post_text
stringlengths 0
10k
| post_title
stringlengths 8
313
| chosen
stringlengths 1
39.5k
| rejected
stringlengths 1
13.8k
|
|---|---|---|---|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
I'd been watching the woman in red for a while now and it had only taken me about half an hour to realise that she was likely in the same line of work as me. In films assassins are ugly, disfigured or tattooed all over but in reality the people who suit it best often fall into one of two different appearances. Either they are average, so incredibly average that you could see them every day for a year and still struggle to describe them, or they are so breathtakingly attractive that people let their guard down around them. The woman in red was definitely, completely the second of these types.
_____
The well dressed man in the corner had been watching me almost since I'd arrived. I'm very much used to it - first they take a good look at me, think I'm pretty, admire the view. Then some point after that they start to put together little pieces of information; I'm alone, it's a revealing dress, bars like this often have escorts, etc. But even then, you can't just *ask* someone if they're a hooker, can you? What if I'm not? What if I am, but that breaks some kinda unknown etiquette? So in the end, I generally have to make the first move.
_____
After ordering herself another drink the woman in red approached my booth. Either she has decided for certain that her mark is a no-show or she thinks I'm the one she's meant to kill and that, that could be very interesting.
"May I join you?" She asked and I nodded my agreement.
"My name's Tessa." She offered, briefly resting her purse on the table as she shuffled across.
The purse was only there for a second before she placed it back by her side but it was more than enough time for me to glance inside.
"I'm John. Nice gun you've got there."
Tessa smiled.
"Well, line of work I'm in it's a useful thing to have. Just in-"
"Yeah," I said, interrupting without meaning to, "I think we're in the same line of work."
______
I'd only said 'in my line of work' so he had an easy way to ask what I did but as soon as John said that he was an escort too, I felt a little silly for not considering it. This bar is a known place for business men to pick up a little bit of after hours entertainment and John certainly had the looks to be successful. Truth be told, I haven't met a massive amount of male escorts and the ones I have are a little more showy but if you wanted to get fucked by James Bond, John would be perfect.
"Oh." I said and then started to laugh. "Of course we are. You working tonight then?"
"Nope. Not for a while, actually. Bit of a holiday. You?"
I gestured around the bar.
"I thought so but look. All groups and couples." I thought about it. "Not that I haven't done couples, but it has to be the *right* couple, you know?"
_____
I did know. It was very rare that there was a contract for a couple but what happened a little more often was that it didn't really matter if the mark's partner ended up dead or not. And sometimes it's just easier that way and I have to admit that on occasions where the spouse was as messed up as the mark, my trigger finger gets a little itchier on those nights. What Tessa said next though completely threw me.
"Hm, and I guess it's not like I've never done a group either."
Who the hell gets a contract for a whole group? Either it was just that we operated in very different circles or Tessa was considerably better at her job than I am.
"You must be good." I said, just to fill the silence. "Can't say I've ever done a group."
Tessa shrugged as she took another sip of her drink.
"Different clients want different things I guess. And I'm guessing we work with pretty different people. I'm sure you have excellent selling points of your own."
You don't really meet coworkers too often in this line of work so I found myself suddenly falling over myself to impress Tessa.
"Yeah, I'm not bad. I'm discreet and I'm very, very quick. Nothing gets dragged out with me."
_____
I was sipping my whiskey again as John spoke so when he said the word 'quick' it was an effort not to splutter. Discreet makes sense but *quick?* I've never had a client ask if we could somehow take less time and I can't say that it's something I've ever wanted either.
"How... nice for you." I said, but not overly convincingly and he instantly noticed. "Sorry, it's just not something that's ever been requested of me, to speed things along. Different clients, as I said. Most of mine seem to think that more time means they got more of their money's worth, I find."
John looked confused.
"You make it last longer than it needs to?"
"Well, that's a matter of perspective. I make it last however long the client wants. Not to mention, sometimes there are requests for things that aren't super fast. You know, whips, handcuffs, et cetera."
_____
I'm not naive, I knew that whilst most assassins are contracted just to kill there are those who deal with requests that include torture. But they're a rare breed and I honestly didn't think I'd ever meet one. But here Tessa was, talking about drawn out deaths and whipping her marks in an easy, carefree manner that left me reeling.
"Is that all in a day's work for you?"
She laughed.
"Of course! Do you seriously never get requests like that?"
"No. They generally want me fast, discreet and invisible."
Tessa looked at me sympathetically.
"Oh, it's like that. People's attitudes about this are so backwards sometimes."
"I guess?" I said, although I really didn't quite know what she meant. "I think perhaps you have a different experience, maybe you're just recommended for people who want the weird stuff."
She bristled at this and drew back away from me ever so slightly.
"It's not like that. Very little of what I do is 'weird' and frankly I think that's a very backwards term for someone like you to be using anyway. Most times it's just fucking."
_____
John looked at me strangely.
"You have sex with all of them?"
The question threw me for a loop.
"Well I guess technically not all, sometimes a client realises that's not what they really want or..." I trailed off as I realised what he meant. "You don't at all, do you? Shit, you aren't an escort."
John laughed so hard the table shook and after the increasing levels of unease that laughter was infectious. Soon, I was giggling alongside him, both of us breaking into fresh bouts of laughter whenever we met the other's eyes.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything - I just thought you were like me. You're probably awesome as an escort."
"Hey, what is it *you* thought we both did then? What's your job?"
John smirked.
"Librarian?" He suggested and then shook his head when it was clear I was having none of it.
"Nah, sorry. I'm a hitman. I kill people for money."
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"oh by now, I don't know there are so many"
"It's okay, you can tell me. I won't judge."
" Well probably several hundred"
"Several hundred? I can't believe it."
"Well it's not like I want too do more, and I've only been working the city for 3 years." Ahem. "Besides, with your experience I'm sure you've got a higher total than me."
"Actually, I've only got the one."
"One? How could you even sit here and talk to me about this. You can't understand what it's like to have this life."
"It was the president."
"Oh."
"Want another drink?"
"Sure"
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Cristina almost spat her beer.
—A hundred? —they were both 23, they had already discussed that— How long have you been in it?
She became an assasin when she was 20, and had killed 52 people.
—Three years. When my parents found out I liked women they cut me off, so I needed the money to pay for college.
Addison was very proud of her job, being an escort is not easy.
—And do you still talk to them?
—Nah. They can go to hell, if they are right I´'ll meet them there.
—Well, according to religion our job is pretty sinful —Cristina joked. But she was calculating her next move.
—I literally don't give a fuck —she answered starting to play with her red hair.
Cristina smiled, she liked her. If Addison was also an assasin she would be way harder to kill. Unless, she could get her to go with her to a room.
​
//English is my secong language, and I feel like I used the words "she" and "her" way too much, I'm sorry
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Andrew was a small boy with blond hair, his soft traits making him look younger, his féminine frame was delicate yet strong, but, would you deal with his services, you would find a ruthless and unscrupulous man hiding behind the child like face. Of course, none of his clients would never recognise him in the open as the theatrics of his profession were a must to protect his true identity, the make-up and the clothings were there to complement the attire and make good impresion. Of course all this was in the goal of making his client lower their guard, for the greater good he used to say.
Melissa was what we could call a snow-white. She had pale skin and dark raven hair, her red lips were like a flower and her ample bossom danced to her mouvements. Her eyes where her most striking feature. They where a deep green colour that seemed to glow in the darkness. As she walked through the room her beauty would captivate your attention. Her voluptuous courbes and her tight dress called for attention wherever she went. Her way of walking silently even when wearing those delicate high heel of hers, it was as she simply glided across the room. She was beauty and grace incarnated.
Both of them where talking at the bar like old acquintances, as per usual, none of them had alcohol. It mixes bad with their work they said. And oh boy they worked.
"To be fair" said the blond lad "I might take ou 4 or 5 in a calm night, but some hot nights I got up to 7 or 9 clients"
"That's a lot to take in" responded the beauty. I mean I had to take out the whole squad of 20 or more plus the big boss a few times just because some fuck up. But that is something that hapens rarely"
"Indeed that is so fucked up, i cant even fantom how taking on 20 guys or more one one night. Just the tough makes me shrudder" responded Andrew.
"Oh, they aren't always men you know. I am sure you too, sometimes you get fucked by some random chick that think they are tougher. Fuck. I even had to dance with some children once. That was the hardest.." said Melissa with a dark tone.
"Wow, that's even more disgusting." I have never taken upon children. Women, its another matter. Lots of women are into it, you know, it hapens once or twice in a night, but I never take out children." Said Andrew morose.
