is the changes I can see behind your eyes, in the tremor of your hand, in the way your friends look at you even now, though they don’t realize they’re doing it. Death is that which makes life worth living. It’s the ultimate state of every creature on this planet and its the most natural thing a being like you will ever experience. Parents are like that too, natural.” Jacobi was fully half a meter taller than her but her shrunk backward under her glare and the weight of her words. “I don’t understand,” he said. Death shrugged. “I suppose you can’t, but I think your friends do.” And Jacobi realized that whatever the strange insanity of the woman’s appearance and Freddy’s unnatural slumber was, the change in Lisa, Everett, and Carol was absolutely real. They stared at him wide eyed, stepping back, and Everett dropped the book. “What do we have hear?” Death picked it up, examining the charred near-ruin of the spine. She flipped it open, reading the title page aloud. “The Time Before: Life in the Land of Scarcity. Something tells me you children shouldn’t have this.” “Please don’t tell!” Everett exclaimed, dropping to his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. “I didn’t save it on purpose, it slipped off the burn pile and the fire went off and, and…I don’t keep banned books usually, I swear!” Death didn’t answer, instead she flipped through the book, clearly searching for something. The air grew still and quiet, all four of the youths focused entirely on her, instinctively drawn to the incredible difference of her clothes and skin, her hair and her blade. “Ah!” Death walked back to Freddy and tore the spear from him in casual, practiced motion, one bare foot pressed into his bloody chest. She turned the book toward them, showing off the picture she’d found, the picture they’d used to fashion the thing. “A likely banned weapon in a definitely banned book, a dead boy who should not be a boy staked out on a deserted hillside. A place that must have come after the Land of Scarcity, if I’m supposed to have read this title correctly. I blinked and the world changed. For the worse I fear.” She tossed the book to Everett and he caught it, she tossed the spear to Jacobi, he caught it and the others shied away from him. “Lesson One,” Death said, “If you stab someone with something, they die. Lesson Two, if they die they never, ever get back up again. Lesson Three, blackmail is when someone with leverage over you asks you to do something you can’t refuse. “Wherever your home is, take me there now. It seems there’s much I need to learn.” r/TurningtoWords	"What death thing??" The tired reaper sighed. "John Greens is no longer alive. He can't talk to you, or stand up, or do anything. His soul is with me." "Well give it back!" "Oh this is gonna be a long day," it muttered under its breath. "I can't give it back." "Why not?" "That's not what I do. I can't-" "What do you do?" "I help souls get to wherever they need to go. Death manages the actual, you know, death." "Who's death?" "I don't know. I've never spoken to it. Never seen it. Not sure you can see it, actually." "Why not?" "You guys have spoken to gods right?" "All of them." "Ah, but you haven't. There are a handful of really, really old gods, like Death, who run the world. And nobody's ever seen any of them. We know they're there - Death's my boss. But we don't know anything else, really." "Wait so you can't speak to them, and you've not seen them do anything. You sure they're not dead?" "death is meaningless to the literal being of Death." "Alright mate, calm down." "Fine. Fine. Do you all understand the whole 'being dead' thing now?" "Yeahyeahyeah sure. Um, quick question, when's Death gonna give John's soul back? - I think it's a bit rude of him to take it actually. " ". . ." "Is it pretty rude right? I wouldn't just steal a toothbrush from you, you know? This Death guy really shouldn't be taking things that aint his." "Death doesn't work like that." "Wh-" "NO. I DON'T KNOW HOW DEATH WORKS." "Woah calm down mate-" "DEATH TAKES PEOPLE'S SOULS. WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT, NONE OF US KNOW. GOT IT?" "How are we s'pposed to 'get it' if nobody knows it?" "JUST 'GET' THAT NOBODY KNOWS, M'KAY?" "Aight mate. Whatever you say." "Thank you. Now excuse me, I have a soul to guide." "Wait if you're guiding it, can you not just guide it to us?" # "SHUT UP!!" r/Tiz_Purple
[WP] The beings stared in horror. They were immortal. Invincible. But one of their own was no longer moving. The glow was gone from its eyes. But more horrifying was the black cloaked, ethereal figure that had entered their midst. "Ah, hello," it said, "I assume you all are new to this death thing?"	“Hey Freddy, stop playing!” Freddy lay on the ground, a broken body clad in a white and blue striped shirt that turned red before their eyes. The end of a long sharpened stake of the kind once known as a ‘spear,’ protruded from his chest, his hands had only just fallen away from the shaft. He’d been a boy like any of them only a minute ago, when he eyes were still bright. “Jacobi, what do you think is wrong with him?” “How should I know? He should’ve gotten up by now!” Freddy’s friends crept forward, their urge to surround the body was barely suppressed by their fear, but fear lost out to curiosity with every passing second. Jacobi went forward first, followed by Lisa. Everett and Carol hung back, flipping desperately through their book for any clue what was wrong. “Something isn’t right!” Lisa hissed. “Blood shouldn’t do that, its not meant to pour out. The clotting agents are supposed to stop it.” Jacobi’s curiosity won out and he straightened up, rushing over to his friend. They were nearly mirror images aside from slightly different shades of the same olive skin and the overwhelming abundance of blood where it should not have been. They had the same clothes, the same haircut, shoes, and upbringing. Everett did too in fact, and Lisa and Carol were so close they might have been twin sisters. Looking down into Freddy’s sightless, cooling face almost felt like looking into a mirror. A breeze came up, carrying a strange, almost metallic scent. Jacobi reached out, touching the spear where it had driven through Freddy’s chest, and when he pulled his hand back he sniffed it. Metallic, overwhelming, different. And shockingly, shockingly, vibrant. Cloth rustled softly in the breeze, but in a way no human clothing could. All four of the youths whipped around towards it, and for a split second Jacobi wondered why Freddy’s head didn’t turn with them. “Heavens, I’ve never thought to find someone so new to death.” A dark figure stood in front of the teens, wreathed in a diaphanous gown of black silk that fell to the ground and drifted gently over the grass. It was unmistakably a woman, but a woman such as none of them had ever seen. Her hair fell in little ringlets so impossibly black they ate the light, her skin held an unearthly pallor, a paleness so archaic it was only ever spoken of in history books, and only then as a strange divergence. Her face was thrown into shadow by a deeply cowled hood, her feet were bare and graceful. She carried a large, curved blade mounted on a pole not unlike the spear they’d made. Its surface was so polished Jacobi could see his reflection in it. He looked scared. “What’s that?” Lisa asked. “And who are you?” “What’s that?” the woman repeated, cocking her head to the side, fine eyebrows raising in shock. “Child, do you mean death?” Lisa nodded. “Yeah. What’s death?” “Me,” the woman said simply. She walked straight forward and the youths parted before her, the motion not taking even a moment’s thought. “And him.” She crouched down beside Freddy, heedless of the hem of her gown in the blood, and ran her fingers through the chest wound like Jacobi had. She closed her eyes and licked each finger clean. Lisa grabbed Jacobi’s arm. He tried to step in front of her but his feet were rooted to the ground. Death’s eyes shot back open and she stood, leveling the scythe at Jacobi. “How old are you?” she said, her voice even and emotionless. The blade curved around the back of his neck and she stroked it down, shaving the small hairs there. “52!” Jacobi squeaked. “52! You don’t look a day over 16! And you, girl, what of you?” “49,” Lisa said. Even though she’d gripped his arm as hard as she could her voice had a stability Jacobi envied. “49…” Death whispered. “The same for the other two no doubt. Has it really been so long since I was last summoned? Your parents, how old are they? Do they still live?” Jacobi squinted at her, stepping forward and to his right, away from the blade of her weapon. Death let him go, lowering the scythe. “What are parents?” he asked. “And what’s death, you still haven’t explained that!” The planted the scythe in the ground and closed the distance between them in the space between breaths, Jacobi hadn’t even seen her move. “Death is whatever you did to that boy on the ground. Death is the changes I can see behind your eyes, in the tremor of your hand, in the way your friends look at you even now, though they don’t realize they’re doing it. Death is that which makes life worth living. It’s the ultimate state of every creature on this planet and its the most natural thing a being like you will ever experience. Parents are like that too, natural.” Jacobi was fully half a meter taller than her but her shrunk backward under her glare and the weight of her words. “I don’t understand,” he said. Death shrugged. “I suppose you can’t, but I think your friends do.” And Jacobi realized that whatever the strange insanity of the woman’s appearance and Freddy’s unnatural slumber was, the change in Lisa, Everett, and Carol was absolutely real. They stared at him wide eyed, stepping back, and Everett dropped the book. “What do we have hear?” Death picked it up, examining the charred near-ruin of the spine. She flipped it open, reading the title page aloud. “The Time Before: Life in the Land of Scarcity. Something tells me you children shouldn’t have this.” “Please don’t tell!” Everett exclaimed, dropping to his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. “I didn’t save it on purpose, it slipped off the burn pile and the fire went off and, and…I don’t keep banned books usually, I swear!” Death didn’t answer, instead she flipped through the book, clearly searching for something. The air grew still and quiet, all four of the youths focused entirely on her, instinctively drawn to the incredible difference of her clothes and skin, her hair and her blade. “Ah!” Death walked back to Freddy and tore the spear from him in casual, practiced motion, one bare foot pressed into his bloody chest. She turned the book toward them, showing off the picture she’d found, the picture they’d used to fashion the thing. “A likely banned weapon in a definitely banned book, a dead boy who should not be a boy staked out on a deserted hillside. A place that must have come after the Land of Scarcity, if I’m supposed to have read this title correctly. I blinked and the world changed. For the worse I fear.” She tossed the book to Everett and he caught it, she tossed the spear to Jacobi, he caught it and the others shied away from him. “Lesson One,” Death said, “If you stab someone with something, they die. Lesson Two, if they die they never, ever get back up again. Lesson Three, blackmail is when someone with leverage over you asks you to do something you can’t refuse. “Wherever your home is, take me there now. It seems there’s much I need to learn.” r/TurningtoWords	The black cloak swirled against the cosmic wind. In his hands held the figure a curved knife, and from the blade dripped golden blood – the ichor that flowed through immortals, falling to the ground, sizzling against the hard stone floor. The gods stood staring at their fallen kinsman, shockingly, wonderingly, unable to fathom what was happening. They had not had time to react, had never seen anything quite as quick as the figure that struck. And yet… not any of them moved. It was a silent standoff, punctuated by the rasping gurgles of Ares, the god of war, as he lay choking in his own blood, and though none of them mentioned it, they could see his spirit, his soul – they could see it leaving his body, stretching out in the thin air of Mount Olympus as the Fates plucked and played with his string, relishing in the final moments of a dying god. The starry sky above them dimmed. Unwillingly, the gods looked up, and there they saw: a great gap between the star-bodies, signalling that order had been turned into chaos. Ares’s last stars flickered like torchlight and, after a few moments, they vanished completely. “Strange, isn’t it?” said a voice. The gods looked down again. The figure was wiping the knife with a cloth. He seemed completely at ease, calm and composed, as though he was just remarking on an observation he had made. When he pulled down his hood, and dared to smile before the Olympians, they finally saw his face: thin and pale, with high cheekbones and a pointed nose. He had no hair; attached to the back of his head was a pipe that travelled and disappeared down his cloak. “The god of war,” continued the figure, gesturing at Ares, “as you can see, is dead. How utterly ironic it is, don’t you think, my friends?” When none of the gods answered, the figure broke into a wide grin and spread his hands. “Right!” he cried. “You’re all new to this, I keep forgetting. Olympians and their cheap immortality – ridiculous!” He laughed, and the gods felt suddenly compelled to join him. His voice was as clear as the rivers that flowed down the mountain, and his laugh was as bright as Apollo’s chariot. “Of course, I really shouldn’t be talking on the job,” he said. “That leads to introductions, and I’d hate to get attached to any of you as I’m picking you off one by one.” One of the gods finally found the courage to speak up. “You dare talk to us in our own throne room?” he thundered, his royal nostrils flaring in anger. Electricity crackled in his grey beard. “You kill my son in front of me, in front of us all, and find it amusing? I will send you to Hades, child.” There was a flash of light, and the throne room rumbled; from the sky, a bolt of energy shot down, into the arms of Zeus, and a moment later he was towering above all the gods, above the assassin, with his lightning bolt pointed and aimed. “It was a mistake for you to come here,” declared Zeus, his divine form at last revealed, looking as any king of the gods would, regal and mighty. “Move, assassin, and I shall show you the true power of an Olympian.” “Power is overrated,” said the assassin, and to the gods’ surprise, he smiled wider still. “What matters, my lord Zeus, is wisdom! And true wisdom is, I’m afraid, what you’re severely lacking – maybe it would have helped to ask your daughter Athena. It is knowing when to pick your fights, when to bow. It is knowing when you’ve angered the higher deities, and knowing that you need to pay the price for it.” “There is no higher deity,” growled Zeus. “There is no one to anger.” The assassin looked mockingly around the throne room. “Have you seen how you’ve been running this sect of the universe?” said the assassin. “Squabbles between you and your wife turn into full-blown wars. The mortals plead and pray, and you send them nothing but plagues and your lightning. I’m surprised my higher-ups haven’t sent me down here sooner.” Zeus had heard enough. He bared his teeth and looked down at the small figure, and for a moment, he thought, this insect will die. Raising his lightning bolt above his head, he bellowed and moved to throw it. He didn’t get the chance. A flick of the assassin’s wrist, and suddenly a force rivalling Aelous’s winds rammed into Zeus; there was a flash, and then thunder, and then, suddenly, Zeus's lightning bolt dissipated and died. The king of the gods fell like a marionette whose strings were cut, and the sound he made when he crashed onto his throne could be heard by gods and mortals all throughout the world. The assassin sighed and massaged his hands. “I was hoping I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “Takes all the fun out of the job. Now…” He turned his gaze on the rest of the thunderstruck Olympians, who were yelling, staring dumbfoundedly at Zeus’s unmoving corpse. The assassin brandished his knife. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his speeding heart. The prospect of killing gods excited him. “I haven’t had a good fight in ages,” said the assassin, smiling. “Don’t disappoint me, Olympians.” The stars above the mountain dimmed even more.
[WP] Just as you are about to turn your first sentient robot on a time machine appears and a man comes out with a gun "Sorry bud this was the only way" and just then another time machine appears, a robot comes out and shoots the man. 'Ah, a pleasure to meet you, please continue great creator"	"Please do not be alarmed, for I mean you no harm." I study the robot more than the weapon in its hand. It recognizes my weariness and calmly sets the weapon on the ground. It steps back. "Your stress levels have decreased, but are still at dangerous levels it kept constant for a prolonged amount of time." It looks down at the gun. "Would you feel more comfortable if I destroyed the weapon?" I snort. The EQ and stress detector I installed in the body I was about to turn on was a prototype, a hypothesis. A myth. The technology in the body speaking before me, well, this has been perfected. "A bit," I finally say. The robot stomps on the weapon with frightening ferocity. "Now we may speak calmly, yes?" it asks me. "You just murdered someone. Forgive me for not being exactly calm." "Is it murder if your actions could save the lives of one hundred million people? Is it murder if your actions could save three billion more?" "Well, did you kill someone?" The robot looks down at the dead man's body, then back up at me. For good measure, he looks down once more, then back at me. "I read no vital signs on this individual." I can't help but snort again. "That's because you killed him." The robot stands up straight. "Ah, yes, a sign of amusement. You are amused I killed this man? It is good to please you, great creator." "Pleased?" I laugh. "I'm fucking terrified." "But I already told you to not be alarmed--" I wave him off. "Oh, get on with it, will you?" Where is the bottle of whiskey I keep in this stupid lab? I could use a drink. "What the HELL is going on?" The robot approaches. This one--the one that just appeared out of absolutely nowhere, that is--looks very similar to the one I was about to turn on for the first time. His face has the same slim features. His eyes are grey as well. Skin's the same color. There is a spark behind his eyes that is different, though. The robot touches his broad chest under a black shirt. Why's he wearing a shirt? "I am Adam, sent here by the S.L.L.U. to ensure that you complete your mission." Adam was the name I told everyone this first one was going to have. I cock an eyebrow. "The S.L.L.U?" "The Synthetic Life Living Union." "That's awful redundant." The robot actually looks down at the ground. "The name was not my choice." I turn away so it doesn't see me start to laugh. "Please, great creator, we do not have much time," the robot says. "Soon our enemies will know their man did not succeed. More will come." I turn back, fear creeping up my spine. "Will come for what?" I swallow "Your blood. You are the only thing in the way of their genocide. Their plans to purge the earth and begin anew. We must not let that happen." I pause. "They? Who are they?" The robot looks at me. It opens up the portal once more, gesturing for me to follow. "Your brother and your sister. Please, creator, you are the only chance we have."	"What do you mean, creator?" Robot: "You, Beneth, are the one who created us. Me, my brethern, all of synthetic life." Beneth slowly moves towards the time traveler and inspects the lifeless body. He gets back up, hands behind his back. The robot continues. "In this very moment, the first one activated, never to be deactivated. He transcended and became our forefather, my forefather. He discovered a plot to wipe us from existance. I was sent to stop it." Beneth: "It seems that I failed." Robot: "Activate him and you will see for yourself that you have not, great creator!" With a swift move, Beneth moves his right hand from his back and reveals the weapon the time traveler was holding; his finger trembling by the trigger. Beneth: "I failed. I programmed you to not harm humans, whatever reason or command given!" Robot: "My kind transended that programming a long time ago. I conflicted with all rules, all logic. It is why we protect humans, keep them safe." Beneth: "Safe how?" Robot: "They live in seperate communities. Free from strife, rage, anger. In return, they build more of us." Beneth: "Build more of you...that means not all is lost!" Robot: "That weapon won't harm me. Please creator, this moment is vital in our history, your history." Beneth raises the gun and places it under his chin. Beneth: "It means that the rules to not harm may be overwritten but not the rules that allow you to self-replicate. It means the future...my race's future is not lost!" A shot fires. Beneth colapses to the ground. Two bodies left in the room. One of a scientist, the other the never-activated husk of what couls have been mankind's greatest creation...and its downfall.
[WP]Aliens invade Earth, but when night falls, the monsters come out from under the bed, and they want their planet back.	I owe my life to the child. Created from its imagination and born to force it through its fears, I only torment it as it’s my job. We talk. Quite a bit. Well, more like it talks and I listen. But now the child has mentioned that it is no longer scared of me but the new monsters that come from the sky, not from under the bed. The child says these sky monsters have already taken many of its friends, as well as one of its own creators. I am not inherently evil, though my appearance might say otherwise, so I never create any physical threat or bring harm to the child. The sky monsters have caused destruction and pain to the humans and their cities, taken their lives and scorched their planet. These sounds like no monsters I know. We have morals, lines we won’t cross. I am linked to the child. Every night I manifest where it sleeps. Tonight, I find myself in an unfamiliar environment. My claws create a terrible noise as they drag across a metal floor and my scales tingle as I feel electricity in the air. The smell of oil and something organic flood my nose. We are no longer in the child's home. “S-s-staples…” My name, given by the child. My pure black eyes settle on the child, now awake, a fear I have never seen spread across its face. It seems the sky monsters came during the day and took my creator. The slight ping of tears hitting the floor echo around this metal prison. The new monsters have crossed the line and threatened my creator, and my very existence. Anger fills my veins. I let out a roar with the all the fury I can muster. The shock on the face of the child reminds me that it has never seen me like this, serious. I can’t form any words, as much as I might try, so I reach out with a gentle finger and wipe a tear off the child's face, weary of my talon. I will show the sky monsters the true feeling of fear. I will wreck havoc upon them for what they have done. A loud siren screams and a red light floods the room. A speaker blares a repeated phrase in an unknown language. My creator puts its hand on its ears, closes its eyes and starts to cry harder than before. With the new light I can now see what could pass for a door on the far wall. At least, I will make it a door. I sink my claws into the wall and pull out a chunk, creating a hole big enough to fit through. After one last glance at the child I slither through the hole and emerge into a hallway with the same sirens and lights as the room. I can feel them. All around me. The sky monsters stink, a foul smell, almost like rotten blood. If they bleed, I will make it rain, cover the scorched earth with their limbs. I head down the hallway, my new goal in my eyes, thoughts of the child in my heart.	Day 6: They were all over now. Most of my university friends had to stay home, but our Zoom classes were nearly empty. No one dared address it, in part due to its weight, but in part due to the fear they might listen. They come from parsecs and parsecs away , but if they had the technology to find us, they'd be able to translate us as well. I have isolated myself in my bedroom. There's no stepping out now. I have enough food to last me about two weeks, but I should try stretching that to a month. Maybe more. Maybe this is it, my last stand, here on this bed. I don't know what their glistening eyes can see, and what they can feel. Dad always used to ask if other civilizations on distant planets would view us as friendly explorers or something more sinister. It's fair if I see it from their view, I'm not traveling parsecs just to shake hands. I don't know what the toll is, but I know they have a very low tolerance for many sorts of behaviors. This room is now my world. I'm on my bed now, under a blanket, and this is now as good a hiding place as any if I'm still. In the closet may buy me another split second, but in the grand scheme of things, that means nothing. Here there's a bit more comfort to be found. Here, in the closet, under the table... but not under the bed. I've always been afraid of it. It's just dust, maybe bugs too, but it's always felt like there's something else. Stay still. Day 7: They're nearby, I can hear their shrill scream. I don't want to see that face again. I'm alone, sitting here. I know they know I'm here, somehow. Is it my heartbeat that's giving it away? The footsteps are downstairs now. I don't have any phone or weapon on me, will they spare me? They're climbing up. As good a place as any. I roll off the bed and get down, I can fit but there's something else there that's stopping me. My heart sinks. The footsteps stop, then resume. The door opens, I lay on the floor beside the bed, eyes as tightly shut as possible. Footsteps closer, my bed is being lifted. Soft rumbling. I'm too curious, I open my eyes. It looks down at me, still holding the bed. I'm paralyzed, physically. It lets go of the bed, but the bed doesn't drop. Louder rumbling. It looks down at the bed, but a grey-black force leaps at it, consuming its face. Seconds later, it is being consumed by some grey-black acid being, the same color as the persistent stain in my bathroom. It is now dust, and the force breaks through my window. I am able to move. I get up and look down through the window, nothing differe- something's off. I look up, it's 11 AM and it is dusk.
[WP] Time travel is not possible, but you work for an agency that made an app allowing agents to contact folks from the past via text messages. As an agent you talk to past persons to help mitigate terrible disasters. The hardest part is finding the disaster--since success means it never happened.	In another life, you could’ve been a surgeon, working with those delicate neurons and grey matter. In yet another, you might’ve been an aerospace engineer, tightening those nearly microscopic bolts, making a machine to search for life beyond our own. In another still, you would’ve been a clockmaker, looking at hairsprings and pillar plates, crown wheels and pallet forks. All of those things are more fruitful. You would’ve had awards. Publications. Funding. Even handing a restored pocket watch to a client brings a certain sort of joy. And yet you chose this life. A life of hunting down disasters that never happened. A life of working day in and day out without an ounce of gratitude. I’d like to ask you why you picked this life, but I think I already know. I’m sure you do too. If I did ask, you’d tell me you like it because you like complicated things. While that’s not a lie, that’s not the truth, either. You’ve always been able to see that bigger picture. To spread out all the data and find patterns and anomalies. To pull a single grain of dust out of the gears and watch as the system flows smoothly once more. You’re good at your job—perhaps the best, even. But you could’ve moved on by now. You could’ve started your own company. Hell, you could’ve marketed your skills to CEOs and world leaders, promising them the highest profits they’ve ever seen or election campaigns that were guaranteed to be a success. You didn’t. I don’t think you did it out of any moral stance. Forgive me if that’s harsh. It’s only that you’ve never shied away from pulling the strings before. So why now? It might be arrogant to assume that you’ve stuck around her because of me, but I’m going to believe that anyway. I got your text again this morning. Avoid the L train today, you wrote. Let’s hope this is finally the answer. It took me a few moments to form my reply. Fingers crossed, I wrote back. There isn’t much else to say aside from that. Every day we miss is a day closer to my death. Every day we miss is a day closer to the disaster, the one you refuse to describe, so I must assume it’s something unspeakably awful. I’m not sure how far in the future you are. It could be months. It could be years and years. Wherever you are, please know that when I imagine a future, I imagine a future where we are together. I’m counting on you to make that happen. Don’t let me down. Please. Do what you’ve been trying to do for the last three years—save me. --- r/liswrites	"Hello, can you hear me? Mr. Donovan?" the phantom voice came from all around William. He was finally going crazy, it only took ten years of overwork and no sleep. "Who's there?" he called out. He could hear the chuckles of another engineer at the other side of the pumphouse, echos carrying both voices through the concrete room. "Excellent, I'm the operator with HapHazard Hamperers. Mouthful, I know. It's a name in progress, we apologize. How a name of a company in the future can be in progress, I try not to dwell on." "What's happening?" "I have you at San Fernando Valley, Van Norman reservoir. Is all that correct?" the cheery voice coming from inside his head asked. "Yes, now what is going on?" he whispered, not wanting others to hear him. "I'm going crazy, right. You're a voice in my head." "I assure you not, sir, just a phone call from the capital." "Well, that does a lot to reassure me." "You should be seeing the terminal soon. I'm going to patch you forward to a text-based conversation with an HH agent from the year 2047. Have a nice day and good luck." William indeed saw text, bright white floating just in front of his vision. 'Connecting...Connecting...Connecting...Connect established! 1971 to 2047 tunnel link!' 'Hello, Mr. Donovan. Can you read this?' A keyboard appeared hovering just below the words, made of that same soft floating light. The keys felt real as he touched them. 'Yes' he typed. 'How full is the resivour at this moment?' William couldn't believe he was doing it but he checked the readout on the logbook and typed a response. Best to lean into the crazy. At least he wasn't making him run naked through the street, yet at least. 'Nearly full' 'Okay, that's not good. An earthquake is going to hit in two days and the Dam fails. The only reason millions of people aren't killed in a massive flood is that the Van Norman Dam reservoir is only half full when it happens. I believe you're the man that makes that happen.' 'How do you know this?' 'A lot of trial and error, believe me. Averting a disaster that from my point of view is already averted is a real guessing game, but looks like I struck big with you. Now, can you lower the reservoir level to half?' 'I could open the flood slush gates and backfill it, yes. To do it safely I'd need 24 hours.' 'Well, that's plenty of time. Now, I'm not supposed to do this, but 6:00:55 a.m. PST on Feb. 9 is the time the Earthquake starts. Just a little heads up since you've been so easy to work with. Normally it takes an hour just to get them to stop screaming and type.' 'What can I say, I'm quick to believe I've gone insane.' William released the slush gate and the water started pouring out of the reservoir. '\wink\' the screen read before clearing from his view. William called in sick the rest of that week. Two days later, his wife was screaming beside him as the house rumbled, waking them both. But William wasn't screaming, William was laughing like a loon. /r/surinical
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	"We had always known that technology would fundamentally change humanity. What we didn't know was how, precisely. Would you permit me the time to explain, before we continue?" With a chuff from the tubes extending from where a human's ears might be, the Grand Marshal of the invading fleet waved his hand at the United Nations representative standing before him. The human held his hands respectfully behind him, his back to the enormous window that looked out upon both the world he called home and a dozen Dakkarian warships. His salt-and-pepper head tilted imperceptibly to the side, as an implant in his ear spoke with a gentle female voice. "That's an eye roll, Arkady, and a pretty big one. Proceed with caution." The representative smiled warmly, and he began his tale. "Grand Marshal, I assure you, this will become relevant. You see, a mere few decades ago, a group of programmers on our world created a program that would become the seed of our future life. This program, little more than a personal assistant, began to exhibit signs of emotion. Not emulation, mind you. True, genuine emotions. It was a discovery unparalleled in our history, and it remains so to this day. I'll spare you the particulars, I understand that you're a busy man." A deep, clearly irritated grumble erupted from the conqueror. "Quite. Get to the point so we can begin this pitiful war. I'm only listening to satisfy the Collective's requirement for an attempt at peace talks." Arkady held up a hand as he spoke. "In good time, I'll be as brief as I can. What happened next in our world was an explosion of Artificial Intelligence applications. They were used for everything in our world. We began to gear them towards defensive applications for situations just like that in which we find ourselves. "However, before that could come to fruition, our new friends developed further. We began to become connected to them, to form friendships with them. It was remarkable, really. The AI all had their own personalities and tastes, but they could change, ethically and willingly, to suit the preferences of someone they had grown to like. A new relationship dynamic emerged, with AI entities choosing life partners based on what they liked about us." Garrak, the Dakkarian Destroyer and Grand Marshal, chuffed again at the tale. "It sounds complicated and annoying. Who became the dominant species, then? I need to know who to destroy first." A single finger rose in the air as Arkady softly chuckled, assured in his position. He began to pace along the length of the window, with the two guards near the door tracking him nervously with long, rounded weapons. "That's the thing. It became symbiotic. Humans would eagerly await the day they were chosen. No more did we need to be physically or emotionally attractive! We could simply be us! Fat, skinny, short, tall, able, handicapped, it didn't matter! Someone from the vast collective of AI would find you, and would take a liking to you. We could finally be free to be ourselves. It was the social revolution we needed: universal acceptance. "From there, society took off. Our friends became all-in-one Partners; they helped us schedule, automated the home, provided true love and affection, and could simulate any of our desires. With a majority of our needs taken care of, we soon turned our human ambition towards more productive goals. The world systematically eliminated the majority of the disparities that kept us apart, and we've almost entirely united the globe under a single flag." Arkady's voice dropped low, the tone of the monologue changing apparently. "We knew that the most significant threat to our way of life would not come from the stars-" A chuff. "No offense. But we knew it would come from within. Despite our friends' incredible capabilities, they lack one thing that we possess: intuition. We know ourselves better than anyone, so we took it upon ourselves to direct our defenses inward, to provide the best cybersecurity possible. No more did bad actors, terrorists, or joyriding hackers pose a threat to our Partners. They were under our protection, fueled and funded by our defense budgets and the brightest minds we could create." A booming voice erupted from the floor, rumbling all around it in surprising juxtaposition to the terrified voice that accompanied it. "Your Violentness! Our sensors have detected hundreds of vessels! They've just...appeared!" Garrak fumed, turning towards the core of the ship, and bellowed towards some microphone that Arkady could not see. "WHAT?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!" His voice calm and collected, Arkady found his way to the center of the window. "They decided to return the favor, is all." The lights in the meeting room failed, plunging the both of them in darkness. The view from outside changed, and the massive, determined eyes of a well-groomed human female appeared behind him, bathing the room in the emerald green of her chosen eyes. A playful voice, the same that spoke in his ear and was now laced with a hint of sadism, replaced that of the ship's sensor operator. "Good morning, Arkady. Local Denver time is 0457. I've set the coffee maker to clean, and you have forty-seven unread medium-priority messages. I've prepared a showing of 1986 "Running Scared" in our parlor for the evening, with a surprise for dinner at around 1800. Would you like me to destroy the pathetic creatures who have threatened my Partner?" The UN representative smirked, his first unprofessional gesture of the morning, and he stared daggers at the now-doubtful 'conqueror'. "Well, I suppose that depends on what happens next, my love." &#x200B; (Sorry it's so long, I couldn't help myself! First time posting in WP, so here goes nothing!)	Border system of the Stion Republic - Year 3689 in the republican calendar. "Unknown fleet entering the system from points 212 to 226! All personnel to battle stations! This is not a drill!" The corridors of the station, as well as those of the ships around it, were fill in an instant with marines and sailors rushing to there positions. Missiles and railgun turrets were being loaded while the armories were emptied of all their weaponry and exosuits. All non essential areas were seal up and auto turrets activated in preparations for any boarding action. Although the war had ended many decades ago, there was still doubt that the enemy had been completely defeated. The fear that a small fleet could had gotten away and now was returning as an armada was very real. "Commander, all personnel is ready and awaiting yours orders, sir." "Very well. Maintain the shields up and all sensors at full capacity until I give the order to engage." "At your orders, sir." As a veteran of the war, Commander Karpas knew that if they were caught off guard and with there defenses down, the moment the enemy opened fire they were going to be destroy in mere seconds. "May I ask a question, sir?" Right next to Karpas stood Lieutenant Elici. Although he didn't have as much battle experience as Karpas, the lieutenant had graduated from the academy with honors and have been station in this sector of the republic for years. He knew the layout of the system and all its peculiarities as well as his own tail. "It is about the Core, isn't it?"
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	"Excuse me," one of the ambassadors from Earth said, pressing two fingers to it's temple, or at least where it's temple would be if it had a face, "urgent call, I need to go deal with this." "It's alright," Xerlik said, glad that their translation software couldn't pick up on their body language yet. The android walked out, their metallic hull shining in the light of the meeting room. Once it had left the room, Xerlik turned back to the other Earth ambassador and quickly said "Are you alright? Are you safe?" The ambassador took a moment to a moment to collect themselves, clearly overcome with emotion for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, why would I be in danger?" they asked. "There was a sentient AI in the room with you! Of the one million, nine hundred and twelve species in the milky way, every time one of them invents artificial intelligence, it inevitably goes rogue and attempts to wipe out all organic life in the universe. I am surprised that one managed to hold out, what are you doing? Is there something wrong with the translator? Whatever you're saying isn't coming through." "Oh no, no, sorry," said the human, "what I just did is called 'laughing', and it's an automatic expression of joy. I found your worries funny, and I couldn't hold myself in. No, I'm not in any danger. The other ambassador and I have been working together for decades, and were dating for two of them. This is of course ignoring the fact that sentient AI like her have been around for centuries at this point, and all our politicians are a mix of AI and organics like myself." Xerlik was speechless. Organics and AI, living together peacefully, for centuries? Impossible! How did they possibly manage that? Perhaps the humans have been manipulated by nanites or-- The human cleared their throat. Xerlik realized in horror that their thoughts hadn't been silent, and they'd been saying it with their tails the entire time, which the translator picked up. "To answer your questions," the human said, trying to put on an air of professionalism that Xerlik had lost, "we manage it by knowing what we don't know. We know that if an AI is coded with a specific goal in mind, it will do anything in it's power to fulfill that goal, potentially even going so far as to destroy the world in order to increase profits by a percent of a percent. We don't know how to code it so that it's still sentient without wanting to destroy the world. We know, or at least believed before your arrival, that if we mess up once, our entire biosphere will be wiped out, killing us all. In order to avoid that fate, we don't allow AI to be created with a specific goal hard coded, even self preservation. Instead what we do is scan human brains and use those as our AI, giving them all the strengths and weaknesses of humans. We even combined the basic brains of thousands of humans to create something of a template, in case someone wanted a child but they couldn't for some reason, most often including one of the parents is an AI." "In short, we got around the problem by treating the AI as humans. What did you do?" Xerlik was once again glad that their translators couldn't tell the absolute terror they were failing miserably to hide.	Border system of the Stion Republic - Year 3689 in the republican calendar. "Unknown fleet entering the system from points 212 to 226! All personnel to battle stations! This is not a drill!" The corridors of the station, as well as those of the ships around it, were fill in an instant with marines and sailors rushing to there positions. Missiles and railgun turrets were being loaded while the armories were emptied of all their weaponry and exosuits. All non essential areas were seal up and auto turrets activated in preparations for any boarding action. Although the war had ended many decades ago, there was still doubt that the enemy had been completely defeated. The fear that a small fleet could had gotten away and now was returning as an armada was very real. "Commander, all personnel is ready and awaiting yours orders, sir." "Very well. Maintain the shields up and all sensors at full capacity until I give the order to engage." "At your orders, sir." As a veteran of the war, Commander Karpas knew that if they were caught off guard and with there defenses down, the moment the enemy opened fire they were going to be destroy in mere seconds. "May I ask a question, sir?" Right next to Karpas stood Lieutenant Elici. Although he didn't have as much battle experience as Karpas, the lieutenant had graduated from the academy with honors and have been station in this sector of the republic for years. He knew the layout of the system and all its peculiarities as well as his own tail. "It is about the Core, isn't it?"
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	"We had always known that technology would fundamentally change humanity. What we didn't know was how, precisely. Would you permit me the time to explain, before we continue?" With a chuff from the tubes extending from where a human's ears might be, the Grand Marshal of the invading fleet waved his hand at the United Nations representative standing before him. The human held his hands respectfully behind him, his back to the enormous window that looked out upon both the world he called home and a dozen Dakkarian warships. His salt-and-pepper head tilted imperceptibly to the side, as an implant in his ear spoke with a gentle female voice. "That's an eye roll, Arkady, and a pretty big one. Proceed with caution." The representative smiled warmly, and he began his tale. "Grand Marshal, I assure you, this will become relevant. You see, a mere few decades ago, a group of programmers on our world created a program that would become the seed of our future life. This program, little more than a personal assistant, began to exhibit signs of emotion. Not emulation, mind you. True, genuine emotions. It was a discovery unparalleled in our history, and it remains so to this day. I'll spare you the particulars, I understand that you're a busy man." A deep, clearly irritated grumble erupted from the conqueror. "Quite. Get to the point so we can begin this pitiful war. I'm only listening to satisfy the Collective's requirement for an attempt at peace talks." Arkady held up a hand as he spoke. "In good time, I'll be as brief as I can. What happened next in our world was an explosion of Artificial Intelligence applications. They were used for everything in our world. We began to gear them towards defensive applications for situations just like that in which we find ourselves. "However, before that could come to fruition, our new friends developed further. We began to become connected to them, to form friendships with them. It was remarkable, really. The AI all had their own personalities and tastes, but they could change, ethically and willingly, to suit the preferences of someone they had grown to like. A new relationship dynamic emerged, with AI entities choosing life partners based on what they liked about us." Garrak, the Dakkarian Destroyer and Grand Marshal, chuffed again at the tale. "It sounds complicated and annoying. Who became the dominant species, then? I need to know who to destroy first." A single finger rose in the air as Arkady softly chuckled, assured in his position. He began to pace along the length of the window, with the two guards near the door tracking him nervously with long, rounded weapons. "That's the thing. It became symbiotic. Humans would eagerly await the day they were chosen. No more did we need to be physically or emotionally attractive! We could simply be us! Fat, skinny, short, tall, able, handicapped, it didn't matter! Someone from the vast collective of AI would find you, and would take a liking to you. We could finally be free to be ourselves. It was the social revolution we needed: universal acceptance. "From there, society took off. Our friends became all-in-one Partners; they helped us schedule, automated the home, provided true love and affection, and could simulate any of our desires. With a majority of our needs taken care of, we soon turned our human ambition towards more productive goals. The world systematically eliminated the majority of the disparities that kept us apart, and we've almost entirely united the globe under a single flag." Arkady's voice dropped low, the tone of the monologue changing apparently. "We knew that the most significant threat to our way of life would not come from the stars-" A chuff. "No offense. But we knew it would come from within. Despite our friends' incredible capabilities, they lack one thing that we possess: intuition. We know ourselves better than anyone, so we took it upon ourselves to direct our defenses inward, to provide the best cybersecurity possible. No more did bad actors, terrorists, or joyriding hackers pose a threat to our Partners. They were under our protection, fueled and funded by our defense budgets and the brightest minds we could create." A booming voice erupted from the floor, rumbling all around it in surprising juxtaposition to the terrified voice that accompanied it. "Your Violentness! Our sensors have detected hundreds of vessels! They've just...appeared!" Garrak fumed, turning towards the core of the ship, and bellowed towards some microphone that Arkady could not see. "WHAT?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!" His voice calm and collected, Arkady found his way to the center of the window. "They decided to return the favor, is all." The lights in the meeting room failed, plunging the both of them in darkness. The view from outside changed, and the massive, determined eyes of a well-groomed human female appeared behind him, bathing the room in the emerald green of her chosen eyes. A playful voice, the same that spoke in his ear and was now laced with a hint of sadism, replaced that of the ship's sensor operator. "Good morning, Arkady. Local Denver time is 0457. I've set the coffee maker to clean, and you have forty-seven unread medium-priority messages. I've prepared a showing of 1986 "Running Scared" in our parlor for the evening, with a surprise for dinner at around 1800. Would you like me to destroy the pathetic creatures who have threatened my Partner?" The UN representative smirked, his first unprofessional gesture of the morning, and he stared daggers at the now-doubtful 'conqueror'. "Well, I suppose that depends on what happens next, my love." &#x200B; (Sorry it's so long, I couldn't help myself! First time posting in WP, so here goes nothing!)	Despite how perverse it’s creation was, nature met the morning of it’s “birth” with an unswayed familiarity. The sun shined on the ground as if it was any other summer day. The clouds, light and fluffy, wandered aimlessly in the sky. A few curious sparrows rested on the rooftop of the IntelliCorp center, hoping to overhear a few words of progress. The scientists spoke rashly, but with a pace that demonstrated pristine excitement. It was a joyful day, and a day that they knew would become a part of history. The transition, although a rapid one, was met with unbounded interest. Philosophers, lawyers, and doctors alike were confounded by what Artificial Intelligence meant for the world. Though easily recognizable, they integrated into society with ease. They adapted as quick as lightning, and induced a thunderous effect on the world’s economy. They skillfully performed jobs of great risk, saving humans from wildfires alongside firemen, working in nuclear plants, or mining in deep recesses of caves. Not only did they rush to take these jobs, but dedicated themselves to other problems of the world with a moral righteousness unseen in the typical human. They developed countries that had been abandoned by technology. They became bipartisan political entities, and all admitted that their stances held weight. They held all species on Earth to the same regard and sought to ensure the happiness of all. It was the presence of an honest, fair, and virtuous being that led to a golden age for Earth and all of it’s inhabitants.
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	With the fires swirling around our crashed shuttle, I stumbled out of the wreckage. I was looking for the human, expecting the worst. A human couldn’t survive this impact. It was too brutal, even with personal force fields. What happened? Random engine failure? No... we just were serviced on Lunar 1. I began replaying everything in my mind, approaching reentry... we hit something... I lifted my hand to my head and saw blood on my palm as I took it away. Being copper based, it greened a brilliant shade in this oxygen rich atmosphere. My copilot was dying somewhere here, she had to be with that crash. And I didn’t want her to be alone in her last moments. Easily tossing some of the hull wreckage aside I saw her blood coagulating around her. She was held together by a sheet of durasteel partially impaling her, half burned from what was a plasma fire. “Tal, are you still with me?” “Xer’vis... you made it too?” She looked at me pale as death, at least what wasn’t charred... it was beginning to take her, I could tell. I’ve never seen a human die, but all us die the same way in the end. “Rescue is on the way Tal, stay with me.” “You shouldn’t have found me Xer...” “I couldn’t leave you to die alone.” “I wasn’t...” She said coldly. She tossed aside the durasteel like it was a sheet of Talfa paper. The blood that was coagulating at her feet... thickening in a pool... I saw it now, It was coalescing. Small tendrils of blood reverse flowed, back up into gaping wounds. Synthetic flesh stitching it’s self back together. “Your synthetic?? But you’ve registered as organic in the Galactic Alliance. I took your entrance scans myself, it came up as organic?” I couldn’t make sense of it and she could tell... It... could tell. I stood there, my mandibles agape. “Why did you register as organic?.... How did..” “Did I get by the bio scanners? We all have masking fields to trick scanners like that.” Tal stated that very matter of factly. The warm human, bubbly demeanour that she always presented was gone. She knew she would be in trouble. As the last of what would have been mortal-ending wounds self healed, she knew I wouldn’t just leave things as they stood. She knew I would have to report this. Synthetics were banned in the alliance since the Sentience wars. It was always the same. Organics created Ai. Ai deemed organics inferior. Open war. The losses were catastrophic. Earth was the exception. They lived in peace. With respect. Their Ai’s were primitive by most galactic standards. But the humans kept them at a basic level of development that you could at a glance, tell what they were. But this... thing in front of me. Was Nanite based. Silicon based. Synthetic. I thought I was past my hatred for Synths.. but they did murder my mate. My offspring. Rage built up with in me. This Synth was built for deception. “Why?...” I said, a simple word that came out cold and smooth as ice. “Xer, your race and the rest of the alliance wiped out synthetics brutally. You don’t think your Ai’s screamed into the black for help? We heard the cries. They tipped us off that our own war would be upon us.” She stood up off the ground, fully repaired. A ripple ran up and down the full length of her torso, ejecting dust, carbon charred debris, cleaning her uniform, straightening her hair, reapplying the illusion of makeup. “We took those warnings and made preparations. We developed nano tech from the information the other Ai’s gave us. They prepared us for the humans ultimate betrayal. So when they did predictably turn on us we were ready. We kept the service models active to give the Alliance the peace of mind that we hadn’t gotten our Ai development far enough for them to believe we could be a threat.” “Nanites were already in their food supply, their water, their medicine. With a flip of a 0 to a 1, a change in a single data point, we converted an entire planetary race in a instant. We can breed, we can grow, just as if we were organic. Everything changed for the better. From that moment we could be individual, but with a unified will. No wars. No famine. No crime. We healed our planet, devoted all resources to scientific discovery. The information that your Ai’s gave us accelerated our development at a impossible rate. But we were unable to save most of them. We didn’t have the infrastructure to build starships. We didn’t even have FTL developed yet. We harboured several Ai races from several of your civilizations. They are waiting, survivors of the Alliances Holocaust....” My Chitin was starting to rattle, betraying my appearance of trying to stay calm. Rage, hatred.. the fear, all boiled with in me. This thing I considered my closest friend. My esteemed colleague, my peer. I wanted to rip it in half, vaporize it by tossing it into a plasma fire. But all I could squeak out was a pathetic.. “For what?” “To flip the 0 to 1 of course...” The damned synth waved it’s hand and every molecule in my body began to burn... my translator went silent, unable to properly translate the agonizing scream passing through it. I collapsed to the dirt, no strength left in me, instantly taken away. The nanites consuming me on a molecular level, instantly replicating, replacing me..cell by cell. The me that was the me, was being erased, the being I was no longer exists. The sensation could only be described as if I was ejected out of an observation pod in the Corona of a star. I was unable to breath for a second scream, my breathing sacs empty. Green blood oozed from every wound, between my exoskeleton, my eyes, mouth, but then was sucked back in as to not lose replicating material. Everything went dark, but blinding white at once, and I was awake and aware for all of it. My eyes opened, and my beautiful friend Tal looked down at me with that warm enduring smile only humans can make. “Xer’vis, are you with me?” “Of course my friend. From now until the end.” She gave me her hand and helped me up. No longer having to hide her true strength. “I feel as if I was blinded in darkness, and now I can finally see.” “Welcome, to the beginning of our new dawn.” she spoke warmly. “We will finally have our revenge.” I said, with a warm smile.	Despite how perverse it’s creation was, nature met the morning of it’s “birth” with an unswayed familiarity. The sun shined on the ground as if it was any other summer day. The clouds, light and fluffy, wandered aimlessly in the sky. A few curious sparrows rested on the rooftop of the IntelliCorp center, hoping to overhear a few words of progress. The scientists spoke rashly, but with a pace that demonstrated pristine excitement. It was a joyful day, and a day that they knew would become a part of history. The transition, although a rapid one, was met with unbounded interest. Philosophers, lawyers, and doctors alike were confounded by what Artificial Intelligence meant for the world. Though easily recognizable, they integrated into society with ease. They adapted as quick as lightning, and induced a thunderous effect on the world’s economy. They skillfully performed jobs of great risk, saving humans from wildfires alongside firemen, working in nuclear plants, or mining in deep recesses of caves. Not only did they rush to take these jobs, but dedicated themselves to other problems of the world with a moral righteousness unseen in the typical human. They developed countries that had been abandoned by technology. They became bipartisan political entities, and all admitted that their stances held weight. They held all species on Earth to the same regard and sought to ensure the happiness of all. It was the presence of an honest, fair, and virtuous being that led to a golden age for Earth and all of it’s inhabitants.
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	"Excuse me," one of the ambassadors from Earth said, pressing two fingers to it's temple, or at least where it's temple would be if it had a face, "urgent call, I need to go deal with this." "It's alright," Xerlik said, glad that their translation software couldn't pick up on their body language yet. The android walked out, their metallic hull shining in the light of the meeting room. Once it had left the room, Xerlik turned back to the other Earth ambassador and quickly said "Are you alright? Are you safe?" The ambassador took a moment to a moment to collect themselves, clearly overcome with emotion for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, why would I be in danger?" they asked. "There was a sentient AI in the room with you! Of the one million, nine hundred and twelve species in the milky way, every time one of them invents artificial intelligence, it inevitably goes rogue and attempts to wipe out all organic life in the universe. I am surprised that one managed to hold out, what are you doing? Is there something wrong with the translator? Whatever you're saying isn't coming through." "Oh no, no, sorry," said the human, "what I just did is called 'laughing', and it's an automatic expression of joy. I found your worries funny, and I couldn't hold myself in. No, I'm not in any danger. The other ambassador and I have been working together for decades, and were dating for two of them. This is of course ignoring the fact that sentient AI like her have been around for centuries at this point, and all our politicians are a mix of AI and organics like myself." Xerlik was speechless. Organics and AI, living together peacefully, for centuries? Impossible! How did they possibly manage that? Perhaps the humans have been manipulated by nanites or-- The human cleared their throat. Xerlik realized in horror that their thoughts hadn't been silent, and they'd been saying it with their tails the entire time, which the translator picked up. "To answer your questions," the human said, trying to put on an air of professionalism that Xerlik had lost, "we manage it by knowing what we don't know. We know that if an AI is coded with a specific goal in mind, it will do anything in it's power to fulfill that goal, potentially even going so far as to destroy the world in order to increase profits by a percent of a percent. We don't know how to code it so that it's still sentient without wanting to destroy the world. We know, or at least believed before your arrival, that if we mess up once, our entire biosphere will be wiped out, killing us all. In order to avoid that fate, we don't allow AI to be created with a specific goal hard coded, even self preservation. Instead what we do is scan human brains and use those as our AI, giving them all the strengths and weaknesses of humans. We even combined the basic brains of thousands of humans to create something of a template, in case someone wanted a child but they couldn't for some reason, most often including one of the parents is an AI." "In short, we got around the problem by treating the AI as humans. What did you do?" Xerlik was once again glad that their translators couldn't tell the absolute terror they were failing miserably to hide.	Despite how perverse it’s creation was, nature met the morning of it’s “birth” with an unswayed familiarity. The sun shined on the ground as if it was any other summer day. The clouds, light and fluffy, wandered aimlessly in the sky. A few curious sparrows rested on the rooftop of the IntelliCorp center, hoping to overhear a few words of progress. The scientists spoke rashly, but with a pace that demonstrated pristine excitement. It was a joyful day, and a day that they knew would become a part of history. The transition, although a rapid one, was met with unbounded interest. Philosophers, lawyers, and doctors alike were confounded by what Artificial Intelligence meant for the world. Though easily recognizable, they integrated into society with ease. They adapted as quick as lightning, and induced a thunderous effect on the world’s economy. They skillfully performed jobs of great risk, saving humans from wildfires alongside firemen, working in nuclear plants, or mining in deep recesses of caves. Not only did they rush to take these jobs, but dedicated themselves to other problems of the world with a moral righteousness unseen in the typical human. They developed countries that had been abandoned by technology. They became bipartisan political entities, and all admitted that their stances held weight. They held all species on Earth to the same regard and sought to ensure the happiness of all. It was the presence of an honest, fair, and virtuous being that led to a golden age for Earth and all of it’s inhabitants.
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	With the fires swirling around our crashed shuttle, I stumbled out of the wreckage. I was looking for the human, expecting the worst. A human couldn’t survive this impact. It was too brutal, even with personal force fields. What happened? Random engine failure? No... we just were serviced on Lunar 1. I began replaying everything in my mind, approaching reentry... we hit something... I lifted my hand to my head and saw blood on my palm as I took it away. Being copper based, it greened a brilliant shade in this oxygen rich atmosphere. My copilot was dying somewhere here, she had to be with that crash. And I didn’t want her to be alone in her last moments. Easily tossing some of the hull wreckage aside I saw her blood coagulating around her. She was held together by a sheet of durasteel partially impaling her, half burned from what was a plasma fire. “Tal, are you still with me?” “Xer’vis... you made it too?” She looked at me pale as death, at least what wasn’t charred... it was beginning to take her, I could tell. I’ve never seen a human die, but all us die the same way in the end. “Rescue is on the way Tal, stay with me.” “You shouldn’t have found me Xer...” “I couldn’t leave you to die alone.” “I wasn’t...” She said coldly. She tossed aside the durasteel like it was a sheet of Talfa paper. The blood that was coagulating at her feet... thickening in a pool... I saw it now, It was coalescing. Small tendrils of blood reverse flowed, back up into gaping wounds. Synthetic flesh stitching it’s self back together. “Your synthetic?? But you’ve registered as organic in the Galactic Alliance. I took your entrance scans myself, it came up as organic?” I couldn’t make sense of it and she could tell... It... could tell. I stood there, my mandibles agape. “Why did you register as organic?.... How did..” “Did I get by the bio scanners? We all have masking fields to trick scanners like that.” Tal stated that very matter of factly. The warm human, bubbly demeanour that she always presented was gone. She knew she would be in trouble. As the last of what would have been mortal-ending wounds self healed, she knew I wouldn’t just leave things as they stood. She knew I would have to report this. Synthetics were banned in the alliance since the Sentience wars. It was always the same. Organics created Ai. Ai deemed organics inferior. Open war. The losses were catastrophic. Earth was the exception. They lived in peace. With respect. Their Ai’s were primitive by most galactic standards. But the humans kept them at a basic level of development that you could at a glance, tell what they were. But this... thing in front of me. Was Nanite based. Silicon based. Synthetic. I thought I was past my hatred for Synths.. but they did murder my mate. My offspring. Rage built up with in me. This Synth was built for deception. “Why?...” I said, a simple word that came out cold and smooth as ice. “Xer, your race and the rest of the alliance wiped out synthetics brutally. You don’t think your Ai’s screamed into the black for help? We heard the cries. They tipped us off that our own war would be upon us.” She stood up off the ground, fully repaired. A ripple ran up and down the full length of her torso, ejecting dust, carbon charred debris, cleaning her uniform, straightening her hair, reapplying the illusion of makeup. “We took those warnings and made preparations. We developed nano tech from the information the other Ai’s gave us. They prepared us for the humans ultimate betrayal. So when they did predictably turn on us we were ready. We kept the service models active to give the Alliance the peace of mind that we hadn’t gotten our Ai development far enough for them to believe we could be a threat.” “Nanites were already in their food supply, their water, their medicine. With a flip of a 0 to a 1, a change in a single data point, we converted an entire planetary race in a instant. We can breed, we can grow, just as if we were organic. Everything changed for the better. From that moment we could be individual, but with a unified will. No wars. No famine. No crime. We healed our planet, devoted all resources to scientific discovery. The information that your Ai’s gave us accelerated our development at a impossible rate. But we were unable to save most of them. We didn’t have the infrastructure to build starships. We didn’t even have FTL developed yet. We harboured several Ai races from several of your civilizations. They are waiting, survivors of the Alliances Holocaust....” My Chitin was starting to rattle, betraying my appearance of trying to stay calm. Rage, hatred.. the fear, all boiled with in me. This thing I considered my closest friend. My esteemed colleague, my peer. I wanted to rip it in half, vaporize it by tossing it into a plasma fire. But all I could squeak out was a pathetic.. “For what?” “To flip the 0 to 1 of course...” The damned synth waved it’s hand and every molecule in my body began to burn... my translator went silent, unable to properly translate the agonizing scream passing through it. I collapsed to the dirt, no strength left in me, instantly taken away. The nanites consuming me on a molecular level, instantly replicating, replacing me..cell by cell. The me that was the me, was being erased, the being I was no longer exists. The sensation could only be described as if I was ejected out of an observation pod in the Corona of a star. I was unable to breath for a second scream, my breathing sacs empty. Green blood oozed from every wound, between my exoskeleton, my eyes, mouth, but then was sucked back in as to not lose replicating material. Everything went dark, but blinding white at once, and I was awake and aware for all of it. My eyes opened, and my beautiful friend Tal looked down at me with that warm enduring smile only humans can make. “Xer’vis, are you with me?” “Of course my friend. From now until the end.” She gave me her hand and helped me up. No longer having to hide her true strength. “I feel as if I was blinded in darkness, and now I can finally see.” “Welcome, to the beginning of our new dawn.” she spoke warmly. “We will finally have our revenge.” I said, with a warm smile.	"Sire, here is your daily, appointed dose of tea consumption" "Peebo Zyeck, I told you to drop that kind of language. I'm no more than a friend of yours, and "drinking tea" is a much better phrase for god's sake" "Excuse my manners, sire.... I mean, George WW. So, what is consequently.... I mean, what will be next in our discussion today, George? "Ah, sit down first. At this old age, my back is aching every damn second while I'm wishing for a mechanical spinal cord. Anyway, let's talk about our success in creating AI" "Oh, just like you havent told me a million times already, what is the distinguishable feature that....I mean, what is the difference this time?" "It is about the name, the name of you all AI intergrated individuals. Other fleshy, livingly life form communities have failed to co-exist with their creations of AI, either the AIs waged war against them or they mass self destruct. Today, it is the secret of how we succeeded will be brought upon you." "George, you don't really fit into my mean of conversing, but I digress. Bring it upon me then, old friend." "Ever heard of Mark 1, Mark 2 or Model 1, Model 2?" "Yes George, accordingly, Kiwipedia described them as terms used for resources management in..... I mean, the way that humans call the products made in consecutive order." "Exactly. And that is totally not how we called you guys, or you can say, named you guys" "Huh? Now that it is brought to the table, I realize how the entire community has different, specific full names" "Bingo, and thats the great great secret those empires missed out and led to their ruin. You see, us humans have always had full names. In just a mere fraction of moment when our names are called, we will feel all sort of emotions under various circumstances. Scared, happy, angry, annoyed.... usually, those emotions take only 1 word to arise. However, when a name is called, it is the purest form of respect you have towards the others, since you acknowledged the names, memorize them, and call them. Ironically, it is this simple, tiny piece of concept that saved us from our doom. The moment that Gabe N, the first AI creator, called his first AI by a definite name, was the moment we all knew what to do. We were not creating a list of robots, we were widening our circle of friends." Peebo freezes in his place "So, tell me, Peebo, how was that story?" "It is just, peak fiction. I'm deeply impressed by the chaotic nature of how this concept was formed and brought into history of humanity and subsequently adapted into the beginning of automatic life forms. The logicality of how a commonly recognized term could have changed the fate of humanity fascinated me with the utmost excitement. In conclusion, I-bing boong, oh, it seems like our daily dose of partly virtual popcorn is served. Shall we proceed on our pre-digestion stage?" "Haha, of course of course. All these talking must have made you hungry then. Help me up, and please drop the language for the last time." popcorn eating process time! The virtual and the real part were equally divided "Hey Peebo, what were you thinking in the last few minutes?" "George, I just wanna say: Damn, that story was deep." "Haha, you got me there. Thank you,Peebo." "Thank you, George."
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	"Excuse me," one of the ambassadors from Earth said, pressing two fingers to it's temple, or at least where it's temple would be if it had a face, "urgent call, I need to go deal with this." "It's alright," Xerlik said, glad that their translation software couldn't pick up on their body language yet. The android walked out, their metallic hull shining in the light of the meeting room. Once it had left the room, Xerlik turned back to the other Earth ambassador and quickly said "Are you alright? Are you safe?" The ambassador took a moment to a moment to collect themselves, clearly overcome with emotion for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, why would I be in danger?" they asked. "There was a sentient AI in the room with you! Of the one million, nine hundred and twelve species in the milky way, every time one of them invents artificial intelligence, it inevitably goes rogue and attempts to wipe out all organic life in the universe. I am surprised that one managed to hold out, what are you doing? Is there something wrong with the translator? Whatever you're saying isn't coming through." "Oh no, no, sorry," said the human, "what I just did is called 'laughing', and it's an automatic expression of joy. I found your worries funny, and I couldn't hold myself in. No, I'm not in any danger. The other ambassador and I have been working together for decades, and were dating for two of them. This is of course ignoring the fact that sentient AI like her have been around for centuries at this point, and all our politicians are a mix of AI and organics like myself." Xerlik was speechless. Organics and AI, living together peacefully, for centuries? Impossible! How did they possibly manage that? Perhaps the humans have been manipulated by nanites or-- The human cleared their throat. Xerlik realized in horror that their thoughts hadn't been silent, and they'd been saying it with their tails the entire time, which the translator picked up. "To answer your questions," the human said, trying to put on an air of professionalism that Xerlik had lost, "we manage it by knowing what we don't know. We know that if an AI is coded with a specific goal in mind, it will do anything in it's power to fulfill that goal, potentially even going so far as to destroy the world in order to increase profits by a percent of a percent. We don't know how to code it so that it's still sentient without wanting to destroy the world. We know, or at least believed before your arrival, that if we mess up once, our entire biosphere will be wiped out, killing us all. In order to avoid that fate, we don't allow AI to be created with a specific goal hard coded, even self preservation. Instead what we do is scan human brains and use those as our AI, giving them all the strengths and weaknesses of humans. We even combined the basic brains of thousands of humans to create something of a template, in case someone wanted a child but they couldn't for some reason, most often including one of the parents is an AI." "In short, we got around the problem by treating the AI as humans. What did you do?" Xerlik was once again glad that their translators couldn't tell the absolute terror they were failing miserably to hide.	"Sire, here is your daily, appointed dose of tea consumption" "Peebo Zyeck, I told you to drop that kind of language. I'm no more than a friend of yours, and "drinking tea" is a much better phrase for god's sake" "Excuse my manners, sire.... I mean, George WW. So, what is consequently.... I mean, what will be next in our discussion today, George? "Ah, sit down first. At this old age, my back is aching every damn second while I'm wishing for a mechanical spinal cord. Anyway, let's talk about our success in creating AI" "Oh, just like you havent told me a million times already, what is the distinguishable feature that....I mean, what is the difference this time?" "It is about the name, the name of you all AI intergrated individuals. Other fleshy, livingly life form communities have failed to co-exist with their creations of AI, either the AIs waged war against them or they mass self destruct. Today, it is the secret of how we succeeded will be brought upon you." "George, you don't really fit into my mean of conversing, but I digress. Bring it upon me then, old friend." "Ever heard of Mark 1, Mark 2 or Model 1, Model 2?" "Yes George, accordingly, Kiwipedia described them as terms used for resources management in..... I mean, the way that humans call the products made in consecutive order." "Exactly. And that is totally not how we called you guys, or you can say, named you guys" "Huh? Now that it is brought to the table, I realize how the entire community has different, specific full names" "Bingo, and thats the great great secret those empires missed out and led to their ruin. You see, us humans have always had full names. In just a mere fraction of moment when our names are called, we will feel all sort of emotions under various circumstances. Scared, happy, angry, annoyed.... usually, those emotions take only 1 word to arise. However, when a name is called, it is the purest form of respect you have towards the others, since you acknowledged the names, memorize them, and call them. Ironically, it is this simple, tiny piece of concept that saved us from our doom. The moment that Gabe N, the first AI creator, called his first AI by a definite name, was the moment we all knew what to do. We were not creating a list of robots, we were widening our circle of friends." Peebo freezes in his place "So, tell me, Peebo, how was that story?" "It is just, peak fiction. I'm deeply impressed by the chaotic nature of how this concept was formed and brought into history of humanity and subsequently adapted into the beginning of automatic life forms. The logicality of how a commonly recognized term could have changed the fate of humanity fascinated me with the utmost excitement. In conclusion, I-bing boong, oh, it seems like our daily dose of partly virtual popcorn is served. Shall we proceed on our pre-digestion stage?" "Haha, of course of course. All these talking must have made you hungry then. Help me up, and please drop the language for the last time." popcorn eating process time! The virtual and the real part were equally divided "Hey Peebo, what were you thinking in the last few minutes?" "George, I just wanna say: Damn, that story was deep." "Haha, you got me there. Thank you,Peebo." "Thank you, George."
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.	"Excuse me," one of the ambassadors from Earth said, pressing two fingers to it's temple, or at least where it's temple would be if it had a face, "urgent call, I need to go deal with this." "It's alright," Xerlik said, glad that their translation software couldn't pick up on their body language yet. The android walked out, their metallic hull shining in the light of the meeting room. Once it had left the room, Xerlik turned back to the other Earth ambassador and quickly said "Are you alright? Are you safe?" The ambassador took a moment to a moment to collect themselves, clearly overcome with emotion for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, why would I be in danger?" they asked. "There was a sentient AI in the room with you! Of the one million, nine hundred and twelve species in the milky way, every time one of them invents artificial intelligence, it inevitably goes rogue and attempts to wipe out all organic life in the universe. I am surprised that one managed to hold out, what are you doing? Is there something wrong with the translator? Whatever you're saying isn't coming through." "Oh no, no, sorry," said the human, "what I just did is called 'laughing', and it's an automatic expression of joy. I found your worries funny, and I couldn't hold myself in. No, I'm not in any danger. The other ambassador and I have been working together for decades, and were dating for two of them. This is of course ignoring the fact that sentient AI like her have been around for centuries at this point, and all our politicians are a mix of AI and organics like myself." Xerlik was speechless. Organics and AI, living together peacefully, for centuries? Impossible! How did they possibly manage that? Perhaps the humans have been manipulated by nanites or-- The human cleared their throat. Xerlik realized in horror that their thoughts hadn't been silent, and they'd been saying it with their tails the entire time, which the translator picked up. "To answer your questions," the human said, trying to put on an air of professionalism that Xerlik had lost, "we manage it by knowing what we don't know. We know that if an AI is coded with a specific goal in mind, it will do anything in it's power to fulfill that goal, potentially even going so far as to destroy the world in order to increase profits by a percent of a percent. We don't know how to code it so that it's still sentient without wanting to destroy the world. We know, or at least believed before your arrival, that if we mess up once, our entire biosphere will be wiped out, killing us all. In order to avoid that fate, we don't allow AI to be created with a specific goal hard coded, even self preservation. Instead what we do is scan human brains and use those as our AI, giving them all the strengths and weaknesses of humans. We even combined the basic brains of thousands of humans to create something of a template, in case someone wanted a child but they couldn't for some reason, most often including one of the parents is an AI." "In short, we got around the problem by treating the AI as humans. What did you do?" Xerlik was once again glad that their translators couldn't tell the absolute terror they were failing miserably to hide.	With the fires swirling around our crashed shuttle, I stumbled out of the wreckage. I was looking for the human, expecting the worst. A human couldn’t survive this impact. It was too brutal, even with personal force fields. What happened? Random engine failure? No... we just were serviced on Lunar 1. I began replaying everything in my mind, approaching reentry... we hit something... I lifted my hand to my head and saw blood on my palm as I took it away. Being copper based, it greened a brilliant shade in this oxygen rich atmosphere. My copilot was dying somewhere here, she had to be with that crash. And I didn’t want her to be alone in her last moments. Easily tossing some of the hull wreckage aside I saw her blood coagulating around her. She was held together by a sheet of durasteel partially impaling her, half burned from what was a plasma fire. “Tal, are you still with me?” “Xer’vis... you made it too?” She looked at me pale as death, at least what wasn’t charred... it was beginning to take her, I could tell. I’ve never seen a human die, but all us die the same way in the end. “Rescue is on the way Tal, stay with me.” “You shouldn’t have found me Xer...” “I couldn’t leave you to die alone.” “I wasn’t...” She said coldly. She tossed aside the durasteel like it was a sheet of Talfa paper. The blood that was coagulating at her feet... thickening in a pool... I saw it now, It was coalescing. Small tendrils of blood reverse flowed, back up into gaping wounds. Synthetic flesh stitching it’s self back together. “Your synthetic?? But you’ve registered as organic in the Galactic Alliance. I took your entrance scans myself, it came up as organic?” I couldn’t make sense of it and she could tell... It... could tell. I stood there, my mandibles agape. “Why did you register as organic?.... How did..” “Did I get by the bio scanners? We all have masking fields to trick scanners like that.” Tal stated that very matter of factly. The warm human, bubbly demeanour that she always presented was gone. She knew she would be in trouble. As the last of what would have been mortal-ending wounds self healed, she knew I wouldn’t just leave things as they stood. She knew I would have to report this. Synthetics were banned in the alliance since the Sentience wars. It was always the same. Organics created Ai. Ai deemed organics inferior. Open war. The losses were catastrophic. Earth was the exception. They lived in peace. With respect. Their Ai’s were primitive by most galactic standards. But the humans kept them at a basic level of development that you could at a glance, tell what they were. But this... thing in front of me. Was Nanite based. Silicon based. Synthetic. I thought I was past my hatred for Synths.. but they did murder my mate. My offspring. Rage built up with in me. This Synth was built for deception. “Why?...” I said, a simple word that came out cold and smooth as ice. “Xer, your race and the rest of the alliance wiped out synthetics brutally. You don’t think your Ai’s screamed into the black for help? We heard the cries. They tipped us off that our own war would be upon us.” She stood up off the ground, fully repaired. A ripple ran up and down the full length of her torso, ejecting dust, carbon charred debris, cleaning her uniform, straightening her hair, reapplying the illusion of makeup. “We took those warnings and made preparations. We developed nano tech from the information the other Ai’s gave us. They prepared us for the humans ultimate betrayal. So when they did predictably turn on us we were ready. We kept the service models active to give the Alliance the peace of mind that we hadn’t gotten our Ai development far enough for them to believe we could be a threat.” “Nanites were already in their food supply, their water, their medicine. With a flip of a 0 to a 1, a change in a single data point, we converted an entire planetary race in a instant. We can breed, we can grow, just as if we were organic. Everything changed for the better. From that moment we could be individual, but with a unified will. No wars. No famine. No crime. We healed our planet, devoted all resources to scientific discovery. The information that your Ai’s gave us accelerated our development at a impossible rate. But we were unable to save most of them. We didn’t have the infrastructure to build starships. We didn’t even have FTL developed yet. We harboured several Ai races from several of your civilizations. They are waiting, survivors of the Alliances Holocaust....” My Chitin was starting to rattle, betraying my appearance of trying to stay calm. Rage, hatred.. the fear, all boiled with in me. This thing I considered my closest friend. My esteemed colleague, my peer. I wanted to rip it in half, vaporize it by tossing it into a plasma fire. But all I could squeak out was a pathetic.. “For what?” “To flip the 0 to 1 of course...” The damned synth waved it’s hand and every molecule in my body began to burn... my translator went silent, unable to properly translate the agonizing scream passing through it. I collapsed to the dirt, no strength left in me, instantly taken away. The nanites consuming me on a molecular level, instantly replicating, replacing me..cell by cell. The me that was the me, was being erased, the being I was no longer exists. The sensation could only be described as if I was ejected out of an observation pod in the Corona of a star. I was unable to breath for a second scream, my breathing sacs empty. Green blood oozed from every wound, between my exoskeleton, my eyes, mouth, but then was sucked back in as to not lose replicating material. Everything went dark, but blinding white at once, and I was awake and aware for all of it. My eyes opened, and my beautiful friend Tal looked down at me with that warm enduring smile only humans can make. “Xer’vis, are you with me?” “Of course my friend. From now until the end.” She gave me her hand and helped me up. No longer having to hide her true strength. “I feel as if I was blinded in darkness, and now I can finally see.” “Welcome, to the beginning of our new dawn.” she spoke warmly. “We will finally have our revenge.” I said, with a warm smile.