"A job is a job" shrugged Melissa, her curly hair dancing to the mouvement of her shoulders. "Come on. I know you too had to do some nasty stuff. It's part of the job. Some clients want it to go smooth some want violence and some want it silently"
"Well, yeah, nasty stuff is sadly always the norm. More so since my usual audience are old decrepit men high atop their Emperium." I ussualy portray myself as a child you know, sometimes a little boy,a lot of times a girl. Is what they want after all."
"What!? Man that.. that is really fucked up" I tought I was the worst of our kind but you just took the crown" said the shocked Melissa.
"Well, better be me that a real child you know. The kind of experiences our work line brings aren't for those kindred souls. So lets get our hands dirty and bloody instead of theirs"
"Well. In that I agree whole hardly" said Melissa, rising her orange juice to toast.
"To keep children from the sex work environment" said Andrew, his feminine face brightly smiling.
"Wait. Sex work?"
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Maria eyed off the distance, trying to materialise a figure to Sophia's question.
'I've lost count, well into the hundreds.'
Sophia nodded, sipping her gin and tonic. She could see it, a beautiful older woman such as her would still be popular with gentleman. Hell, even younger men would want to tussle with her.
'So no figure, but surely some memorable ones?'
'Oh yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I recall one in particular. I'd just finished a man off when his wife walked in.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'No way! What'd you do?'
'What do you think? Did the same to her then left.'
Sophia loved that she'd swing both ways.
'Guess that marriage didn't last.'
'Ended quicker than I finished him off.'
They shared a laugh, Sophia still admiring Maria's graceful aging.
'I've ended a few marriages too. Caught in the act in hot tubs, hotel rooms, the marital bedrooms.'
'And you're still not in jail?' Maria now the one in shock. 'That's sloppy work. You want to be in this business as long as I have you'll need to finesse your skills.'
'I guess nobody wants to air their dirty laundry. Besides, I don't mind it sloppy.' Remarked Sophia with a sly wink.
'Each to their own I suppose.'
They clinked glasses downed their drinks and went about their not so dissimilar lives, given they both finished people off, in their own style.
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
“What’s your preferred point of entry?”
“I don’t really have a preference, there are only three options, after all. It depends on the client.”
“Only three? It doesn’t get boring sticking to the same monotony? Don’t you ever want to spice things up a bit?”
“Well I did try the ear once, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for either me or the client.”
“I can see that, but I don’t know why you place so much emphasis on the client, it's just a job, after all.”
“It has everything to do with the client. How am I to be hired again should I not perform my job to satisfaction?”
“Sometimes it's just dirty, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Now I’ll drink to that. You said you felt there were more options, do tell.”
“Do you want a whole list? I mean, agreed, the throat is always reliable, but the torso is also an effective finisher.”
“Finisher? How long do your encounters typically last?”
“Oh, not long at all. If I do my job right, a few seconds. You?”
“That’s terrible low stamina, I may have had a client finish in a few seconds one, but I’ve done hours before.”
“Hours? Dear God! With only three entry points? How much do you make them suffer?”
“Oh, only if they’re into that sort of thing. I have had to work on my whip skills recently, I have a regular who really loves lashings.”
“Oh, what an interesting weapon of choice. And regular? What is this cat and mouse bullshit? A job is a job, get paid and move on with your life. We have to face regular society in the morning.”
“Oh, I don’t often see my clients outside of my work, if that’s what you mean. Yes, my face does become more recognized if I’ve seen them on more than one occasion, but few ever believe them.”
“You’re that confident? You don’t even wear a mask? It sounds like this is your life, not just a job.”
“It’s by necessity, same as you. So you’ve never encountered a client more than once?”
“I never miss.”
“I suppose that should be ample reason for them to come back.”
“By clients, do you mean the targets or the one paying you?”
“They are often two different people? I’ve only had that a few times, for bachelor parties and whatnot.”
“You do your work in a public area? Good lord, no mask, multiple encounters, you better be careful. And how could they be the same? People are placing targets on their own backs? Well, I guess if it is more of a cat and mouse situation I suppose they get their money’s worth. Probably some bored rich fools who want to see if they still got moves.”
“Oh tell me about it. They always think they’re so high and mighty and then they’re out in minutes. They pay well though, can’t complain.”
“The pay’s the only reason I’m in this job.”
“Of course, we lead this life from circumstance. You said it was an unusual weapon of choice, but I find the whip used quite commonly, what do you use?”
“Knives, handguns, rifles, anything that leaves a mark.”
“Rifles?! Oh lord… they aren’t actually loaded are they? Just those bayonet things I assume? Are these those same rich people who do this… cat and mouse roleplay you’ve mentioned a few times?”
“Roleplay? What fucked up shit are you involved with? As I said, I do the job, and then moved on. I don’t dress up and I only play one part. And of course, the rifles are loaded, I don’t just use knives, bullets get the job done much faster.”
“Hey! Roleplay is quite common, don’t kink shame! What the hell do you mean they’re loaded? You said I was involved in some fucked up shit, but yours is the fuckiest, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I thought we were getting along there for a bit, but it appears our worlds, even as similar as they seem, are much too different.”
“Kink shame… what in the world… I knew they were some sadist freak. Hours killing a victim, what the hell kind of twisted mind do you have to have to pull something like that off.”
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
I'd been watching the woman in red for a while now and it had only taken me about half an hour to realise that she was likely in the same line of work as me. In films assassins are ugly, disfigured or tattooed all over but in reality the people who suit it best often fall into one of two different appearances. Either they are average, so incredibly average that you could see them every day for a year and still struggle to describe them, or they are so breathtakingly attractive that people let their guard down around them. The woman in red was definitely, completely the second of these types.
_____
The well dressed man in the corner had been watching me almost since I'd arrived. I'm very much used to it - first they take a good look at me, think I'm pretty, admire the view. Then some point after that they start to put together little pieces of information; I'm alone, it's a revealing dress, bars like this often have escorts, etc. But even then, you can't just *ask* someone if they're a hooker, can you? What if I'm not? What if I am, but that breaks some kinda unknown etiquette? So in the end, I generally have to make the first move.
_____
After ordering herself another drink the woman in red approached my booth. Either she has decided for certain that her mark is a no-show or she thinks I'm the one she's meant to kill and that, that could be very interesting.
"May I join you?" She asked and I nodded my agreement.
"My name's Tessa." She offered, briefly resting her purse on the table as she shuffled across.
The purse was only there for a second before she placed it back by her side but it was more than enough time for me to glance inside.
"I'm John. Nice gun you've got there."
Tessa smiled.
"Well, line of work I'm in it's a useful thing to have. Just in-"
"Yeah," I said, interrupting without meaning to, "I think we're in the same line of work."
______
I'd only said 'in my line of work' so he had an easy way to ask what I did but as soon as John said that he was an escort too, I felt a little silly for not considering it. This bar is a known place for business men to pick up a little bit of after hours entertainment and John certainly had the looks to be successful. Truth be told, I haven't met a massive amount of male escorts and the ones I have are a little more showy but if you wanted to get fucked by James Bond, John would be perfect.
"Oh." I said and then started to laugh. "Of course we are. You working tonight then?"
"Nope. Not for a while, actually. Bit of a holiday. You?"
I gestured around the bar.
"I thought so but look. All groups and couples." I thought about it. "Not that I haven't done couples, but it has to be the *right* couple, you know?"
_____
I did know. It was very rare that there was a contract for a couple but what happened a little more often was that it didn't really matter if the mark's partner ended up dead or not. And sometimes it's just easier that way and I have to admit that on occasions where the spouse was as messed up as the mark, my trigger finger gets a little itchier on those nights. What Tessa said next though completely threw me.
"Hm, and I guess it's not like I've never done a group either."
Who the hell gets a contract for a whole group? Either it was just that we operated in very different circles or Tessa was considerably better at her job than I am.
"You must be good." I said, just to fill the silence. "Can't say I've ever done a group."
Tessa shrugged as she took another sip of her drink.
"Different clients want different things I guess. And I'm guessing we work with pretty different people. I'm sure you have excellent selling points of your own."
You don't really meet coworkers too often in this line of work so I found myself suddenly falling over myself to impress Tessa.
"Yeah, I'm not bad. I'm discreet and I'm very, very quick. Nothing gets dragged out with me."
_____
I was sipping my whiskey again as John spoke so when he said the word 'quick' it was an effort not to splutter. Discreet makes sense but *quick?* I've never had a client ask if we could somehow take less time and I can't say that it's something I've ever wanted either.