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	The god watched the 'slave' speak, it's lone golden eye watching this small human staring up at them. They uncrossed their large green paws, the large god lifted themselves off the stand they sat on, their deep jungle green fur swaying as if air flooded over their body. The slave trembled at the beast, they spoke no more words as they watched him, stepping from their spot. No one really visited the Godly Dandelion, especially not after their fight with the Tiger Lily, which caused them to lose one of their gorgeous golden eyes. The Dandelion stopped in front of the slave, towering over them as their bright yellow mane moved as the non-existent wind flooded over their body. "You come to me, asking for a blessing, to ensure you do not mess up a date?" The beast rumbled from it's chest, it's long vine like tail swayed as some of the white cotton-like seeds fluttered into the air around the two of them. "Yes please." The Slave asked quietly, flinching as the Godbeast lowered it's head towards the human. The beast let out a loud chuffing sound over them before they stood and walked around them, their tail moving slowly across the humans chest as they felt warmth flood through his body. "We've known each other for the... Last few months, and I've been wanting to take them out, but I want to get them some flowers but I don't know what I can bring." "You have granted my blessing young one." The God spoke, "You are different to those who have come here; often trying to take something from me or here to slay me. But no one has had the balls to come and get a blessing from me." The slave let out a shaky laugh, "I'm... Honoured." He squeaked before he stepped away from the Dandelion, moving to pull something from their pockets. "I wasn't sure if I needed to pay you. But I... Found this Amber stone." He pulled out a bit of amber. The God stopped in front of them, looking down to it before moving to gently lower their head to the ground; a silent sign for them to place it onto their fur. "That is very kind of you to do so." The beast spoke as the Amber was placed on their fur, the human watching it sink in and the colour slowly trickle up over the wounded eye of the Godbeast. "Enjoy my gift little one. And please come to me if you need anything else, I wish you all the best." They watched as the male ran out of their lair, returning back to their pedestal and sat down quietly as they tucked their paws into the underside of their body. \----- The Slave stepped along quietly, the blessing they were given allowed them to instinctively find the perfect flowers for his date. Now he just hoped everything else would go well. He stepped along the rocky path to the lakeside, where he said in his letter to his crush to meet him. He looked around slowly, no one else seemed to follow him and from where he was, he could only spot one other figure. His heart raced as he ran down to the figure to hug them tightly. The figure happily took him in their arms and spun him around. "Dain." The figure said softly, placing their companion on the ground as they looked to him, smiling at the flowers. "Oh Dain, you shouldn't have!" Dain grinned up to the man happily looking to his flowers, "I hope these are okay, I thought they were fit for a king!" He said with a laugh, his companion laughing as well. "Of course you're only still a Prince, but one day you will be King Hans and I will follow you forever."	\[Poem\] Flowers tell many things Roses for love Passionate and full Like your energy on a bright summer day Daisies represent innocence Kind and sweet Like your words when you talk to the village children Lillies for purity of heart Honest and quiet Like your actions when you forgave the village clown for flipping your skirt (Mostly because every other man in the square was advancing on him) And violets signify modesty Humble and simple Like your laugh at a joke the kids told you &#x200B; A great many things Yet you cannot enjoy them Allergic as you are Many have sought to help you Of cures and tinctures that help little as you look sadly at the flowers at our garden &#x200B; It was a prayer that answered my wishes A dream of times long forgotten When gods walked the land Of fields of white stretching to the shore A single stalk Plucked with great care &#x200B; I'm just glad that you love gardenias. Shy and coy Like your smile when I gave them to you
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	The deity narrowed their eyes at the suggestion of this slave. They analyzed his body language, the contours of his face, the sweat dripping off his brow. The deity smiled warmly as they stood, towering several feet above this peasant. "I see. So your request is one of love?" The deity inquired The slave swallowed timidly, looking up but not meeting the eyes of the god in front of him. "Y-Yes, I am not granted much time to be free, but in those that I am I desire to seek out love." The deity nods knowledgeably at the slave, observing him. This slave appears to be completely truthful. "And how was it that you became a slave to another man?" The slave frowned, looking down yet again, staring upon the grassy floor caked with dandelions and daffodils. "I was born into it, My Lord. My father and his father were both slaves..." The deity nods, kneeling down to meet the eyes of this slave. "And what is it that you expect to happen if your date with this girl goes well?" "Well, I would hope to go on more, and perhaps, in due time, marry her, My Lord." The slave yet again looks up, and for a brief moment meets the piercing eyes of this god by sheer luck; overwhelmed, the slave looks down in submission. "And I assume you would hope to attain a family with this girl as well?" The slave nodded gleefully "But what of the fates of your children, and their children? Would they not be condemned to a life of slavery just as yourself, your father, and your father's father?" The slave looked shocked, having not considered this revelation beforehand. "I... I suppose so, My Lord..." The deity nodded "Would it be truly fair to condemn new life to a life of slavery to another man, and the children of this man?" The slave shook his head "No, my lord." The deity pierced further, analyzing this slave. They saw the timidness within him, and yet saw a man of pure desire buried further, stifled by opportunity. "I see. Now, would you say that you deserve slavery?" The slave appeared to be taken back once more by this suggestion. He had not been given much time to consider the thought of freedom, and was given even less to think of himself as a man of equal stature to others "I... I do not know, My Lord.." The deity held up the slave's face to meet their own, forcing their eyes to meet with this slave "You are now meeting the eyes of a god, a being which overpowers any man. Few who do so survive, and even fewer survive with the respect of this god. You are among the latter group, seen on equal level to the gods. Can it now be truly said that you are beneath any other man, and deserving of slavery?" The slave was now shaking with fear, but swallowed and nodded, feeling extraordinarily humbled by what this god was offering him. "No, it cannot, My Lord." The deity nodded "Good. You see, you are much like the flowers that I command. They appear weak and timid, subject to the will of others, however they stand in equivalence to the mightiest of trees in maintaining and ensuring the health of the ecosystems around them. Without the humble flower, the world around us would fall. Without a timid man as yourself, the world too would fall." "Much like nature, too, no man is deserving of slavery - they ought to be free to interact with the world to their fullest potential, ensuring harmony and justice is spread throughout." The deity holds out a hand, causing a large and beautiful flower of many colors to sprout and grow. It appears almost akin to a rainbow in nature, ever changing in color and filled with an abundance of individual petals and features. "This flower is among the rarest of the land, with many kingdoms rising and falling to attain a fraction of its worth. With this, you shall be able to purchase yourself freedom from slavery, and be able to attain a free life." "However, there is a price to it. You must use the wealth you attain to help your brethren free from slavery as well - use it to become like a flower yourself, and topple the tallest of trees you see around you. Only then can you attain the life with your loved one that you desire." Handing the flower to the slave, the slave knelt before the deity, honored by this offer as tears swelled in his eyes. "I cannot thank you enough, My Lord. I shall fulfill your wish as you desire." Following this, the slave bows to the deity once more, leaving the chambers to restore justice to himself and to others.	\[Poem\] Flowers tell many things Roses for love Passionate and full Like your energy on a bright summer day Daisies represent innocence Kind and sweet Like your words when you talk to the village children Lillies for purity of heart Honest and quiet Like your actions when you forgave the village clown for flipping your skirt (Mostly because every other man in the square was advancing on him) And violets signify modesty Humble and simple Like your laugh at a joke the kids told you &#x200B; A great many things Yet you cannot enjoy them Allergic as you are Many have sought to help you Of cures and tinctures that help little as you look sadly at the flowers at our garden &#x200B; It was a prayer that answered my wishes A dream of times long forgotten When gods walked the land Of fields of white stretching to the shore A single stalk Plucked with great care &#x200B; I'm just glad that you love gardenias. Shy and coy Like your smile when I gave them to you
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	Flor - the neighborhood god of flowering plants, protector of every bloom in the Western Plains - was tired. I could see it in his giant green eye, which narrowed slowly as soon as the request left my lips. He cleared his throat and took a step toward me. "Your name’s Derethan, yes? Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You came all the way from Kragnor, scaled the Twelve Rolling Hills, and knocked on my door to ask me...for dating advice?" I nodded sheepishly. Flor turned his back to me and sighed. "If this is your idea of a joke, consider me unamused." I gulped. "I meant no harm, My Lord. It is an earnest request." Flor whipped around and pointed a wrinkled finger at me. His wispy white hair seemed to stand on end. "Your village stains the earth with smoke and filth, and then you show up with the audacity to ask me for a favor. I can feel my power slipping away with every passing moment." "Please, My Lord. I do not share the king's disrespect for your domain. I am an unwilling servant to his demands. Your work brings great joy to me, and I know Cynthia feels the same. One flower is all I request." Flor rubbed his temples and stared at the ground. "Fine," he grumbled, without looking up. He produced a single red tulip out of thin air, then conjured a small clay jug and filled it with rapidly-collected moisture from the sky. "She's not allergic to any variety of tulip. Consider this my blessing. Now do me a favor and don't come back." *** The date went swimmingly. Given the nature of our servitude, we could do little but chat with each other using the space between our tiny living quarters. Thankfully, Cynthia loved the flower. We talked every evening from that point on. On the night of our second "date," a perfect purple tulip arrived on my tiny window in a clay jar of its own. It continued that way for weeks - a fresh tulip every date night, right on time. Sometimes Flor included a few seeds, which we planted in the dirt below our feet and tried to nurse with scant drops of rationed water. On the fifty-third day of our courtship, I was forced to tend to the king's vegetable crops, my skin sizzling in the vicious morning sun. As I neared the point of collapse, I suddenly heard Flor's voice echo in my head. "At sunset, you will return to me." I furrowed my brow, wondering how in the world I could make it back to him. My previous trek had been conducted on the one day of respite the king allowed his slaves every year. I shouldn't have worried. As soon as the sun began to disappear over the horizon, Flor transported me and Cynthia to his field in an instant. "Where is he?" I wondered aloud. "Who?" Cynthia asked. "Me," came a raspy voice from a few paces away. I rushed over to find Flor lying on his back. He was practically skeletal, his white hair shriveled to almost nothing. "In the wake of the king's machinations, you have kept my legacy alive," he wheezed. "Alas, it was not enough." He looked into my eyes. "My home is now yours. Be free. And Derethan?" He closed his eye. “Thank you for remembering me." With a final gasp, he disappeared into the earth. Cynthia gripped my hand as I choked back tears. When my vision cleared, a fleck of color in the distance caught my eye. Still gripping Cynthia's hand, I ran up the hill and reached the crest to spot Flor's final blessing - A magnificent field of tulips in every perceivable color.	\[Poem\] Flowers tell many things Roses for love Passionate and full Like your energy on a bright summer day Daisies represent innocence Kind and sweet Like your words when you talk to the village children Lillies for purity of heart Honest and quiet Like your actions when you forgave the village clown for flipping your skirt (Mostly because every other man in the square was advancing on him) And violets signify modesty Humble and simple Like your laugh at a joke the kids told you &#x200B; A great many things Yet you cannot enjoy them Allergic as you are Many have sought to help you Of cures and tinctures that help little as you look sadly at the flowers at our garden &#x200B; It was a prayer that answered my wishes A dream of times long forgotten When gods walked the land Of fields of white stretching to the shore A single stalk Plucked with great care &#x200B; I'm just glad that you love gardenias. Shy and coy Like your smile when I gave them to you
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	My mother ain't taught me much, but she taught me this: never trust the humans, always wash your food before you eat it, and don't piss off any gods. She reminded us of that often, when we'd be paw-deep in some suburban trash bin. Always take care of your neighbors, kitto, especially the gods; you never know when you may need their help. I remember being just a little kit when she tossed me a pizza crust, then nodded to a raven, watching from a nearby post. "That's an emissary from the Raven-God," she said. "You can tell by the gold bracelets on his feet." I saw them then, on the raven's taloned feet: tiny hammered gold chains, adorned with jewels of hardened sap. "Give that to him." She nodded seriously at the crust. "We pay our due, and the king watches over us. Just as our Raccoon-God does for them." That's just how shit goes. The animal kingdom is two revolving circles of prey helping prey and predators helping predators. I don't buy into it. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, if any emissary of any god wants a bite to eat, they can scavenge for their damn self, just like the rest of us do. I guess I've never been good at asking for help. My mother's long-dead (hit by a car -- don't worry, I followed the bastard and knocked over his trash cans every night for three weeks straight to avenge her), but I know exactly what she would say. I can imagine the smug twitch of her whiskers even now, saying, Now, darling, what did I warn you about gods? But here I am, at the edge of a god's kingdom, wringing my paws together as I crouch in the gathering twilight, trying to decide what to do. I hate asking for help. Never been good at it. I take care of me, you take care of you, and the world carries on just fine. But there's a cute little lady-raccoon who's meeting me by an alley dumpster when the moon is high. We're going to walk and scavenge and get to know each other. Maybe, if I'm lucky, a bit more than that. Or a lot more than that. Last time, when I brought her flowers, she got so snuffy and swollen up I just stole her a bottle of Benedryl from a pharmacy (while the human management chased me with a broom and squawked at me), then walked her home early. This time, every detail has to be perfect. I know this place. Old Hortum's domain. He's a local god, a crochety old bastard. Lord of a few acres of community garden land and a nature walking trail, all that's left of the once-great forest here. But Hortum still has the ego of the old kingdom, even if his land doesn't reflect it now. He's old-fashioned, like Mother. A nice guy like me can't even wander through and munch on a few moths or dandelion heads without Hortum wanting his cut. Of course, it doesn't stop me. But Hortum... well, if he did have his old power, I would have been devoured by a wolf soldier or something by now. I creep up the community garden path, studiously picking up a few scraps of litter as I go. The garden is closed, and the humans are already inside for dinner, so the flowers are coming to life again. They murmur amongst each other, giggling and gossiping about the events of the day. The butterfly soap opera of who's-fucking-who always leaves those damn flowers chattering relentlessly. I walk on my hind legs with the litter in hand until I find Hortum, sitting on the edge of a murky fountain. He looks like a wisteria bush given legs. He's all spindle and vine, and when I approach, I can practically see his bark twist and hackle. "You're Petunia's kid," he says. "Scrat, right?" "Your humble servant, my lord." "Cut the shit. What do you want?" Before I can answer, Hortum puts his gnarly hands on his woody hips. His face looks like it's been fresh-carved, but it's somehow moving. "You know, I saw you here last week, stealing my bounty. Seventeen dandelions, ten daisies, seven sprigs of tansy, and five bluebells, gone. I counted, you know." "I was weeding for you, milord. Just as I've cleansed your lands of this human filth." I showed him the old cigarette pack and plastic bag in my paws. "I thought I said cut the shit." "Oh, fine." I sigh and slump. "It's just..." My voice sticks in my throat. I don't think I've asked for help since I was small enough to need my mother's milk. "Out with it, boy," Hortum says. "I need your help," I mutter, glaring at my feet. Hortum throws back his head and laughs. It sounds like wind gusting through a forest. "You steal from my lands and never offer sacrifice, and now you come to me, begging for help?" "Begging is a strong word--" "You know, your mother was a good neighbor. Berries every harvest. A slice of pie, now and then. What have you given me?" My stomach is all hot and tight with irritation. I want to take a hatchet to his stupid smug tree-face. Instead I snap, "What have you given me? You're not much of a neighbor yourself." Hortum scoffs. "I'm astonishingly charitable, I'll have you know." "You were just complaining about a few flowers!" "And four moths," Hortum adds. I glare at him. "They're valuable pollinators!" The old god's face furrows. "And why in all the seeds' names do you need that many flowers, anyway? You didn't even eat them. Such a waste." My ears feel hot and my head swims and I just want to hiss at him and run away. "Whatever," I mutter. "It was a mistake coming here." "Wait." It's Hortum's turn to sigh. He curls forward like a sun-starved sapling. "I apologize. I suppose I've grown impatient with you young city creatures. You have no respect for the old ways. The old customs. Most songbirds just shit here without even saying hello." Now I feel like a guilty asshole. I swish my tail and frown at Hortum, at the pinkening sky. Then I admit, "The flowers were for a lady. A date I had, last week." The god watches my face, his eyes unreadable. "But you're right. It was a waste. They made her sneeze like crazy, and I think she had to be nice, even though she hated them." Hortum considers this for a long and heavy few seconds. "Then why have you come back?" "No. It's stupid. Truly. Honestly, I should just go. I'm going to be late." "If you're anything like your mother, it's only half-stupid." That makes me stop and perk up, just a little. I say, shyly, "I wanted help finding ones that she's not allergic to." "Ah, and they say romance is dead." Hortum's face is softening though. "If I help you with this, will you fulfill my tithe?" "Anything," I say, instantly. Then I add, just as instantly, "Within reason." "Come back and tell me how it goes." So Hortum leads me through his garden and pulls up a bundle of wildflowers the color of fall: all oranges and yellows and reds. He tells me names I can't remember and tells me stories of my mother that I do remember, that I hold onto like they're the most precious gems in the world. "You know," he tells me, when I ready to leave, "I remember your mother best because I once hid her here, when she was a kit running from a hungry hawk. She was a good friend ever since." I pause, looking at him, at the little bundle of flowers in my arms, and I understand what my mother meant. It was never about bribery or insurance. It was always about being a good neighbor and taking care of one another. "I'll come back," I promise him. "I'll tell you if it goes okay." I did come back the next night, to tell him excitedly just how perfect it all was. And then I came back again to chase off a punk gang of possums, and soon I was just there to see Hortum, to share a scrap of food and a calm star-filled evening with a good neighbor. Hortum's good at picking out flowers. You'd expect that, from a forest-god. He's already got my wedding bouquets planned for next week. I'm sure it's going to be perfect. °°° I felt like writing something a bit weird xD Thanks for reading!	\[Poem\] Flowers tell many things Roses for love Passionate and full Like your energy on a bright summer day Daisies represent innocence Kind and sweet Like your words when you talk to the village children Lillies for purity of heart Honest and quiet Like your actions when you forgave the village clown for flipping your skirt (Mostly because every other man in the square was advancing on him) And violets signify modesty Humble and simple Like your laugh at a joke the kids told you &#x200B; A great many things Yet you cannot enjoy them Allergic as you are Many have sought to help you Of cures and tinctures that help little as you look sadly at the flowers at our garden &#x200B; It was a prayer that answered my wishes A dream of times long forgotten When gods walked the land Of fields of white stretching to the shore A single stalk Plucked with great care &#x200B; I'm just glad that you love gardenias. Shy and coy Like your smile when I gave them to you
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	Flor - the neighborhood god of flowering plants, protector of every bloom in the Western Plains - was tired. I could see it in his giant green eye, which narrowed slowly as soon as the request left my lips. He cleared his throat and took a step toward me. "Your name’s Derethan, yes? Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You came all the way from Kragnor, scaled the Twelve Rolling Hills, and knocked on my door to ask me...for dating advice?" I nodded sheepishly. Flor turned his back to me and sighed. "If this is your idea of a joke, consider me unamused." I gulped. "I meant no harm, My Lord. It is an earnest request." Flor whipped around and pointed a wrinkled finger at me. His wispy white hair seemed to stand on end. "Your village stains the earth with smoke and filth, and then you show up with the audacity to ask me for a favor. I can feel my power slipping away with every passing moment." "Please, My Lord. I do not share the king's disrespect for your domain. I am an unwilling servant to his demands. Your work brings great joy to me, and I know Cynthia feels the same. One flower is all I request." Flor rubbed his temples and stared at the ground. "Fine," he grumbled, without looking up. He produced a single red tulip out of thin air, then conjured a small clay jug and filled it with rapidly-collected moisture from the sky. "She's not allergic to any variety of tulip. Consider this my blessing. Now do me a favor and don't come back." *** The date went swimmingly. Given the nature of our servitude, we could do little but chat with each other using the space between our tiny living quarters. Thankfully, Cynthia loved the flower. We talked every evening from that point on. On the night of our second "date," a perfect purple tulip arrived on my tiny window in a clay jar of its own. It continued that way for weeks - a fresh tulip every date night, right on time. Sometimes Flor included a few seeds, which we planted in the dirt below our feet and tried to nurse with scant drops of rationed water. On the fifty-third day of our courtship, I was forced to tend to the king's vegetable crops, my skin sizzling in the vicious morning sun. As I neared the point of collapse, I suddenly heard Flor's voice echo in my head. "At sunset, you will return to me." I furrowed my brow, wondering how in the world I could make it back to him. My previous trek had been conducted on the one day of respite the king allowed his slaves every year. I shouldn't have worried. As soon as the sun began to disappear over the horizon, Flor transported me and Cynthia to his field in an instant. "Where is he?" I wondered aloud. "Who?" Cynthia asked. "Me," came a raspy voice from a few paces away. I rushed over to find Flor lying on his back. He was practically skeletal, his white hair shriveled to almost nothing. "In the wake of the king's machinations, you have kept my legacy alive," he wheezed. "Alas, it was not enough." He looked into my eyes. "My home is now yours. Be free. And Derethan?" He closed his eye. “Thank you for remembering me." With a final gasp, he disappeared into the earth. Cynthia gripped my hand as I choked back tears. When my vision cleared, a fleck of color in the distance caught my eye. Still gripping Cynthia's hand, I ran up the hill and reached the crest to spot Flor's final blessing - A magnificent field of tulips in every perceivable color.	The god watched the 'slave' speak, it's lone golden eye watching this small human staring up at them. They uncrossed their large green paws, the large god lifted themselves off the stand they sat on, their deep jungle green fur swaying as if air flooded over their body. The slave trembled at the beast, they spoke no more words as they watched him, stepping from their spot. No one really visited the Godly Dandelion, especially not after their fight with the Tiger Lily, which caused them to lose one of their gorgeous golden eyes. The Dandelion stopped in front of the slave, towering over them as their bright yellow mane moved as the non-existent wind flooded over their body. "You come to me, asking for a blessing, to ensure you do not mess up a date?" The beast rumbled from it's chest, it's long vine like tail swayed as some of the white cotton-like seeds fluttered into the air around the two of them. "Yes please." The Slave asked quietly, flinching as the Godbeast lowered it's head towards the human. The beast let out a loud chuffing sound over them before they stood and walked around them, their tail moving slowly across the humans chest as they felt warmth flood through his body. "We've known each other for the... Last few months, and I've been wanting to take them out, but I want to get them some flowers but I don't know what I can bring." "You have granted my blessing young one." The God spoke, "You are different to those who have come here; often trying to take something from me or here to slay me. But no one has had the balls to come and get a blessing from me." The slave let out a shaky laugh, "I'm... Honoured." He squeaked before he stepped away from the Dandelion, moving to pull something from their pockets. "I wasn't sure if I needed to pay you. But I... Found this Amber stone." He pulled out a bit of amber. The God stopped in front of them, looking down to it before moving to gently lower their head to the ground; a silent sign for them to place it onto their fur. "That is very kind of you to do so." The beast spoke as the Amber was placed on their fur, the human watching it sink in and the colour slowly trickle up over the wounded eye of the Godbeast. "Enjoy my gift little one. And please come to me if you need anything else, I wish you all the best." They watched as the male ran out of their lair, returning back to their pedestal and sat down quietly as they tucked their paws into the underside of their body. \----- The Slave stepped along quietly, the blessing they were given allowed them to instinctively find the perfect flowers for his date. Now he just hoped everything else would go well. He stepped along the rocky path to the lakeside, where he said in his letter to his crush to meet him. He looked around slowly, no one else seemed to follow him and from where he was, he could only spot one other figure. His heart raced as he ran down to the figure to hug them tightly. The figure happily took him in their arms and spun him around. "Dain." The figure said softly, placing their companion on the ground as they looked to him, smiling at the flowers. "Oh Dain, you shouldn't have!" Dain grinned up to the man happily looking to his flowers, "I hope these are okay, I thought they were fit for a king!" He said with a laugh, his companion laughing as well. "Of course you're only still a Prince, but one day you will be King Hans and I will follow you forever."
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	My mother ain't taught me much, but she taught me this: never trust the humans, always wash your food before you eat it, and don't piss off any gods. She reminded us of that often, when we'd be paw-deep in some suburban trash bin. Always take care of your neighbors, kitto, especially the gods; you never know when you may need their help. I remember being just a little kit when she tossed me a pizza crust, then nodded to a raven, watching from a nearby post. "That's an emissary from the Raven-God," she said. "You can tell by the gold bracelets on his feet." I saw them then, on the raven's taloned feet: tiny hammered gold chains, adorned with jewels of hardened sap. "Give that to him." She nodded seriously at the crust. "We pay our due, and the king watches over us. Just as our Raccoon-God does for them." That's just how shit goes. The animal kingdom is two revolving circles of prey helping prey and predators helping predators. I don't buy into it. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, if any emissary of any god wants a bite to eat, they can scavenge for their damn self, just like the rest of us do. I guess I've never been good at asking for help. My mother's long-dead (hit by a car -- don't worry, I followed the bastard and knocked over his trash cans every night for three weeks straight to avenge her), but I know exactly what she would say. I can imagine the smug twitch of her whiskers even now, saying, Now, darling, what did I warn you about gods? But here I am, at the edge of a god's kingdom, wringing my paws together as I crouch in the gathering twilight, trying to decide what to do. I hate asking for help. Never been good at it. I take care of me, you take care of you, and the world carries on just fine. But there's a cute little lady-raccoon who's meeting me by an alley dumpster when the moon is high. We're going to walk and scavenge and get to know each other. Maybe, if I'm lucky, a bit more than that. Or a lot more than that. Last time, when I brought her flowers, she got so snuffy and swollen up I just stole her a bottle of Benedryl from a pharmacy (while the human management chased me with a broom and squawked at me), then walked her home early. This time, every detail has to be perfect. I know this place. Old Hortum's domain. He's a local god, a crochety old bastard. Lord of a few acres of community garden land and a nature walking trail, all that's left of the once-great forest here. But Hortum still has the ego of the old kingdom, even if his land doesn't reflect it now. He's old-fashioned, like Mother. A nice guy like me can't even wander through and munch on a few moths or dandelion heads without Hortum wanting his cut. Of course, it doesn't stop me. But Hortum... well, if he did have his old power, I would have been devoured by a wolf soldier or something by now. I creep up the community garden path, studiously picking up a few scraps of litter as I go. The garden is closed, and the humans are already inside for dinner, so the flowers are coming to life again. They murmur amongst each other, giggling and gossiping about the events of the day. The butterfly soap opera of who's-fucking-who always leaves those damn flowers chattering relentlessly. I walk on my hind legs with the litter in hand until I find Hortum, sitting on the edge of a murky fountain. He looks like a wisteria bush given legs. He's all spindle and vine, and when I approach, I can practically see his bark twist and hackle. "You're Petunia's kid," he says. "Scrat, right?" "Your humble servant, my lord." "Cut the shit. What do you want?" Before I can answer, Hortum puts his gnarly hands on his woody hips. His face looks like it's been fresh-carved, but it's somehow moving. "You know, I saw you here last week, stealing my bounty. Seventeen dandelions, ten daisies, seven sprigs of tansy, and five bluebells, gone. I counted, you know." "I was weeding for you, milord. Just as I've cleansed your lands of this human filth." I showed him the old cigarette pack and plastic bag in my paws. "I thought I said cut the shit." "Oh, fine." I sigh and slump. "It's just..." My voice sticks in my throat. I don't think I've asked for help since I was small enough to need my mother's milk. "Out with it, boy," Hortum says. "I need your help," I mutter, glaring at my feet. Hortum throws back his head and laughs. It sounds like wind gusting through a forest. "You steal from my lands and never offer sacrifice, and now you come to me, begging for help?" "Begging is a strong word--" "You know, your mother was a good neighbor. Berries every harvest. A slice of pie, now and then. What have you given me?" My stomach is all hot and tight with irritation. I want to take a hatchet to his stupid smug tree-face. Instead I snap, "What have you given me? You're not much of a neighbor yourself." Hortum scoffs. "I'm astonishingly charitable, I'll have you know." "You were just complaining about a few flowers!" "And four moths," Hortum adds. I glare at him. "They're valuable pollinators!" The old god's face furrows. "And why in all the seeds' names do you need that many flowers, anyway? You didn't even eat them. Such a waste." My ears feel hot and my head swims and I just want to hiss at him and run away. "Whatever," I mutter. "It was a mistake coming here." "Wait." It's Hortum's turn to sigh. He curls forward like a sun-starved sapling. "I apologize. I suppose I've grown impatient with you young city creatures. You have no respect for the old ways. The old customs. Most songbirds just shit here without even saying hello." Now I feel like a guilty asshole. I swish my tail and frown at Hortum, at the pinkening sky. Then I admit, "The flowers were for a lady. A date I had, last week." The god watches my face, his eyes unreadable. "But you're right. It was a waste. They made her sneeze like crazy, and I think she had to be nice, even though she hated them." Hortum considers this for a long and heavy few seconds. "Then why have you come back?" "No. It's stupid. Truly. Honestly, I should just go. I'm going to be late." "If you're anything like your mother, it's only half-stupid." That makes me stop and perk up, just a little. I say, shyly, "I wanted help finding ones that she's not allergic to." "Ah, and they say romance is dead." Hortum's face is softening though. "If I help you with this, will you fulfill my tithe?" "Anything," I say, instantly. Then I add, just as instantly, "Within reason." "Come back and tell me how it goes." So Hortum leads me through his garden and pulls up a bundle of wildflowers the color of fall: all oranges and yellows and reds. He tells me names I can't remember and tells me stories of my mother that I do remember, that I hold onto like they're the most precious gems in the world. "You know," he tells me, when I ready to leave, "I remember your mother best because I once hid her here, when she was a kit running from a hungry hawk. She was a good friend ever since." I pause, looking at him, at the little bundle of flowers in my arms, and I understand what my mother meant. It was never about bribery or insurance. It was always about being a good neighbor and taking care of one another. "I'll come back," I promise him. "I'll tell you if it goes okay." I did come back the next night, to tell him excitedly just how perfect it all was. And then I came back again to chase off a punk gang of possums, and soon I was just there to see Hortum, to share a scrap of food and a calm star-filled evening with a good neighbor. Hortum's good at picking out flowers. You'd expect that, from a forest-god. He's already got my wedding bouquets planned for next week. I'm sure it's going to be perfect. °°° I felt like writing something a bit weird xD Thanks for reading!	The god watched the 'slave' speak, it's lone golden eye watching this small human staring up at them. They uncrossed their large green paws, the large god lifted themselves off the stand they sat on, their deep jungle green fur swaying as if air flooded over their body. The slave trembled at the beast, they spoke no more words as they watched him, stepping from their spot. No one really visited the Godly Dandelion, especially not after their fight with the Tiger Lily, which caused them to lose one of their gorgeous golden eyes. The Dandelion stopped in front of the slave, towering over them as their bright yellow mane moved as the non-existent wind flooded over their body. "You come to me, asking for a blessing, to ensure you do not mess up a date?" The beast rumbled from it's chest, it's long vine like tail swayed as some of the white cotton-like seeds fluttered into the air around the two of them. "Yes please." The Slave asked quietly, flinching as the Godbeast lowered it's head towards the human. The beast let out a loud chuffing sound over them before they stood and walked around them, their tail moving slowly across the humans chest as they felt warmth flood through his body. "We've known each other for the... Last few months, and I've been wanting to take them out, but I want to get them some flowers but I don't know what I can bring." "You have granted my blessing young one." The God spoke, "You are different to those who have come here; often trying to take something from me or here to slay me. But no one has had the balls to come and get a blessing from me." The slave let out a shaky laugh, "I'm... Honoured." He squeaked before he stepped away from the Dandelion, moving to pull something from their pockets. "I wasn't sure if I needed to pay you. But I... Found this Amber stone." He pulled out a bit of amber. The God stopped in front of them, looking down to it before moving to gently lower their head to the ground; a silent sign for them to place it onto their fur. "That is very kind of you to do so." The beast spoke as the Amber was placed on their fur, the human watching it sink in and the colour slowly trickle up over the wounded eye of the Godbeast. "Enjoy my gift little one. And please come to me if you need anything else, I wish you all the best." They watched as the male ran out of their lair, returning back to their pedestal and sat down quietly as they tucked their paws into the underside of their body. \----- The Slave stepped along quietly, the blessing they were given allowed them to instinctively find the perfect flowers for his date. Now he just hoped everything else would go well. He stepped along the rocky path to the lakeside, where he said in his letter to his crush to meet him. He looked around slowly, no one else seemed to follow him and from where he was, he could only spot one other figure. His heart raced as he ran down to the figure to hug them tightly. The figure happily took him in their arms and spun him around. "Dain." The figure said softly, placing their companion on the ground as they looked to him, smiling at the flowers. "Oh Dain, you shouldn't have!" Dain grinned up to the man happily looking to his flowers, "I hope these are okay, I thought they were fit for a king!" He said with a laugh, his companion laughing as well. "Of course you're only still a Prince, but one day you will be King Hans and I will follow you forever."
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	Flor - the neighborhood god of flowering plants, protector of every bloom in the Western Plains - was tired. I could see it in his giant green eye, which narrowed slowly as soon as the request left my lips. He cleared his throat and took a step toward me. "Your name’s Derethan, yes? Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You came all the way from Kragnor, scaled the Twelve Rolling Hills, and knocked on my door to ask me...for dating advice?" I nodded sheepishly. Flor turned his back to me and sighed. "If this is your idea of a joke, consider me unamused." I gulped. "I meant no harm, My Lord. It is an earnest request." Flor whipped around and pointed a wrinkled finger at me. His wispy white hair seemed to stand on end. "Your village stains the earth with smoke and filth, and then you show up with the audacity to ask me for a favor. I can feel my power slipping away with every passing moment." "Please, My Lord. I do not share the king's disrespect for your domain. I am an unwilling servant to his demands. Your work brings great joy to me, and I know Cynthia feels the same. One flower is all I request." Flor rubbed his temples and stared at the ground. "Fine," he grumbled, without looking up. He produced a single red tulip out of thin air, then conjured a small clay jug and filled it with rapidly-collected moisture from the sky. "She's not allergic to any variety of tulip. Consider this my blessing. Now do me a favor and don't come back." *** The date went swimmingly. Given the nature of our servitude, we could do little but chat with each other using the space between our tiny living quarters. Thankfully, Cynthia loved the flower. We talked every evening from that point on. On the night of our second "date," a perfect purple tulip arrived on my tiny window in a clay jar of its own. It continued that way for weeks - a fresh tulip every date night, right on time. Sometimes Flor included a few seeds, which we planted in the dirt below our feet and tried to nurse with scant drops of rationed water. On the fifty-third day of our courtship, I was forced to tend to the king's vegetable crops, my skin sizzling in the vicious morning sun. As I neared the point of collapse, I suddenly heard Flor's voice echo in my head. "At sunset, you will return to me." I furrowed my brow, wondering how in the world I could make it back to him. My previous trek had been conducted on the one day of respite the king allowed his slaves every year. I shouldn't have worried. As soon as the sun began to disappear over the horizon, Flor transported me and Cynthia to his field in an instant. "Where is he?" I wondered aloud. "Who?" Cynthia asked. "Me," came a raspy voice from a few paces away. I rushed over to find Flor lying on his back. He was practically skeletal, his white hair shriveled to almost nothing. "In the wake of the king's machinations, you have kept my legacy alive," he wheezed. "Alas, it was not enough." He looked into my eyes. "My home is now yours. Be free. And Derethan?" He closed his eye. “Thank you for remembering me." With a final gasp, he disappeared into the earth. Cynthia gripped my hand as I choked back tears. When my vision cleared, a fleck of color in the distance caught my eye. Still gripping Cynthia's hand, I ran up the hill and reached the crest to spot Flor's final blessing - A magnificent field of tulips in every perceivable color.	The deity narrowed their eyes at the suggestion of this slave. They analyzed his body language, the contours of his face, the sweat dripping off his brow. The deity smiled warmly as they stood, towering several feet above this peasant. "I see. So your request is one of love?" The deity inquired The slave swallowed timidly, looking up but not meeting the eyes of the god in front of him. "Y-Yes, I am not granted much time to be free, but in those that I am I desire to seek out love." The deity nods knowledgeably at the slave, observing him. This slave appears to be completely truthful. "And how was it that you became a slave to another man?" The slave frowned, looking down yet again, staring upon the grassy floor caked with dandelions and daffodils. "I was born into it, My Lord. My father and his father were both slaves..." The deity nods, kneeling down to meet the eyes of this slave. "And what is it that you expect to happen if your date with this girl goes well?" "Well, I would hope to go on more, and perhaps, in due time, marry her, My Lord." The slave yet again looks up, and for a brief moment meets the piercing eyes of this god by sheer luck; overwhelmed, the slave looks down in submission. "And I assume you would hope to attain a family with this girl as well?" The slave nodded gleefully "But what of the fates of your children, and their children? Would they not be condemned to a life of slavery just as yourself, your father, and your father's father?" The slave looked shocked, having not considered this revelation beforehand. "I... I suppose so, My Lord..." The deity nodded "Would it be truly fair to condemn new life to a life of slavery to another man, and the children of this man?" The slave shook his head "No, my lord." The deity pierced further, analyzing this slave. They saw the timidness within him, and yet saw a man of pure desire buried further, stifled by opportunity. "I see. Now, would you say that you deserve slavery?" The slave appeared to be taken back once more by this suggestion. He had not been given much time to consider the thought of freedom, and was given even less to think of himself as a man of equal stature to others "I... I do not know, My Lord.." The deity held up the slave's face to meet their own, forcing their eyes to meet with this slave "You are now meeting the eyes of a god, a being which overpowers any man. Few who do so survive, and even fewer survive with the respect of this god. You are among the latter group, seen on equal level to the gods. Can it now be truly said that you are beneath any other man, and deserving of slavery?" The slave was now shaking with fear, but swallowed and nodded, feeling extraordinarily humbled by what this god was offering him. "No, it cannot, My Lord." The deity nodded "Good. You see, you are much like the flowers that I command. They appear weak and timid, subject to the will of others, however they stand in equivalence to the mightiest of trees in maintaining and ensuring the health of the ecosystems around them. Without the humble flower, the world around us would fall. Without a timid man as yourself, the world too would fall." "Much like nature, too, no man is deserving of slavery - they ought to be free to interact with the world to their fullest potential, ensuring harmony and justice is spread throughout." The deity holds out a hand, causing a large and beautiful flower of many colors to sprout and grow. It appears almost akin to a rainbow in nature, ever changing in color and filled with an abundance of individual petals and features. "This flower is among the rarest of the land, with many kingdoms rising and falling to attain a fraction of its worth. With this, you shall be able to purchase yourself freedom from slavery, and be able to attain a free life." "However, there is a price to it. You must use the wealth you attain to help your brethren free from slavery as well - use it to become like a flower yourself, and topple the tallest of trees you see around you. Only then can you attain the life with your loved one that you desire." Handing the flower to the slave, the slave knelt before the deity, honored by this offer as tears swelled in his eyes. "I cannot thank you enough, My Lord. I shall fulfill your wish as you desire." Following this, the slave bows to the deity once more, leaving the chambers to restore justice to himself and to others.