"How... nice for you." I said, but not overly convincingly and he instantly noticed. "Sorry, it's just not something that's ever been requested of me, to speed things along. Different clients, as I said. Most of mine seem to think that more time means they got more of their money's worth, I find."
John looked confused.
"You make it last longer than it needs to?"
"Well, that's a matter of perspective. I make it last however long the client wants. Not to mention, sometimes there are requests for things that aren't super fast. You know, whips, handcuffs, et cetera."
_____
I'm not naive, I knew that whilst most assassins are contracted just to kill there are those who deal with requests that include torture. But they're a rare breed and I honestly didn't think I'd ever meet one. But here Tessa was, talking about drawn out deaths and whipping her marks in an easy, carefree manner that left me reeling.
"Is that all in a day's work for you?"
She laughed.
"Of course! Do you seriously never get requests like that?"
"No. They generally want me fast, discreet and invisible."
Tessa looked at me sympathetically.
"Oh, it's like that. People's attitudes about this are so backwards sometimes."
"I guess?" I said, although I really didn't quite know what she meant. "I think perhaps you have a different experience, maybe you're just recommended for people who want the weird stuff."
She bristled at this and drew back away from me ever so slightly.
"It's not like that. Very little of what I do is 'weird' and frankly I think that's a very backwards term for someone like you to be using anyway. Most times it's just fucking."
_____
John looked at me strangely.
"You have sex with all of them?"
The question threw me for a loop.
"Well I guess technically not all, sometimes a client realises that's not what they really want or..." I trailed off as I realised what he meant. "You don't at all, do you? Shit, you aren't an escort."
John laughed so hard the table shook and after the increasing levels of unease that laughter was infectious. Soon, I was giggling alongside him, both of us breaking into fresh bouts of laughter whenever we met the other's eyes.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything - I just thought you were like me. You're probably awesome as an escort."
"Hey, what is it *you* thought we both did then? What's your job?"
John smirked.
"Librarian?" He suggested and then shook his head when it was clear I was having none of it.
"Nah, sorry. I'm a hitman. I kill people for money."
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
"oh by now, I don't know there are so many"
"It's okay, you can tell me. I won't judge."
" Well probably several hundred"
"Several hundred? I can't believe it."
"Well it's not like I want too do more, and I've only been working the city for 3 years." Ahem. "Besides, with your experience I'm sure you've got a higher total than me."
"Actually, I've only got the one."
"One? How could you even sit here and talk to me about this. You can't understand what it's like to have this life."
"It was the president."
"Oh."
"Want another drink?"
"Sure"
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Cristina almost spat her beer.
—A hundred? —they were both 23, they had already discussed that— How long have you been in it?
She became an assasin when she was 20, and had killed 52 people.
—Three years. When my parents found out I liked women they cut me off, so I needed the money to pay for college.
Addison was very proud of her job, being an escort is not easy.
—And do you still talk to them?
—Nah. They can go to hell, if they are right I´'ll meet them there.
—Well, according to religion our job is pretty sinful —Cristina joked. But she was calculating her next move.
—I literally don't give a fuck —she answered starting to play with her red hair.
Cristina smiled, she liked her. If Addison was also an assasin she would be way harder to kill. Unless, she could get her to go with her to a room.
​
//English is my secong language, and I feel like I used the words "she" and "her" way too much, I'm sorry
|
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Andrew was a small boy with blond hair, his soft traits making him look younger, his féminine frame was delicate yet strong, but, would you deal with his services, you would find a ruthless and unscrupulous man hiding behind the child like face. Of course, none of his clients would never recognise him in the open as the theatrics of his profession were a must to protect his true identity, the make-up and the clothings were there to complement the attire and make good impresion. Of course all this was in the goal of making his client lower their guard, for the greater good he used to say.
Melissa was what we could call a snow-white. She had pale skin and dark raven hair, her red lips were like a flower and her ample bossom danced to her mouvements. Her eyes where her most striking feature. They where a deep green colour that seemed to glow in the darkness. As she walked through the room her beauty would captivate your attention. Her voluptuous courbes and her tight dress called for attention wherever she went. Her way of walking silently even when wearing those delicate high heel of hers, it was as she simply glided across the room. She was beauty and grace incarnated.
Both of them where talking at the bar like old acquintances, as per usual, none of them had alcohol. It mixes bad with their work they said. And oh boy they worked.
"To be fair" said the blond lad "I might take ou 4 or 5 in a calm night, but some hot nights I got up to 7 or 9 clients"
"That's a lot to take in" responded the beauty. I mean I had to take out the whole squad of 20 or more plus the big boss a few times just because some fuck up. But that is something that hapens rarely"
"Indeed that is so fucked up, i cant even fantom how taking on 20 guys or more one one night. Just the tough makes me shrudder" responded Andrew.
"Oh, they aren't always men you know. I am sure you too, sometimes you get fucked by some random chick that think they are tougher. Fuck. I even had to dance with some children once. That was the hardest.." said Melissa with a dark tone.
"Wow, that's even more disgusting." I have never taken upon children. Women, its another matter. Lots of women are into it, you know, it hapens once or twice in a night, but I never take out children." Said Andrew morose.
"A job is a job" shrugged Melissa, her curly hair dancing to the mouvement of her shoulders. "Come on. I know you too had to do some nasty stuff. It's part of the job. Some clients want it to go smooth some want violence and some want it silently"
"Well, yeah, nasty stuff is sadly always the norm. More so since my usual audience are old decrepit men high atop their Emperium." I ussualy portray myself as a child you know, sometimes a little boy,a lot of times a girl. Is what they want after all."
"What!? Man that.. that is really fucked up" I tought I was the worst of our kind but you just took the crown" said the shocked Melissa.
"Well, better be me that a real child you know. The kind of experiences our work line brings aren't for those kindred souls. So lets get our hands dirty and bloody instead of theirs"
"Well. In that I agree whole hardly" said Melissa, rising her orange juice to toast.
"To keep children from the sex work environment" said Andrew, his feminine face brightly smiling.
"Wait. Sex work?"
|
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Maria eyed off the distance, trying to materialise a figure to Sophia's question.
'I've lost count, well into the hundreds.'
Sophia nodded, sipping her gin and tonic. She could see it, a beautiful older woman such as her would still be popular with gentleman. Hell, even younger men would want to tussle with her.
'So no figure, but surely some memorable ones?'
'Oh yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I recall one in particular. I'd just finished a man off when his wife walked in.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'No way! What'd you do?'
'What do you think? Did the same to her then left.'
Sophia loved that she'd swing both ways.
'Guess that marriage didn't last.'
'Ended quicker than I finished him off.'
They shared a laugh, Sophia still admiring Maria's graceful aging.
'I've ended a few marriages too. Caught in the act in hot tubs, hotel rooms, the marital bedrooms.'
'And you're still not in jail?' Maria now the one in shock. 'That's sloppy work. You want to be in this business as long as I have you'll need to finesse your skills.'
'I guess nobody wants to air their dirty laundry. Besides, I don't mind it sloppy.' Remarked Sophia with a sly wink.
'Each to their own I suppose.'
They clinked glasses downed their drinks and went about their not so dissimilar lives, given they both finished people off, in their own style.
|
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
“What’s your preferred point of entry?”
“I don’t really have a preference, there are only three options, after all. It depends on the client.”
“Only three? It doesn’t get boring sticking to the same monotony? Don’t you ever want to spice things up a bit?”
“Well I did try the ear once, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for either me or the client.”
“I can see that, but I don’t know why you place so much emphasis on the client, it's just a job, after all.”
“It has everything to do with the client. How am I to be hired again should I not perform my job to satisfaction?”
“Sometimes it's just dirty, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Now I’ll drink to that. You said you felt there were more options, do tell.”
“Do you want a whole list? I mean, agreed, the throat is always reliable, but the torso is also an effective finisher.”
“Finisher? How long do your encounters typically last?”
“Oh, not long at all. If I do my job right, a few seconds. You?”
“That’s terrible low stamina, I may have had a client finish in a few seconds one, but I’ve done hours before.”
“Hours? Dear God! With only three entry points? How much do you make them suffer?”
“Oh, only if they’re into that sort of thing. I have had to work on my whip skills recently, I have a regular who really loves lashings.”
“Oh, what an interesting weapon of choice. And regular? What is this cat and mouse bullshit? A job is a job, get paid and move on with your life. We have to face regular society in the morning.”
“Oh, I don’t often see my clients outside of my work, if that’s what you mean. Yes, my face does become more recognized if I’ve seen them on more than one occasion, but few ever believe them.”