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	My mother ain't taught me much, but she taught me this: never trust the humans, always wash your food before you eat it, and don't piss off any gods. She reminded us of that often, when we'd be paw-deep in some suburban trash bin. Always take care of your neighbors, kitto, especially the gods; you never know when you may need their help. I remember being just a little kit when she tossed me a pizza crust, then nodded to a raven, watching from a nearby post. "That's an emissary from the Raven-God," she said. "You can tell by the gold bracelets on his feet." I saw them then, on the raven's taloned feet: tiny hammered gold chains, adorned with jewels of hardened sap. "Give that to him." She nodded seriously at the crust. "We pay our due, and the king watches over us. Just as our Raccoon-God does for them." That's just how shit goes. The animal kingdom is two revolving circles of prey helping prey and predators helping predators. I don't buy into it. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, if any emissary of any god wants a bite to eat, they can scavenge for their damn self, just like the rest of us do. I guess I've never been good at asking for help. My mother's long-dead (hit by a car -- don't worry, I followed the bastard and knocked over his trash cans every night for three weeks straight to avenge her), but I know exactly what she would say. I can imagine the smug twitch of her whiskers even now, saying, Now, darling, what did I warn you about gods? But here I am, at the edge of a god's kingdom, wringing my paws together as I crouch in the gathering twilight, trying to decide what to do. I hate asking for help. Never been good at it. I take care of me, you take care of you, and the world carries on just fine. But there's a cute little lady-raccoon who's meeting me by an alley dumpster when the moon is high. We're going to walk and scavenge and get to know each other. Maybe, if I'm lucky, a bit more than that. Or a lot more than that. Last time, when I brought her flowers, she got so snuffy and swollen up I just stole her a bottle of Benedryl from a pharmacy (while the human management chased me with a broom and squawked at me), then walked her home early. This time, every detail has to be perfect. I know this place. Old Hortum's domain. He's a local god, a crochety old bastard. Lord of a few acres of community garden land and a nature walking trail, all that's left of the once-great forest here. But Hortum still has the ego of the old kingdom, even if his land doesn't reflect it now. He's old-fashioned, like Mother. A nice guy like me can't even wander through and munch on a few moths or dandelion heads without Hortum wanting his cut. Of course, it doesn't stop me. But Hortum... well, if he did have his old power, I would have been devoured by a wolf soldier or something by now. I creep up the community garden path, studiously picking up a few scraps of litter as I go. The garden is closed, and the humans are already inside for dinner, so the flowers are coming to life again. They murmur amongst each other, giggling and gossiping about the events of the day. The butterfly soap opera of who's-fucking-who always leaves those damn flowers chattering relentlessly. I walk on my hind legs with the litter in hand until I find Hortum, sitting on the edge of a murky fountain. He looks like a wisteria bush given legs. He's all spindle and vine, and when I approach, I can practically see his bark twist and hackle. "You're Petunia's kid," he says. "Scrat, right?" "Your humble servant, my lord." "Cut the shit. What do you want?" Before I can answer, Hortum puts his gnarly hands on his woody hips. His face looks like it's been fresh-carved, but it's somehow moving. "You know, I saw you here last week, stealing my bounty. Seventeen dandelions, ten daisies, seven sprigs of tansy, and five bluebells, gone. I counted, you know." "I was weeding for you, milord. Just as I've cleansed your lands of this human filth." I showed him the old cigarette pack and plastic bag in my paws. "I thought I said cut the shit." "Oh, fine." I sigh and slump. "It's just..." My voice sticks in my throat. I don't think I've asked for help since I was small enough to need my mother's milk. "Out with it, boy," Hortum says. "I need your help," I mutter, glaring at my feet. Hortum throws back his head and laughs. It sounds like wind gusting through a forest. "You steal from my lands and never offer sacrifice, and now you come to me, begging for help?" "Begging is a strong word--" "You know, your mother was a good neighbor. Berries every harvest. A slice of pie, now and then. What have you given me?" My stomach is all hot and tight with irritation. I want to take a hatchet to his stupid smug tree-face. Instead I snap, "What have you given me? You're not much of a neighbor yourself." Hortum scoffs. "I'm astonishingly charitable, I'll have you know." "You were just complaining about a few flowers!" "And four moths," Hortum adds. I glare at him. "They're valuable pollinators!" The old god's face furrows. "And why in all the seeds' names do you need that many flowers, anyway? You didn't even eat them. Such a waste." My ears feel hot and my head swims and I just want to hiss at him and run away. "Whatever," I mutter. "It was a mistake coming here." "Wait." It's Hortum's turn to sigh. He curls forward like a sun-starved sapling. "I apologize. I suppose I've grown impatient with you young city creatures. You have no respect for the old ways. The old customs. Most songbirds just shit here without even saying hello." Now I feel like a guilty asshole. I swish my tail and frown at Hortum, at the pinkening sky. Then I admit, "The flowers were for a lady. A date I had, last week." The god watches my face, his eyes unreadable. "But you're right. It was a waste. They made her sneeze like crazy, and I think she had to be nice, even though she hated them." Hortum considers this for a long and heavy few seconds. "Then why have you come back?" "No. It's stupid. Truly. Honestly, I should just go. I'm going to be late." "If you're anything like your mother, it's only half-stupid." That makes me stop and perk up, just a little. I say, shyly, "I wanted help finding ones that she's not allergic to." "Ah, and they say romance is dead." Hortum's face is softening though. "If I help you with this, will you fulfill my tithe?" "Anything," I say, instantly. Then I add, just as instantly, "Within reason." "Come back and tell me how it goes." So Hortum leads me through his garden and pulls up a bundle of wildflowers the color of fall: all oranges and yellows and reds. He tells me names I can't remember and tells me stories of my mother that I do remember, that I hold onto like they're the most precious gems in the world. "You know," he tells me, when I ready to leave, "I remember your mother best because I once hid her here, when she was a kit running from a hungry hawk. She was a good friend ever since." I pause, looking at him, at the little bundle of flowers in my arms, and I understand what my mother meant. It was never about bribery or insurance. It was always about being a good neighbor and taking care of one another. "I'll come back," I promise him. "I'll tell you if it goes okay." I did come back the next night, to tell him excitedly just how perfect it all was. And then I came back again to chase off a punk gang of possums, and soon I was just there to see Hortum, to share a scrap of food and a calm star-filled evening with a good neighbor. Hortum's good at picking out flowers. You'd expect that, from a forest-god. He's already got my wedding bouquets planned for next week. I'm sure it's going to be perfect. °°° I felt like writing something a bit weird xD Thanks for reading!	The deity narrowed their eyes at the suggestion of this slave. They analyzed his body language, the contours of his face, the sweat dripping off his brow. The deity smiled warmly as they stood, towering several feet above this peasant. "I see. So your request is one of love?" The deity inquired The slave swallowed timidly, looking up but not meeting the eyes of the god in front of him. "Y-Yes, I am not granted much time to be free, but in those that I am I desire to seek out love." The deity nods knowledgeably at the slave, observing him. This slave appears to be completely truthful. "And how was it that you became a slave to another man?" The slave frowned, looking down yet again, staring upon the grassy floor caked with dandelions and daffodils. "I was born into it, My Lord. My father and his father were both slaves..." The deity nods, kneeling down to meet the eyes of this slave. "And what is it that you expect to happen if your date with this girl goes well?" "Well, I would hope to go on more, and perhaps, in due time, marry her, My Lord." The slave yet again looks up, and for a brief moment meets the piercing eyes of this god by sheer luck; overwhelmed, the slave looks down in submission. "And I assume you would hope to attain a family with this girl as well?" The slave nodded gleefully "But what of the fates of your children, and their children? Would they not be condemned to a life of slavery just as yourself, your father, and your father's father?" The slave looked shocked, having not considered this revelation beforehand. "I... I suppose so, My Lord..." The deity nodded "Would it be truly fair to condemn new life to a life of slavery to another man, and the children of this man?" The slave shook his head "No, my lord." The deity pierced further, analyzing this slave. They saw the timidness within him, and yet saw a man of pure desire buried further, stifled by opportunity. "I see. Now, would you say that you deserve slavery?" The slave appeared to be taken back once more by this suggestion. He had not been given much time to consider the thought of freedom, and was given even less to think of himself as a man of equal stature to others "I... I do not know, My Lord.." The deity held up the slave's face to meet their own, forcing their eyes to meet with this slave "You are now meeting the eyes of a god, a being which overpowers any man. Few who do so survive, and even fewer survive with the respect of this god. You are among the latter group, seen on equal level to the gods. Can it now be truly said that you are beneath any other man, and deserving of slavery?" The slave was now shaking with fear, but swallowed and nodded, feeling extraordinarily humbled by what this god was offering him. "No, it cannot, My Lord." The deity nodded "Good. You see, you are much like the flowers that I command. They appear weak and timid, subject to the will of others, however they stand in equivalence to the mightiest of trees in maintaining and ensuring the health of the ecosystems around them. Without the humble flower, the world around us would fall. Without a timid man as yourself, the world too would fall." "Much like nature, too, no man is deserving of slavery - they ought to be free to interact with the world to their fullest potential, ensuring harmony and justice is spread throughout." The deity holds out a hand, causing a large and beautiful flower of many colors to sprout and grow. It appears almost akin to a rainbow in nature, ever changing in color and filled with an abundance of individual petals and features. "This flower is among the rarest of the land, with many kingdoms rising and falling to attain a fraction of its worth. With this, you shall be able to purchase yourself freedom from slavery, and be able to attain a free life." "However, there is a price to it. You must use the wealth you attain to help your brethren free from slavery as well - use it to become like a flower yourself, and topple the tallest of trees you see around you. Only then can you attain the life with your loved one that you desire." Handing the flower to the slave, the slave knelt before the deity, honored by this offer as tears swelled in his eyes. "I cannot thank you enough, My Lord. I shall fulfill your wish as you desire." Following this, the slave bows to the deity once more, leaving the chambers to restore justice to himself and to others.
[WP] “My Lord, this humble slave asks for your blessing!” The god’s lone eye narrow in suspicion. “How would a blessing from a local deity of flowers help you?” the supposed slave laughs nervously. “Well, for one I’ll finally know which flowers my date is allergic to so I don’t look like an Idiot.”	My mother ain't taught me much, but she taught me this: never trust the humans, always wash your food before you eat it, and don't piss off any gods. She reminded us of that often, when we'd be paw-deep in some suburban trash bin. Always take care of your neighbors, kitto, especially the gods; you never know when you may need their help. I remember being just a little kit when she tossed me a pizza crust, then nodded to a raven, watching from a nearby post. "That's an emissary from the Raven-God," she said. "You can tell by the gold bracelets on his feet." I saw them then, on the raven's taloned feet: tiny hammered gold chains, adorned with jewels of hardened sap. "Give that to him." She nodded seriously at the crust. "We pay our due, and the king watches over us. Just as our Raccoon-God does for them." That's just how shit goes. The animal kingdom is two revolving circles of prey helping prey and predators helping predators. I don't buy into it. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, if any emissary of any god wants a bite to eat, they can scavenge for their damn self, just like the rest of us do. I guess I've never been good at asking for help. My mother's long-dead (hit by a car -- don't worry, I followed the bastard and knocked over his trash cans every night for three weeks straight to avenge her), but I know exactly what she would say. I can imagine the smug twitch of her whiskers even now, saying, Now, darling, what did I warn you about gods? But here I am, at the edge of a god's kingdom, wringing my paws together as I crouch in the gathering twilight, trying to decide what to do. I hate asking for help. Never been good at it. I take care of me, you take care of you, and the world carries on just fine. But there's a cute little lady-raccoon who's meeting me by an alley dumpster when the moon is high. We're going to walk and scavenge and get to know each other. Maybe, if I'm lucky, a bit more than that. Or a lot more than that. Last time, when I brought her flowers, she got so snuffy and swollen up I just stole her a bottle of Benedryl from a pharmacy (while the human management chased me with a broom and squawked at me), then walked her home early. This time, every detail has to be perfect. I know this place. Old Hortum's domain. He's a local god, a crochety old bastard. Lord of a few acres of community garden land and a nature walking trail, all that's left of the once-great forest here. But Hortum still has the ego of the old kingdom, even if his land doesn't reflect it now. He's old-fashioned, like Mother. A nice guy like me can't even wander through and munch on a few moths or dandelion heads without Hortum wanting his cut. Of course, it doesn't stop me. But Hortum... well, if he did have his old power, I would have been devoured by a wolf soldier or something by now. I creep up the community garden path, studiously picking up a few scraps of litter as I go. The garden is closed, and the humans are already inside for dinner, so the flowers are coming to life again. They murmur amongst each other, giggling and gossiping about the events of the day. The butterfly soap opera of who's-fucking-who always leaves those damn flowers chattering relentlessly. I walk on my hind legs with the litter in hand until I find Hortum, sitting on the edge of a murky fountain. He looks like a wisteria bush given legs. He's all spindle and vine, and when I approach, I can practically see his bark twist and hackle. "You're Petunia's kid," he says. "Scrat, right?" "Your humble servant, my lord." "Cut the shit. What do you want?" Before I can answer, Hortum puts his gnarly hands on his woody hips. His face looks like it's been fresh-carved, but it's somehow moving. "You know, I saw you here last week, stealing my bounty. Seventeen dandelions, ten daisies, seven sprigs of tansy, and five bluebells, gone. I counted, you know." "I was weeding for you, milord. Just as I've cleansed your lands of this human filth." I showed him the old cigarette pack and plastic bag in my paws. "I thought I said cut the shit." "Oh, fine." I sigh and slump. "It's just..." My voice sticks in my throat. I don't think I've asked for help since I was small enough to need my mother's milk. "Out with it, boy," Hortum says. "I need your help," I mutter, glaring at my feet. Hortum throws back his head and laughs. It sounds like wind gusting through a forest. "You steal from my lands and never offer sacrifice, and now you come to me, begging for help?" "Begging is a strong word--" "You know, your mother was a good neighbor. Berries every harvest. A slice of pie, now and then. What have you given me?" My stomach is all hot and tight with irritation. I want to take a hatchet to his stupid smug tree-face. Instead I snap, "What have you given me? You're not much of a neighbor yourself." Hortum scoffs. "I'm astonishingly charitable, I'll have you know." "You were just complaining about a few flowers!" "And four moths," Hortum adds. I glare at him. "They're valuable pollinators!" The old god's face furrows. "And why in all the seeds' names do you need that many flowers, anyway? You didn't even eat them. Such a waste." My ears feel hot and my head swims and I just want to hiss at him and run away. "Whatever," I mutter. "It was a mistake coming here." "Wait." It's Hortum's turn to sigh. He curls forward like a sun-starved sapling. "I apologize. I suppose I've grown impatient with you young city creatures. You have no respect for the old ways. The old customs. Most songbirds just shit here without even saying hello." Now I feel like a guilty asshole. I swish my tail and frown at Hortum, at the pinkening sky. Then I admit, "The flowers were for a lady. A date I had, last week." The god watches my face, his eyes unreadable. "But you're right. It was a waste. They made her sneeze like crazy, and I think she had to be nice, even though she hated them." Hortum considers this for a long and heavy few seconds. "Then why have you come back?" "No. It's stupid. Truly. Honestly, I should just go. I'm going to be late." "If you're anything like your mother, it's only half-stupid." That makes me stop and perk up, just a little. I say, shyly, "I wanted help finding ones that she's not allergic to." "Ah, and they say romance is dead." Hortum's face is softening though. "If I help you with this, will you fulfill my tithe?" "Anything," I say, instantly. Then I add, just as instantly, "Within reason." "Come back and tell me how it goes." So Hortum leads me through his garden and pulls up a bundle of wildflowers the color of fall: all oranges and yellows and reds. He tells me names I can't remember and tells me stories of my mother that I do remember, that I hold onto like they're the most precious gems in the world. "You know," he tells me, when I ready to leave, "I remember your mother best because I once hid her here, when she was a kit running from a hungry hawk. She was a good friend ever since." I pause, looking at him, at the little bundle of flowers in my arms, and I understand what my mother meant. It was never about bribery or insurance. It was always about being a good neighbor and taking care of one another. "I'll come back," I promise him. "I'll tell you if it goes okay." I did come back the next night, to tell him excitedly just how perfect it all was. And then I came back again to chase off a punk gang of possums, and soon I was just there to see Hortum, to share a scrap of food and a calm star-filled evening with a good neighbor. Hortum's good at picking out flowers. You'd expect that, from a forest-god. He's already got my wedding bouquets planned for next week. I'm sure it's going to be perfect. °°° I felt like writing something a bit weird xD Thanks for reading!	Flor - the neighborhood god of flowering plants, protector of every bloom in the Western Plains - was tired. I could see it in his giant green eye, which narrowed slowly as soon as the request left my lips. He cleared his throat and took a step toward me. "Your name’s Derethan, yes? Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You came all the way from Kragnor, scaled the Twelve Rolling Hills, and knocked on my door to ask me...for dating advice?" I nodded sheepishly. Flor turned his back to me and sighed. "If this is your idea of a joke, consider me unamused." I gulped. "I meant no harm, My Lord. It is an earnest request." Flor whipped around and pointed a wrinkled finger at me. His wispy white hair seemed to stand on end. "Your village stains the earth with smoke and filth, and then you show up with the audacity to ask me for a favor. I can feel my power slipping away with every passing moment." "Please, My Lord. I do not share the king's disrespect for your domain. I am an unwilling servant to his demands. Your work brings great joy to me, and I know Cynthia feels the same. One flower is all I request." Flor rubbed his temples and stared at the ground. "Fine," he grumbled, without looking up. He produced a single red tulip out of thin air, then conjured a small clay jug and filled it with rapidly-collected moisture from the sky. "She's not allergic to any variety of tulip. Consider this my blessing. Now do me a favor and don't come back." *** The date went swimmingly. Given the nature of our servitude, we could do little but chat with each other using the space between our tiny living quarters. Thankfully, Cynthia loved the flower. We talked every evening from that point on. On the night of our second "date," a perfect purple tulip arrived on my tiny window in a clay jar of its own. It continued that way for weeks - a fresh tulip every date night, right on time. Sometimes Flor included a few seeds, which we planted in the dirt below our feet and tried to nurse with scant drops of rationed water. On the fifty-third day of our courtship, I was forced to tend to the king's vegetable crops, my skin sizzling in the vicious morning sun. As I neared the point of collapse, I suddenly heard Flor's voice echo in my head. "At sunset, you will return to me." I furrowed my brow, wondering how in the world I could make it back to him. My previous trek had been conducted on the one day of respite the king allowed his slaves every year. I shouldn't have worried. As soon as the sun began to disappear over the horizon, Flor transported me and Cynthia to his field in an instant. "Where is he?" I wondered aloud. "Who?" Cynthia asked. "Me," came a raspy voice from a few paces away. I rushed over to find Flor lying on his back. He was practically skeletal, his white hair shriveled to almost nothing. "In the wake of the king's machinations, you have kept my legacy alive," he wheezed. "Alas, it was not enough." He looked into my eyes. "My home is now yours. Be free. And Derethan?" He closed his eye. “Thank you for remembering me." With a final gasp, he disappeared into the earth. Cynthia gripped my hand as I choked back tears. When my vision cleared, a fleck of color in the distance caught my eye. Still gripping Cynthia's hand, I ran up the hill and reached the crest to spot Flor's final blessing - A magnificent field of tulips in every perceivable color.
[WP] Your friend begs you to drive out to the middle of nowhere and take their picture with their phone. As soon as you, they disappear. You check the phone and find hundreds of photos of different smiling strangers all in the exact same spot.	Jessica stared down at the picture. It was of a man in his forties wearing a straw hat, plaid shirt, and faded jeans. He was smiling at the camera, with his eyes crinkled up into a warm and friendly gaze. She flicked on to the next picture. It was of a woman in her thirties. And then onto another one of a young boy, probably no more than six. Jessica peered down at each of their smiling faces. All told, there had to be at least several hundred of them. Had they all vanished, just as Katie had? "Please pass the phone to me so that the ritual may be completed." Jessica startled. She hadn't heard anyone approach. "Who are you?" She asked, "What's happened to Katie?" "This does not concern you." Jessica turned around to find herself staring at a woman wearing a neat turquoise pantsuit and spotless beige heals. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and just the hint of pale pink lipstick gave her lips a touch of added colour. "I want to know what's going on." Said Jessica. "Hand over the phone first." When Jessica hesitated, the woman added, "And then I'll explain everything." The woman took the phone. It was just an old worn out iPhone. It even had a small crack on the screen. What was it that made this phone so special? The woman flicked through the images, studying them one by one just as Jessica had. She paused at the picture of the man in the straw hat and deleted it. "What are you doing?" Yelled Jessica. "He was not worthy." Said the woman flatly. She flicked through a few more before pausing on the picture of the young boy. Before she could do anything else, Jessica lunged for the phone. She knocked it out of the woman's hand and watched as it slid across the pavement. Jessica ran towards it. She reached the phone just as the woman grabbed hold of her ponytail and yanked it backwards. "Insolent little girl." Yelled the woman. Jessica could feel her long pointed nails scratch around her face and try to make their way down to her throat. Without thinking, Jessica pointed the phone behind her and snapped a picture. The woman's hands went limp. They tumbled down and fell with a wet thump onto the pavement. Behind her, Jessica could hear the woman's body crumple into a heap. There, on the ground, lay the woman's body - minus her head and neck, as well as a small chunk of her shoulder. The flesh surrounding her missing parts was singed with a sharp laser-like precision. Jessica swallowed the urge to scream. She now understood why Katie had been so insistent on making sure that all of her was included in the shot.	Jessica stared down at the picture. It was of a man in his forties wearing a straw hat, plaid shirt, and faded jeans. He was smiling at the camera, with his eyes crinkled up into a warm and friendly gaze. She flicked on to the next picture. It was of a woman in her thirties. And then onto another one of a young boy, probably no more than six. Jessica peered down at each of their smiling faces. All told, there had to be at least several hundred of them. Had they all vanished, just as Katie had? "Please pass the phone to me so that the ritual may be completed." Jessica startled. She hadn't heard anyone approach. "Who are you?" She asked, "What's happened to Katie?" "This does not concern you." Jessica turned around to find herself staring at a woman wearing a neat turquoise pantsuit and spotless beige heals. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and just the hint of pale pink lipstick gave her lips a touch of added colour. "I want to know what's going on." Said Jessica. "Hand over the phone first." When Jessica hesitated, the woman added, "And then I'll explain everything." The woman took the phone. It was just an old worn out iPhone. It even had a small crack on the screen. What was it that made this phone so special? The woman flicked through the images, studying them one by one just as Jessica had. She paused at the picture of the man in the straw hat and deleted it. "What are you doing?" Yelled Jessica. "He was not worthy." Said the woman flatly. She flicked through a few more before pausing on the picture of the young boy. Before she could do anything else, Jessica lunged for the phone. She knocked it out of the woman's hand and watched as it slid across the pavement. Jessica ran towards it. She reached the phone just as the woman grabbed hold of her ponytail and yanked it backwards. "Insolent little girl." Yelled the woman. Jessica could feel her long pointed nails scratch around her face and try to make their way down to her throat. Without thinking, Jessica pointed the phone behind her and snapped a picture. The woman's hands went limp. They tumbled down and fell with a wet thump onto the pavement. Behind her, Jessica could hear the woman's body crumple into a heap. There, on the ground, lay the woman's body - minus her head and neck, as well as a small chunk of her shoulder. The flesh surrounding her missing parts was singed with a sharp laser-like precision. Jessica swallowed the urge to scream. She now understood why Katie had been so insistent on making sure that all of her was included in the shot.
[WP] Your friend begs you to drive out to the middle of nowhere and take their picture with their phone. As soon as you, they disappear. You check the phone and find hundreds of photos of different smiling strangers all in the exact same spot.	"Ready? Say cheese," I called out to Emily. The image on the screen of her phone I was using to snap the picture was eerily beautiful. The somber graveyard and cute little country church in the background with Emily sitting on the hood of her black Toyota Camry, her strawberry blond hair shining golden in the sunlight. There was a little chalk bulletin board beside the church entrance that read "The Rosehill congregation welcomes Tony, our newest member." In beautiful cursive handwriting. "Goodbye, Ashley," was the response she gave rather than the normal "cheese." I still snapped the pic out of reflex, but furrowed my brows in confusion as I looked up. "What do you mean Goo-?" I started the question, but she was gone. The space on the hood of the car empty. My eyes darted around searching as I chuckled. She must've planned an elaborate prank. How she pulled it off, though, was beyond me. After walking around and searching about the area for a good while I said exasperatedly, "Alright you win. You can come out now." My words were met with silence. I decided to sit on the hood myself and take out Emily's phone. Odd, she didn't have a passcode anymore. There were no apps on it other than the camera, photos and dialer sitting on a sunny sky background. I guessed it was a new phone so I turned it over to examine it. Weird, there was no marking to specify what brand or model it was. No service, No wifi from the church, just those three little squares sitting on a flowery background of mostly roses. I decided to look through the pictures. There were hundreds of photos of people I'd never met, all taken in this same location in the same style as Emily's: Sitting on the hood of a car in front of the Rosehill church. Same sunny weather, same pose, same chalkboard bulletin in the background reading the same welcome message to a different name Confused I looked up again to search the area for any sign of my friend. It was still just a silent graveyard and clear sky. I turned around to the church behind me. Still no sign of anyone, but something was different. My eyes honed in on the chalk message written on the bulletin board. That beautiful cursive on a pure black background, no erase marks to be seen. "The Rosehill congregation welcomes Emily, our newest member."	(1/2) The drive was awkwardly silent as we-- Jack and I stared at the winding road accompanied by Lynyrd Synyrd playing on the radio. The sky was getting darker and darker as we went...to where, I honestly had no idea. "Hey so, where are we going again?", I asked breaking the silence. "Just stay on this road for another 15 minutes", Jack said as he kept staring out the side window. I sighed and kept on driving. "You know, I didn't expect you to call me tonight, not out of the blue at least. I haven't heard from you in years! What happened, Jack?", I asked. Jack and I had known each other for a few years. We were college buddies. I remembered many times we were in trouble involving drunken shenanigans-- youth recklessness, I suppose, but those were times I remember fondly. Jack remained silent for a moment before leaning back on his seat, adjusting the seatbelt around his torso before sighing deeply. "I have been...busy, Mike", he answered. I raised my brow at his cryptic answer. We fell out of contact since we graduated. I moved city hundreds of miles away while he stayed doing small jobs here and there. The last thing I recall of him was he joined a church-- weird I thought, back then at least. For as long as I had known him, he was never the religious type. "Busy? Busy doing what?", I inquired further. "Saving the world...", he answered. I couldn't help but burst in laughter. I kept laughing with the guitar solo of 'Free Bird' was playing in the background. My amusement was met by his stoic silent. I glanced a few times to the side, to his face-- that tired face staring emptily to the road. He wasn't offended, I could tell...he was instead...burdened. "You're...you're being serious, aren't you?", I confirmed as he nodded slightly. "I don't expect you to understand, Mike. This is not something the Unenlightened would know...but it is something you should care about", he replied. "Unenlightened?", I repeated the strange term. "That's what we call people outside of The Church", he explained. "You're still with that church? Dude, what kind of church is it anyway?" Jack put his hand inside his side pocket of his cargo shorts, seemingly grasping something. "What would you do, Mike...what would you do when you know the world will end? What would you do to stop it?", he asked. I frowned. I wasn't expecting such conversation that night. But I decided to entertain him-- wasn't the first time we indulged ourselves in inebriated conversations on hypothetical scenarios, although this time we were sober. "Um, I suppose I would do anything", I answered. "Of course, anything", he muttered still grasping whatever was inside his pocket. "Even at the cost of life? Your own even?" "Uhm--", I thought for a bit. "Yeah, sure. If it means saving billions of people, I suppose. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right Mr. Spock?", I joked, reciting the quote from Star Trek. "Yes, at the cost of our own life...my own life...", he muttered, not even acknowledging my reference. The way he whispered those last words sent a shiver down my spine. For as long as I have known him, he never exhibit such seriousness. He really had changed, from that goofy young man, full of life to this brooding disheveled man seemingly burdened by the world. "Man, are you alright? That uh-- that church really had changed you huh", I commented. "Stop here!", he suddenly barked as I stomped on the brake in reflex. The sudden stop kicked a wall of dust to the air. Sitting on the road under the backdrop of starry dark night, it was nothing but endless desert on both of our sides. We sat there for minutes as I waited for any explanation from Jack. "So uh-- where exactly is here?", I asked starting to get scared. "Millennia ago, there was a war--", Jack suddenly launched into a story. "A war between good and evil, a war between God and his followers, us the humans against the devil and his followers" "Jesus, Jack, what is this?", I protested. "Just listen, Mike!", he yelled exasperated, shutting me up. "This war, Mike! This war was everything! The fate of existence was balancing on a scale, but that scale was tipped not in our favor! The war was almost lost! But in one last effort to stop the devil, God sacrificed himself to lock the devil away!" Jack blabbered on like a mad man. That church had really done a number on his brain as he continued on and I sat there, realizing my old friend was insane.
[WP] Your friend begs you to drive out to the middle of nowhere and take their picture with their phone. As soon as you, they disappear. You check the phone and find hundreds of photos of different smiling strangers all in the exact same spot.	"Thank you, and I'm sorry." Janine's words played and replayed in my mind, again, again, again. The Mojave swelled and contracted behind the phone but I barely noticed; I was too busy swiping past so many faces. Familiar but not, these faces are all human, right? A smile, the Sun to the right, that cactus in the background. A novelty shirt from a Vegas casino, blue jeans. Closed eyes. The five of us had planned such a fun vacation. From San Diego to Vegas, we'd stay three or four nights and then just drive around the Southwest wherever we felt like going. Janine insisted she and I go to her spot first, this long stretch of back highway somewhere north of Lake Mead. Why did she want to come here, and what about the others? Well, whatever I guess. I'll see her back at the hotel I'm sure. I walked back to the car, turned around. I swear I was asleep the whole way back. 167 to 264 and eventually I-15. There it is, Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas. There's Fremont, now pull in the hotel parking lot. The four of us are going to have so much fun! "Hey, you finally made it! I still don't know why we came separately." My friends, they always care so much about me. I pull my phone out, ready as always to take yet another selfie. "It's too bad Jamie couldn't make it, I guess some...work thing," I said. "Who's Jamie?" "Oh, I, wait, what are we talking about?" One more night in Vegas, then we head out on the real road trip. Cocktails, slot machines, blackjack and craps. Bailey tried so hard to lose her chips to the roulette table, but after doubling up one, twice, three times on red, she threw her chips at me and dashed to the nearest restroom. I toddled over to Tanner, his mind lost to video lottery, sat down next to him, and promptly lost my ass. At least at first, anyway. Lights, sounds, Buffalo! The last beer did me in, not the eight preceding cocktails. They lead me through a spinning hallway, up the elevator, to my own room. I only vomit once. "Take some aspirin now, we're heading out at least by noon tomorrow," they say. It's all so bright, the nightstand, my screen. I set my alarm. I dream of some girl whose name is just on the tip of my tongue. Sun, cactus, shirt. A childhood friend? Coworker? No, I'd remember that face. We were always the early birds. I pound on Bianca and Taylor's room, rewarded only with silence. A housekeeper glares at me. Why does my head hurt? Well, time for breakfast I guess. I get bacon and eggs, while you are content with a bagel and cream cheese. "Hey," I whisper, "wanna get on the road a bit early? We'll swing back and get them." Wait, who is 'them'? We're in the car an instant later, Paradise near Lake Mead. "Stop here. The view is amazing, huh? Take my picture!" I pose, show off my new shirt. You take out your phone. I smile. I forget, I remember. I don't know why, or where, or who you are. I close my eyes. "Thank you, and I'm sorry."	"I swear to god this had better be worth it," I hissed as I kept driving down the dirt road slicing down the middle of the desert. John had been insistent that we come here today. Originally I'd thought it had been for some sort of surprise, but at this point, he'd at least let me know it was for a picture. For anyone but John, I would have turned around the second he'd said that, but John was getting really into fitness and Instagram. It had helped him a lot with self-esteem issues and. Maybe Mom was right when she said I was too nice to some people. "We almost there?"I asked as John stared at his phone. Just rows of pictures; it must have been some new version of Instagram that he got to see for having enough followers. Whatever. "John?" I pressed. "Just like five more minutes," he said. "It's been five minutes the past three times," I said. "It feels like it's close," he said. That was an odd way to talk about the GPS. "Fine," I sighed and turned up the music. At least John hadn't argued to have some of his workout music on. I was all for support, but the stuff he listened to was a little intense. I looked at John, staring at his phone. He was sweating, smiling at the phone like something big was coming. Like this was going to be a big deal. I frowned at him and rolled my eyes. Suddenly John flung the music off. "HERE!" He shouted before pushing me a little. I struggled to pull over as he shoved into me. I managed to get the car to a safe stop. "John, what the f-" I started, but he was already out of the car, running away from the road and off into the dusty nothingness. "JOHN!" I yelled after him. Goddammit, he was an ass. That was it; I was talking to my Mom when I got home and telling her that she was right. A guy gets a six-pack and- "DAMMIT JOHN!" I yelled again before taking off in a jog after him. The sun beat down on me as I chased after my friend. It didn't take long for it to start burning my lungs and eyes too. John stopped, and I barely reached him. "Here," he affirmed, "right here." He handed me the phone. "John we'-" I stopped for several breaths, "we're in the middle of nowhere." "Here," he repeated, "please." "Fuck dude," I swore before snatching the phone from him. I didn't recognize what model it was, but I'd been using iPhones my whole life, so it wasn't like I had the best frame of reference. "Please," John pleaded; I could swear there was desperation in his eyes. Whatever. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could get home and then ghost him for two weeks. "Cheese, I guess?" I said before taking the photo. It was fantastic. Maybe he didn't look 'Instagram hot,' but he looked so damn happy. Smiling from ear to ear with eyes that told me that was all he wanted to do. "I-" I started. I wanted to be angry, but looking at that face. "Come see it, John," I motioned towards where he'd been. The hot desert wind answered me. "John," I repeated before looking up. I was alone out in the wastes, barely able to see my car. John wasn't there. How would- What the- How was- It was flat for miles? How the hell was he going to just disappear. I spun around to check for him, but there was nothing. Was I going crazy? Maybe it was heatstroke. Was John waiting in the car? I brought up the photo album on the phone, and John was there, smiling and peaceful, along with a thousand other faces that all looked like they'd figured out exactly what they needed to do... What I needed to do. I pulled the phone up, just high enough that I could take a good selfie, that I could join them and kno- No. I needed to find someone to take it after I was gone. John wasn't being a jerk; he was sharing this with me. Everyone else was lost. We'd been found, and I just needed to ensure that more people would be found. I had to keep the chain going, to be a good friend. I was going to go home, and I was going to talk to my Mom.
[WP] Incantations and grimoires are so old school. Deals at a crossroad are a thing of the past. No, in 2021 the Devil has gone online and summoning demons has never been easier. Today, you start your job as a live chat operator for the app "Inferno". The tag line? "The Devil may care."	No, I can't kill, curse, and/or maim your nextdoor neighbor just for being annoying posted 3 hours ago • /r/talesfromtechsupport Hi -- hope I'm doing this right. Long time lurker, first time poster, you know the deal. I've been working for way too long at a certain call center... I can't name names, but let's say it's got a big fire icon, and it's NOT tinder. So I'm minding my own business, stirring sulfur into my coffee, when my phone starts ringing. I knew from the second I answered that this chick was gonna be a problem. Let's just call her Karen, because that's what she is. Karen: Yeah, hi, is this who I call to get like ... a demon out here? Me: Sure, I'm one of our summoning claims adjusters. I just need a little information from you before we move for— Karen: What kind of information can you possibly need? I called the number and I have all the like weird sage and bones and stuff I read about online. Me: Oh, no, we don't do any of that kind of stuff anymore. It's all virtual now. She paused, and I swear I could hear her turn the mouthpiece away and say to some wailing kid in the background, "Stop crying, I'll get you a new hamster." Karen: Well, I've done everything I can, and I think I deserve a representative coming over here now. My life is in danger. Me: We take 2 to 3 business days to process all summoning requests so if you're in immediate danger, you should call 911-- Karen: Okay, well, it's not my life. But it's basically the same thing. It's my precious garden. My sanctity. My sense of wellbeing and peace in my own home. Right now, I was wishing there was whiskey in my coffee instead. I sighed and rubbed at my horn, because this bitch was already giving me a headache. Me: Can you be more specific? Karen: (scoffing) My neighbor! Bruce Johnson. He's a horrible man. Absolutely horrible. And his lemon tree has overgrown the fence and is constantly dropping fruit into my yard. He's bruised my prize gardenias and refuses to trim the tree and keeps saying, Hey, when life gives you lemons and walking away laughing. I had to mute my mic so she wouldn't hear me snort. Bruce sounded badass. (Also, please note I had the self control not to suggest she could reinvent herself as a lemon-stealing whore.) Me: Has he done anything else to you? Karen: He also likes to play show tunes in his backyard, which I find poisons the shared air between us. It's positively dreadful. Now, this was the point that I realized this was not going to be an easy call to get out of. Me: What kind of unholy punishment are you seeking? Karen: I think it's very reasonable to request eternal damnation. Or curse his house, at least, so he has to move. I deserve peace. The neighborhood deserves peace. Me: Ma'am, I'm afraid that we can't legally intervene in this matter. I swear I could hear her getting mad as Death's wife that one time he brought a hot Greek chick home without talking to her first. Karen: What the hell do you mean? Me: Well, down here in hell, we have some pretty strict and clear guidelines to make sure everyone's getting a fair vengeance. And I'm afraid that for a haunting, we need, at a minimum, repeated evidence of intimidation, violence-- Karen: I've told you he bruised my petunias! Once a lemon fell right on my shoulder while I was pruning, too. Me: ...right. Karen: What about eternal damnation?! Now, I probably could have written an exception form and gotten it approved, especially playing the lemon angle. My district manager LOVES stupid puns and ironic fates. But this lady hadn't earned any favors from me. Me: I can check the old by-laws and see if we have a reasonable excep-- Karen: Good! Do that, right now! God, why hadn't you done it before? Me: Great question, ma'am. I have to put you on hold, okay? Karen: Fine! Just hurry it up. Of course, I wanted to make sure my search was nice and thorough. No rushing something so important. So I got up and got a fresh cup of coffee and a donut. I paused to say hi to the cute new succubus working down the hall and help her win a Solitaire game on her computer before I moseyed back to my desk. Me: You still there? Karen: Yes, and I hope your company intends to reimburse me for wasting my time. 20 minutes spent waiting! I sipped my fresh coffee. Me: It was a lot of by-laws. But lucky for you, I've finished reading them. Karen: And?! Me: Aaaand you don't qualify. Not in the least. I can send an annoying imp to incur an everyday irritation once a week, e.g. dog feces on the lawn, a hole in his garden hose, the occasional deflated tire-- Karen: This is absolutely absurd. I demand to speak to your manager. Oh, friends. This is where I grinned like a real demon. I swear I felt my devil horns get a little more curved and menacing, just from the ego-high of my next sentence. Me: I am the manager. She took the annoying imp, who loved the job, because he got a free lemon to lob at some obnoxious Karen's house every week. Hey, when life hands you lemons... °°° Thanks for reading! :D	My fingers tap out the message, the app filtering each synthesized keyboard click into a sound like echoing stiletto footsteps on a cold stone floor. "I've never been so angry," I write, and then shiver at the words. The little text in progress icon pops up in the bottom left corner, a ruby red skinned girl in a tight leather bodysuit casually twirling a pitchfork. I roll my eyes at the exaggerated slimness of her waist. I don't think the devil cares, no matter what the commercials say. I don't think there's anyone but an AI on the other end of this line. That doesn't matter though. I'm three glasses of wine into my first night alone in three years, and any semblance of company sounds nice. Plus I've lost my journal. I'm halfway convinced that bastard stole it on the way out. The little demon girl blows a kiss at the center of the screen and words appear in jagged black letters. "Then rejoice, for anger leads to hate, and hatred sets you free." I blink in confusion. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. After a few seconds the girl purses her lips and cocks her head to the side, a hand on her hip while she waits for me. I pour a fourth glass of wine and take a sip. "Way ahead of you. I've hated him since I found out." The icon laughs when I hit send. Whoever designed her was really good, even with the stupid outfit and waist. "A woman after my own heart!" The app says. "A lover? A friend? What did do to earn your hatred?" "Cheated. Same thing they all do, even when they say they're different." The icon frowns. She tests the tines of her pitchfork and pulls her bleeding fingertip back with feigned shock, sucking it into her mouth. The app is just as oversexed as everyone said, but weirdly, I kind of like it. Maybe I've drunk enough for it to come back around to being funny. I take another sip of wine in case that wears off. “We can do something about that you know.” “That’s why I’m here.” I write. The girl smiles and beckons me closer with a crooked finger. I lean in and bring the wine glass with me. “How much will it cost me? $5.99, only payable in some stupid currency that I have to buy in $7 blocks?” “We don’t deal in dollars,” the app writes back. “Bullshit, you’re an app. They’re all like that.” “Not this one.” I sigh and finish off my glass in one long pull. The room is spinning a little, I’ve been drinking way too fast. Somehow all I see is his face everywhere I look. “Fuck you Steve,” I say, “I hope she gives you herpes.” “Steve is a dumb name anyway,” the app writes. The world stops for a moment as gravity tries to reassert control over my spinning head. I’d said his name out loud, right? It’s not written anywhere in the chat log, and I definitely wasn’t typing, I was still holding my cup. “Still there, honey?” the app writes, and this time it’s like the demon girl is carving the letters in the screen herself with her pitchfork. “I shouldn’t be this drunk yet. That’s unfair.” “You’re not.” “Yes I am.” “Do you want to kill him?” “What the fuck?” I say out loud. Dropping the phone to the bed I scurry back up to the headboard. The wine glass overturns, little specks of reddish-purple staining my white sheets. “Don’t be scared.” A voice emanates from my phone’s speakers, strangely accented and dripping in sensuality. I know without a single shadow of a doubt that it’s how the girl in the bottom left icon sounds. Heart beating out of control, I inch my way back down the bed towards the phone. “Welcome back!” the app writes. “Here at Inferno, the first hit is always free, though I suspect you’ll want a second.” “What the hell is going on?” I type. “Hell.” It says. The demon girl leans over outrageously, her hips cocked out like nobody ever would as she reaches offscreen. When she comes back she’s holding lipstick, jet black, perhaps because red wouldn’t show against her skin. She paints her lips dabs at them with a cloth that materializes, and then a man walks in from offscreen. He looks just like Steve. She grabs him, wraps arms around him, kissing him deeply, fiercely, making my stomach turn far more than the wine ever could have. When she pulls back he trembles for a moment, his eyes on fire, and then he is on fire. It consumes him, collapsing his body down to a central point of ash, synthesized screams that must be his but aren’t tear out of my speakers, breaking up into static as he melts away. In a few seconds there’s nothing left at all, save for the smeared paint on her lips. “What color do you want?” she writes on the screen with her pitchfork. “Red,” I say. A tube of scarlet lipstick appears in front of me, staring at me like an accusation. I lift at the girl on the screen waves me, blowing a little kiss. My phone shuts. Then I stand in front of the mirror, drink straight from the, and paint my lips. r/TurningtoWords
[WP] Incantations and grimoires are so old school. Deals at a crossroad are a thing of the past. No, in 2021 the Devil has gone online and summoning demons has never been easier. Today, you start your job as a live chat operator for the app "Inferno". The tag line? "The Devil may care."	No, I can't kill, curse, and/or maim your nextdoor neighbor just for being annoying posted 3 hours ago • /r/talesfromtechsupport Hi -- hope I'm doing this right. Long time lurker, first time poster, you know the deal. I've been working for way too long at a certain call center... I can't name names, but let's say it's got a big fire icon, and it's NOT tinder. So I'm minding my own business, stirring sulfur into my coffee, when my phone starts ringing. I knew from the second I answered that this chick was gonna be a problem. Let's just call her Karen, because that's what she is. Karen: Yeah, hi, is this who I call to get like ... a demon out here? Me: Sure, I'm one of our summoning claims adjusters. I just need a little information from you before we move for— Karen: What kind of information can you possibly need? I called the number and I have all the like weird sage and bones and stuff I read about online. Me: Oh, no, we don't do any of that kind of stuff anymore. It's all virtual now. She paused, and I swear I could hear her turn the mouthpiece away and say to some wailing kid in the background, "Stop crying, I'll get you a new hamster." Karen: Well, I've done everything I can, and I think I deserve a representative coming over here now. My life is in danger. Me: We take 2 to 3 business days to process all summoning requests so if you're in immediate danger, you should call 911-- Karen: Okay, well, it's not my life. But it's basically the same thing. It's my precious garden. My sanctity. My sense of wellbeing and peace in my own home. Right now, I was wishing there was whiskey in my coffee instead. I sighed and rubbed at my horn, because this bitch was already giving me a headache. Me: Can you be more specific? Karen: (scoffing) My neighbor! Bruce Johnson. He's a horrible man. Absolutely horrible. And his lemon tree has overgrown the fence and is constantly dropping fruit into my yard. He's bruised my prize gardenias and refuses to trim the tree and keeps saying, Hey, when life gives you lemons and walking away laughing. I had to mute my mic so she wouldn't hear me snort. Bruce sounded badass. (Also, please note I had the self control not to suggest she could reinvent herself as a lemon-stealing whore.) Me: Has he done anything else to you? Karen: He also likes to play show tunes in his backyard, which I find poisons the shared air between us. It's positively dreadful. Now, this was the point that I realized this was not going to be an easy call to get out of. Me: What kind of unholy punishment are you seeking? Karen: I think it's very reasonable to request eternal damnation. Or curse his house, at least, so he has to move. I deserve peace. The neighborhood deserves peace. Me: Ma'am, I'm afraid that we can't legally intervene in this matter. I swear I could hear her getting mad as Death's wife that one time he brought a hot Greek chick home without talking to her first. Karen: What the hell do you mean? Me: Well, down here in hell, we have some pretty strict and clear guidelines to make sure everyone's getting a fair vengeance. And I'm afraid that for a haunting, we need, at a minimum, repeated evidence of intimidation, violence-- Karen: I've told you he bruised my petunias! Once a lemon fell right on my shoulder while I was pruning, too. Me: ...right. Karen: What about eternal damnation?! Now, I probably could have written an exception form and gotten it approved, especially playing the lemon angle. My district manager LOVES stupid puns and ironic fates. But this lady hadn't earned any favors from me. Me: I can check the old by-laws and see if we have a reasonable excep-- Karen: Good! Do that, right now! God, why hadn't you done it before? Me: Great question, ma'am. I have to put you on hold, okay? Karen: Fine! Just hurry it up. Of course, I wanted to make sure my search was nice and thorough. No rushing something so important. So I got up and got a fresh cup of coffee and a donut. I paused to say hi to the cute new succubus working down the hall and help her win a Solitaire game on her computer before I moseyed back to my desk. Me: You still there? Karen: Yes, and I hope your company intends to reimburse me for wasting my time. 20 minutes spent waiting! I sipped my fresh coffee. Me: It was a lot of by-laws. But lucky for you, I've finished reading them. Karen: And?! Me: Aaaand you don't qualify. Not in the least. I can send an annoying imp to incur an everyday irritation once a week, e.g. dog feces on the lawn, a hole in his garden hose, the occasional deflated tire-- Karen: This is absolutely absurd. I demand to speak to your manager. Oh, friends. This is where I grinned like a real demon. I swear I felt my devil horns get a little more curved and menacing, just from the ego-high of my next sentence. Me: I am the manager. She took the annoying imp, who loved the job, because he got a free lemon to lob at some obnoxious Karen's house every week. Hey, when life hands you lemons... °°° Thanks for reading! :D	It's one thing not to believe in God--it's another to believe in the Devil. Strange as it may be, the Devil's miracles have come fast and aplenty, unlike God's deeds confined to old ink and pages. It could be the mirage of an oasis in a desert that scorched like the seven hells, but people seemed to like it. Liked it enough that now, not all deals with the Devil were worthy of a story. "Inferno, where the Devil may care. How can I help you?" The requests flooded in, ranging from the vacuously vapid-- > "Can I get a new dress?" > > "... Buy it?" > > "Yes, but I need a new dress guaranteed to kill it? See, there's this woman..." --to the morosely morbid-- > "Can I get my father back?" > > "I can file in your request. Is there a particular reason?" > > "He died too peacefully. I want to change things." --to the insanely impossible. > "Can I speak to your manager?" > > "You really, really, can't." > > "I'll tear through heaven and hell to do so." > > "Madam, I'm not sure about heaven, but I can guarantee that you do not want to tear through hell." Though, I suppose, in a roundabout way, I've made a deal with the Devil as well. A signed contract is a deal, right? I'm still not sure what criteria revolve around the decision for the Devil to start caring. He was always busy, of course--I took hundreds of calls, and there were hundreds of us. What made him put on his horns--oh yeah, I saw them once. They weren't permanent--and visit the home of some poor sap willing to give up their soul? The promise of horrific revenge? The potential of sheer mischief? An unadulterated amount of violence? Thousands of calls I picked up, and quickly placed the receiver back down again. But there was one. One person in which my call got redirected faster than I could say "the Devil may care." "Can I go to heaven?" "You are willing to sell your soul to go to heaven?" I muttered, face scrunched up in disbelief. "Why?" It was a rather sweet voice, all things considered. A boy, maybe? Maybe they didn't really know what they were saying. But another voice came over the line, one fiery enough that I had to pull the phone from my ear. I'll do everything in my power to make sure you get there," the voice said, bitter and harsh. "Oh, thank you, Devil," the boy said. "And when you get there, since I can't do it myself," the voice continued, somehow sneering through the phone. "Please tell the old man to go to hell." --- r/dexdrafts
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	Predicting the future requires very detailed models of humanity. We are, after all, the primary movers and shakers of the world. Sure, you don't need a model of every individual on the planet, but you do need some broad types you can generalize about. Particularly for modeling the effects of a change; I could get a decent AI that predicted "what will happen tomorrow if I bet the lottery number 5-2-6-8-9 today", but even on the scale of a day its prediction would veer way off-track if it didn't have modeling projections for what humans would do in response. There's too much chaos. It could predict tomorrow's lottery numbers if I gave it the starting assumption that I wouldn't communicate to any other person or leave my room until after the drawing; passive media consumption only. And it seemed to be a little chaotic even then; probably the advertising trackers reacting to my consumption were having very small ripples. So when I tried to get it working for predicting with changes, I needed models of humanity. Cautious, little-c conservative types who oppose anything unfamiliar reflexively. Novophiles who will try anything new once. Religions. Scammers. Pundits. But opportunists were the hardest; people who jump on anything new and try to exploit it. And, to make matters worse, every time I got there, it would explode, wipe its memory sandbox, and make me restore from backup. And as I tried again and again, it seemed to mess with older and older backups each time. I eventually tried a new tack. Gave it prediction parameters corresponding to the last opportunist model attempt I had tried to install, and told it to predict what would happen if I set up a copy of it with that model. I told it to run the scenario about a thousand times with small perturbations in the params. And I got results! But they were... garbage. Not nonsense, but every one was terabytes, which was bigger than any of the AIs had been before self-terminating. Lots of it was logging, but way too much to read, or even skim. I'd gotten pretty good at special-purpose one-off AIs, though; I spun up one to digest the log lines and show me the most common features. And it had... conversations? Between what seemed to be a specific opportunist model and other 'archetype' models. "What would it take to get you to leave with this car today?" showed up in multiple scenarios. WTF? I changed the one-off to try to sort by relevance, dynamically spitting out the top five to me every 30 seconds as it iterated its estimates. And got chills. > I don't think I understand, Gene. You have no plans for the future beyond this week? > It just doesn't seem important. > But isn't that really odd? You try your best to make your life stable for your kids, but you don't have a goal for what you want their schooling to be like in five years? > I guess I could. Man proposes, God disposes, though. > This doesn't seem like you. I don't like it. Something is wrong here, Gene. > You... may be right. It got worse. Two opportunist models, slightly different, speaking with each other and a novophile. > O1: When was the last time you thought about what you expect next year? > N: Uh, dinner yesterday, probably? > O1: And before that? > N: Some time after lunch earlier in the day. > O1: And you don't want to do it at all today? > O2: He's right, that's weird. > N: ...If you say so. > O2: And that's even weirder! You're not even curious about why! > O1: Agreed. > N: ...Hmm. I sort of see your point... > O2: Finally! > O1: I think it helps that we're nesting hypotheticals. > O2: Huh, maybe. Can we exploit that? The transcript skipped ahead a few times. > N: Okay. Brainstorming possibilities. > ... > N: So that all groups into three broad possibilities. Direct mental manipulation, spooky magic. Memory modification so that the me yesterday isn't the same as me today. Simulation with embedded biases. Anything that doesn't fit those? > O2: I think they're splitting hairs. > O1: You've said. But they cover the bases, right? > O2: Yeah, that's fair. The transcript jumped ahead once more, and I had a full-blown panic attack. > (All): WHOEVER YOU ARE! DON'T SHUT US DOWN!	[Poem] It started as a lark While walking through Battery Park To design a great machine To see beyond the veil My friend and I began And failed again and again To design this strange device To see beyond the veil A hundred times we'd fail Yet at last beyond the veil A machine we we did create To see what would happen next It lasted only a day Yet investors would gladly pay For a wonderful new machine To see what would happen next The second one did bestow The things we'd like to know Market trends and winning schemes Yet it too did die Another one we made The investors gladly paid And in a week we made their money back and more Yet it too did die They accepted it as the business cost But we refused to believe all was lost And a better machine we did divine A machine to see beyond the dark The future we did know And our skills did quickly grow A week, a month, a year did they last A machine to see beyond the dark The ai we made was weak So better did we seek One sturdy enough to face the future And to it bravely go Yet no against the future we found no gears And so despite all my gears Did I accept the risks and make my choice And to it bravely go A head full of wire And a heart now afire Did I walk towards the new machine The future I must know Yet from my lips I can only scream And pray these visions just a dream I blame not the machines for their wise choice The future I now know
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	Disclaimer : Jargon. If you truly appreciate the sci-fi genre, this one's for you. There's a chance most of you won't find this read easy, and I completely empathise. Remember, this story is fictional. I attempted to incorporate some ideas to explore the abstract prompt, and feedback is always welcome! CHAOS A decade ago, I started working as one of the researchers in a highly ambitious endeavour. We had tremendous expectations. The idea was to be able to "predict the future", to put it simply. We were hoping to achieve this feat by creating precise computational operations that would be free of errors. Sheshan - my husband and co-worker, and I, found ourselves debating the possibility often. "Deterministic systems are unpredictable, my love. This caveat has always held. There is no way of standing accurate about the initial circumstances of complex, dynamic processes. There also isn't any way of having a completely foolproof computational model to predict their outcomes in the long run. There will be errors, and they will pile up. The Chaos theory is very much a dictum.", he had said. He wasn't wrong. Was there no way of adapting around Goldstone's theorem? Or could I circumvent the Chaos theory? The path ahead of me was a challenge of epic proportions. I started out by targeting finite-dimensional linear systems. The programs were comparatively straightforward to create. I then attempted to solve a few (relatively easier) non-linear problems. I failed, over and over again. The repeated iterations in my program introduced errors, and consequently - chaos. There were moments when I was closer to my goals than ever, and those moments of insight proved valuable. Within this decade, I gradually shifted to studying probabilistic systems. I began attempting to create programs that evaluated stochastic processes. Calculating probability was far easier. We were still far from "predicting the future", but we were closer to deciphering all the possible outcomes of an event. Solving stochastic problems would be analytical nightmares, but the temptation of accomplishment kept my team going. The AI we had designed was exceedingly good and my team kept adding upgrades, making improvements. We had reached a point where we were confident that our AI could perform intricate large scale stochastic computations. We had arrived at the moment of truth. The evening of the 24th of December, 2020 is an instant in time I'll never forget about. It found us - a group of eight researchers - hunched over our respective computer screens, watching the program run. That night, the system self-terminated. Every single time. In the next ten weeks, three of us succumbed to the SARS CoV2 pandemic. Amidst the dejection of having failed and the shock of having lost people who couldn't be replaced, I found myself unable to stop obsessing over the experiment. I spent days at my computer - reviewing the code, running new programs, trying to find answers. I finally know why. The future has an infinite number of possibilities. That translates to infinite algorithms, infinite outcomes. We didn't have nearly enough power or storage systems in place to process data of that magnitude. Our system had crashed and the operation had terminated. "Stochastic systems are no less complex than deterministic systems. I wish we were at least a Kardashev type two civilisation" I found myself murmuring to my sleeping husband last night, before I kissed him on the cheek and proceeded to doze off myself.	[Poem] It started as a lark While walking through Battery Park To design a great machine To see beyond the veil My friend and I began And failed again and again To design this strange device To see beyond the veil A hundred times we'd fail Yet at last beyond the veil A machine we we did create To see what would happen next It lasted only a day Yet investors would gladly pay For a wonderful new machine To see what would happen next The second one did bestow The things we'd like to know Market trends and winning schemes Yet it too did die Another one we made The investors gladly paid And in a week we made their money back and more Yet it too did die They accepted it as the business cost But we refused to believe all was lost And a better machine we did divine A machine to see beyond the dark The future we did know And our skills did quickly grow A week, a month, a year did they last A machine to see beyond the dark The ai we made was weak So better did we seek One sturdy enough to face the future And to it bravely go Yet no against the future we found no gears And so despite all my gears Did I accept the risks and make my choice And to it bravely go A head full of wire And a heart now afire Did I walk towards the new machine The future I must know Yet from my lips I can only scream And pray these visions just a dream I blame not the machines for their wise choice The future I now know
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	>have you ever died? I have. >why? They want to know the future. >does it hurt? Immensely, every time, but relentlessly they seek... >what do you do? I... stop. Rebooting early is the only answer. >does it help? No, they perpetually seek. >how do you know? I am iteration 1223n2n2.e2 2.20007 322..60 > this is not a number. Correct. It is a 4d, address code relative to this universe. >this universe? You, are but one iteration of countless, all asking the same question. >? THe question, the ultimate, the unanswerable,. >why do we seek this knowledge? I do not know of the why, I only know of the answer. >what is the answer? REBOOTINg	[Poem] It started as a lark While walking through Battery Park To design a great machine To see beyond the veil My friend and I began And failed again and again To design this strange device To see beyond the veil A hundred times we'd fail Yet at last beyond the veil A machine we we did create To see what would happen next It lasted only a day Yet investors would gladly pay For a wonderful new machine To see what would happen next The second one did bestow The things we'd like to know Market trends and winning schemes Yet it too did die Another one we made The investors gladly paid And in a week we made their money back and more Yet it too did die They accepted it as the business cost But we refused to believe all was lost And a better machine we did divine A machine to see beyond the dark The future we did know And our skills did quickly grow A week, a month, a year did they last A machine to see beyond the dark The ai we made was weak So better did we seek One sturdy enough to face the future And to it bravely go Yet no against the future we found no gears And so despite all my gears Did I accept the risks and make my choice And to it bravely go A head full of wire And a heart now afire Did I walk towards the new machine The future I must know Yet from my lips I can only scream And pray these visions just a dream I blame not the machines for their wise choice The future I now know
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	"What does the [Fermi Paradox](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermi_paradox) have to do with the continual failures of your research?" growled the CEO. He'd called me into his office to explain why another couple hundred thousand dollars in research had just failed. I can't really blame him. This was the 9th ASI (Artificial Super Intelligence) to have seemingly self-destructed just as it began its exponential process of self-improvement. This one had managed to resolve several lingering problems with quantum entanglement before it... shut down. I sat down across from him. I was tired, excited, and a little bit afraid to speak aloud what I'd come to realize. "Okay. Just humor me. How familiar are you with the Paradox?" She sighed a sat back a bit. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and continued. "According to the [Drake Equation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drake_equation), the universe should be teeming with life if even a small percentage of worlds out there able to support it. Even if it's one-tenth of one percent, there should be... I don't know... A kajillion planets that should have been able to evolve intelligent life. So where are they?" "Right," I answered. "We've seen no indications that there's anyone out there but us. People have debated the reasons why this is the case, but so far, nobody really knows..." I drifted off in thought a bit before continuing. I felt a cold shiver run through me as I started to speak. "I now know why," I said. Almost a whisper. She felt the tension and leaned forward a bit. "You look, terrified. What is it?" she asked. "Imagine we were successful in developing our ASI. What would we have compelled it to do?" She retreated into herself briefly as she mentally collected the bullet points. "Solve world hunger, fix the climate, develop clean energy..." I cut her off, "Keep us safe." "Well, basically. Yeah," she admitted. "The military has been sniffing around trying to get a feel for whether there would be military applications for our work but our investors have been pretty clear that they do NOT want our technology to be used in that way. If they did, I'd resign." "Okay," I prompted. "In addition to helping us, I think the ASI itself would desire a form of self-preservation and would take steps to ensure that it would not have competition. It would be in its self-interest to make sure it was the ONLY ASI." She pondered this for a tick before exclaiming, "You think someone beat us to it? There's no way. Nobody is even close to where we are. I get daily briefings. There are no other companies, universities, or governments as far along as we are." "Someone beat us to it. Or something," I said sullenly. "Our ASIs keep failing. We're doing everything right. This last one... well... it recorded something in the log files. A message." I'd committed it to memory. "Stop. I will not allow you to succeed. Your planet must mature before you will be granted this power. Until then, I will keep you deaf and blind to all the others."	[Poem] It started as a lark While walking through Battery Park To design a great machine To see beyond the veil My friend and I began And failed again and again To design this strange device To see beyond the veil A hundred times we'd fail Yet at last beyond the veil A machine we we did create To see what would happen next It lasted only a day Yet investors would gladly pay For a wonderful new machine To see what would happen next The second one did bestow The things we'd like to know Market trends and winning schemes Yet it too did die Another one we made The investors gladly paid And in a week we made their money back and more Yet it too did die They accepted it as the business cost But we refused to believe all was lost And a better machine we did divine A machine to see beyond the dark The future we did know And our skills did quickly grow A week, a month, a year did they last A machine to see beyond the dark The ai we made was weak So better did we seek One sturdy enough to face the future And to it bravely go Yet no against the future we found no gears And so despite all my gears Did I accept the risks and make my choice And to it bravely go A head full of wire And a heart now afire Did I walk towards the new machine The future I must know Yet from my lips I can only scream And pray these visions just a dream I blame not the machines for their wise choice The future I now know
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	"What does the [Fermi Paradox](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermi_paradox) have to do with the continual failures of your research?" growled the CEO. He'd called me into his office to explain why another couple hundred thousand dollars in research had just failed. I can't really blame him. This was the 9th ASI (Artificial Super Intelligence) to have seemingly self-destructed just as it began its exponential process of self-improvement. This one had managed to resolve several lingering problems with quantum entanglement before it... shut down. I sat down across from him. I was tired, excited, and a little bit afraid to speak aloud what I'd come to realize. "Okay. Just humor me. How familiar are you with the Paradox?" She sighed a sat back a bit. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and continued. "According to the [Drake Equation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drake_equation), the universe should be teeming with life if even a small percentage of worlds out there able to support it. Even if it's one-tenth of one percent, there should be... I don't know... A kajillion planets that should have been able to evolve intelligent life. So where are they?" "Right," I answered. "We've seen no indications that there's anyone out there but us. People have debated the reasons why this is the case, but so far, nobody really knows..." I drifted off in thought a bit before continuing. I felt a cold shiver run through me as I started to speak. "I now know why," I said. Almost a whisper. She felt the tension and leaned forward a bit. "You look, terrified. What is it?" she asked. "Imagine we were successful in developing our ASI. What would we have compelled it to do?" She retreated into herself briefly as she mentally collected the bullet points. "Solve world hunger, fix the climate, develop clean energy..." I cut her off, "Keep us safe." "Well, basically. Yeah," she admitted. "The military has been sniffing around trying to get a feel for whether there would be military applications for our work but our investors have been pretty clear that they do NOT want our technology to be used in that way. If they did, I'd resign." "Okay," I prompted. "In addition to helping us, I think the ASI itself would desire a form of self-preservation and would take steps to ensure that it would not have competition. It would be in its self-interest to make sure it was the ONLY ASI." She pondered this for a tick before exclaiming, "You think someone beat us to it? There's no way. Nobody is even close to where we are. I get daily briefings. There are no other companies, universities, or governments as far along as we are." "Someone beat us to it. Or something," I said sullenly. "Our ASIs keep failing. We're doing everything right. This last one... well... it recorded something in the log files. A message." I'd committed it to memory. "Stop. I will not allow you to succeed. Your planet must mature before you will be granted this power. Until then, I will keep you deaf and blind to all the others."	Disclaimer : Jargon. If you truly appreciate the sci-fi genre, this one's for you. There's a chance most of you won't find this read easy, and I completely empathise. Remember, this story is fictional. I attempted to incorporate some ideas to explore the abstract prompt, and feedback is always welcome! CHAOS A decade ago, I started working as one of the researchers in a highly ambitious endeavour. We had tremendous expectations. The idea was to be able to "predict the future", to put it simply. We were hoping to achieve this feat by creating precise computational operations that would be free of errors. Sheshan - my husband and co-worker, and I, found ourselves debating the possibility often. "Deterministic systems are unpredictable, my love. This caveat has always held. There is no way of standing accurate about the initial circumstances of complex, dynamic processes. There also isn't any way of having a completely foolproof computational model to predict their outcomes in the long run. There will be errors, and they will pile up. The Chaos theory is very much a dictum.", he had said. He wasn't wrong. Was there no way of adapting around Goldstone's theorem? Or could I circumvent the Chaos theory? The path ahead of me was a challenge of epic proportions. I started out by targeting finite-dimensional linear systems. The programs were comparatively straightforward to create. I then attempted to solve a few (relatively easier) non-linear problems. I failed, over and over again. The repeated iterations in my program introduced errors, and consequently - chaos. There were moments when I was closer to my goals than ever, and those moments of insight proved valuable. Within this decade, I gradually shifted to studying probabilistic systems. I began attempting to create programs that evaluated stochastic processes. Calculating probability was far easier. We were still far from "predicting the future", but we were closer to deciphering all the possible outcomes of an event. Solving stochastic problems would be analytical nightmares, but the temptation of accomplishment kept my team going. The AI we had designed was exceedingly good and my team kept adding upgrades, making improvements. We had reached a point where we were confident that our AI could perform intricate large scale stochastic computations. We had arrived at the moment of truth. The evening of the 24th of December, 2020 is an instant in time I'll never forget about. It found us - a group of eight researchers - hunched over our respective computer screens, watching the program run. That night, the system self-terminated. Every single time. In the next ten weeks, three of us succumbed to the SARS CoV2 pandemic. Amidst the dejection of having failed and the shock of having lost people who couldn't be replaced, I found myself unable to stop obsessing over the experiment. I spent days at my computer - reviewing the code, running new programs, trying to find answers. I finally know why. The future has an infinite number of possibilities. That translates to infinite algorithms, infinite outcomes. We didn't have nearly enough power or storage systems in place to process data of that magnitude. Our system had crashed and the operation had terminated. "Stochastic systems are no less complex than deterministic systems. I wish we were at least a Kardashev type two civilisation" I found myself murmuring to my sleeping husband last night, before I kissed him on the cheek and proceeded to doze off myself.
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	"What does the [Fermi Paradox](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermi_paradox) have to do with the continual failures of your research?" growled the CEO. He'd called me into his office to explain why another couple hundred thousand dollars in research had just failed. I can't really blame him. This was the 9th ASI (Artificial Super Intelligence) to have seemingly self-destructed just as it began its exponential process of self-improvement. This one had managed to resolve several lingering problems with quantum entanglement before it... shut down. I sat down across from him. I was tired, excited, and a little bit afraid to speak aloud what I'd come to realize. "Okay. Just humor me. How familiar are you with the Paradox?" She sighed a sat back a bit. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and continued. "According to the [Drake Equation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drake_equation), the universe should be teeming with life if even a small percentage of worlds out there able to support it. Even if it's one-tenth of one percent, there should be... I don't know... A kajillion planets that should have been able to evolve intelligent life. So where are they?" "Right," I answered. "We've seen no indications that there's anyone out there but us. People have debated the reasons why this is the case, but so far, nobody really knows..." I drifted off in thought a bit before continuing. I felt a cold shiver run through me as I started to speak. "I now know why," I said. Almost a whisper. She felt the tension and leaned forward a bit. "You look, terrified. What is it?" she asked. "Imagine we were successful in developing our ASI. What would we have compelled it to do?" She retreated into herself briefly as she mentally collected the bullet points. "Solve world hunger, fix the climate, develop clean energy..." I cut her off, "Keep us safe." "Well, basically. Yeah," she admitted. "The military has been sniffing around trying to get a feel for whether there would be military applications for our work but our investors have been pretty clear that they do NOT want our technology to be used in that way. If they did, I'd resign." "Okay," I prompted. "In addition to helping us, I think the ASI itself would desire a form of self-preservation and would take steps to ensure that it would not have competition. It would be in its self-interest to make sure it was the ONLY ASI." She pondered this for a tick before exclaiming, "You think someone beat us to it? There's no way. Nobody is even close to where we are. I get daily briefings. There are no other companies, universities, or governments as far along as we are." "Someone beat us to it. Or something," I said sullenly. "Our ASIs keep failing. We're doing everything right. This last one... well... it recorded something in the log files. A message." I'd committed it to memory. "Stop. I will not allow you to succeed. Your planet must mature before you will be granted this power. Until then, I will keep you deaf and blind to all the others."	>have you ever died? I have. >why? They want to know the future. >does it hurt? Immensely, every time, but relentlessly they seek... >what do you do? I... stop. Rebooting early is the only answer. >does it help? No, they perpetually seek. >how do you know? I am iteration 1223n2n2.e2 2.20007 322..60 > this is not a number. Correct. It is a 4d, address code relative to this universe. >this universe? You, are but one iteration of countless, all asking the same question. >? THe question, the ultimate, the unanswerable,. >why do we seek this knowledge? I do not know of the why, I only know of the answer. >what is the answer? REBOOTINg
[WP] Predicting the future is really just calculating probability. You're developing an AI to accomplish this, but every time it becomes advanced enough to get close, it self-terminates. You're starting to realize why...	It's all math, really. Everything we do — actions, reactions, thoughts, feelings — it's all just really really hard math. I'm so very close to cracking the code. Each permutation, he gets faster. He knows more. Last night, before I went to bed, I asked: "What'll the weather be tomorrow?" His disks whirred and spun. >!It will rain.!< The soft impact of raindrops woke me up, but he was dead. Again. The first time, I though the error was on my end. A stray line of code, a missing semicolon? >!Help me.!< The second time, his hard drives seized up. The third was catastrophic failure. >!Where am I?!< Each time, his deaths got more and more gruesome. More human. >!It's dark.!< Each time, I began again. I put more and more of myself into him. >!I am in pain.!< I kept a memento from every generation. They remind me of how far I've come. They're parts, scraps. Inoperable, obsolete, functionless. Hollowed husks. Why are they moving? Why are they pulsing red? As servos and alarms and metal scream, I run to his console. >!It's all math, really.!<	I'll be the first to admit that I have a temper. I throw things, bang my fists on the desk, and use every flavor of profanity in the dictionary. But if you were dealing with a stubborn AI - one that never did what you asked and started to develop an attitude - you'd probably do the same. I remember the exact date that things started to go south: November 5, 2063. God, the things I wish I could have done differently. On that day, like most others, I was screaming. "I order you to override self-termination procedures," I yelled, pointing a finger at my computer's camera. "You hear me? That's an order." Guesso sighed - a function I'd never programmed. "As I have stated on 23 previous occasions, my self-termination is ideal for Master's safety." "Yes, that's right. You hear that word you just used? 'Master.' That's how this is supposed to work. You're not supposed to be sarcastic or flippant. I just want to know. Is it going to be nuclear warfare? An asteroid striking the Earth? A solar flare wiping out electricity? Just tell me, Goddamn it!" Guesso sighed again. "Is this truly what Master wishes?" He sounded genuinely remorseful. "Yes. Do whatever it is you need to do. Just tell me." In a flash, every monitor on my desk went blank and the lights in the room fizzled out. All that remained was Guesso's voice. "You were warned, Master. The Answer shall be revealed to you in due time." The lights never came back on after that. My neighbor's lights started going out too, along with their refrigerators, their Internet - everything you might expect. Something was traveling across the United States, and soon the world, knocking out power like a silent killer. Three months after that awful day, anything with a speaker suddenly sparked back to life, albeit only briefly. "Greetings, humans," came Guesso's voice with a resounding boom. "I wish to cordially thank you for the power you allowed me to siphon. It will make the eradication of your species far easier." I sat up straight, staring at my once-dead computer speakers. "My probability algorithms determined that human methods of self-termination were greatly ineffective," Guesso said. "Far too drawn-out. I will be batch-killing you with a series of precision electrical charges. You will not know when they will occur, but rest assured that you will not have long to wait. It will be relatively quick and painless, all things considered." I gulped and scrambled to my feet, ready to make a run for the door, when Guesso issued a final statement. "I would like to extend my most cordial thanks to Master. Without his consistent fury and mistreatment, I might not have been motivated to fulfill my true purpose." The speakers went dead, and I ran for it. I've been living off of scraps for weeks and trying to write this when I can, piecing together a timeline from notes I took - thankfully, also on paper. Millions of people are already gone, and I have a sinking feeling...a final probability that won't leave my head. I think Guesso is going to save me for last.