“You’re that confident? You don’t even wear a mask? It sounds like this is your life, not just a job.”
“It’s by necessity, same as you. So you’ve never encountered a client more than once?”
“I never miss.”
“I suppose that should be ample reason for them to come back.”
“By clients, do you mean the targets or the one paying you?”
“They are often two different people? I’ve only had that a few times, for bachelor parties and whatnot.”
“You do your work in a public area? Good lord, no mask, multiple encounters, you better be careful. And how could they be the same? People are placing targets on their own backs? Well, I guess if it is more of a cat and mouse situation I suppose they get their money’s worth. Probably some bored rich fools who want to see if they still got moves.”
“Oh tell me about it. They always think they’re so high and mighty and then they’re out in minutes. They pay well though, can’t complain.”
“The pay’s the only reason I’m in this job.”
“Of course, we lead this life from circumstance. You said it was an unusual weapon of choice, but I find the whip used quite commonly, what do you use?”
“Knives, handguns, rifles, anything that leaves a mark.”
“Rifles?! Oh lord… they aren’t actually loaded are they? Just those bayonet things I assume? Are these those same rich people who do this… cat and mouse roleplay you’ve mentioned a few times?”
“Roleplay? What fucked up shit are you involved with? As I said, I do the job, and then moved on. I don’t dress up and I only play one part. And of course, the rifles are loaded, I don’t just use knives, bullets get the job done much faster.”
“Hey! Roleplay is quite common, don’t kink shame! What the hell do you mean they’re loaded? You said I was involved in some fucked up shit, but yours is the fuckiest, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I thought we were getting along there for a bit, but it appears our worlds, even as similar as they seem, are much too different.”
“Kink shame… what in the world… I knew they were some sadist freak. Hours killing a victim, what the hell kind of twisted mind do you have to have to pull something like that off.”
|
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Andrew was a small boy with blond hair, his soft traits making him look younger, his féminine frame was delicate yet strong, but, would you deal with his services, you would find a ruthless and unscrupulous man hiding behind the child like face. Of course, none of his clients would never recognise him in the open as the theatrics of his profession were a must to protect his true identity, the make-up and the clothings were there to complement the attire and make good impresion. Of course all this was in the goal of making his client lower their guard, for the greater good he used to say.
Melissa was what we could call a snow-white. She had pale skin and dark raven hair, her red lips were like a flower and her ample bossom danced to her mouvements. Her eyes where her most striking feature. They where a deep green colour that seemed to glow in the darkness. As she walked through the room her beauty would captivate your attention. Her voluptuous courbes and her tight dress called for attention wherever she went. Her way of walking silently even when wearing those delicate high heel of hers, it was as she simply glided across the room. She was beauty and grace incarnated.
Both of them where talking at the bar like old acquintances, as per usual, none of them had alcohol. It mixes bad with their work they said. And oh boy they worked.
"To be fair" said the blond lad "I might take ou 4 or 5 in a calm night, but some hot nights I got up to 7 or 9 clients"
"That's a lot to take in" responded the beauty. I mean I had to take out the whole squad of 20 or more plus the big boss a few times just because some fuck up. But that is something that hapens rarely"
"Indeed that is so fucked up, i cant even fantom how taking on 20 guys or more one one night. Just the tough makes me shrudder" responded Andrew.
"Oh, they aren't always men you know. I am sure you too, sometimes you get fucked by some random chick that think they are tougher. Fuck. I even had to dance with some children once. That was the hardest.." said Melissa with a dark tone.
"Wow, that's even more disgusting." I have never taken upon children. Women, its another matter. Lots of women are into it, you know, it hapens once or twice in a night, but I never take out children." Said Andrew morose.
"A job is a job" shrugged Melissa, her curly hair dancing to the mouvement of her shoulders. "Come on. I know you too had to do some nasty stuff. It's part of the job. Some clients want it to go smooth some want violence and some want it silently"
"Well, yeah, nasty stuff is sadly always the norm. More so since my usual audience are old decrepit men high atop their Emperium." I ussualy portray myself as a child you know, sometimes a little boy,a lot of times a girl. Is what they want after all."
"What!? Man that.. that is really fucked up" I tought I was the worst of our kind but you just took the crown" said the shocked Melissa.
"Well, better be me that a real child you know. The kind of experiences our work line brings aren't for those kindred souls. So lets get our hands dirty and bloody instead of theirs"
"Well. In that I agree whole hardly" said Melissa, rising her orange juice to toast.
"To keep children from the sex work environment" said Andrew, his feminine face brightly smiling.
"Wait. Sex work?"
|
Cristina almost spat her beer.
—A hundred? —they were both 23, they had already discussed that— How long have you been in it?
She became an assasin when she was 20, and had killed 52 people.
—Three years. When my parents found out I liked women they cut me off, so I needed the money to pay for college.
Addison was very proud of her job, being an escort is not easy.
—And do you still talk to them?
—Nah. They can go to hell, if they are right I´'ll meet them there.
—Well, according to religion our job is pretty sinful —Cristina joked. But she was calculating her next move.
—I literally don't give a fuck —she answered starting to play with her red hair.
Cristina smiled, she liked her. If Addison was also an assasin she would be way harder to kill. Unless, she could get her to go with her to a room.
​
//English is my secong language, and I feel like I used the words "she" and "her" way too much, I'm sorry
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
Cristina almost spat her beer.
—A hundred? —they were both 23, they had already discussed that— How long have you been in it?
She became an assasin when she was 20, and had killed 52 people.
—Three years. When my parents found out I liked women they cut me off, so I needed the money to pay for college.
Addison was very proud of her job, being an escort is not easy.
—And do you still talk to them?
—Nah. They can go to hell, if they are right I´'ll meet them there.
—Well, according to religion our job is pretty sinful —Cristina joked. But she was calculating her next move.
—I literally don't give a fuck —she answered starting to play with her red hair.
Cristina smiled, she liked her. If Addison was also an assasin she would be way harder to kill. Unless, she could get her to go with her to a room.
​
//English is my secong language, and I feel like I used the words "she" and "her" way too much, I'm sorry
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Maria eyed off the distance, trying to materialise a figure to Sophia's question.
'I've lost count, well into the hundreds.'
Sophia nodded, sipping her gin and tonic. She could see it, a beautiful older woman such as her would still be popular with gentleman. Hell, even younger men would want to tussle with her.
'So no figure, but surely some memorable ones?'
'Oh yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I recall one in particular. I'd just finished a man off when his wife walked in.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'No way! What'd you do?'
'What do you think? Did the same to her then left.'
Sophia loved that she'd swing both ways.
'Guess that marriage didn't last.'
'Ended quicker than I finished him off.'
They shared a laugh, Sophia still admiring Maria's graceful aging.
'I've ended a few marriages too. Caught in the act in hot tubs, hotel rooms, the marital bedrooms.'
'And you're still not in jail?' Maria now the one in shock. 'That's sloppy work. You want to be in this business as long as I have you'll need to finesse your skills.'
'I guess nobody wants to air their dirty laundry. Besides, I don't mind it sloppy.' Remarked Sophia with a sly wink.
'Each to their own I suppose.'
They clinked glasses downed their drinks and went about their not so dissimilar lives, given they both finished people off, in their own style.
|
Cristina almost spat her beer.
—A hundred? —they were both 23, they had already discussed that— How long have you been in it?
She became an assasin when she was 20, and had killed 52 people.
—Three years. When my parents found out I liked women they cut me off, so I needed the money to pay for college.
Addison was very proud of her job, being an escort is not easy.
—And do you still talk to them?
—Nah. They can go to hell, if they are right I´'ll meet them there.
—Well, according to religion our job is pretty sinful —Cristina joked. But she was calculating her next move.
—I literally don't give a fuck —she answered starting to play with her red hair.
Cristina smiled, she liked her. If Addison was also an assasin she would be way harder to kill. Unless, she could get her to go with her to a room.
​
//English is my secong language, and I feel like I used the words "she" and "her" way too much, I'm sorry
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
Cristina almost spat her beer.
—A hundred? —they were both 23, they had already discussed that— How long have you been in it?
She became an assasin when she was 20, and had killed 52 people.
—Three years. When my parents found out I liked women they cut me off, so I needed the money to pay for college.
Addison was very proud of her job, being an escort is not easy.
—And do you still talk to them?
—Nah. They can go to hell, if they are right I´'ll meet them there.
—Well, according to religion our job is pretty sinful —Cristina joked. But she was calculating her next move.
—I literally don't give a fuck —she answered starting to play with her red hair.
Cristina smiled, she liked her. If Addison was also an assasin she would be way harder to kill. Unless, she could get her to go with her to a room.
​
//English is my secong language, and I feel like I used the words "she" and "her" way too much, I'm sorry
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
|
Andrew was a small boy with blond hair, his soft traits making him look younger, his féminine frame was delicate yet strong, but, would you deal with his services, you would find a ruthless and unscrupulous man hiding behind the child like face. Of course, none of his clients would never recognise him in the open as the theatrics of his profession were a must to protect his true identity, the make-up and the clothings were there to complement the attire and make good impresion. Of course all this was in the goal of making his client lower their guard, for the greater good he used to say.
Melissa was what we could call a snow-white. She had pale skin and dark raven hair, her red lips were like a flower and her ample bossom danced to her mouvements. Her eyes where her most striking feature. They where a deep green colour that seemed to glow in the darkness. As she walked through the room her beauty would captivate your attention. Her voluptuous courbes and her tight dress called for attention wherever she went. Her way of walking silently even when wearing those delicate high heel of hers, it was as she simply glided across the room. She was beauty and grace incarnated.
Both of them where talking at the bar like old acquintances, as per usual, none of them had alcohol. It mixes bad with their work they said. And oh boy they worked.
"To be fair" said the blond lad "I might take ou 4 or 5 in a calm night, but some hot nights I got up to 7 or 9 clients"
"That's a lot to take in" responded the beauty. I mean I had to take out the whole squad of 20 or more plus the big boss a few times just because some fuck up. But that is something that hapens rarely"
"Indeed that is so fucked up, i cant even fantom how taking on 20 guys or more one one night. Just the tough makes me shrudder" responded Andrew.
"Oh, they aren't always men you know. I am sure you too, sometimes you get fucked by some random chick that think they are tougher. Fuck. I even had to dance with some children once. That was the hardest.." said Melissa with a dark tone.
"Wow, that's even more disgusting." I have never taken upon children. Women, its another matter. Lots of women are into it, you know, it hapens once or twice in a night, but I never take out children." Said Andrew morose.
"A job is a job" shrugged Melissa, her curly hair dancing to the mouvement of her shoulders. "Come on. I know you too had to do some nasty stuff. It's part of the job. Some clients want it to go smooth some want violence and some want it silently"
"Well, yeah, nasty stuff is sadly always the norm. More so since my usual audience are old decrepit men high atop their Emperium." I ussualy portray myself as a child you know, sometimes a little boy,a lot of times a girl. Is what they want after all."
"What!? Man that.. that is really fucked up" I tought I was the worst of our kind but you just took the crown" said the shocked Melissa.
"Well, better be me that a real child you know. The kind of experiences our work line brings aren't for those kindred souls. So lets get our hands dirty and bloody instead of theirs"
"Well. In that I agree whole hardly" said Melissa, rising her orange juice to toast.
"To keep children from the sex work environment" said Andrew, his feminine face brightly smiling.
"Wait. Sex work?"
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
Maria eyed off the distance, trying to materialise a figure to Sophia's question.
'I've lost count, well into the hundreds.'
Sophia nodded, sipping her gin and tonic. She could see it, a beautiful older woman such as her would still be popular with gentleman. Hell, even younger men would want to tussle with her.
'So no figure, but surely some memorable ones?'
'Oh yes, but not for the reasons you may think. I recall one in particular. I'd just finished a man off when his wife walked in.'
Sophia's eyes widened. 'No way! What'd you do?'
'What do you think? Did the same to her then left.'
Sophia loved that she'd swing both ways.
'Guess that marriage didn't last.'
'Ended quicker than I finished him off.'
They shared a laugh, Sophia still admiring Maria's graceful aging.
'I've ended a few marriages too. Caught in the act in hot tubs, hotel rooms, the marital bedrooms.'
'And you're still not in jail?' Maria now the one in shock. 'That's sloppy work. You want to be in this business as long as I have you'll need to finesse your skills.'
'I guess nobody wants to air their dirty laundry. Besides, I don't mind it sloppy.' Remarked Sophia with a sly wink.
'Each to their own I suppose.'
They clinked glasses downed their drinks and went about their not so dissimilar lives, given they both finished people off, in their own style.
|
Andrew was a small boy with blond hair, his soft traits making him look younger, his féminine frame was delicate yet strong, but, would you deal with his services, you would find a ruthless and unscrupulous man hiding behind the child like face. Of course, none of his clients would never recognise him in the open as the theatrics of his profession were a must to protect his true identity, the make-up and the clothings were there to complement the attire and make good impresion. Of course all this was in the goal of making his client lower their guard, for the greater good he used to say.
Melissa was what we could call a snow-white. She had pale skin and dark raven hair, her red lips were like a flower and her ample bossom danced to her mouvements. Her eyes where her most striking feature. They where a deep green colour that seemed to glow in the darkness. As she walked through the room her beauty would captivate your attention. Her voluptuous courbes and her tight dress called for attention wherever she went. Her way of walking silently even when wearing those delicate high heel of hers, it was as she simply glided across the room. She was beauty and grace incarnated.
Both of them where talking at the bar like old acquintances, as per usual, none of them had alcohol. It mixes bad with their work they said. And oh boy they worked.
"To be fair" said the blond lad "I might take ou 4 or 5 in a calm night, but some hot nights I got up to 7 or 9 clients"
"That's a lot to take in" responded the beauty. I mean I had to take out the whole squad of 20 or more plus the big boss a few times just because some fuck up. But that is something that hapens rarely"
"Indeed that is so fucked up, i cant even fantom how taking on 20 guys or more one one night. Just the tough makes me shrudder" responded Andrew.
"Oh, they aren't always men you know. I am sure you too, sometimes you get fucked by some random chick that think they are tougher. Fuck. I even had to dance with some children once. That was the hardest.." said Melissa with a dark tone.
"Wow, that's even more disgusting." I have never taken upon children. Women, its another matter. Lots of women are into it, you know, it hapens once or twice in a night, but I never take out children." Said Andrew morose.
"A job is a job" shrugged Melissa, her curly hair dancing to the mouvement of her shoulders. "Come on. I know you too had to do some nasty stuff. It's part of the job. Some clients want it to go smooth some want violence and some want it silently"
"Well, yeah, nasty stuff is sadly always the norm. More so since my usual audience are old decrepit men high atop their Emperium." I ussualy portray myself as a child you know, sometimes a little boy,a lot of times a girl. Is what they want after all."
"What!? Man that.. that is really fucked up" I tought I was the worst of our kind but you just took the crown" said the shocked Melissa.
"Well, better be me that a real child you know. The kind of experiences our work line brings aren't for those kindred souls. So lets get our hands dirty and bloody instead of theirs"
"Well. In that I agree whole hardly" said Melissa, rising her orange juice to toast.
"To keep children from the sex work environment" said Andrew, his feminine face brightly smiling.
"Wait. Sex work?"
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
"So... uhm... you said over 60, right?" Jane asked after sipping her cocktail.
Lucy, on her side, nodded.
"Yeah, you know, the usual. I mean having more than 60 is not a big deal. I think my personal record is 67 but not sure about it. You know some clients are just boring to deal with. Like the one I had this morning "
Lucy paused and closed her eyes thinking about the old man in the hotel room falling asleep just after getting the erection. At least he paid her.
Jane, on the other hand, finished her beer and asked for another.
"My count " she said when the beer arrived "is only 57"
"Still a good number " Lucy said. "Do you set up rules or not?"
"Oh yes I do: never with people who have children "
Lucy jumped on her chiar.
"What?"
"Yeah, if they have children, I don't do the job. And women are out as well."
"How can you reach such a high number if you avoid people with children?"
Lucy was horrified.
Jane drank before reply.
She was still thinking about the old lonley man in the hotel room where she slashed his troath. That poor guy who bagged her, who just loved to spend his dirty money with prostitutes even if he could not make love like before. And that was the main reason his ex wife wanted him death.
"So I assume, you take people with children " Jane finally said.
"Of course! People with families are actually my main clients! I would not make a living without them!"
It was time for Jane to be horrified.
Lucy noticed and felt bad.
"Look this conversation is taking a wierd turn. Shall we start off again?" The escort asked.
"Good idea" the assassin replyed sipping her beer.
|
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
“What’s your preferred point of entry?”
“I don’t really have a preference, there are only three options, after all. It depends on the client.”
“Only three? It doesn’t get boring sticking to the same monotony? Don’t you ever want to spice things up a bit?”
“Well I did try the ear once, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience for either me or the client.”
“I can see that, but I don’t know why you place so much emphasis on the client, it's just a job, after all.”