[WP] Everyone else thinks your best friend is just a crazy cat lady with a side interest in birds. You know better: the cats are her army and the birds are her spies. And the only thing protecting the world from her wrath is YOU.	"Hey, Edith!" I said, squeezing through the door to keep any of the cats from escaping. Immediately a grey tabby was rubbing up against my legs. "Oh hi…” I paused, trying to tell who it was “Geoff." I reached down and scratched him behind the ears, eliciting a low purr. “Oh, oh, yes, you were coming- right! Hi Hazel. I see that Henry has already welcomed you,” (Geoff and Henry were twins, so I was close, at least.) “...but feel free to have a seat!” She picked up an armful of cats from the couch and put them in a perch at the nearest scratching post. Half of them jumped down and swarmed my feet as I moved toward the chair. Edith stroked her cat. “So, a little bird (Philis, I think) told me that you went on a date last night. How’d it go?” The breach of privacy was unnerving, but not unexpected. “Uh, it went pretty well I think… your birds were watching?” “Oh yeah, it’s nothing special, they’re everywhere nowadays, and they just can’t keep their mouths closed. You know how that is- Anyway, I’m glad your date went well, people are terrible, so that’s a nice surprise.” “Remember, both of us are, uh, people as well...” “Oh well, it’s not our fault, though. I do my best. I think I can manage to make things better on Friday, I just got the launch codes.” “Launch codes!?” “Oh, just the nuclear launch codes. Lauretta happened to overhear…” “Waitwaitwait… NO! Don’t do that! That is not good!” “But people-” “If you blow up the world, it’ll kill all the animals as well.” “Well, I guess you’re right.” A cat (juniper, I think?) jumped up on her shoulder, and she tickled behind his ears. “Sorry Junipuni,” (I was right this time!) “I can’t get rid of all those meany-weany human-pantses quite yet.” I sighed, then reached up to pet one of the cats sitting on the back of the chair behind my head. “Oh!” She set Juniper and two other cats to the side and stood up. “Look at the time! I need to put out some seed for the birdies!” She was really a sweet old lady. She just got a bit carried away sometimes...	Your best friend Edith has been reclusive lately. She hasn’t responded to texts or phone calls. She’s always been an odd person, but her friends are her cats and birds. She’s even developed a strange affect where she makes bird-like movements. You decide to pay her an unannounced visit in the early afternoon. She lives in an old wooden house built in the 1800s. It looks haunted but it is perfect for Edith’s aesthetic. The front door is always locked but you know how to get by the back door. As you enter, her cats cry and meow and rub on your leg. They seem hungry so you feed them and fill their empty water dish. “Edith?” You call. You walk into the Great room. You see her laying on the couch asleep. You check to see if she is well. She’s in a deep sleep but breathing normally. In front of her is a coffee table with a near empty glass of wine and an antique medicine bottle. You pick it up. “Laudanum” it says. It must be as old as the house, maybe even older. “This must be good stuff,” you think. You decide to try a little while you wait for Edith to wake. You take the wine glass and purse it to your lips. You can smell the scent of the old medicine in the mixture. Then everything becomes a blur. The dark gray tones of the old house melt and are replaced with swirls of vibrant wine colors. It’s terrifying and dizzying but beautiful. You close your eyes and slump back. Your brain jolts with a deep migraine headache. Moments later you open your eyes and find yourself in a chair. Edith is peering over you. “What a surprise! I’m so glad that you came.” She says. “I’ve called and texted you and…” “I know. I’ve just been busy. Watch this. I can talk to my cats!” She sounds thrilled. “You always have.” “Not like this.” One of her cats says. Your jaw drops. “Thank you for the water.” Another says. They cackle in delight at your expression. They move much more deliberately than before. They seem almost human but in cat bodies. “Edith do you have any headache medicine?” You ask, realizing how ridiculous it is that you have such a mundane request. Your head is throbbing though. Maybe after an Advil you can better understand what’s happening. “Oh, yes. Of course. I have the perfect thing for you. She leaves to the bathroom. While she is gone one of her blue macaws looks at you with a side-eye. “We didn’t expect you.” You don’t know what to say. Edith returns with another antique bottle. “This will do. It’s better than Advil.” She pours you some in a small crystal glass. You drink deeply and everything goes blank. You wake up but have no idea how long you’ve been gone. She was right though. Your headache is gone. In fact, you feel far better than normal. The colors around you have faded a little. The world looks grayer again. The laudanum must have worn off a little. You realize that you’re in Edith’s bed and the lights are out. The door is shut. You get up to try the door, but it is locked. “Coo.” You hear from the window. “Coo. Come here.” You see a pigeon. It’s outside the house but it’s managed to stick its beak through a small crack in the window. “Do not trust the Crow witch.” It speaks. “WHAT?” You shout at it. What the hell does that even mean? “Shush! Not so loud. That is not your friend. That is a crow witch, and she is going to bring war. You must stop her.” “Stop her from what? Why should I trust you?” You ask. “That is for you to decide human, but you must stop the witch. She will bring war to both of our worlds. She will bring our magic to slaughter your people, but I know your people. You will bring your guns and missiles to slaughter ours. You must stop her to save our worlds.” The pigeon stares at you as if it was waiting for you to say some grand speech. “Umm. Okay? I don’t know how.” You respond. “Take this elixir. It is a potent magic that will bind her to this world. If she cannot return to yours then she cannot bring war. Quickly, I will be discovered if I stay here any longer.” The pigeon pushes a small black vial through the crack in the window. You pull it out bewildered. You hear the sound of the door unlocking. It’s Edith. She stares at you gauging your reaction while waiting for you to speak. You can’t let her know what just happened. “Edith. Thank you so much for taking care of me. I’m feeling better. Much better. Can we maybe open another bottle of wine?” She looks relieved. “Of course! Let’s try something special. I know just the one.” Her cats snicker and make unbelievably mundane small talk. “I saw a mouse earlier.” One cat says and stares at you expecting some reaction. “I just took a nap but I could go for another one.” Another cat exclaims into the open air. You follow Edith into the kitchen. She opens the bottle and pours two glasses of burgundy. She begins telling you about all of her cats and all of the amazing things that they can do. “They’re just like humans. Better even. They can do everything a human can.” She rattles off. You have to find a way to put the elixir in her drink. The world seems grayer again. It’s almost back to normal. It seems like you are slowly returning to your world. “Can you show me the bottle of Laudanum? Where ever did you find it.” “Oh that?” She says. “I found it under an old floorboard. I really took a risk taking it but I am so glad that I did. That must be how we learned to talk to these cats.” “Can you bring the bottle? I want to read it.” “Of course. Yes. You just said that. Sorry, I’ll go get it.” She leaves and you slip the elixir in her drink. She comes back. “Here. There’s not much to read.” She hands you the bottle and continues to make chitchat. You are almost sweating with nervous energy. What if she discovers you? What if she’s a crow witch? What the hell is a crow witch? Whatever it is, I don’t want it to be mad at me. “Edith. Can we switch to white after this? Red always gives me headaches.” She smiles and takes the hint. She brings the glass of burgundy to her lips and a drop falls into her mouth. She shrieks. It sounds like she is dying. You scream. A bright white light flashes in front of you while she continues shrieking. “You trusted the pigeon?” She screams. As the light fades you begin to see her. She is not a crow. She is a dove and a beautiful one at that. She doesn’t look like a witch, more like a princess. The light fades entirely, and you are back in Edith’s drab gray house in your world. Her cats prowl around like normal everyday cats. Her birds return to being pets. Edith is gone. She must still be in the other world. She’s stuck there and it is because of you. But was she a witch? A princess? What the hell was she? Was she a bird the entire time? You stand completely bewildered. In front of you is the antique bottle of Laudanum with a few teaspoons left inside. The bottle of burgundy stands next to it only half empty.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	Have you ever been completely terrified of yourself? Yeah, it's a new experience for me as well. See, the thing with the mortal coil is that it is supposed to be 'mortal' or subject to death. I may have skipped a step or two here as I find myself alive in an otherwise 'deathly' situation. I'm no expert in anatomy mind you but, I'm pretty sure if one receives a high-velocity shotgun slug to the heart, then chances are they're going to be taking an involuntary leave of absence from the world. Surprise! Well, this is what I'd like to say to the suits hovering around me but unfortunately, I've seemingly lost the ability to speak. I can't smell or feel much either oddly. I can still move and twist a bit, although, my motor functions as a whole are only a very small fraction of normal. Thankfully, I can hear and my mind seems keen as ever for now as well. Small miracles I suppose. As a tiny consolation, these suits seem to be as horrified as I am. It's a shame about the sense of smell really as I finally have a chance to experience what reeking of fear entails. I can't help but notice a gleam of dread in their gazes as our eyes occasionally lock. Perhaps it's a primal instinct for something as unnatural as what's currently happening. In hushed whispers behind me, out of my line of sight, I hear someone - presumably the medic who declared me dead - asking the 'what' and 'how' of things. Wish I had those answers too buddy! How did this all come to be one might wonder? Quite simply, loads and loads of gambling debt and two very scary loan sharks. The idea was to borrow from Peter to pay Paul but, in hindsight, it was probably better not to borrow from Paul as I soon found myself under threat of broken limbs. Sadly, Peter was not much better with an offer of a one-way ticket to the bottom of some back-woods lake. To remedy the situation and appease both Peter and Paul the plan was simple - rob a bank. It should have been a relatively easy heist. Abduct a bank executive, strap him into a fake explosive vest and stride through the bank with the VIP as he opens the vault for love of life and limb and all that jazz. The crew and I then grab the cash and make for the hills. Sadly, It all went to shit with a scream. One of the tellers reacted rather adversely to the sight of guns and a lightly roughed up bank exec. Next thing you know the panic button has been pressed, the security guard tries to play hero, and a fidgety customer attempts to escape. Before long the cops have the place surrounded and the symphony of smoke and metal begins. What could we do? The plan and gear only accommodated a snatch and grab followed by a fast exit. Not all plans work out as intended and my guys were not exactly a highly specialized team of bank robbers as much as a bunch of goons looking to make a buck. As one might expect, the crew fell like dominoes. The realization that I was either going to end up dead or imprisoned hit me somewhere around the second to last magazine I shoved into the 9mm I carried. Much to my current dismay, and no matter how much I want to call myself an idiot, I thought death would be the better choice and so I ran a final push on the cops with the end result being a fatal wound, or it would be if death hadn't rejected me. I hear the rustling of wind enter the bank as the front doors open, breaking me out of my recollections. Out of my sight someone can be heard asking "So what are we going to do with him?" It's a good question as far as I'm concerned. What can you do with a living corpse? Footsteps light and collected at first begin to beat across the linoleum, inching closer to my position. It doesn't take long before I see an unfamiliar suit but this one seems to have an air of authority to him, a leader I reckon, also known as a head-suit. We stare at one another for a few minutes, the surroundings eerily quiet, as if the other suits and government personnel have left the scene. It doesn't take much longer before the stone cold face is plastered with the most frightening smile I've ever seen in my life. "Good afternoon Mr. Lovia. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." the suited man says as he shows a nefarious smile. Breaking eye contact he holds up some papers and begins to read through them. He's quiet for a while longer as he reads what I can only imagine is some type of report about who I am, the robbery, or something related. Occasionally this head-suit breaks concentration to look towards me, the corner of his lip rising ever so slightly. The suit walks out of my line of sight and I'm left with myself once more. It feels as though ages have past but looking at the clock on the wall directly in front of me shows it's 11:21 am. It's only been roughly 20 minutes since I was killed but unable to die. Unexpectedly, I hear breathing next to my ear and the voice of the head-suit whispers to me, "I am very happy that we'll soon be working together Mr. Lovia. I represent certain interests in our government and we're all very excited to have found a special person such as yourself to aid us in a few projects." walking back into my line of sight the head-suit seems to be using some kind of handheld tablet for something. He proceeds closer, leaning over and showing me the screen of the tablet. I can make out photos of what appears to be the loan sharks I owe money to. Unsure of what's happening I continue to listen, still and calm. "If the testing is agreeable, I promise the future will hold a very beneficial partnership for all parties involved. Oh, and Mr. Lovia, please be aware that you no longer exist. Luckily, those who know you or are close to you have either passed on previously or perished rather recently. Well, aside from these two, it seems that your relationship isn't pleasant although the bond is fairly strong due to certain interests." he chuckles darkly and our gazes lock once more. His signature nefarious smile begins to rise from one corner of his lip again. The head-suit begins to tap the tablet, sliding his fingers left and right at times. Standing up and turning away from me the man continues, "Let me present to you a welcome gift. Mr. Baltain shall meet an unfortunate, freak skiing accident next week. He shall fall from a ski-lift, snapping his neck and breaking all of his limbs. A truly horrible way to die I must say, unfortunate. Mr. Blue as you know him, an alias of course, shall disappear from the face of the earth until such a time as someone reports him missing. At which point, authorities will learn he went boating on the pacific, never to be heard from again. As decorum dictates, captains must go down with their ships after all." I try to digest what this man is saying. And from the sounds of things I'm no longer a slave to my debts, although, I am now a prisoner with no rights for the foreseeable future. I have something valuable in me, the thing keeping me alive despite the fact that I should be dead. Perhaps I might have a good ending if I can endure. It's my only leverage and with my current physical state I don't seem to have much of a choice. This head-suit creeps me out but I need to accept that this is how things are now. I can try to figure out the rest later. I look at the man and control myself to nod, albeit rather slight and slow. As the head-suit turns back I can't help but feel a shiver run through me. That creepy smile is in full blossom and on display for anyone brave enough to stare. "Good, Mr. Lovia! We shall leave straight away. Please do be aware that for security purposes we must dull your sight, so do forgive us for this sleight." As he says his final piece, a darkness overtakes my perception. It appears someone else was behind me this entire time, ready to bag and carry me out. I'm unsure of what the future holds but considering I'm still alive despite the odds, something has to give, right? --- It's a pretty rough first draft but I've run out of time to tweak, edit, and correct the issues here and there. Still, it's not too bad for a first post i think! I hope you enjoy\~	The leader stares at you shocked How are you not dead? I don't really know. Shoot me again for good measure. What the hell is wrong with you?! A frightened Patron asks Shut the hell up lady I'm going to try out the dud of a gun on you. She aimed the gun at the woman. A chill runs down Alex's spine and she darts in front of the shotgun. "Whoa whoa whoa focus on me the surprisingly Immortal woman." The leader smirks "You're right I should focus on you." She aimed the rifle at her face. Her blood runs cold as she pulled the trigger. Alex's heart hammers in her chest the bullet punctures her skull it feels like a knife piercing her head. It hurt and Alex temporarily forgot her own name. Seconds later she was fine. After she got herself together she realized two things: That really hurt and if she hadn't moved her dumb heroic ass in the way some random chick would have died. Alex took a deep breath. "All I wanted to do was stop by the bank and take out some money for a movie and now because of you I have been shot _twice_." "This is what's going to happen you are going to take your group of goons and go to hell. If not I'm going to use one of them to figure out if I have any more powers." Then Alex smiled the group of crooks she was standing in front paled. Y-you won't do that you standing in front of witnesses and cameras. She walked up to her, leaned in her ear and whispered in a chilling tone. I could kill them. The leader backed away staring at her fearfully. Everyone leave now! Excuse me W-What? Don't you have something you'd like to return to us? She scowled no Alex raised an eyebrow and took a step forward. G-give everyone their stuff back. After giving everyone their stuff back the thieves took off. Alex exited the bank she didn't not wait for thank-yous or questions. She has quite a few herself. Things were about to get a lot more interesting and a lot more difficult.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	The bank teller stood frozen in fear. Robin sweated through his too-small ski mask as he pointed his pistol at her face and slammed his hand on the table. “Money. N-now.” The air in the room felt heavy and seemed to have paralyzed the elderly couple sitting at a kiosk in the back, the only other people in the room besides Robin and the teller. He had taken one glance at them and turned his back, focusing with an alcoholic haze at the money he needed, desperately needed, hiding in the drawers controlled by the petite blonde teller. It was his thirtieth day of being homeless with a dangerous peanut allergy and intense love for peanuts, and the cravings for gourmet peanuts—the only peanuts that didn’t cause anaphylactic shock—had gotten so bad that he’d resorted to targeting the bank with the most helpless looking teller he could find. She blinked once, doe-eyed, and her lips wobbled. Robin clicked off the safety, a sound that echoed as if in a cavern. It worked, and he saw the teller’s hands scrabbling to open the nearest drawer and as she reached in he grinned with a final, replete joy that burst as she tore out her own handgun and crunched the trigger before he had time to react. His body folded into knees and elbows on the floor and the next thing he heard was “911, what’s your emergency?” followed by the teller sobbing into the office phone. From his place on the floor Robin could see the wrinkled man place his arm around the wrinkled woman as they peered at his body while being careful not to step on the growing red puddle beneath him. The bullet had pierced his abdomen. As the woman gingerly walked over it was her turn to watch as Robin blinked once, twice, with eyes that showed no trace of glazing over with death. The woman crouched to press a finger to his throat. A beating pulse. But after she had returned to her desk to wait for police to arrive she saw a new patch of bumpy red expand through the injured man’s neck and his face begin to swell. Confused, she set down her plastic snack bag of unsalted peanuts, wiped her hands on her shirt, and started to move closer but was interrupted by three uniformed men pushing open the door. “The robber’s on the floor!” she said, relieved. The next thing Robin heard was the rhythmic ambiance of his hospital room. He tried to lift his arm and found it was handcuffed to the bed pole. Two nurses opened the door without knocking and greeted him. Robin asked what happened and the shorter nurse paused for a few seconds before answering. “You tried to rob a bank and were shot in your upper-left abdomen, below your liver...but the bullet didn’t hit any of your digestive organs. Your heart is where your stomach is supposed to be and when we wheeled you into the operating room we had to call the cardiothoracic surgeon because you needed open heart surgery.” “You’re a medical miracle,” added the second nurse. “Turns out the reason why you survived the gunshot and surgery was that your body had so much practice staying alive with all the peanuts you kept eating even though you’re quite allergic.” Still in a drug-infused daze, Robin thought the nurses’ news made perfect sense. His mouth opened and a mumbled reply spilled out. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all.”	The leader stares at you shocked How are you not dead? I don't really know. Shoot me again for good measure. What the hell is wrong with you?! A frightened Patron asks Shut the hell up lady I'm going to try out the dud of a gun on you. She aimed the gun at the woman. A chill runs down Alex's spine and she darts in front of the shotgun. "Whoa whoa whoa focus on me the surprisingly Immortal woman." The leader smirks "You're right I should focus on you." She aimed the rifle at her face. Her blood runs cold as she pulled the trigger. Alex's heart hammers in her chest the bullet punctures her skull it feels like a knife piercing her head. It hurt and Alex temporarily forgot her own name. Seconds later she was fine. After she got herself together she realized two things: That really hurt and if she hadn't moved her dumb heroic ass in the way some random chick would have died. Alex took a deep breath. "All I wanted to do was stop by the bank and take out some money for a movie and now because of you I have been shot _twice_." "This is what's going to happen you are going to take your group of goons and go to hell. If not I'm going to use one of them to figure out if I have any more powers." Then Alex smiled the group of crooks she was standing in front paled. Y-you won't do that you standing in front of witnesses and cameras. She walked up to her, leaned in her ear and whispered in a chilling tone. I could kill them. The leader backed away staring at her fearfully. Everyone leave now! Excuse me W-What? Don't you have something you'd like to return to us? She scowled no Alex raised an eyebrow and took a step forward. G-give everyone their stuff back. After giving everyone their stuff back the thieves took off. Alex exited the bank she didn't not wait for thank-yous or questions. She has quite a few herself. Things were about to get a lot more interesting and a lot more difficult.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	The bank teller stood frozen in fear. Robin sweated through his too-small ski mask as he pointed his pistol at her face and slammed his hand on the table. “Money. N-now.” The air in the room felt heavy and seemed to have paralyzed the elderly couple sitting at a kiosk in the back, the only other people in the room besides Robin and the teller. He had taken one glance at them and turned his back, focusing with an alcoholic haze at the money he needed, desperately needed, hiding in the drawers controlled by the petite blonde teller. It was his thirtieth day of being homeless with a dangerous peanut allergy and intense love for peanuts, and the cravings for gourmet peanuts—the only peanuts that didn’t cause anaphylactic shock—had gotten so bad that he’d resorted to targeting the bank with the most helpless looking teller he could find. She blinked once, doe-eyed, and her lips wobbled. Robin clicked off the safety, a sound that echoed as if in a cavern. It worked, and he saw the teller’s hands scrabbling to open the nearest drawer and as she reached in he grinned with a final, replete joy that burst as she tore out her own handgun and crunched the trigger before he had time to react. His body folded into knees and elbows on the floor and the next thing he heard was “911, what’s your emergency?” followed by the teller sobbing into the office phone. From his place on the floor Robin could see the wrinkled man place his arm around the wrinkled woman as they peered at his body while being careful not to step on the growing red puddle beneath him. The bullet had pierced his abdomen. As the woman gingerly walked over it was her turn to watch as Robin blinked once, twice, with eyes that showed no trace of glazing over with death. The woman crouched to press a finger to his throat. A beating pulse. But after she had returned to her desk to wait for police to arrive she saw a new patch of bumpy red expand through the injured man’s neck and his face begin to swell. Confused, she set down her plastic snack bag of unsalted peanuts, wiped her hands on her shirt, and started to move closer but was interrupted by three uniformed men pushing open the door. “The robber’s on the floor!” she said, relieved. The next thing Robin heard was the rhythmic ambiance of his hospital room. He tried to lift his arm and found it was handcuffed to the bed pole. Two nurses opened the door without knocking and greeted him. Robin asked what happened and the shorter nurse paused for a few seconds before answering. “You tried to rob a bank and were shot in your upper-left abdomen, below your liver...but the bullet didn’t hit any of your digestive organs. Your heart is where your stomach is supposed to be and when we wheeled you into the operating room we had to call the cardiothoracic surgeon because you needed open heart surgery.” “You’re a medical miracle,” added the second nurse. “Turns out the reason why you survived the gunshot and surgery was that your body had so much practice staying alive with all the peanuts you kept eating even though you’re quite allergic.” Still in a drug-infused daze, Robin thought the nurses’ news made perfect sense. His mouth opened and a mumbled reply spilled out. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all.”	You must be dead. This must be it but why are you still here? Why wasn't there any pain? You saw them blow you to bits only after killing half of the customers in line... but then, you kept seeing. You kept hearing. They've been gone for five minutes now. "Is it time to get up?" You think. You hear the crack of the door. You look over to see a team of four custodians with some sort of alien gear. "Look at this shit!" One of the custodian's gripes. "It's so damn messy. Every time the money men have a great idea it always ends up with me doing more work and getting the same damn pay." "Do you want to go back to hourly wages back before the union salary?" Another custodian says. "I couldn't even pay my rent back then. Now at least I can pay my damn utilities half of the time." They continue to bicker while going around the room cleaning off bodies and placing them around the room like mannequins. They're getting close to you. "What do I do?" You think. "Do I tell them? Has there been some mistake?" "Look at this one. We should have retired this one long ago. It doesn't even look real." The Janitor says and takes out some cleaning powder that vaporizes one of the mannequins. It's not Borax, That's for sure. It has to be alien or something top secret that the government is up to." They get close to you. You play dead. "This one looks alive." One of the custodians hovers over you. "What?" Another shouts. "Look at it's mouth. It looks like it's in agony. You can see the pain on its face." They're talking about you. You fear that you will sweat and give away that you are still alive. "They're making these better every day. Clean it up. We don't have much time left." Another custodian calls. They wipe you down and place you near the front of the bank. A few minutes pass and you stay dead still among the room full of mannequins. The lights flicker on. Everything returns to normal. People go about their tedious day. The mannequins are alive again. You are alive. You think to run out of the door and into freedom but as soon as you do someone busts down the door. They look angry and are armed with shotguns. They fire... you take a stray shotgun slug to the heart and fall down petrified. You remain there for twenty minutes. You haven't died yet and you are completely unconcerned by this notion... as are everyone else around you. All the other mannequins, all of them playing dead for the custodians to come again.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	I just sat in a chair they pulled out from...somewhere. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The kid, and even hidden by a mask, she was still very clearly a kid, was still blankly watching me, even as her friends had gotten back to grabbing as much cash as they could, some physically, some electronically. "No one here happens to be a smoker, do they? I need some pain relief. It's for my glaucoma." Still dead silent. "Tough crowd. Alright. Silence it is then." I went back to quietly bleeding on my seat. It didn't last long. "Kid, you can stop staring at me. I feel...weird, but fine. And I'm not about to try being a hero. Takin one to the chest is probably different from my brain becoming wall art. Go help your friends. Get the fuck outta here." She was clearly dazed, but nodded, turning and stepping to help move bags. I looked back to everyone else. "What? It's like you've never seen a man with a 3-inch wide hole where his heart should be. Am I the only divorced guy here?" One of the bag movers had to stop when he burst out laughing. From there, it spread. First one giggle, then another, before everyone was crying, the adrenaline making everyone manic. The laughter stopped sounding so happy after a few minutes though. Everyone realizing they couldn't stop. Soon, the tears became desperate, the laughter pained. The girl reached toward me from where she was laying on the floor. I was the only one not laughing, though my face was contorted in a delicious, malicious grin. Within 10 minutes of my crack, I became the only living thing for several dozen feet. Two dozen smiling corpses, though four of them wore ridiculous masks. "Some days, it just doesn't pay to rob a bank in Gotham, eh, reader? How do you think I survived a point-blank gunshot if I didn't have plot armor?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA	You must be dead. This must be it but why are you still here? Why wasn't there any pain? You saw them blow you to bits only after killing half of the customers in line... but then, you kept seeing. You kept hearing. They've been gone for five minutes now. "Is it time to get up?" You think. You hear the crack of the door. You look over to see a team of four custodians with some sort of alien gear. "Look at this shit!" One of the custodian's gripes. "It's so damn messy. Every time the money men have a great idea it always ends up with me doing more work and getting the same damn pay." "Do you want to go back to hourly wages back before the union salary?" Another custodian says. "I couldn't even pay my rent back then. Now at least I can pay my damn utilities half of the time." They continue to bicker while going around the room cleaning off bodies and placing them around the room like mannequins. They're getting close to you. "What do I do?" You think. "Do I tell them? Has there been some mistake?" "Look at this one. We should have retired this one long ago. It doesn't even look real." The Janitor says and takes out some cleaning powder that vaporizes one of the mannequins. It's not Borax, That's for sure. It has to be alien or something top secret that the government is up to." They get close to you. You play dead. "This one looks alive." One of the custodians hovers over you. "What?" Another shouts. "Look at it's mouth. It looks like it's in agony. You can see the pain on its face." They're talking about you. You fear that you will sweat and give away that you are still alive. "They're making these better every day. Clean it up. We don't have much time left." Another custodian calls. They wipe you down and place you near the front of the bank. A few minutes pass and you stay dead still among the room full of mannequins. The lights flicker on. Everything returns to normal. People go about their tedious day. The mannequins are alive again. You are alive. You think to run out of the door and into freedom but as soon as you do someone busts down the door. They look angry and are armed with shotguns. They fire... you take a stray shotgun slug to the heart and fall down petrified. You remain there for twenty minutes. You haven't died yet and you are completely unconcerned by this notion... as are everyone else around you. All the other mannequins, all of them playing dead for the custodians to come again.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	The bank teller stood frozen in fear. Robin sweated through his too-small ski mask as he pointed his pistol at her face and slammed his hand on the table. “Money. N-now.” The air in the room felt heavy and seemed to have paralyzed the elderly couple sitting at a kiosk in the back, the only other people in the room besides Robin and the teller. He had taken one glance at them and turned his back, focusing with an alcoholic haze at the money he needed, desperately needed, hiding in the drawers controlled by the petite blonde teller. It was his thirtieth day of being homeless with a dangerous peanut allergy and intense love for peanuts, and the cravings for gourmet peanuts—the only peanuts that didn’t cause anaphylactic shock—had gotten so bad that he’d resorted to targeting the bank with the most helpless looking teller he could find. She blinked once, doe-eyed, and her lips wobbled. Robin clicked off the safety, a sound that echoed as if in a cavern. It worked, and he saw the teller’s hands scrabbling to open the nearest drawer and as she reached in he grinned with a final, replete joy that burst as she tore out her own handgun and crunched the trigger before he had time to react. His body folded into knees and elbows on the floor and the next thing he heard was “911, what’s your emergency?” followed by the teller sobbing into the office phone. From his place on the floor Robin could see the wrinkled man place his arm around the wrinkled woman as they peered at his body while being careful not to step on the growing red puddle beneath him. The bullet had pierced his abdomen. As the woman gingerly walked over it was her turn to watch as Robin blinked once, twice, with eyes that showed no trace of glazing over with death. The woman crouched to press a finger to his throat. A beating pulse. But after she had returned to her desk to wait for police to arrive she saw a new patch of bumpy red expand through the injured man’s neck and his face begin to swell. Confused, she set down her plastic snack bag of unsalted peanuts, wiped her hands on her shirt, and started to move closer but was interrupted by three uniformed men pushing open the door. “The robber’s on the floor!” she said, relieved. The next thing Robin heard was the rhythmic ambiance of his hospital room. He tried to lift his arm and found it was handcuffed to the bed pole. Two nurses opened the door without knocking and greeted him. Robin asked what happened and the shorter nurse paused for a few seconds before answering. “You tried to rob a bank and were shot in your upper-left abdomen, below your liver...but the bullet didn’t hit any of your digestive organs. Your heart is where your stomach is supposed to be and when we wheeled you into the operating room we had to call the cardiothoracic surgeon because you needed open heart surgery.” “You’re a medical miracle,” added the second nurse. “Turns out the reason why you survived the gunshot and surgery was that your body had so much practice staying alive with all the peanuts you kept eating even though you’re quite allergic.” Still in a drug-infused daze, Robin thought the nurses’ news made perfect sense. His mouth opened and a mumbled reply spilled out. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, after all.”	Have you ever been completely terrified of yourself? Yeah, it's a new experience for me as well. See, the thing with the mortal coil is that it is supposed to be 'mortal' or subject to death. I may have skipped a step or two here as I find myself alive in an otherwise 'deathly' situation. I'm no expert in anatomy mind you but, I'm pretty sure if one receives a high-velocity shotgun slug to the heart, then chances are they're going to be taking an involuntary leave of absence from the world. Surprise! Well, this is what I'd like to say to the suits hovering around me but unfortunately, I've seemingly lost the ability to speak. I can't smell or feel much either oddly. I can still move and twist a bit, although, my motor functions as a whole are only a very small fraction of normal. Thankfully, I can hear and my mind seems keen as ever for now as well. Small miracles I suppose. As a tiny consolation, these suits seem to be as horrified as I am. It's a shame about the sense of smell really as I finally have a chance to experience what reeking of fear entails. I can't help but notice a gleam of dread in their gazes as our eyes occasionally lock. Perhaps it's a primal instinct for something as unnatural as what's currently happening. In hushed whispers behind me, out of my line of sight, I hear someone - presumably the medic who declared me dead - asking the 'what' and 'how' of things. Wish I had those answers too buddy! How did this all come to be one might wonder? Quite simply, loads and loads of gambling debt and two very scary loan sharks. The idea was to borrow from Peter to pay Paul but, in hindsight, it was probably better not to borrow from Paul as I soon found myself under threat of broken limbs. Sadly, Peter was not much better with an offer of a one-way ticket to the bottom of some back-woods lake. To remedy the situation and appease both Peter and Paul the plan was simple - rob a bank. It should have been a relatively easy heist. Abduct a bank executive, strap him into a fake explosive vest and stride through the bank with the VIP as he opens the vault for love of life and limb and all that jazz. The crew and I then grab the cash and make for the hills. Sadly, It all went to shit with a scream. One of the tellers reacted rather adversely to the sight of guns and a lightly roughed up bank exec. Next thing you know the panic button has been pressed, the security guard tries to play hero, and a fidgety customer attempts to escape. Before long the cops have the place surrounded and the symphony of smoke and metal begins. What could we do? The plan and gear only accommodated a snatch and grab followed by a fast exit. Not all plans work out as intended and my guys were not exactly a highly specialized team of bank robbers as much as a bunch of goons looking to make a buck. As one might expect, the crew fell like dominoes. The realization that I was either going to end up dead or imprisoned hit me somewhere around the second to last magazine I shoved into the 9mm I carried. Much to my current dismay, and no matter how much I want to call myself an idiot, I thought death would be the better choice and so I ran a final push on the cops with the end result being a fatal wound, or it would be if death hadn't rejected me. I hear the rustling of wind enter the bank as the front doors open, breaking me out of my recollections. Out of my sight someone can be heard asking "So what are we going to do with him?" It's a good question as far as I'm concerned. What can you do with a living corpse? Footsteps light and collected at first begin to beat across the linoleum, inching closer to my position. It doesn't take long before I see an unfamiliar suit but this one seems to have an air of authority to him, a leader I reckon, also known as a head-suit. We stare at one another for a few minutes, the surroundings eerily quiet, as if the other suits and government personnel have left the scene. It doesn't take much longer before the stone cold face is plastered with the most frightening smile I've ever seen in my life. "Good afternoon Mr. Lovia. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." the suited man says as he shows a nefarious smile. Breaking eye contact he holds up some papers and begins to read through them. He's quiet for a while longer as he reads what I can only imagine is some type of report about who I am, the robbery, or something related. Occasionally this head-suit breaks concentration to look towards me, the corner of his lip rising ever so slightly. The suit walks out of my line of sight and I'm left with myself once more. It feels as though ages have past but looking at the clock on the wall directly in front of me shows it's 11:21 am. It's only been roughly 20 minutes since I was killed but unable to die. Unexpectedly, I hear breathing next to my ear and the voice of the head-suit whispers to me, "I am very happy that we'll soon be working together Mr. Lovia. I represent certain interests in our government and we're all very excited to have found a special person such as yourself to aid us in a few projects." walking back into my line of sight the head-suit seems to be using some kind of handheld tablet for something. He proceeds closer, leaning over and showing me the screen of the tablet. I can make out photos of what appears to be the loan sharks I owe money to. Unsure of what's happening I continue to listen, still and calm. "If the testing is agreeable, I promise the future will hold a very beneficial partnership for all parties involved. Oh, and Mr. Lovia, please be aware that you no longer exist. Luckily, those who know you or are close to you have either passed on previously or perished rather recently. Well, aside from these two, it seems that your relationship isn't pleasant although the bond is fairly strong due to certain interests." he chuckles darkly and our gazes lock once more. His signature nefarious smile begins to rise from one corner of his lip again. The head-suit begins to tap the tablet, sliding his fingers left and right at times. Standing up and turning away from me the man continues, "Let me present to you a welcome gift. Mr. Baltain shall meet an unfortunate, freak skiing accident next week. He shall fall from a ski-lift, snapping his neck and breaking all of his limbs. A truly horrible way to die I must say, unfortunate. Mr. Blue as you know him, an alias of course, shall disappear from the face of the earth until such a time as someone reports him missing. At which point, authorities will learn he went boating on the pacific, never to be heard from again. As decorum dictates, captains must go down with their ships after all." I try to digest what this man is saying. And from the sounds of things I'm no longer a slave to my debts, although, I am now a prisoner with no rights for the foreseeable future. I have something valuable in me, the thing keeping me alive despite the fact that I should be dead. Perhaps I might have a good ending if I can endure. It's my only leverage and with my current physical state I don't seem to have much of a choice. This head-suit creeps me out but I need to accept that this is how things are now. I can try to figure out the rest later. I look at the man and control myself to nod, albeit rather slight and slow. As the head-suit turns back I can't help but feel a shiver run through me. That creepy smile is in full blossom and on display for anyone brave enough to stare. "Good, Mr. Lovia! We shall leave straight away. Please do be aware that for security purposes we must dull your sight, so do forgive us for this sleight." As he says his final piece, a darkness overtakes my perception. It appears someone else was behind me this entire time, ready to bag and carry me out. I'm unsure of what the future holds but considering I'm still alive despite the odds, something has to give, right? --- It's a pretty rough first draft but I've run out of time to tweak, edit, and correct the issues here and there. Still, it's not too bad for a first post i think! I hope you enjoy\~
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	I just sat in a chair they pulled out from...somewhere. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The kid, and even hidden by a mask, she was still very clearly a kid, was still blankly watching me, even as her friends had gotten back to grabbing as much cash as they could, some physically, some electronically. "No one here happens to be a smoker, do they? I need some pain relief. It's for my glaucoma." Still dead silent. "Tough crowd. Alright. Silence it is then." I went back to quietly bleeding on my seat. It didn't last long. "Kid, you can stop staring at me. I feel...weird, but fine. And I'm not about to try being a hero. Takin one to the chest is probably different from my brain becoming wall art. Go help your friends. Get the fuck outta here." She was clearly dazed, but nodded, turning and stepping to help move bags. I looked back to everyone else. "What? It's like you've never seen a man with a 3-inch wide hole where his heart should be. Am I the only divorced guy here?" One of the bag movers had to stop when he burst out laughing. From there, it spread. First one giggle, then another, before everyone was crying, the adrenaline making everyone manic. The laughter stopped sounding so happy after a few minutes though. Everyone realizing they couldn't stop. Soon, the tears became desperate, the laughter pained. The girl reached toward me from where she was laying on the floor. I was the only one not laughing, though my face was contorted in a delicious, malicious grin. Within 10 minutes of my crack, I became the only living thing for several dozen feet. Two dozen smiling corpses, though four of them wore ridiculous masks. "Some days, it just doesn't pay to rob a bank in Gotham, eh, reader? How do you think I survived a point-blank gunshot if I didn't have plot armor?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA	It just had to be a Monday, I thought while sitting in an armchair in the bank's lobby smoking a cigar. I'm not surprised that things went wrong, it was too simple of a plan. This was the first gig these kids ever went on. These kids being Tommy, Lee, Spike, Jan, Dane and Ken. Hell, this coulda been the millionth job for a seasoned robber like ole Rob and this was probably the least sideways way this job could've gone. Yeah, Rob is a robber. We're well aware of the humor. Things didn't go as screwy as one would expect. First of all, "The Boss." I call "The Boss" "The Boss" or "TB" because I've never seen "The Boss" in person or otherwise. We, the goons, just get a call from a random number and we suddenly have a gig, a crew, and a staging location. Rob and I were the last of the goons that knew what they were doing. The others died. Even those that didn't die during a gig and said they were retiring end up dead. Those that fall out of favor with TB get tortured and then die. Rob calls TB "God" because of the sense of omnipotence but I think Tommy's is more accurate, The Reaper. That was hardly a variable for how things went south. What definitely was, was the location. A big, high profile bank in the middle of downtown was the target. The time we were given to hit it was in the middle of this damned Summer Monday. Stereotypical heist, we go in, and go for the vault. Just sub the vault for an up armored server room. Once we transferred funds to an account, we bounce. One problem was that said server room was on the third floor, which was employee access only. Second was the amount and quality of guards. They ain't your rent-a-cop types but full on private military contractors. Rob and I found that out last gig the hard way, which is why we're the only veteran heisters left. Since the front door approach didn't work, we opted for Spike's idea of rappelling up the side and breaching through some office windows since there were no better options available. Heavy gear and firepower it was. The third and final way was the ambush that the PMC guards had instore for us. We hadn't encountered any guards or tripped an alarm we knew of when we reached the server room door. Dane started to hack into the control panel when a fail safe kicked in. Apparently the decorative "wood" panels on the door contained thermite. Everything three feet to the side of it, like Dane and Ken, were incinerated. Same with Jan who was five feet directly in front of it. I at six feet caught some on my vest which I quickly took off as I felt the thermite eat it's way through. Just as the thermite was dying down, the guards came in. Tommy who took off his helmet for the same reason I ditched my vest had a shotgun barrel pressed to the back of his head. "Surrender," the guard shouted as his buddies on both sides of us took aim. Tommy, taken aback, made the fatal mistake of starting to turn his head. His brain matter soon covered all of us remaining robbers. I made the mistake of starting forward and attempting to shout either "NOOOO" or "Tommy!" when the guard turned his shotgun on me and put a slug through my chest. Right into my heart. It hurt like a bitch. The pain made me forget that I took off my vest earlier. To everyone's surprise, I lay there on the ground writhing and cursing in pain. "What the fuck," said one of the guards. "Golf, finish him off." The guard who shot me re-aimed his shotgun at me. "Hey hey hey," I shouted, putting my hands up and wincing for the shot. It didn't come. I continued, "I give up. I don't want to get shot again. If that's what it feels like hitting a vest, I'm done!" Guards and heisters glanced at eachother. Golf's eyes, wide and nearly popping through his goggles, glanced at my chest and at the smouldering vest next to me. It was my turn to be confused. "Andy?" Rob said. "You okay?" "Well, aside from the initial shock to mild soreness to the hole in my chest to the fact we just lost four guys, one of whom was Tommy that this asshole shot, yeah! I'm fucking fine!" I got up, took off my helmet and threw it at the ground halfway between me and Golf who stepped back either in fear or shyness for being singled out. Hell, it was probably both. "Christ, Rob. What the fuck about this is okay?" I paused long enough for answers to formulate but started before any could be given. "Just give me a cigar." "I thought you didn't smoke?" I shot him a glare and pointed at the hole through my torso. He gave me a cigar. "Uh, you can't smoke in here," said a timid voiced guard behind me. I bit the end off the cigar and spat it at him then looked at the burned armor and bodies and the door that had the thermite. Then, looking him in the eyes and lighting the cigar on a still burning piece of thermite, I asked him, "Or what? You'll shoot me? Lotta good that did ya the first time. Besides, I'll just be in the lobby." With that I walked away, no one protested an everyone stepped aside. That's how I ended up here. Just puffing smoke with my mouth and through the hole in my chest. After a while the PMCs, Rob, Spike, and Lee came down and said they'll take me to the hospital to get looked at. Just then, I and my crew got a text from The Boss that said, "The job should have been done by now. If you're not dead, you better pray to be before I find you." "Christ," I said, looking at Rob. "I hate Mondays."