“It has everything to do with the client. How am I to be hired again should I not perform my job to satisfaction?”
“Sometimes it's just dirty, but I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Now I’ll drink to that. You said you felt there were more options, do tell.”
“Do you want a whole list? I mean, agreed, the throat is always reliable, but the torso is also an effective finisher.”
“Finisher? How long do your encounters typically last?”
“Oh, not long at all. If I do my job right, a few seconds. You?”
“That’s terrible low stamina, I may have had a client finish in a few seconds one, but I’ve done hours before.”
“Hours? Dear God! With only three entry points? How much do you make them suffer?”
“Oh, only if they’re into that sort of thing. I have had to work on my whip skills recently, I have a regular who really loves lashings.”
“Oh, what an interesting weapon of choice. And regular? What is this cat and mouse bullshit? A job is a job, get paid and move on with your life. We have to face regular society in the morning.”
“Oh, I don’t often see my clients outside of my work, if that’s what you mean. Yes, my face does become more recognized if I’ve seen them on more than one occasion, but few ever believe them.”
“You’re that confident? You don’t even wear a mask? It sounds like this is your life, not just a job.”
“It’s by necessity, same as you. So you’ve never encountered a client more than once?”
“I never miss.”
“I suppose that should be ample reason for them to come back.”
“By clients, do you mean the targets or the one paying you?”
“They are often two different people? I’ve only had that a few times, for bachelor parties and whatnot.”
“You do your work in a public area? Good lord, no mask, multiple encounters, you better be careful. And how could they be the same? People are placing targets on their own backs? Well, I guess if it is more of a cat and mouse situation I suppose they get their money’s worth. Probably some bored rich fools who want to see if they still got moves.”
“Oh tell me about it. They always think they’re so high and mighty and then they’re out in minutes. They pay well though, can’t complain.”
“The pay’s the only reason I’m in this job.”
“Of course, we lead this life from circumstance. You said it was an unusual weapon of choice, but I find the whip used quite commonly, what do you use?”
“Knives, handguns, rifles, anything that leaves a mark.”
“Rifles?! Oh lord… they aren’t actually loaded are they? Just those bayonet things I assume? Are these those same rich people who do this… cat and mouse roleplay you’ve mentioned a few times?”
“Roleplay? What fucked up shit are you involved with? As I said, I do the job, and then moved on. I don’t dress up and I only play one part. And of course, the rifles are loaded, I don’t just use knives, bullets get the job done much faster.”
“Hey! Roleplay is quite common, don’t kink shame! What the hell do you mean they’re loaded? You said I was involved in some fucked up shit, but yours is the fuckiest, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I thought we were getting along there for a bit, but it appears our worlds, even as similar as they seem, are much too different.”
“Kink shame… what in the world… I knew they were some sadist freak. Hours killing a victim, what the hell kind of twisted mind do you have to have to pull something like that off.”
|
"So... uhm... you said over 60, right?" Jane asked after sipping her cocktail.
Lucy, on her side, nodded.
"Yeah, you know, the usual. I mean having more than 60 is not a big deal. I think my personal record is 67 but not sure about it. You know some clients are just boring to deal with. Like the one I had this morning "
Lucy paused and closed her eyes thinking about the old man in the hotel room falling asleep just after getting the erection. At least he paid her.
Jane, on the other hand, finished her beer and asked for another.
"My count " she said when the beer arrived "is only 57"
"Still a good number " Lucy said. "Do you set up rules or not?"
"Oh yes I do: never with people who have children "
Lucy jumped on her chiar.
"What?"
"Yeah, if they have children, I don't do the job. And women are out as well."
"How can you reach such a high number if you avoid people with children?"
Lucy was horrified.
Jane drank before reply.
She was still thinking about the old lonley man in the hotel room where she slashed his troath. That poor guy who bagged her, who just loved to spend his dirty money with prostitutes even if he could not make love like before. And that was the main reason his ex wife wanted him death.
"So I assume, you take people with children " Jane finally said.
"Of course! People with families are actually my main clients! I would not make a living without them!"
It was time for Jane to be horrified.
Lucy noticed and felt bad.
"Look this conversation is taking a wierd turn. Shall we start off again?" The escort asked.
"Good idea" the assassin replyed sipping her beer.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
Never in my life did i think I'd actually look like my age. Yet here i was, standing and mentally evaluating myself. Nothing had changed. But i only knew. I was literally sixteen.
Stumped at this, i glanced out the window to see a wrinkly baby staring at me, gawking at my unchanged features. He frowned at me, crawled off my AC unit and waddled away, whining for something.
But was there a chance this has only affected the south? Was everyone up north okay? Unable to resist my curiosity, i dialed him only to see his name pop up. Hesitant, my finger hovered before swiping to answer. "Hello? Dad?"
"You sound like you haven't changed. What's going on? Your niece and nephew are having to babysit your sister and mom and they won't let me leave the house! What's happening? How old are you?"
"Uh, Dad, how old are you?" I dared to inquire.
"I'm five again! I'm lucky i could even answer the phone! Your mother is older than me by two years and your sister is close to their age. How old are you??"
"I think I'm sixteen. But my older neighbor has gone back to his baby years. I'm scared to call Larry because I don't know if I'll get an answer. I wanted to check on you first."
"Oh, by the way, your friends are coming over to watch after us so we don't get taken by CPS. Emmy and Abby? Do you still talk to them?"
"Yes, i do, Dad. Emmy texted me saying she's now forty years old and doesn't think that Abby should be older. Anna is sixty. Evan went back to being ten years old though. Now, i gotta call my friends and make sure they're alive."
Despite his begging, i eventually got off the phone with him and called my friends. My best friend was first. I tentatively listened to the serious conversation between a child and an adult as the phone was answered. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
"Yes, hi, this is Larry. Wow. The tables have turned here. I've had to handle some things here at Callaways. The owner has returned to being a teenager so they're trying to arrest her for fraudulent charges. On top of that, Garrett is running around, banging a spoon on all the furniture. I guess that's his way of throwing a fit, i don't know. How old are you? You sound like you haven't changed a bit! But i feel great! I'm back to being 58 again. There are a few teenagers we've never met, but mostly been an emergency situation as we had to fly in adult EMTs. There are too many fetuses - fetii? I don't know - and i was kinda shocked especially after seeing those poster boards they held up not too long ago protesting fetuses.
"The whole country is running amok, trying to bring in all those babies to safe incubators before they're ready. I called in Mike and Mandy and they're on their way to calm things down. The mayor of the town has since abdicated his position as his city council are all babies if not fetuses. The oldest person in town to run this joint is thirteen and he called me in to take his place. I turned it down because I have enough to do. So your two friends are running this town now."
"What about Mike's friend?"
"Well, he is trying to find a group of people who are willing to have a city council. By the way, Trump is president again despite being a toddler as the whole government are all infants or fetuses. These hospitals are bursting at the seams with so many so-called unborn babies!"
"Okay, so what about Mike and Mandy? How old are they?"
"They're all about my age and the fire department is trying to help the police resolve the issue. So we have teenagers running around trying to tell some adult children what to do. When I say children i mean your favorite student is having to babysit her family as well as some others who are supposed to be ten or eleven."
With that, my brain just wanted to shut down. I already had my landlady trying to climb the roof. I heard a knock at the door and opened to see a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. Leaving Larry to his business, i stared at the woman who asked, "Do you remember me? I'm your grandma. Come on, i need your help to round up my children and grandchildren."
"Gammy, how old are you?"
"Oh, well, you know how I've always told you that i just feel sixteen! It's true again!"
|
I wake up as usual. This was going to be a long day. My neighbor and I have been fighting forever. I hate him so much! I am not looking forward to today at ALL. This is the day he threatened to blow up my house. Part of me knows he's not going to though, he says stuff like that all the time and h never has. I get a notification on my phone: 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙. 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨. 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣. I look in my mirror, I... Am the same? I'm probably gonna be the oldest one here considering I'm 23. I decide to call my neighbor. This isn't gonna go well. He picks up the phone. He's some emo 10 year old. I start laughing.
He's so gonna blow up my house for that once this is over.
Tehe I used some lore from a book I'm working on
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
*I sat and screamed in front of my computer while my family cheered me on. I got into Harvard! I got into Harvard! "Bella!" my mom cried. "Bella!"*
"Bella!"
I woke up to the sight of my mom standing over me.
"Ah!" I screamed, when I saw that she was wrinkly with short, grey hair and a little old ladies nightgown. She's supposed to be forty!
"Wha-what the heck?" I murmured.
"I know, I know, Bella-Baby. Apparently, everyone in the world is being re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. You should go look in the mirror, hon."
She chuckled and walked out of the room. Once I couldn't see her anymore, I ran out of my room to the restroom, and my jaw dropped when I saw myself. I had a huge scrunched up afro, a curvier body, no more acne, and a more noticeable jawline. I looked like I was thirty! How was I going to go back to the seventh grade looking like this?
|
I wake up as usual. This was going to be a long day. My neighbor and I have been fighting forever. I hate him so much! I am not looking forward to today at ALL. This is the day he threatened to blow up my house. Part of me knows he's not going to though, he says stuff like that all the time and h never has. I get a notification on my phone: 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙. 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨. 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣. I look in my mirror, I... Am the same? I'm probably gonna be the oldest one here considering I'm 23. I decide to call my neighbor. This isn't gonna go well. He picks up the phone. He's some emo 10 year old. I start laughing.
He's so gonna blow up my house for that once this is over.
Tehe I used some lore from a book I'm working on
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
When people ask me what kind of person I am, I always stumble. How can one explain their inner personalities so easily? Some are "confident" some are not, some are good at something, some are not, some are "mature" some are "childish", some are evil, some are good, some believe in a thing, some dont... Yet, no one truly follows their ideals. Sometimes people say they're sensitive, but no one can truly empathize with everything and everyone. When it comes to it, being something is way harder than what people make it out to be. Even I, although am saying I cannot describe myself, it is impossible to not choose an identity. Maybe that's why we have these skins. Our virtual bodies. Regardless of who we really are, I've always believed we've created this simulation to be able to believe in an identity.
That's why ever since I'd heard about the RE-ASSIGNMENT I'd been keeping this awkward smile of confusion while checking my watch every other minute for the time to hit 00:00.
I looked at the mirror, trying to imagine how I would actually look like. I wondered whether this awkward smile was childish or mature.
I looked at my watch. Then I kept looking at myself. Then I looked at my watch. Then I looked at myself again. And then I looked at my watch again.
Then I looked at myself. There I was. The lovecraftian monster that I am. The something.
|
I wake up as usual. This was going to be a long day. My neighbor and I have been fighting forever. I hate him so much! I am not looking forward to today at ALL. This is the day he threatened to blow up my house. Part of me knows he's not going to though, he says stuff like that all the time and h never has. I get a notification on my phone: 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙. 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨. 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣. I look in my mirror, I... Am the same? I'm probably gonna be the oldest one here considering I'm 23. I decide to call my neighbor. This isn't gonna go well. He picks up the phone. He's some emo 10 year old. I start laughing.
He's so gonna blow up my house for that once this is over.
Tehe I used some lore from a book I'm working on
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
The shift was the worst thing to ever happened to me
I was a 35 years old mother of one. I married to my abusive husband when I was 18, it was my parents decision to sold me off to continue their lavish life style.
I tried to not birth a child into this hell hole but I slipped, I was pregnant. Despite this, I loved my son and shielded him from my husband.
But when he was 7, he was diagnosed with cancer, he could only live at most, 4 more years. My husband behaviour changed, it wasn't that abusive towards my son before, but now, it was horrifying. Only way to protect him is to never let my husband in the same room as him, my and his body can only take so much.
The shift happened when he was 10. His body shifted to match his mental age, we never could figured out what his age was but his decaying flesh still haunts me. Was it his abusive enviroment that aged him mentally? Or was it his impendinding death? I felt both sad and reliefed when it happened, he was free, forever.
As for me, my age shifted to about 60 to 70 years old while my husband was shifted to his late teen. I could barely defend myself when we were at the same age. Now, I could only wait until he got bored.
My only saving grace is that the shift is constant, everyone's body will always be at their current mental age. Today I am around 90 years old, I hope my mental age will be high enough tomorrow.
***
English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes I may have made in advance
|
I wake up as usual. This was going to be a long day. My neighbor and I have been fighting forever. I hate him so much! I am not looking forward to today at ALL. This is the day he threatened to blow up my house. Part of me knows he's not going to though, he says stuff like that all the time and h never has. I get a notification on my phone: 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙. 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨. 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣. I look in my mirror, I... Am the same? I'm probably gonna be the oldest one here considering I'm 23. I decide to call my neighbor. This isn't gonna go well. He picks up the phone. He's some emo 10 year old. I start laughing.
He's so gonna blow up my house for that once this is over.
Tehe I used some lore from a book I'm working on
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
Never in my life did i think I'd actually look like my age. Yet here i was, standing and mentally evaluating myself. Nothing had changed. But i only knew. I was literally sixteen.
Stumped at this, i glanced out the window to see a wrinkly baby staring at me, gawking at my unchanged features. He frowned at me, crawled off my AC unit and waddled away, whining for something.
But was there a chance this has only affected the south? Was everyone up north okay? Unable to resist my curiosity, i dialed him only to see his name pop up. Hesitant, my finger hovered before swiping to answer. "Hello? Dad?"
"You sound like you haven't changed. What's going on? Your niece and nephew are having to babysit your sister and mom and they won't let me leave the house! What's happening? How old are you?"
"Uh, Dad, how old are you?" I dared to inquire.
"I'm five again! I'm lucky i could even answer the phone! Your mother is older than me by two years and your sister is close to their age. How old are you??"
"I think I'm sixteen. But my older neighbor has gone back to his baby years. I'm scared to call Larry because I don't know if I'll get an answer. I wanted to check on you first."
"Oh, by the way, your friends are coming over to watch after us so we don't get taken by CPS. Emmy and Abby? Do you still talk to them?"
"Yes, i do, Dad. Emmy texted me saying she's now forty years old and doesn't think that Abby should be older. Anna is sixty. Evan went back to being ten years old though. Now, i gotta call my friends and make sure they're alive."
Despite his begging, i eventually got off the phone with him and called my friends. My best friend was first. I tentatively listened to the serious conversation between a child and an adult as the phone was answered. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
"Yes, hi, this is Larry. Wow. The tables have turned here. I've had to handle some things here at Callaways. The owner has returned to being a teenager so they're trying to arrest her for fraudulent charges. On top of that, Garrett is running around, banging a spoon on all the furniture. I guess that's his way of throwing a fit, i don't know. How old are you? You sound like you haven't changed a bit! But i feel great! I'm back to being 58 again. There are a few teenagers we've never met, but mostly been an emergency situation as we had to fly in adult EMTs. There are too many fetuses - fetii? I don't know - and i was kinda shocked especially after seeing those poster boards they held up not too long ago protesting fetuses.
"The whole country is running amok, trying to bring in all those babies to safe incubators before they're ready. I called in Mike and Mandy and they're on their way to calm things down. The mayor of the town has since abdicated his position as his city council are all babies if not fetuses. The oldest person in town to run this joint is thirteen and he called me in to take his place. I turned it down because I have enough to do. So your two friends are running this town now."
"What about Mike's friend?"
"Well, he is trying to find a group of people who are willing to have a city council. By the way, Trump is president again despite being a toddler as the whole government are all infants or fetuses. These hospitals are bursting at the seams with so many so-called unborn babies!"
"Okay, so what about Mike and Mandy? How old are they?"
"They're all about my age and the fire department is trying to help the police resolve the issue. So we have teenagers running around trying to tell some adult children what to do. When I say children i mean your favorite student is having to babysit her family as well as some others who are supposed to be ten or eleven."
With that, my brain just wanted to shut down. I already had my landlady trying to climb the roof. I heard a knock at the door and opened to see a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. Leaving Larry to his business, i stared at the woman who asked, "Do you remember me? I'm your grandma. Come on, i need your help to round up my children and grandchildren."
"Gammy, how old are you?"
"Oh, well, you know how I've always told you that i just feel sixteen! It's true again!"
|
“It’s your turn.” The intern shook his head.
“I already told you I’m not doing that.”
“Look, I hate to pull rank or anything but it will negatively affect your performance review and future here if you keep refusing to be a team player”
The intern - gosh, what was his name again, I really should focus more during the introductions. Josh? I deepened my voice and leaned forward across the desk.
“Look, Josh…”
“I’m John. Look, is there anyone else I can talk to?” He fiddled nervously with his pen. How old could he be? 22? 23? Just out of college. Ambitious. Focused. I remembered those days. And I remember no one cutting me any slack whatsoever.
“… John. I’ve been in your shoes, you might not believe it but it feels like yesterday…”
“Literally, anyone. I’m not gonna take order from a kid. This is ridiculous. And I’m not doing THAT.”