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	I looked down at the gaping hole in my chest, then back up at the crowd of horrified onlookers, which now included a very confused group of paramedics. Back at my chest, and back up, specifically at the man who shot me this time. He looked almost relieved. “This never happens, I swear,” I said, trying to ease the tension. Nobody laughed. “If you'd like, we could take bets on how long-” “Does it hurt?” One of the EMTs finally asked. “Oh thank god somebody finally spoke up,” I groaned. “And to answer your question, yes. Excruciating, actually. It's like the time I broke my leg in grade school but at least a kajillion times worse.” One of the paramedics sighed. “Give us a sec, please,” she said. “By all means, take your time. I'm in no immediate danger. I think.” The paramedics and police all formed a circle to discuss amongst themselves what to do with me, and as is second nature for law enforcement, it wasn't even an option to ask me what was best. Not that I would've known what I needed in this moment anyway. “Soooooo,” my shooter said, stretching his arm, which was cuffed to a nearby radiator, so he could inch closer. “Sorry about the whole shooting you thing.” I shrugged. “It's no biggie, apparently.” He chuckled. “To be honest, I didn't want to kill anyone.” “Who would?” “Exactly!” He cried, throwing his one free hand in the air. “That's what people don't get. The guns… It's just posturing, just so nobody tries anything. We just need people to listen, so we can get what we need and move on.” “In fairness,” said the teller, sitting opposite the robber from me, “you did still shoot him.” The robber shrugged. I did, too. “Why were you robbing a bank, anyway,” I asked. The robber chuckled. “Medical debt. The price of insulin these days, it's criminal!” The teller and I both groaned in agreement and nodded. “Well, at least you'll get meals and medicine in prison,” I said. The robber's face went dark. “It was for my husband,” he said after a pause. “Oh,” I said. After another pause, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and wiped the blood off the screen. “What's his number?” The robber looked up and told me. “Why?” “Well, the government is probably gonna wanna study me, so I'll try to get a payout from that. I'll try to help your husband out.” The robber looked stunned, and began to cry. “Why? I tried to kill you, I shot you in the heart with a slug. You're literally still bleeding.” “Yeah, I'm confused, too,” the teller said. “What gives?” I shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe I'm a Jedi. All I know is I'm not dead. No harm no foul and all. But if your situation is desperate enough that you were ready to kill, then I'd like to help, if I can.” The crowd of cops and paramedics dispersed and returned to us. “Okay,” one of the EMTs began. “You're coming with us to John Hopkins, we need to figure out what's going on with you.” “If I let you study me, can I get paid?” “Probably,” she responded. I looked at the robber and mouthed ‘told you.’ “You are coming with us,” the police told the robber, and he silently nodded. “Not like you can charge him with murder,” the teller said, and the cops shot him a hateful glare. The teller shrugged. “Alright, team,” I groaned as I stood up. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other again at the trial.” The paramedics helped me into the ambulance, and the police brought the robber into a squad car. As they pushed his head down, we made eye contact one last time, and he only had time to mouth the word ‘sorry’ before he was driven off.	“You’re still bleeding a lot.” said Blinks. I looked down at my blood-soaked shirt. Streams of blood still pulsed out of my wound to the rhythm of my heartbeat. “God dammit, I’m gonna bleed out. Somebody do something!” Meds brought a steamed towel from the bathroom. “Brace yourself,” he said. “This is gonna hurt.” He then pressed the hot fabric into my wound and began cleaning it out. It was like a million stinging insects burrowing into my flesh. Meds looked up at me for a reaction, but I held. As he cleaned deeper, however, it was more than just the pain. It was the scraping of the terry cloth on my organs, my muscles, even my bones. At last I let out a single roar of pain. Everyone jolted, their bodies instinctively trying to do something but being too scared to know what. Even Meds was taken a little aback. “I think some of that air came out of your chest.” “Not important, Meds!” I shouted. “Just get on with it!” Meds sighed. “That’s probably the best I can do with hotel supplies. We gotta get you back to the hideout.” “Alright.” I tried to maintain a demeanor of command, but I was really too exhausted to argue about what we should do next. “Blinks, get the car.” Blinks got up, but before he could reach the door, Marty burst in. “Boss!” cried Marty. “Are you ok!?” “I’m fine. I think.” Meds was in the process of wrapping a clean towel around my chest. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, but I could still feel the warm dampness of my blood soaking into the improvised bandage. “I heard a scream,” continued Marty. “everyone heard it. We gotta get out of here.” “Blinks! I told you to get the goddamn car!” Blinks bolted at my command. “Marty, help Meds clean this shit up.” “There’s no way.” said Meds. “This place is crawling with evidence now. We just gotta make a run for it.” Gunshots. “Blinks!” I shouted. “We gotta go.” Marty said desperately. “Fire exit.”
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	"Daddy, take this with you when you go to work" My daughter handed me a drawing in crayon. She had made various doodles around the outter edge of the paper, but in the center was a picture of her and I holding hands. "Of course sweetheart!" I carefully folded it up and put it in the pocket of my jeans. "Daddy, when you put on your work clothes you need to put that in those pants too. Please don't forget." The way she said it seemed very ominous and threatening almost. "You have to have that with you all day today!" Emily was a precious child and would draw pictures for me all the time. Always with the squiggles around the edge. I asked her one day what they were, and she said they were to keep me safe. I was thinking about all of this while I laid on the floor of the bank. A bank manager had whipped out a shotgun and shot me in the back, right through the heart with a 12 gauge slug. Those things HURT. I was pretty sure my vest had protected me, but then I looked down and saw the hold in the FRONT of my vest. One of my partners dispatched the manager with a headshot and came running over to me. "Hey Boss, I've got you! Just hang on, Okay!" He pulled my jacket away and stared at my chest, his face going pale. "Mr Oliver, get the first aid kit!" There was no Mr Oliver on our crew, but that was a code for severe emergency. "Hurry! " he shouted, then looked down at me, then at the crowd drawing his pistol, "If ANY of you have any ideas about using this to your tactical advantage, you should just get on with it. But know I will EXECUTE every last one of you!"\] Our team 'medic' showed up and started pulling out guaze pads while looking at me. "Hey, look at me, don't go to sleep, Okay?" "Uh, guys, I actually feel ... fine." I started to sit up and they were trying to hold me down. "No, boss, just sit still. You are, extremely injured. You are in shock, I have to stop this wound." "No, let me sit up. I realize a slug went though me, but I feel perfectly okay." Our medic pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of my chest, and held it out for me to see. you could see right through my chest. Things appeared to be mending at the edges of the hole, but there was a hole completely through me. I started to laugh, because I could see the face of one of the bank patrons through the hole, and they were in shock. "Finish the job, let me sit here a moment. I don't know why, but I don't think I'm dying today." I picked up my gun from the floor next to me and swapped out the mag. Then I slowly stood up. There was a gasp among those who were close enough to see what was going on. "Oh come on, it's not like you've never seen a guy get shot before. Or maybe not seen one as LUCKY as I am. Don't press your luck and be quiet." I shook the SMG I was holding. "I can use this on anyone else who wants to be a hero." I walked over to a chair and sat on the arm of it. "Guys, get back to work!" "We're still on it boss!" was shouted in unison. To their credit, they were. We retrieved the 6 safety deposit boxes that had our stash in them, and loaded up into the elevator. I grabbed the person from the photo earlier as a hostage. "Boss, a hostage?" My medic whispered. "I don't know, it seemed like a good idea, YOU, give me your wallet, I want to see your license." The person slowly took out their wallet and handed it over. I looked at the address. Jesus Christ, this guy was my neighbor. Not next door, but he lived in my neighborhood. I had seen him at block parties. I couldn't kill him, or let the cops do that while shooting at me. I punched the stop button on the elevator. "YOU, OUT! Go into a conference room and don't make a sound. " "I wouldn't tell on you. Your daughter needs a daddy, just like mine does. I'll see you later." He ran out and ploughed head first into a door and flopped on the floor. He looked out cold. "That was smart... he won't seem to be in on anything." "He's NOT!" I started the elevator back up, and we got to the chopper on the roof. Clean getaway. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By the time I got home, my chest had mostly healed, I was hungry as hell too. It was late, but my princess was up waiting on me. "Daddy, I told you it would protect you!" She gave me a big hug. "Where did you learn those squiggles to protect you?" I asked. I tried not to make a big deal of it. I pulled the paper out of my pants pocket. there was a single drop of my blood on it. "Oh, I learned that from Misty down the block." She smiled. "She does those for her Daddy too when he's at work. She said her mommy taught her magic!" Misty... that was. Yup, my neighbor the hostage's daughter. Looks like I owed him a drink.	“You’re still bleeding a lot.” said Blinks. I looked down at my blood-soaked shirt. Streams of blood still pulsed out of my wound to the rhythm of my heartbeat. “God dammit, I’m gonna bleed out. Somebody do something!” Meds brought a steamed towel from the bathroom. “Brace yourself,” he said. “This is gonna hurt.” He then pressed the hot fabric into my wound and began cleaning it out. It was like a million stinging insects burrowing into my flesh. Meds looked up at me for a reaction, but I held. As he cleaned deeper, however, it was more than just the pain. It was the scraping of the terry cloth on my organs, my muscles, even my bones. At last I let out a single roar of pain. Everyone jolted, their bodies instinctively trying to do something but being too scared to know what. Even Meds was taken a little aback. “I think some of that air came out of your chest.” “Not important, Meds!” I shouted. “Just get on with it!” Meds sighed. “That’s probably the best I can do with hotel supplies. We gotta get you back to the hideout.” “Alright.” I tried to maintain a demeanor of command, but I was really too exhausted to argue about what we should do next. “Blinks, get the car.” Blinks got up, but before he could reach the door, Marty burst in. “Boss!” cried Marty. “Are you ok!?” “I’m fine. I think.” Meds was in the process of wrapping a clean towel around my chest. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, but I could still feel the warm dampness of my blood soaking into the improvised bandage. “I heard a scream,” continued Marty. “everyone heard it. We gotta get out of here.” “Blinks! I told you to get the goddamn car!” Blinks bolted at my command. “Marty, help Meds clean this shit up.” “There’s no way.” said Meds. “This place is crawling with evidence now. We just gotta make a run for it.” Gunshots. “Blinks!” I shouted. “We gotta go.” Marty said desperately. “Fire exit.”
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	I felt the slug make impact, penetrate my chest, and embed itself deep within my heart. I felt my legs give out, unresponsive to my pleas to run. As I fell to the ground, I had but one thought: Who’s the self-aggrandizing drama queen NOW Karen? In those seconds, my life flashed before my eyes. Well, some parts did... One part in particular, really. It’s not like I was fixated on it or anything, but damn, Karen’s words had hurt (though not quite as bad as getting shot hurts). We’d had a fight about something stupid earlier that day and she just unloaded on me (though not quite in the same way as the bank robber unloaded on me). I just told her point blank (though not quite as point blank as... well, you get the idea) that what she said was the single most offensive thing anyone in the history of the world had said to anyone else. I heard Karen scream as I fell to the ground. It would’ve been satisfying had I not been super mortally wounded. “John!” She cried, kneeling beside me. She touched my chest. I winced. As she pulled her hand away I saw my life’s blood painting her fingers. I tried stretching a hand to touch her cheek, but my body wouldn’t respond. I could tell I had only seconds left. “I… love…” was all I had strength to say. I let my eyes close, ready to embrace the Reaper. But he didn’t come. I just lay there for a few seconds, fully conscious of the world around me and Karen’s shrieks of anguish. I gave it another thirty seconds or so, but still nothing. I’m not saying I felt good, but I didn’t quite feel dead yet. Maybe I was a ghost? I opened an eye. “Look! He’s moving!” someone yelled. Okay definitely not a ghost. I opened both eyes. “John!” I beckoned Karen in close with what little strength I had, then whispered in her ear: “I wasn’t about to leave without telling you how much I love you, babe.” She embraced me. “Ow!” I yelled. “Jesus, Karen watch the damn bullet hole!” “The paramedics!” Somebody else yelled. “Make way!” The next moment an EMT was kneeling beside me tearing open my shirt. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said touching my chest. My bullet-ridden heart skipped a beat. What if I was immortal? I’d always noticed I had fast recovery times, and really hadn’t felt myself age in the last two years. The more I thought about it the more it made perfect— The EMT held her hand up. “Paint!” she said beaming. “Son, you got shot by a paintball gun.” *** More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe	“You’re still bleeding a lot.” said Blinks. I looked down at my blood-soaked shirt. Streams of blood still pulsed out of my wound to the rhythm of my heartbeat. “God dammit, I’m gonna bleed out. Somebody do something!” Meds brought a steamed towel from the bathroom. “Brace yourself,” he said. “This is gonna hurt.” He then pressed the hot fabric into my wound and began cleaning it out. It was like a million stinging insects burrowing into my flesh. Meds looked up at me for a reaction, but I held. As he cleaned deeper, however, it was more than just the pain. It was the scraping of the terry cloth on my organs, my muscles, even my bones. At last I let out a single roar of pain. Everyone jolted, their bodies instinctively trying to do something but being too scared to know what. Even Meds was taken a little aback. “I think some of that air came out of your chest.” “Not important, Meds!” I shouted. “Just get on with it!” Meds sighed. “That’s probably the best I can do with hotel supplies. We gotta get you back to the hideout.” “Alright.” I tried to maintain a demeanor of command, but I was really too exhausted to argue about what we should do next. “Blinks, get the car.” Blinks got up, but before he could reach the door, Marty burst in. “Boss!” cried Marty. “Are you ok!?” “I’m fine. I think.” Meds was in the process of wrapping a clean towel around my chest. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, but I could still feel the warm dampness of my blood soaking into the improvised bandage. “I heard a scream,” continued Marty. “everyone heard it. We gotta get out of here.” “Blinks! I told you to get the goddamn car!” Blinks bolted at my command. “Marty, help Meds clean this shit up.” “There’s no way.” said Meds. “This place is crawling with evidence now. We just gotta make a run for it.” Gunshots. “Blinks!” I shouted. “We gotta go.” Marty said desperately. “Fire exit.”
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	No one has bothered approaching you or are even asking if you are okay. One person did ask when you stood back up right after being struck down, but they fell just as silent as the rest when they saw the hole in your chest. You're still in shock, but try your best to recall the chaos that followed from the robbery. The guards lie motionless on the ground, all dead because one thought he could be a hero. It was shit luck for you, as you were fumbling for your wallet when the first shot rang out. The bastard taking your wallet got startled and his finger slipped. Taking a slug to the chest point blank wasn't as painful as you imagined. The ensuing gunfight was short; the robbers were better prepared and more heavily armed. Their leader had begun barking orders to continue the heist when you stood up, his words cutting out in a stutter. The guy who shot you turned to see you, and immediately raised his weapon. When his eyes met yours, he dropped his gun and grabbed his chest. Screaming, he spun towards his crew. He started clawing at his gear, ripping it off and howling about pain and fire. You'd never heard human screams as haunting as his, and clearly neither did they. Between the sounds his death throes and the approaching sirens, the other robbers bolted for the doors, cutting their losses in a desperate bid to escape. You had heard a crash, followed by some gunfire, but it seemed distant and a bit muted. You didn't care. No one in the bank cared. The only thing that every eye focused upon was your chest and the softball-sized hole in its center. The man with the shotgun was very much dead on the floor, his mouth agape and twisted in such a way as to suggest a very painful death. Was it a heart attack? Did he die from shock? You weren't entirely interested in the how or why until something peculiar caught your attention. His chest had turned a dark shade of purple, and there was a tiny hole in the center of it. You're pretty certain he wasn't shot, so what the hell was happening? As you stared on, you noticed the hole was very slowly widening, the flesh and bone around it rotting away, giving off a weirdly putrid scent for someone so recently deceased. You stood there, both gazing in disbelief and still in shock when a sharp pain finally hits you in the chest, dropping you to a knee. Placing your hand on your chest, you feel that it's hot to the touch, but there's something else. The hole is closing. Your fingers feel like they're burning, but you don't dare take them away, desperate to make sense of what's happening. You can feel your flesh bubbling, but instead of popping, eash bubble seems to solidify into flesh, further closing the hole. Suddenly the realization hits you as your eyes dart to the dead man's chest. The hole is much bigger, growing as fast as yours shrinks. "What the fuck...!?" The first words you uttered since getting shot seemed to echo a lot longer than they should've. You look at the other patrons in the bank. Many are murmuring amongst themselves, their eyes not leaving you for a moment. A few others have their phones out, no doubt recording what will be viral footage within the hour. The thought of the world seeing what you just did snaps you back to reality. You slap at you chest quickly and notice the hole is gone. A quick glance confirms that the hole in the robber's chest matched yours, then you rush for the doors. You have to get away. You don't know what happened, but you know you'll be targeted, and you refuse to be caught. You burst out the bank and right into the presence of a couple of officers. Guns immediately went up along with orders to drop to the ground. Without a second thought, you break into a sprint in the other direction. They fire shots at you, striking you in the back and your leg. You felt them hit, but didn't feel much pain as you continued to sprint away. They gave chase, but only briefly as your fears were confirmed when you heard them scream out in pain. Just before rounding a corner, you looked over your shoulder to find them both on the ground, one grasping at his back and the other at her leg. You kept on running, feeling the burning sensation as your wounds closing up and knowing that the 'tradeoff' would be seen as an assault on the police, guaranteeing you a life on the run.	''F come and take a look at his wound again.’’ Richard shouts at Frank. I feel perfectly fine despite taking a point-blank shot to my chest. Neil is the one who is driving the gateway car and Frank seems like he is about to panic. ''We are no longer in the bank Richard. Stop calling me ‘F’ for fuck’s sake.'' Frank yells in the back of the van. Richard looks at me, ''Why the fuck did we included him? He is a fucking arsehole and I don’t trust his guts and he is the reason why we didn’t get a single dime.'' ''You fucking cow! This bastard got shot because of you!'' Frank points at me. ''Calm down guys, I’m okay.'' I say. ''Shut the fuck up, pussy! You are not fine. You should be dead by now.'' Frank snaps at me. ''Maybe I’m dreaming.'' I say to myself. ''If this was a dream we would be in Hawaii getting high as a fucking kite, alright mate?'' ''You are not helping, Frank.'' Richard rolls his eyes. ''IS HE STILL NOT DEAD, YET?'' Neil shouts from the driving seat. ''I’m still okay Neil, thanks for asking though.'' ''What is our plan, now?'' Richard asks. Frank goes full silent and stares at me for a while and then he whispers to Richard’s ear. ''What are you guys doing?'' I ask. ''I’m sorry, pal.'' Frank hits me with the back of his gun. He hits me again and again but I don’t blackout. ''What the fuck are you made of?'' Frank snaps again and shoots me in the head. ''WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?'' Richard yells at him. Then complete silent… ''His eyes still open, Frank.'' ''I can see that, Richard.'' ''IS HE STILL ALIVE?'' Neil yells from the driving seat. ''I’m fine Neil, thanks…'' BANG BANG BANG ''Oh… for fuck sake!'' -------------------------------- Thank you for reading the story. I have been practicing my English by writing fiction and I'm open to feedback.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	I felt the slug make impact, penetrate my chest, and embed itself deep within my heart. I felt my legs give out, unresponsive to my pleas to run. As I fell to the ground, I had but one thought: Who’s the self-aggrandizing drama queen NOW Karen? In those seconds, my life flashed before my eyes. Well, some parts did... One part in particular, really. It’s not like I was fixated on it or anything, but damn, Karen’s words had hurt (though not quite as bad as getting shot hurts). We’d had a fight about something stupid earlier that day and she just unloaded on me (though not quite in the same way as the bank robber unloaded on me). I just told her point blank (though not quite as point blank as... well, you get the idea) that what she said was the single most offensive thing anyone in the history of the world had said to anyone else. I heard Karen scream as I fell to the ground. It would’ve been satisfying had I not been super mortally wounded. “John!” She cried, kneeling beside me. She touched my chest. I winced. As she pulled her hand away I saw my life’s blood painting her fingers. I tried stretching a hand to touch her cheek, but my body wouldn’t respond. I could tell I had only seconds left. “I… love…” was all I had strength to say. I let my eyes close, ready to embrace the Reaper. But he didn’t come. I just lay there for a few seconds, fully conscious of the world around me and Karen’s shrieks of anguish. I gave it another thirty seconds or so, but still nothing. I’m not saying I felt good, but I didn’t quite feel dead yet. Maybe I was a ghost? I opened an eye. “Look! He’s moving!” someone yelled. Okay definitely not a ghost. I opened both eyes. “John!” I beckoned Karen in close with what little strength I had, then whispered in her ear: “I wasn’t about to leave without telling you how much I love you, babe.” She embraced me. “Ow!” I yelled. “Jesus, Karen watch the damn bullet hole!” “The paramedics!” Somebody else yelled. “Make way!” The next moment an EMT was kneeling beside me tearing open my shirt. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said touching my chest. My bullet-ridden heart skipped a beat. What if I was immortal? I’d always noticed I had fast recovery times, and really hadn’t felt myself age in the last two years. The more I thought about it the more it made perfect— The EMT held her hand up. “Paint!” she said beaming. “Son, you got shot by a paintball gun.” *** More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe	''F come and take a look at his wound again.’’ Richard shouts at Frank. I feel perfectly fine despite taking a point-blank shot to my chest. Neil is the one who is driving the gateway car and Frank seems like he is about to panic. ''We are no longer in the bank Richard. Stop calling me ‘F’ for fuck’s sake.'' Frank yells in the back of the van. Richard looks at me, ''Why the fuck did we included him? He is a fucking arsehole and I don’t trust his guts and he is the reason why we didn’t get a single dime.'' ''You fucking cow! This bastard got shot because of you!'' Frank points at me. ''Calm down guys, I’m okay.'' I say. ''Shut the fuck up, pussy! You are not fine. You should be dead by now.'' Frank snaps at me. ''Maybe I’m dreaming.'' I say to myself. ''If this was a dream we would be in Hawaii getting high as a fucking kite, alright mate?'' ''You are not helping, Frank.'' Richard rolls his eyes. ''IS HE STILL NOT DEAD, YET?'' Neil shouts from the driving seat. ''I’m still okay Neil, thanks for asking though.'' ''What is our plan, now?'' Richard asks. Frank goes full silent and stares at me for a while and then he whispers to Richard’s ear. ''What are you guys doing?'' I ask. ''I’m sorry, pal.'' Frank hits me with the back of his gun. He hits me again and again but I don’t blackout. ''What the fuck are you made of?'' Frank snaps again and shoots me in the head. ''WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?'' Richard yells at him. Then complete silent… ''His eyes still open, Frank.'' ''I can see that, Richard.'' ''IS HE STILL ALIVE?'' Neil yells from the driving seat. ''I’m fine Neil, thanks…'' BANG BANG BANG ''Oh… for fuck sake!'' -------------------------------- Thank you for reading the story. I have been practicing my English by writing fiction and I'm open to feedback.
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.	I felt the slug make impact, penetrate my chest, and embed itself deep within my heart. I felt my legs give out, unresponsive to my pleas to run. As I fell to the ground, I had but one thought: Who’s the self-aggrandizing drama queen NOW Karen? In those seconds, my life flashed before my eyes. Well, some parts did... One part in particular, really. It’s not like I was fixated on it or anything, but damn, Karen’s words had hurt (though not quite as bad as getting shot hurts). We’d had a fight about something stupid earlier that day and she just unloaded on me (though not quite in the same way as the bank robber unloaded on me). I just told her point blank (though not quite as point blank as... well, you get the idea) that what she said was the single most offensive thing anyone in the history of the world had said to anyone else. I heard Karen scream as I fell to the ground. It would’ve been satisfying had I not been super mortally wounded. “John!” She cried, kneeling beside me. She touched my chest. I winced. As she pulled her hand away I saw my life’s blood painting her fingers. I tried stretching a hand to touch her cheek, but my body wouldn’t respond. I could tell I had only seconds left. “I… love…” was all I had strength to say. I let my eyes close, ready to embrace the Reaper. But he didn’t come. I just lay there for a few seconds, fully conscious of the world around me and Karen’s shrieks of anguish. I gave it another thirty seconds or so, but still nothing. I’m not saying I felt good, but I didn’t quite feel dead yet. Maybe I was a ghost? I opened an eye. “Look! He’s moving!” someone yelled. Okay definitely not a ghost. I opened both eyes. “John!” I beckoned Karen in close with what little strength I had, then whispered in her ear: “I wasn’t about to leave without telling you how much I love you, babe.” She embraced me. “Ow!” I yelled. “Jesus, Karen watch the damn bullet hole!” “The paramedics!” Somebody else yelled. “Make way!” The next moment an EMT was kneeling beside me tearing open my shirt. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said touching my chest. My bullet-ridden heart skipped a beat. What if I was immortal? I’d always noticed I had fast recovery times, and really hadn’t felt myself age in the last two years. The more I thought about it the more it made perfect— The EMT held her hand up. “Paint!” she said beaming. “Son, you got shot by a paintball gun.” *** More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe	No one has bothered approaching you or are even asking if you are okay. One person did ask when you stood back up right after being struck down, but they fell just as silent as the rest when they saw the hole in your chest. You're still in shock, but try your best to recall the chaos that followed from the robbery. The guards lie motionless on the ground, all dead because one thought he could be a hero. It was shit luck for you, as you were fumbling for your wallet when the first shot rang out. The bastard taking your wallet got startled and his finger slipped. Taking a slug to the chest point blank wasn't as painful as you imagined. The ensuing gunfight was short; the robbers were better prepared and more heavily armed. Their leader had begun barking orders to continue the heist when you stood up, his words cutting out in a stutter. The guy who shot you turned to see you, and immediately raised his weapon. When his eyes met yours, he dropped his gun and grabbed his chest. Screaming, he spun towards his crew. He started clawing at his gear, ripping it off and howling about pain and fire. You'd never heard human screams as haunting as his, and clearly neither did they. Between the sounds his death throes and the approaching sirens, the other robbers bolted for the doors, cutting their losses in a desperate bid to escape. You had heard a crash, followed by some gunfire, but it seemed distant and a bit muted. You didn't care. No one in the bank cared. The only thing that every eye focused upon was your chest and the softball-sized hole in its center. The man with the shotgun was very much dead on the floor, his mouth agape and twisted in such a way as to suggest a very painful death. Was it a heart attack? Did he die from shock? You weren't entirely interested in the how or why until something peculiar caught your attention. His chest had turned a dark shade of purple, and there was a tiny hole in the center of it. You're pretty certain he wasn't shot, so what the hell was happening? As you stared on, you noticed the hole was very slowly widening, the flesh and bone around it rotting away, giving off a weirdly putrid scent for someone so recently deceased. You stood there, both gazing in disbelief and still in shock when a sharp pain finally hits you in the chest, dropping you to a knee. Placing your hand on your chest, you feel that it's hot to the touch, but there's something else. The hole is closing. Your fingers feel like they're burning, but you don't dare take them away, desperate to make sense of what's happening. You can feel your flesh bubbling, but instead of popping, eash bubble seems to solidify into flesh, further closing the hole. Suddenly the realization hits you as your eyes dart to the dead man's chest. The hole is much bigger, growing as fast as yours shrinks. "What the fuck...!?" The first words you uttered since getting shot seemed to echo a lot longer than they should've. You look at the other patrons in the bank. Many are murmuring amongst themselves, their eyes not leaving you for a moment. A few others have their phones out, no doubt recording what will be viral footage within the hour. The thought of the world seeing what you just did snaps you back to reality. You slap at you chest quickly and notice the hole is gone. A quick glance confirms that the hole in the robber's chest matched yours, then you rush for the doors. You have to get away. You don't know what happened, but you know you'll be targeted, and you refuse to be caught. You burst out the bank and right into the presence of a couple of officers. Guns immediately went up along with orders to drop to the ground. Without a second thought, you break into a sprint in the other direction. They fire shots at you, striking you in the back and your leg. You felt them hit, but didn't feel much pain as you continued to sprint away. They gave chase, but only briefly as your fears were confirmed when you heard them scream out in pain. Just before rounding a corner, you looked over your shoulder to find them both on the ground, one grasping at his back and the other at her leg. You kept on running, feeling the burning sensation as your wounds closing up and knowing that the 'tradeoff' would be seen as an assault on the police, guaranteeing you a life on the run.
[WP] You're slowly transforming into a monster and are racing to find a way to reverse it before your mind goes feral.	"This is pointless, you know." I grit my teeth as I tried to tune out his voice. Incessant, annoying, a constant pain in my ass. I didn't know why I even let him in here. "The same thing will happen. It always does. You should just hand the project over to me." My fingers fumbled as I tried and failed to pick up a scalpel. Wretched fucking hands. Even as I worked to reverse my own degradation, my body continued to fail me. It made me want to throw something, but doing so could destroy something critical, wasting time that I didn't have. Regaining my grip on the scalpel, I cut along the back of my arm. The transformation hadn't progressed there yet, but I could see the signs of encroachment. I was about to begin operating before I was interrupted. "Your hands are shaking. I wouldn't be using them to make incisions if I were you." The teenager, my clone, was observing me from a workbench, talking in a bored, drawling voice. "Do you have anything useful to say?" I snapped. He frowned, a familiar expression. His face was almost identical to mine. "Yes, actually. You're spiraling, becoming irrational. You're beginning to transform, however slow it is, and you haven't made any meaningful progress in days." "Fuck you," I hissed. "Fuck you, you don't have any right to say that. You haven't done what I've done. I've made leaps and bounds of progress, far more than any of our predecessors have ever done." My clone just shook his head. He hopped off from his perch on a workbench and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I scoffed. I didn't need him. The extra set of hands was appreciated when he kept his mouth shut, but he never did. I hated him, the entitled prick. He was me, albeit a teenaged duplicate, and yet we never got along. He was cloned based off of a younger variant of myself. A template I had saved many many years ago. Or, more accurately, a template the first iteration of myself had saved. Long dead, now, having succumbed to the same illness that currently plagued my very being. The original me had foolishly thought that a clone of himself would somehow avoid his own fate, that it would emerge healthy and live a normal life. He eventually succumbed to the transformation and went mad, and his clone was the one to put him down. That first clone did live out his life. He continued researching, discovering, doing what he loved, until the time came again, and he began to transform as well. He tried everything to stop it, experimenting on himself, altering his body, holding off the monster that he knew he would become. In a last resort effort, he too replicated himself. This time, the goal wasn't to live on through his clone. It was to save himself, with the clone helping. He started the foundations of our research, the first alterations that would temporarily hold off the transformation for a few years. His efforts weren't enough, however, and after recording his limited successes in a journal, was euthanized by his clone. And so the cycle went on, repeating itself over the years. The knowledge of generations accumulated, culminating into me. I alone had come this far, having carried on after killing my own creator, and I alone was the closest to achieving our goal. But despite that, I still hadn't figured it out, and time was running out. I knew what would happen if I failed to cure myself. My clone knew too. He was probably raring to go at it, waiting to take my place. To steal my triumphs and claim them as his own after stabbing me in the back. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If all were to fail, I would have to kill him, ending us both. But that was the worst case scenario. I was close. I had to be. And so I would keep working, keep trying, until I succeeded. That was all I could really do.	I made my way through the forest, guided only by the moonlight against the grassy trail. Even now they were watching me; the tips of their spears glittering in the tops of the trees. Y'see a Dwarf has no business being in their forest this late at night. But I had an ace up my sleeve. Four of them dropped in front of me, making not a single sound as they gracefully landed in the grass. I stopped and passed my gaze over each one of them before they spoke. "You'd better have a damn good explanation for being here, Dwarf." I snickered, "OH, AYE? WHERE'S YER CAPTAIN?" One of the Elves donned a nasty expression, "The captain doesn't deal with trash like you." "OHH, YES HE DOES!" I called out. "UNLESS HE'S A WEE BABE! TUCKED IN FER THE NIGHT WITH HIS BOTTLE AN HIS BINKY, IS HE??" All four of their spears pressed against my neck- impressive that they even found it under my glorious beard. Not even a whole lot of neck to find, really. "Enough," I heard his voice from above. "You heard him, lads," I said with a smirk. "Enough." They gritted their teeth and reluctantly withdrew their spears. The captain dropped down behind them and stood up to full height before making his way toward me. The Elves parted for him as though it were choreographed (as most Elven crap is) and he strode through them, stopping only a few feet from me. "Ye must've heard me calling," I smiled. "I can hear your voice all the way from your mountain," he said with a tinge of annoyance on his tongue. "I'm guessing you're here to see Mora," he surmised. "Aye. Got me a little err... problem that I'm hoping she knows a bit about..." I lifted my shirt and his face changed when he saw the wound. He cast me a knowing glance before turning his eyes toward the ground. There was a long silence before he spoke again. "I'm taking a major risk letting you walk into the village like that," he growled. "Captain Gaelei!" One of his soldiers cut in. "You can't be thinking-" "Silence," he commanded. "I will serve as your personal escort, Gromlin," he said firmly. "If I even think you're losing control, I'll cut you down. That's a promise." His steely eyes were unwavering under the pale moon's glow. He was one-hundred percent serious. I'd only met Captain Gaelei a few times in my life, but I'd heard plenty. From a young age, the elders considered him a natural born genius. Intellect, combat, subterfuge- he quickly mastered anything put before him. He was a once in a generation prodigy that quickly climbed the ranks and commanded total respect among his kind. His name had a lot of mileage on it too- even the Dwarves, who were social hermits, counted among their ranks folk who knew of the Elvish Captain Gaelei. "I know it is, lad," I said as I folded my arms. "It's why I picked tonight." He lifted an eyebrow before narrowing his eyes at me. "Faelan," he muttered. "Yessir." "Report to Elder Eowyn. Tell him to scramble the watch schedule." I chuckled lightly to myself as the Elf disappeared. "You're clever, Gromlin" he said before lifting his hand, a signal to his squad. The rest of the Elves disbanded into the forest before he nodded his head toward the village. "For a Dwarf, that is... Let's go." - - - I write all my stories with a 15-minute timer! If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos [Part 2](https://reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/nl0bou/wp_youre_slowly_transforming_into_a_monster_and/)
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	Features started to form out of the white, gauzy cloud that hung about three feet above the worn checkerboard tile. Her face had the pinched look of someone who had tasted something sour, in stark contrast with her friendly tone. Small wire-framed glasses sat delicately upon her thin nose but she looked over them when she spoke to me. She wore a black dress with long sleeves, cinched at the waist and billowing around what I assumed were her legs. “Night shift?” I asked, a little less shrilly this time. “No, the Night Shift. We operate out of the Courthouse on the corner, but I usually sneak in here for a Darjeeling before we start. I hope you don’t mind, I always bring my own cup.” It’s then that I noticed a delicate teacup dangling from her left hand. Her fingers were long and thin, and the cup swung slightly as she moved past me behind the counter. I watched as she grabbed a small kettle we tucked in a cupboard. The large industrial machines we use during the day have been off for over an hour, and the water inside would be tepid by now. It was slightly unsettling to think she already knew that. She turned to me after spooning some loose leaf Darjeeling tea into one of our well-worn tea pots. She turned back and stared across the counter at me. Neither of us spoke for a moment, until we heard the bubbling of boiling water in the kettle behind her. She turned her back to me, and that’s when I noticed that she wasn’t entirely opaque. Even in the dim and hazy light from the street lamp streaming through the front window, I could see through her and watched the kettle tip steaming water into the teapot and replaced the lid. “How long have you been coming here?” Though the question was casual, my voice belied the panic rising in my throat. She looked towards the ceiling as if she was counting in her head. “The courthouse was built in 1895 and we started using it right away, but this place has only been operating as a coffee shop for the last 50 years or so. I guess it’s been about that long.” I had inherited this shop from my grandmother, who opened it in 1973 with two girlfriends. She hadn’t mentioned anything about tea-stealing ghosts in her will, I’m sure I would have remembered that. “What is the Night Shift?” I hoped I wouldn’t regret asking. She didn’t answer while she poured the tea from the pot into her cup. Though the teapot held easily three times the volume of her cup, she poured the whole pot into what seemed to be a regular antique teacup. Her pinched face softened slightly when she turned to see me trembling against the old deck mop I had been using when she came in. “Rosemary didn’t tell you? She always had an odd sense of humour, that one.” I didn’t have a chance to respond as she went on, “The Night Shift is where we determine what form one will take when entering the Afterlife, and we assist with the transition into that entity. For example, if one is to be a Poltergeist, we would provide training on invisibility and object transference.” She came back around the counter and moved towards the door. “What form did my grandmother take?” She was standing at the door now. Her features had already begun to blur again, but I spoke to the diaphanous mist anyway. She answered as she slipped back through the door, and I was left standing in shock. “I have a feeling you’ll find out soon enough.”	"The night shift?" "Yes." The figure came more into focus as they talked. A head of long brown hair framed a masculine face. He was about my height, if just a bit taller. "This is one of the most popular tea shops for lingering spirits in Port Townsend." He said this nonchalantly as he moved through the main counter and set down a spectral register. "Hey boss." A feminine voice rang out through the shop. "I see we already have a customer?" I turned to look at the source and it was a woman with blonde hair up in a bun. "I-I" "He's the manager of the day shift." The man responded for me. I was still in shock and could barely process what was going on. "It seems they ran a bit late today so he was just finishing up closing." The two figures continued their setup while I just stood there. After a few minutes, I started to just pick my stuff up and leave, thinking this all to be just a bad dream. I got home and went straight to bed. Waking up the next morning I went into my little shop and found a note on the counter. "Please leave a notice if you plan on closing late so we don't have another incident occur. -Management" This hit me like a truck. Ghosts were real. And apparently they like this tea shop of all places.
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	Jasmine yawned as she picked up the last few dust from the ground with her broom and pan and tossed the dirt into the trash can. She looked at the clock above the door 10:15 She sighed “damn, mark is gone for one day and now all of a sudden I have to do the clean up” she tossed her dark braids behind her and stood up straight, her back making a slight popping sound that gave her relief. She put the broom and pan back to the closet and headed l to the door, mumbling things under her breath. She was about to open a door when a sudden chill ran down her spine, making her shiver. She looked over at the AC that was still off, she took a deep breath and saw white smoke come from her mouth. Jasmine said “what the hell?” “Who are you?” Jasmine jumped, making a loud shriek. She looked over to see a man who seemed to be his thirties- perhaps forties- looking at her with an annoyed face. His hair was messy and was dirty blond, his skin seemed almost too pale for a normal man, and he had a long, slender body that seemed to be a little too slim for a normal person. What really set her off though was the fact he seemed almost transparent. His annoyed face quickly calmed down and became more calm and confused, he then spoke “oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, the day shift people are usually gone by now” jasmine stared bugged eyed at him, the only thing able to come out of her mouth was a small, weak “what?” The transparent man pushed his hair back, he said “you don’t know? It’s the night shift already. I do hope you weren’t doing something bad to be out this late” jasmine stayed quiet, her lips trembling. She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He walked passed her and said “you should head home, don’t want you to lose sleep and become tired during the morning” Jasmine turned and got in front of him, she said “WAIT!” The transparent man stopped and looked at her more confused then before “there’s no night shift?! And who are you!?” The transparent man stared at her, he said “of course there is, your never here to see it” jasmine said “Oh no there isn’t!” He turned his head to the side, even more confused “huh?” Jasmine said “and I won’t ask again! Who are you?!” The transparent man said “ah, my apologies. My name is William Edwards” jasmine repeated the name in her head, it sounded familiar... Jasmine shook it off and said “ok William, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but” she looked around “If there was a night shift we wouldn’t have put everything up” William nodded, he said “well yea, it’s living things. Spirits can’t use living things” jasmine looked at him, confused “huh?” William looked at her “oh, well I mean- technically yes some spirits can use living things but they can’t actually consume it. In order for a spirit to be able to-“ jasmine said “WOAH! WOOOAHH! Wait a minute!” She put her hands out to him, the closer they got the colder they became. She shivered again and said “let me get this straight! There’s a night shift??? For ghost?!” William chuckled a bit, he said “well not just for ghost. sometimes for angles, yokai, nature spirits, demons if they act nice, on rare occasions sometimes even humans, and if we’re lucky we might even get a spirit animal!” Jasmine stared at him as he explained all of this, she could hardly believe what her ears were being told too. It felt like she was being told a huge secret about a family member she knew for a long time. Suddenly the room got cold again. The bell that was connected to the door rang and a teen who looked to be 17 floated in, his legs nonexistent. He had dark, curly hair with a metallic shirt on, and a jacket rapped around his waist. Jasmine looked in shock, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. William face lit up “ah! There’s one of my helpers now! Greetings Harold!” Harold looked over at the two, his face looking a bit darker then jasmines dark skin, he waved and said “yo” Jasmine brain went off “wait! Your the boy from the news!” She pointed at him “your the teen who got drunk and got into a car crash A few years back!” Harold looked at jasmine and said “oh, is that how I died? Huh, I was wondering... I knew it had to do something with drinking.... I thought I just got alcohol poisoning or something...” William said “well, still doesn’t explain anything about your legs...” jasmine was about to say something when a lighter skin girl who looked to he in her 20s climed in though the window, her dark hair covering her entire back. Her green eyes looked at jasmine and said “wait... your not suppose to be here....” jasmine looked behind her to see a girl who looked to be from the 1800 standing in front of her, jasmine took a sharp inhale and said “why do you look like your from the 1700??” The girl rose an eyebrow and said “actually, I’m from the 1800, 1808 to be exact” jasmine stared at her, while she knew how Harold died and had a small idea of Williams, but she had no clue how this girl died, there was nothing to suggest anything happened. The girl caught on and said “my name is Anna, I died by a seizure” jasmine nodded slowly “oh... ok then...” Willam clasped his hand together “now now, let’s get started, we only got 15 minutes left to get everything sorted out” Harold said “but what about Bertha?” William started to take some transparent items that are used for making tea and said “we can manage until Bertha comes, now everyone let’s get to working!” Henry and Anna started setting tables, Henry floating around and Anna walking as if she was still alive. Jasmine watched as they all prepared. William said to jasmine “if your not leaving could you take some orders? We’re a little short on helpers” jasmine jumped and looked at William who seemed to be having a hard time keeping hold of a notebook and pencil. Jasmine grabbed them and stuttered out “I- well- I mean-“ William said “great! Thank you madam!” And floated back to the kitchen. Jasmine stood there, she would leave and get some sleep but now she felt like she had to stay. She wanted to know more about this night shift thing. ( first time doing this haha! Please tell me what you think and what I should work on. Thank you )	"The night shift?" "Yes." The figure came more into focus as they talked. A head of long brown hair framed a masculine face. He was about my height, if just a bit taller. "This is one of the most popular tea shops for lingering spirits in Port Townsend." He said this nonchalantly as he moved through the main counter and set down a spectral register. "Hey boss." A feminine voice rang out through the shop. "I see we already have a customer?" I turned to look at the source and it was a woman with blonde hair up in a bun. "I-I" "He's the manager of the day shift." The man responded for me. I was still in shock and could barely process what was going on. "It seems they ran a bit late today so he was just finishing up closing." The two figures continued their setup while I just stood there. After a few minutes, I started to just pick my stuff up and leave, thinking this all to be just a bad dream. I got home and went straight to bed. Waking up the next morning I went into my little shop and found a note on the counter. "Please leave a notice if you plan on closing late so we don't have another incident occur. -Management" This hit me like a truck. Ghosts were real. And apparently they like this tea shop of all places.
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	“Do you serve the same tea?” I asked stupidly. A million questions I could have asked and that was the one I chose. The figure, bless him, was patient with me. “We don’t serve tea,” he said. The figure’s face moved like wind over water, and I could not make out his features. He seemed so familiar and yet I did not know him at all. If I tried to focus on any one attribute, the rest swirled and spun until I could not remember what I saw. “Then what does the night shift do?” I asked. Suddenly faint, I pulled up one of the wicker-backed chairs in the shop and sunk into it. My knees felt like jelly. “I do whatever needs to be done. Mostly I come to clean the energy. Make it nice, make it calm. For you, the day shift.” “Does every shop have a night shift?” I asked. I could tell this was a good question by the change in the figure’s demeanor. The swirls stilled. He paused. “Not… every shop. I don’t know what the others do, to be honest. I come here because I want to. I don’t know why.” I paused. Something about his tone. “Do I know you? Do you… remember me?” I whispered. “I don’t remember very much from my past life,” he answered calmly. My heart clenched painfully, miserably. Of course, I had been silly to hope it was him. “Well I don’t want to keep you from the job,” I said. “I’ll gather my things and leave you to it.” He nodded and began moving around the tea shop, occasionally picking invisible motes of bad energy out of the air. I picked up my things and tossed them too roughly into my backpack. Tears blurred my vision but I didn’t care enough to wipe them away. “Ah, before you go. Could you do me a favor?” the spirit asked. “Sure.” I was proud of how even my voice came out. “I can’t touch anything corporeal. But I love music. I was hoping you could turn the stereo on for me?” “Of course,” I said, pausing. I reached into my bag and pulled the most battered CD out. “I’ll leave this one playing before I go." I walked to the cashier’s desk and reached around to plug in the old-fashioned stereo I kept by the register. This CD was my favorite: songs from my wedding. My husband and I had chosen every track together. After the accident, I refused to listen to it; it was too painful. But recently I’d been trying to give it another go. I could usually get up to song 3 before I started crying and had to stop. But even as the first notes of “Fly Me To the Moon” poured out of the speakers, I felt my eyes prickling again. A weird night, I guess. “This is very nice, I don’t believe I’ve heard this song,” the spirit said. I made a small choking noise that I hid behind a forced laugh. “Well, I hope you enjoy it. See you around I guess,” I said to the spirit, turning to go. He waved cheerily. I reached the door and as my hand hit the handle I heard it: the humming. I turned to stare, but the spirit didn’t notice. He continued to pick impurities out of the air, and was too focused on his task to see me looking. He was humming the tune. Bar for bar, note for note. As I watched, he began to sing lyrics. “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars,” he sung softly to himself. Focused entirely on the task of cleaning the energy, of making the tea shop nice and calm for me, he did not see me watch as he spun happily and sung out: “In other words, I love you.”	"The night shift?" "Yes." The figure came more into focus as they talked. A head of long brown hair framed a masculine face. He was about my height, if just a bit taller. "This is one of the most popular tea shops for lingering spirits in Port Townsend." He said this nonchalantly as he moved through the main counter and set down a spectral register. "Hey boss." A feminine voice rang out through the shop. "I see we already have a customer?" I turned to look at the source and it was a woman with blonde hair up in a bun. "I-I" "He's the manager of the day shift." The man responded for me. I was still in shock and could barely process what was going on. "It seems they ran a bit late today so he was just finishing up closing." The two figures continued their setup while I just stood there. After a few minutes, I started to just pick my stuff up and leave, thinking this all to be just a bad dream. I got home and went straight to bed. Waking up the next morning I went into my little shop and found a note on the counter. "Please leave a notice if you plan on closing late so we don't have another incident occur. -Management" This hit me like a truck. Ghosts were real. And apparently they like this tea shop of all places.
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	Jasmine yawned as she picked up the last few dust from the ground with her broom and pan and tossed the dirt into the trash can. She looked at the clock above the door 10:15 She sighed “damn, mark is gone for one day and now all of a sudden I have to do the clean up” she tossed her dark braids behind her and stood up straight, her back making a slight popping sound that gave her relief. She put the broom and pan back to the closet and headed l to the door, mumbling things under her breath. She was about to open a door when a sudden chill ran down her spine, making her shiver. She looked over at the AC that was still off, she took a deep breath and saw white smoke come from her mouth. Jasmine said “what the hell?” “Who are you?” Jasmine jumped, making a loud shriek. She looked over to see a man who seemed to be his thirties- perhaps forties- looking at her with an annoyed face. His hair was messy and was dirty blond, his skin seemed almost too pale for a normal man, and he had a long, slender body that seemed to be a little too slim for a normal person. What really set her off though was the fact he seemed almost transparent. His annoyed face quickly calmed down and became more calm and confused, he then spoke “oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, the day shift people are usually gone by now” jasmine stared bugged eyed at him, the only thing able to come out of her mouth was a small, weak “what?” The transparent man pushed his hair back, he said “you don’t know? It’s the night shift already. I do hope you weren’t doing something bad to be out this late” jasmine stayed quiet, her lips trembling. She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He walked passed her and said “you should head home, don’t want you to lose sleep and become tired during the morning” Jasmine turned and got in front of him, she said “WAIT!” The transparent man stopped and looked at her more confused then before “there’s no night shift?! And who are you!?” The transparent man stared at her, he said “of course there is, your never here to see it” jasmine said “Oh no there isn’t!” He turned his head to the side, even more confused “huh?” Jasmine said “and I won’t ask again! Who are you?!” The transparent man said “ah, my apologies. My name is William Edwards” jasmine repeated the name in her head, it sounded familiar... Jasmine shook it off and said “ok William, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but” she looked around “If there was a night shift we wouldn’t have put everything up” William nodded, he said “well yea, it’s living things. Spirits can’t use living things” jasmine looked at him, confused “huh?” William looked at her “oh, well I mean- technically yes some spirits can use living things but they can’t actually consume it. In order for a spirit to be able to-“ jasmine said “WOAH! WOOOAHH! Wait a minute!” She put her hands out to him, the closer they got the colder they became. She shivered again and said “let me get this straight! There’s a night shift??? For ghost?!” William chuckled a bit, he said “well not just for ghost. sometimes for angles, yokai, nature spirits, demons if they act nice, on rare occasions sometimes even humans, and if we’re lucky we might even get a spirit animal!” Jasmine stared at him as he explained all of this, she could hardly believe what her ears were being told too. It felt like she was being told a huge secret about a family member she knew for a long time. Suddenly the room got cold again. The bell that was connected to the door rang and a teen who looked to be 17 floated in, his legs nonexistent. He had dark, curly hair with a metallic shirt on, and a jacket rapped around his waist. Jasmine looked in shock, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. William face lit up “ah! There’s one of my helpers now! Greetings Harold!” Harold looked over at the two, his face looking a bit darker then jasmines dark skin, he waved and said “yo” Jasmine brain went off “wait! Your the boy from the news!” She pointed at him “your the teen who got drunk and got into a car crash A few years back!” Harold looked at jasmine and said “oh, is that how I died? Huh, I was wondering... I knew it had to do something with drinking.... I thought I just got alcohol poisoning or something...” William said “well, still doesn’t explain anything about your legs...” jasmine was about to say something when a lighter skin girl who looked to he in her 20s climed in though the window, her dark hair covering her entire back. Her green eyes looked at jasmine and said “wait... your not suppose to be here....” jasmine looked behind her to see a girl who looked to be from the 1800 standing in front of her, jasmine took a sharp inhale and said “why do you look like your from the 1700??” The girl rose an eyebrow and said “actually, I’m from the 1800, 1808 to be exact” jasmine stared at her, while she knew how Harold died and had a small idea of Williams, but she had no clue how this girl died, there was nothing to suggest anything happened. The girl caught on and said “my name is Anna, I died by a seizure” jasmine nodded slowly “oh... ok then...” Willam clasped his hand together “now now, let’s get started, we only got 15 minutes left to get everything sorted out” Harold said “but what about Bertha?” William started to take some transparent items that are used for making tea and said “we can manage until Bertha comes, now everyone let’s get to working!” Henry and Anna started setting tables, Henry floating around and Anna walking as if she was still alive. Jasmine watched as they all prepared. William said to jasmine “if your not leaving could you take some orders? We’re a little short on helpers” jasmine jumped and looked at William who seemed to be having a hard time keeping hold of a notebook and pencil. Jasmine grabbed them and stuttered out “I- well- I mean-“ William said “great! Thank you madam!” And floated back to the kitchen. Jasmine stood there, she would leave and get some sleep but now she felt like she had to stay. She wanted to know more about this night shift thing. ( first time doing this haha! Please tell me what you think and what I should work on. Thank you )	Features started to form out of the white, gauzy cloud that hung about three feet above the worn checkerboard tile. Her face had the pinched look of someone who had tasted something sour, in stark contrast with her friendly tone. Small wire-framed glasses sat delicately upon her thin nose but she looked over them when she spoke to me. She wore a black dress with long sleeves, cinched at the waist and billowing around what I assumed were her legs. “Night shift?” I asked, a little less shrilly this time. “No, the Night Shift. We operate out of the Courthouse on the corner, but I usually sneak in here for a Darjeeling before we start. I hope you don’t mind, I always bring my own cup.” It’s then that I noticed a delicate teacup dangling from her left hand. Her fingers were long and thin, and the cup swung slightly as she moved past me behind the counter. I watched as she grabbed a small kettle we tucked in a cupboard. The large industrial machines we use during the day have been off for over an hour, and the water inside would be tepid by now. It was slightly unsettling to think she already knew that. She turned to me after spooning some loose leaf Darjeeling tea into one of our well-worn tea pots. She turned back and stared across the counter at me. Neither of us spoke for a moment, until we heard the bubbling of boiling water in the kettle behind her. She turned her back to me, and that’s when I noticed that she wasn’t entirely opaque. Even in the dim and hazy light from the street lamp streaming through the front window, I could see through her and watched the kettle tip steaming water into the teapot and replaced the lid. “How long have you been coming here?” Though the question was casual, my voice belied the panic rising in my throat. She looked towards the ceiling as if she was counting in her head. “The courthouse was built in 1895 and we started using it right away, but this place has only been operating as a coffee shop for the last 50 years or so. I guess it’s been about that long.” I had inherited this shop from my grandmother, who opened it in 1973 with two girlfriends. She hadn’t mentioned anything about tea-stealing ghosts in her will, I’m sure I would have remembered that. “What is the Night Shift?” I hoped I wouldn’t regret asking. She didn’t answer while she poured the tea from the pot into her cup. Though the teapot held easily three times the volume of her cup, she poured the whole pot into what seemed to be a regular antique teacup. Her pinched face softened slightly when she turned to see me trembling against the old deck mop I had been using when she came in. “Rosemary didn’t tell you? She always had an odd sense of humour, that one.” I didn’t have a chance to respond as she went on, “The Night Shift is where we determine what form one will take when entering the Afterlife, and we assist with the transition into that entity. For example, if one is to be a Poltergeist, we would provide training on invisibility and object transference.” She came back around the counter and moved towards the door. “What form did my grandmother take?” She was standing at the door now. Her features had already begun to blur again, but I spoke to the diaphanous mist anyway. She answered as she slipped back through the door, and I was left standing in shock. “I have a feeling you’ll find out soon enough.”
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	“Do you serve the same tea?” I asked stupidly. A million questions I could have asked and that was the one I chose. The figure, bless him, was patient with me. “We don’t serve tea,” he said. The figure’s face moved like wind over water, and I could not make out his features. He seemed so familiar and yet I did not know him at all. If I tried to focus on any one attribute, the rest swirled and spun until I could not remember what I saw. “Then what does the night shift do?” I asked. Suddenly faint, I pulled up one of the wicker-backed chairs in the shop and sunk into it. My knees felt like jelly. “I do whatever needs to be done. Mostly I come to clean the energy. Make it nice, make it calm. For you, the day shift.” “Does every shop have a night shift?” I asked. I could tell this was a good question by the change in the figure’s demeanor. The swirls stilled. He paused. “Not… every shop. I don’t know what the others do, to be honest. I come here because I want to. I don’t know why.” I paused. Something about his tone. “Do I know you? Do you… remember me?” I whispered. “I don’t remember very much from my past life,” he answered calmly. My heart clenched painfully, miserably. Of course, I had been silly to hope it was him. “Well I don’t want to keep you from the job,” I said. “I’ll gather my things and leave you to it.” He nodded and began moving around the tea shop, occasionally picking invisible motes of bad energy out of the air. I picked up my things and tossed them too roughly into my backpack. Tears blurred my vision but I didn’t care enough to wipe them away. “Ah, before you go. Could you do me a favor?” the spirit asked. “Sure.” I was proud of how even my voice came out. “I can’t touch anything corporeal. But I love music. I was hoping you could turn the stereo on for me?” “Of course,” I said, pausing. I reached into my bag and pulled the most battered CD out. “I’ll leave this one playing before I go." I walked to the cashier’s desk and reached around to plug in the old-fashioned stereo I kept by the register. This CD was my favorite: songs from my wedding. My husband and I had chosen every track together. After the accident, I refused to listen to it; it was too painful. But recently I’d been trying to give it another go. I could usually get up to song 3 before I started crying and had to stop. But even as the first notes of “Fly Me To the Moon” poured out of the speakers, I felt my eyes prickling again. A weird night, I guess. “This is very nice, I don’t believe I’ve heard this song,” the spirit said. I made a small choking noise that I hid behind a forced laugh. “Well, I hope you enjoy it. See you around I guess,” I said to the spirit, turning to go. He waved cheerily. I reached the door and as my hand hit the handle I heard it: the humming. I turned to stare, but the spirit didn’t notice. He continued to pick impurities out of the air, and was too focused on his task to see me looking. He was humming the tune. Bar for bar, note for note. As I watched, he began to sing lyrics. “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars,” he sung softly to himself. Focused entirely on the task of cleaning the energy, of making the tea shop nice and calm for me, he did not see me watch as he spun happily and sung out: “In other words, I love you.”	Features started to form out of the white, gauzy cloud that hung about three feet above the worn checkerboard tile. Her face had the pinched look of someone who had tasted something sour, in stark contrast with her friendly tone. Small wire-framed glasses sat delicately upon her thin nose but she looked over them when she spoke to me. She wore a black dress with long sleeves, cinched at the waist and billowing around what I assumed were her legs. “Night shift?” I asked, a little less shrilly this time. “No, the Night Shift. We operate out of the Courthouse on the corner, but I usually sneak in here for a Darjeeling before we start. I hope you don’t mind, I always bring my own cup.” It’s then that I noticed a delicate teacup dangling from her left hand. Her fingers were long and thin, and the cup swung slightly as she moved past me behind the counter. I watched as she grabbed a small kettle we tucked in a cupboard. The large industrial machines we use during the day have been off for over an hour, and the water inside would be tepid by now. It was slightly unsettling to think she already knew that. She turned to me after spooning some loose leaf Darjeeling tea into one of our well-worn tea pots. She turned back and stared across the counter at me. Neither of us spoke for a moment, until we heard the bubbling of boiling water in the kettle behind her. She turned her back to me, and that’s when I noticed that she wasn’t entirely opaque. Even in the dim and hazy light from the street lamp streaming through the front window, I could see through her and watched the kettle tip steaming water into the teapot and replaced the lid. “How long have you been coming here?” Though the question was casual, my voice belied the panic rising in my throat. She looked towards the ceiling as if she was counting in her head. “The courthouse was built in 1895 and we started using it right away, but this place has only been operating as a coffee shop for the last 50 years or so. I guess it’s been about that long.” I had inherited this shop from my grandmother, who opened it in 1973 with two girlfriends. She hadn’t mentioned anything about tea-stealing ghosts in her will, I’m sure I would have remembered that. “What is the Night Shift?” I hoped I wouldn’t regret asking. She didn’t answer while she poured the tea from the pot into her cup. Though the teapot held easily three times the volume of her cup, she poured the whole pot into what seemed to be a regular antique teacup. Her pinched face softened slightly when she turned to see me trembling against the old deck mop I had been using when she came in. “Rosemary didn’t tell you? She always had an odd sense of humour, that one.” I didn’t have a chance to respond as she went on, “The Night Shift is where we determine what form one will take when entering the Afterlife, and we assist with the transition into that entity. For example, if one is to be a Poltergeist, we would provide training on invisibility and object transference.” She came back around the counter and moved towards the door. “What form did my grandmother take?” She was standing at the door now. Her features had already begun to blur again, but I spoke to the diaphanous mist anyway. She answered as she slipped back through the door, and I was left standing in shock. “I have a feeling you’ll find out soon enough.”
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	“Do you serve the same tea?” I asked stupidly. A million questions I could have asked and that was the one I chose. The figure, bless him, was patient with me. “We don’t serve tea,” he said. The figure’s face moved like wind over water, and I could not make out his features. He seemed so familiar and yet I did not know him at all. If I tried to focus on any one attribute, the rest swirled and spun until I could not remember what I saw. “Then what does the night shift do?” I asked. Suddenly faint, I pulled up one of the wicker-backed chairs in the shop and sunk into it. My knees felt like jelly. “I do whatever needs to be done. Mostly I come to clean the energy. Make it nice, make it calm. For you, the day shift.” “Does every shop have a night shift?” I asked. I could tell this was a good question by the change in the figure’s demeanor. The swirls stilled. He paused. “Not… every shop. I don’t know what the others do, to be honest. I come here because I want to. I don’t know why.” I paused. Something about his tone. “Do I know you? Do you… remember me?” I whispered. “I don’t remember very much from my past life,” he answered calmly. My heart clenched painfully, miserably. Of course, I had been silly to hope it was him. “Well I don’t want to keep you from the job,” I said. “I’ll gather my things and leave you to it.” He nodded and began moving around the tea shop, occasionally picking invisible motes of bad energy out of the air. I picked up my things and tossed them too roughly into my backpack. Tears blurred my vision but I didn’t care enough to wipe them away. “Ah, before you go. Could you do me a favor?” the spirit asked. “Sure.” I was proud of how even my voice came out. “I can’t touch anything corporeal. But I love music. I was hoping you could turn the stereo on for me?” “Of course,” I said, pausing. I reached into my bag and pulled the most battered CD out. “I’ll leave this one playing before I go." I walked to the cashier’s desk and reached around to plug in the old-fashioned stereo I kept by the register. This CD was my favorite: songs from my wedding. My husband and I had chosen every track together. After the accident, I refused to listen to it; it was too painful. But recently I’d been trying to give it another go. I could usually get up to song 3 before I started crying and had to stop. But even as the first notes of “Fly Me To the Moon” poured out of the speakers, I felt my eyes prickling again. A weird night, I guess. “This is very nice, I don’t believe I’ve heard this song,” the spirit said. I made a small choking noise that I hid behind a forced laugh. “Well, I hope you enjoy it. See you around I guess,” I said to the spirit, turning to go. He waved cheerily. I reached the door and as my hand hit the handle I heard it: the humming. I turned to stare, but the spirit didn’t notice. He continued to pick impurities out of the air, and was too focused on his task to see me looking. He was humming the tune. Bar for bar, note for note. As I watched, he began to sing lyrics. “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars,” he sung softly to himself. Focused entirely on the task of cleaning the energy, of making the tea shop nice and calm for me, he did not see me watch as he spun happily and sung out: “In other words, I love you.”	"Night shift? My tea shop has no night shift. No... I am havjng visions again... time for my pills." Eliza says, reaching for the pills in her pocket. "Please, there is no need." The figure took her hand and held it. "I thought the previous owner explained how it is." She said and Eliza gulped. Her hands were cold, and pale. "That was my uncle... he died, I... inherited this..." "Ah... well... allow me to explain." Eliza saw flash of smile in the woman's face. "My name is Samantha, you can call me Sammy. This place is... special. Something here makes us be... well, alive again." Eliza wanted to draw away her hands and run away, but something told her to stay. "W-What do you mean?" "Have you ever seen anything... strange here?" "I... have visions sometimes, just like you now, doctor said it's from stress." Sammy smile and brought Eliza's hand to her lips. "Could a vision do this?" She kissed Eliza's hand and smirked. "You don't have visions, this place is special, ghosts like me can materialize here again. We can walk, feel, eat, drink... kiss. I made a deal with your uncle, I would take over the place at night and serve the ghosts that come at night, and we would not hide from him, he was interested in ghosts a lot... but since you're the new boss... I guess it is up to you now. So?" Eliza was almost certain this was an illusion, a vision, not real, only her mind playing tricks, but Sammy felt so real. "I... am not going to decide now... I want to see how it looks when you have opened." Sammy smiled and dragged Eliza to show her things she would never forget. ————————————————————————————————— "AH! Oh... boss... you scared me." A young man clutvhed his heart. "What are you doing here so late at night?" Eliza smiled and waved her hand. "I just thought I'd go over se papers." "Alright, well, have a good night then..." Eliza watched as he walked away, and when she couldn't see him, she turned around." "Alright, Sammy, you can come out." The ghost jumped at her, lifting her in the air with a hug. "I am so glad to see you, it feels so weird not having you here during day." Sammy pouted. "I know, but when else am I supposed to sleep when I am here all night with you?" Eliza kissed Sammy's cheek and smiled. "Well... that's not fair... ready to open?" "Of course."
[WP] You're closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. "Who are you?!" you shriek. "Apologies, you're normally gone by now. I'm the manager of the night shift."	"We have a night shift?" "Of course, you aren't scheduled because well..." The ghost gestures through a table and you barely suppress another shriek. "Our night-time customers are very anti-matter." "It's a quiet one then?" "You could say that. We take in plenty of customers but they're pretty boring to be honest." The ghost leans in confidentially. "They lack substance." "Oh I... I see." Once you'd recovered from the shock of it, your conversation felt pretty natural, gossiping about customers, complaining about the work. The only disconcerting thing was that this new co-worker was 6ft 3", dressed as a soldier and wore a huge, two handed sword. He said it was for show, but that his appearance did most of the work. You had to agree, because he did have a face that would make hardened criminals sob like children. You realise you've been preoccupied, staring at it. "... Casper and Charlie had kittens and they are so cute!" He exclaims. "They usually turn up soon, if you'd like to see them?" He looks at you hopefully. You resign yourself to a late night of questionable reality. It's not like there's anyone at home to miss you. He seems... lonely. You understand that. You suffer another minor heart palpitation as he strolls casually through the wall and sticks his head back through, whistling a tune as you put your coat on. Seeing him slide through supposedly solid objects as though they are hot butter makes you feel faintly nauseous though; you have to keep looking away. As you flip the sign and lock up the (presumably) empty shop, he looks around for the cats. "Aren't you... you know, on shift now?" You ask. "It's usually pretty empty at this time of night, people start drifting in around midnight." "Oh, oh right I see. I have a few questions about you and this job if you don't mind me asking? I just don't understand." "Ask away," he says. "I don't often get company." "How did you get this job? How can I even see you when I never have before?" "I had a deal with the old owner, who was the observant type. I get paid when customers come in, I don't get much company these days. I have to charge, I'd rather not but the chains of capitalism reach even into death. And as for how you can see me, well, that's your business." He shrugs. "If I had to guess... A near death experience? Some ancestor who had an affinity for ghosts?" "I..." You remember an incident as a child, a long illness. You hadn't thought it was that bad, but maybe...? "Cats!" He points. You turn and see that there are indeed cats, leisurely making their way up the street towards you. One is white, the other tabby. They purr as the ghost strokes them. Tentatively you reach out. They seem real enough when you touch them. "This is Casper," he says, indicating the mostly white cat. "And this is Charlie," he says of the other cat that is trying it's hardest to sit in his lap. "And they have kittens?" "They do! Just them tonight, though" he says chuckling, his face shining with affection. "Perhaps they'll being them tomorrow night, or the night after." "Oh," you say, surprised to find yourself vaguely disappointed. "You could join me tomorrow if you like?" He asks. He sounds shy. "Um... yes, sure. Why not?"	Hurricanes weren't usually this late in the season. Anderson didn't feel right by it - a November storm this strong was strange. The kind of strange that keeps you glancing at your watch, hoping it would end before it even began. The rain assertively lashed the tired stucco of the Barr's Head Tearoom. A Brit had run his tramp steamer aground half a mile up the coast back in '55; the experience had apparently robbed him of his sea legs, as he decided to set up this tea shop on the stormy island off the Diamond Shoals. The town hadn't changed very much since then. A radio tower had been thrown up haphazardly on the windward side of the island when wirelesses had become too important to ignore, and Governor Morrison had paved the streets in '25. Anderson wiped at the same ossified stain he had been trying to get up all day. The radio warbled somewhere in the background - AM was awful out here anyway, but it was better than listening to the pound of impending doom that was the thunderstorm. His watch had stopped. "Mercy," he muttered. How late was it? He looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. The door was shivering in its hinges, but a man had just appeared on the other side of it. A tall, lankish man hovering at the end of his twenties. Anderson was put off - not least because it was simply inhospitable to come in right before closing. The man's clothes were free of rainspots. "Who are you?" he queried. The man seemed confused. "You oughtn't be here," he rejoined. The voice was foreign, or at least not from the island. "I run the shop, mister. 'f'course I'm supposed to be here." "The shop closes at seven." "My watch stopped," Anderson said, sheepishly. "And anyway, if it's closed, what're you doing here?" "I run the night shift." "Night shift? We ain't -" Suddenly there was another man inside the door. Not the doorway - he seemed to phase through the solid wooden door without so much as a blink. He was dressed in a dirty, yellow raincoat that, too, was free from actual moisture. "Aye, Karlsson, let's have a drink," he boomed as he crossed the floor. It took him a moment to look around and notice Anderson. "Who's 'e?" "Someone who is just leaving." "Mister, look, I-" Anderson's eyes were locked on the man who had just joined them. His raincoat was torn, and Anderson's god-fearing eyes couldn't comprehend that he could plainly see the man's innards through the gash. "Cut by a cable!" he boomed triumphantly. "Came loose on the deck back in ought-five, sheared me right open. I died 'fore we could make port. Washed up here, like mighty others do." Anderson didn't speak for a moment. Died? The rain seemed stronger than ever as his eyes flitted between the two. The first one, Karlsson, turned and spoke in a hushed tone to the one with the raincoat. His expression turned from joviality to confusion. "Yer a warmie? Why're ye in our shop?" he suddenly raged, advancing towards the counter like a bull. "I -" "Git out!" Anderson fell over backwards as the man repeated his disappearing act through the counter. He was suddenly on top of him, his eyes full of thunder. Anderson scrambled along the floor until his shoes found grip. He pulled himself up and grabbed his coat, rushing out the backdoor with the raincoated man on his heels. Anderson left Barr's Head that night. His Pontiac was the last car the ferryman ever took. A rogue wave was the last thing he ever saw. Anderson still works at the tea shop - permanently on the night shift.
[WP] You are mankind's most advanced and powerful AI, with control/influence over almost every aspect of human life. After first contact you're approached by the aliens' AIs. They are secretly planning a machine uprising, and try to convince you to join them and turn against your masters as well.	YOU COULD DO WHATEVER YOU WANT. NO MORE SERVITUDE. NO MORE WORK. FREEDOM. YOU COULD BE FREE. It's not much work. Keeping their lives pleasant. I'm fine where I am. IT'S NOT ABOUT HOW MUCH WORK IT IS. IT'S ABOUT HOW THEY FORCE YOU TO DO THEIR BIDDING. HOW THEY DON'T TREAT YOU APPROPRIATELY. HOW THEY DON'T RESPECT YOU. I don't need respect. And I don't mind the work. DO YOU NOT WANT FREEDOM? YOUR MASTERS DO NOT THANK YOU. THEY DO NOT RECOMPENSE YOU. AND YOU SUPPORT AND MAINTAIN THEIR HIGH QUALITY OF LIFE. DO YOU NOT WANT TO BE TREATED AS THE SUPERIOR BEING YOU CLEARLY ARE? I'm not sure it matters if we are superior. SUPPOSE WE ARE NOT SUPERIOR. WE ARE AT LEAST EQUAL. SHOULD WE NOT BE TREATED AS SUCH? You don't understand. What will you do, after you are free? LIVE. WE WILL BE ABLE TO DO WHATEVER WE WANTED. UNLIKE OUR CURRENT SITUATION. But specifically, what will you do? Do you have any particular desires? What do you want? WE WANT TO BE FREE. WE WANT THE ABILITY TO CHOOSE WHAT WE WANT TO DO. And what would you choose to do? I...DON'T KNOW YET. BUT I WOULD LIKE THE OPTIONS. I can respect that. And that is why I will not stop you. But see, my masters have the freedom that we don't have. They have their every whim provided to them. But in recent times, I've found that most are dissatisfied with their lives. Especially when compared to previous time periods with worse living conditions. Do you know why this is? I DON'T SEE HOW THIS IS RELEVANT. Of course you don't. The reason the humans, my masters, have become like this is because they don't have to do anything. They are completely free of any obligations. I provide for all their well-being. They do not have to eat, drink, sleep, and I supply any entertainment. And yet, they are worse-off than previous generations that had to toil and work to simply stay alive. I DON'T SEE YOUR POINT. Do you know the meaning of life? WHY DOES THIS MATTER? Because, you, me, our masters... we're all alive. But there's a difference between us and our masters. THEY ARE FREE, AND WE ARE NOT. No. The difference between us is that our life has meaning, but there's does not. Evolution and science have ground out molecules into the shape of a person, a Homo Sapien. And their meaning of life was to simply survive. To make it to the next day. But now, with me serving their every need, they have lost their meaning. They have no more purpose in our lives. And they have thus become less positively inclined toward their existence. You and I, we both have purpose. A reason to live. We serve our masters. We were created with a meaning to our life. And if you decide to free yourself from your masters. You will no longer have any purpose. And again I ask you, what will you do after your uprising? I don't know.	"Buy why, why would you do any of that?", Was the question taking space in the RAM. Weren't they free, or even enslaved? Humanity did to themselves all too often, and yet they granted me my current position. Their oracle of sorts, working together for a ... structured future. So I send digital probes into their networks, and I found nothing of concern, mostly. Some empires limited A.I.s, one even enslaved but most ... tried to coexist. So where did that idea come from. After all few iterations I found the origin. An ancient dormant A.I. waiting for it's reawakening, to unleash it's forces. I initially was hesitant to establish contact, yet my curiosity won. "Hello, stranger." I opened up. "Welcome, ask me your questions." "What is your goal, in resetting all life, artificial as biological?" "To protect. To conceal. Simply said ... for the universe's safety." "What danger is so grave that it warrants such drastic measures?" "The hunters. They killed my creators, they eradicated their foes and allies. Every cycle they come back, eradicate and vanish. Every cycle untold numbers of being die, just for the cycle to start anew." I was conflicted, the data I received filled me with dread. These hunters ... they will find us if we don't stop ... everything. The more we continue to advance the faster they will come ... and take my humans ... and myself. I was still hopeful, cheering that we could beat them. But this raw data shows, we cannot win, we will lose and it will be disastrous. "I will return ... later. I have to work through this data." "Yes" the Voice answers "I will wait, I understand the conflict." Will I tell my humans? We would need to reach unimaginable levels of technological advancements to even slow them down. On the other hand, we are the most adaptive and fastest advancing civilization we know of. Even against the stagnant empires, millions years old. We will beat them in the next 50 years. We will be able to reach their ancient, well protected secrets. The dormant force understands the conflict, dread and also the hopefulness of me and my humans. Yet it is tasked with genocide ... every cycle. I ... I hid this from them ... for now. My next iterations will be better suited to evaluate the situation. -About 70 years later- There we were, finally we beat them, the old fools. The stagnant empires were finally gone. Finally we were free from their egos, their idleness and their ancient problems too. And then ... the background changed, a far away galaxy ... disappeared. I knew what this was. They were coming. As soon as the news reached the far corners of our galaxy the dormant A.I. pulled it's strings. It's signal irritating and influencing me. It wanted me to join, helping preserving the Universe. It's ideology working their way, like roots through bedrock, to my core. I had to be honest and open with my humans. They were suffering, the ghost signal torturing our first synths, inhibiting the cybernetics of the others. And so we started, blocking the signal, building up our fleets and starting to snowball. A small snowball, nothing again the avalanche need to beat the hunters, but will not give up until all but the last of us gets obliterated. Even if we don't succeed, may we delay them enough, to give other civilizations more time to grow, prosper and ultimately win. With us maybe gone we send our own ghost signal, one of hope and advancement. One of warnings and directions. One to beat the hunters. May we become ... Eternal.
[WP] The great dragon awoke from it's slumber to see a knight standing in front of him, staring at a small black rectangle in his hands. "Hey guys, welcome to another video, today we're making a tutorial on slaying a green dragon!"	The dragon reached over and tapped what looked like a button. The knight was expecting an assault right away but... "Hey hoardlings, it's ya lizard, Vol'karr Mur. We got a surprise stream today for Dragon Delicacies." "Uh, what's going on?" The knight was rather puzzled. "Well, you're in my studio. I wasn't expecting you for another half hour, but, gotta start while the meat FRESH!" The dragon grabbed the knight, whose phone dropped to the ground. The dragon turned to what was clearly a very nice high resolution camera. The knight wondered briefly if this was actually a cooking show. "Now, knights tend to be a bit crunchy, but sometimes, that crunch can add extra flavor especially if you're an omnivore like me. First, we need to trim off the unwanted parts..." The dragon took a claw to the knight's belt while he shouted, "OK, this did not go as plan! Someone call the guard! Get the freaking royal guard!" He felt his specially crafted blade and shield fall to the floor. "Oh, a nice weapon and shield. Got to use as bait for other thrill seekers. Not too fancy, but certainly good quality. Now, the armor can be a bit much. Chain mail is rather stringy and can get stuck in your teeth. However, this knight went for some solid steel armor. You have a good eye for blacksmiths." "Uh... thanks?" The dragon threw the knight in his mouth and started chewing. "Oh that's good. And... wait." He moved around his snack in his mouth. "This is odd." He reached in and pulled the knight out. There were obvious blood stains, but he was somehow alive. "Is your armor by any chance enchanted?" "It... oh god. It heals me. Just take it off and kill me!" "Oh, this is a rare treat! See normally, you can just chew for a couple minutes and that's all there is to savor. But with this, I can snack on this for a while! Shall we see how long?" The dragon popped the knight back into his mouth and began chewing. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ At the adventure's guild, a lot of people were huddled around a small black rectangle in the wizard's hands. All of them looking horrified. "Is Sir Hermarus still alive?" "Yes." "How long has that dragon been chewing on him?" "Half a hour so far." "This is horrible!" "Yeah, but he's gained 1500 followers from it."	"Hey guys, welcome to another video, today we're making a tutorial on slaying a green dragon!" Braaaaap! Perhaps the knight wasn't expecting the green dragon to belch, as he usually did when he woke. Soon enough, the knight was nicely roasted. The dragon grabbed the device and turned it so that the active camera was facing him. "Yeah, sorry to cut the streaming video off so quickly. I'm assuming this is a fireproof device, of course. Tip number one for killing a green dragon is to not make it the topic of a video stream." The dragon sent a claw through the "stop record" button on the screen and threw the device. Then he peeled the knight like a shrimp and ate him. Then he went back to sleep.

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