Shit. I thought back to just the other day. Solidly middle management. Master of the office pranks. Fucker of not one but two executive secretaries. I looked over Josh’s, no, John’s, shoulder and my reflection in the window made me wince once again. I desperately tried to tighten my tie but it felt like a noose. I scrubbed my finger against the wispy beginning of a moustache that itched my upper lip.
“Come oooooooon, man.” Shit. My voice broke. A bad one this time. My acne-ridden cheeks burned from embarrassment and I could feel the tears welling up.
“Fuck. Shit. Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to… I mean, Sir. Just find someone else. I don’t even know how to change a diaper.” Well
“We can’t let him sit in his own shit any longer, he’s gonna start crying and it’s all smelly and I don’t want to get fired, Josh, come on man, just this once. Why can’t you just be cool!?”
John put down his pen on the edge of my desk and took off his key card.
“I quit. I am so over this. You know I don’t even get paid, right?”
He was gone before I knew it and I couldn’t help feeling respect for his integrity. Not many interns would have the balls to stand up to me. Well, until I turned 12 again.
I took a deep breath and walked into the corridor. I gagged, knowing what waited beyond the door in front of me. Until yesterday I had never changed a diaper. The shit. The humiliation. What I wouldn’t do for a promotion.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, I know as CEO you are a very busy man, but people are starting to complain about the smell.”
My boss pulled his finger out of his nose and squeeled with joy as he crawled towards me.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
*I sat and screamed in front of my computer while my family cheered me on. I got into Harvard! I got into Harvard! "Bella!" my mom cried. "Bella!"*
"Bella!"
I woke up to the sight of my mom standing over me.
"Ah!" I screamed, when I saw that she was wrinkly with short, grey hair and a little old ladies nightgown. She's supposed to be forty!
"Wha-what the heck?" I murmured.
"I know, I know, Bella-Baby. Apparently, everyone in the world is being re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. You should go look in the mirror, hon."
She chuckled and walked out of the room. Once I couldn't see her anymore, I ran out of my room to the restroom, and my jaw dropped when I saw myself. I had a huge scrunched up afro, a curvier body, no more acne, and a more noticeable jawline. I looked like I was thirty! How was I going to go back to the seventh grade looking like this?
|
“It’s your turn.” The intern shook his head.
“I already told you I’m not doing that.”
“Look, I hate to pull rank or anything but it will negatively affect your performance review and future here if you keep refusing to be a team player”
The intern - gosh, what was his name again, I really should focus more during the introductions. Josh? I deepened my voice and leaned forward across the desk.
“Look, Josh…”
“I’m John. Look, is there anyone else I can talk to?” He fiddled nervously with his pen. How old could he be? 22? 23? Just out of college. Ambitious. Focused. I remembered those days. And I remember no one cutting me any slack whatsoever.
“… John. I’ve been in your shoes, you might not believe it but it feels like yesterday…”
“Literally, anyone. I’m not gonna take order from a kid. This is ridiculous. And I’m not doing THAT.”
Shit. I thought back to just the other day. Solidly middle management. Master of the office pranks. Fucker of not one but two executive secretaries. I looked over Josh’s, no, John’s, shoulder and my reflection in the window made me wince once again. I desperately tried to tighten my tie but it felt like a noose. I scrubbed my finger against the wispy beginning of a moustache that itched my upper lip.
“Come oooooooon, man.” Shit. My voice broke. A bad one this time. My acne-ridden cheeks burned from embarrassment and I could feel the tears welling up.
“Fuck. Shit. Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to… I mean, Sir. Just find someone else. I don’t even know how to change a diaper.” Well
“We can’t let him sit in his own shit any longer, he’s gonna start crying and it’s all smelly and I don’t want to get fired, Josh, come on man, just this once. Why can’t you just be cool!?”
John put down his pen on the edge of my desk and took off his key card.
“I quit. I am so over this. You know I don’t even get paid, right?”
He was gone before I knew it and I couldn’t help feeling respect for his integrity. Not many interns would have the balls to stand up to me. Well, until I turned 12 again.
I took a deep breath and walked into the corridor. I gagged, knowing what waited beyond the door in front of me. Until yesterday I had never changed a diaper. The shit. The humiliation. What I wouldn’t do for a promotion.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, I know as CEO you are a very busy man, but people are starting to complain about the smell.”
My boss pulled his finger out of his nose and squeeled with joy as he crawled towards me.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
When people ask me what kind of person I am, I always stumble. How can one explain their inner personalities so easily? Some are "confident" some are not, some are good at something, some are not, some are "mature" some are "childish", some are evil, some are good, some believe in a thing, some dont... Yet, no one truly follows their ideals. Sometimes people say they're sensitive, but no one can truly empathize with everything and everyone. When it comes to it, being something is way harder than what people make it out to be. Even I, although am saying I cannot describe myself, it is impossible to not choose an identity. Maybe that's why we have these skins. Our virtual bodies. Regardless of who we really are, I've always believed we've created this simulation to be able to believe in an identity.
That's why ever since I'd heard about the RE-ASSIGNMENT I'd been keeping this awkward smile of confusion while checking my watch every other minute for the time to hit 00:00.
I looked at the mirror, trying to imagine how I would actually look like. I wondered whether this awkward smile was childish or mature.
I looked at my watch. Then I kept looking at myself. Then I looked at my watch. Then I looked at myself again. And then I looked at my watch again.
Then I looked at myself. There I was. The lovecraftian monster that I am. The something.
|
“It’s your turn.” The intern shook his head.
“I already told you I’m not doing that.”
“Look, I hate to pull rank or anything but it will negatively affect your performance review and future here if you keep refusing to be a team player”
The intern - gosh, what was his name again, I really should focus more during the introductions. Josh? I deepened my voice and leaned forward across the desk.
“Look, Josh…”
“I’m John. Look, is there anyone else I can talk to?” He fiddled nervously with his pen. How old could he be? 22? 23? Just out of college. Ambitious. Focused. I remembered those days. And I remember no one cutting me any slack whatsoever.
“… John. I’ve been in your shoes, you might not believe it but it feels like yesterday…”
“Literally, anyone. I’m not gonna take order from a kid. This is ridiculous. And I’m not doing THAT.”
Shit. I thought back to just the other day. Solidly middle management. Master of the office pranks. Fucker of not one but two executive secretaries. I looked over Josh’s, no, John’s, shoulder and my reflection in the window made me wince once again. I desperately tried to tighten my tie but it felt like a noose. I scrubbed my finger against the wispy beginning of a moustache that itched my upper lip.
“Come oooooooon, man.” Shit. My voice broke. A bad one this time. My acne-ridden cheeks burned from embarrassment and I could feel the tears welling up.
“Fuck. Shit. Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to… I mean, Sir. Just find someone else. I don’t even know how to change a diaper.” Well
“We can’t let him sit in his own shit any longer, he’s gonna start crying and it’s all smelly and I don’t want to get fired, Josh, come on man, just this once. Why can’t you just be cool!?”
John put down his pen on the edge of my desk and took off his key card.
“I quit. I am so over this. You know I don’t even get paid, right?”
He was gone before I knew it and I couldn’t help feeling respect for his integrity. Not many interns would have the balls to stand up to me. Well, until I turned 12 again.
I took a deep breath and walked into the corridor. I gagged, knowing what waited beyond the door in front of me. Until yesterday I had never changed a diaper. The shit. The humiliation. What I wouldn’t do for a promotion.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, I know as CEO you are a very busy man, but people are starting to complain about the smell.”
My boss pulled his finger out of his nose and squeeled with joy as he crawled towards me.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
The shift was the worst thing to ever happened to me
I was a 35 years old mother of one. I married to my abusive husband when I was 18, it was my parents decision to sold me off to continue their lavish life style.
I tried to not birth a child into this hell hole but I slipped, I was pregnant. Despite this, I loved my son and shielded him from my husband.
But when he was 7, he was diagnosed with cancer, he could only live at most, 4 more years. My husband behaviour changed, it wasn't that abusive towards my son before, but now, it was horrifying. Only way to protect him is to never let my husband in the same room as him, my and his body can only take so much.
The shift happened when he was 10. His body shifted to match his mental age, we never could figured out what his age was but his decaying flesh still haunts me. Was it his abusive enviroment that aged him mentally? Or was it his impendinding death? I felt both sad and reliefed when it happened, he was free, forever.
As for me, my age shifted to about 60 to 70 years old while my husband was shifted to his late teen. I could barely defend myself when we were at the same age. Now, I could only wait until he got bored.
My only saving grace is that the shift is constant, everyone's body will always be at their current mental age. Today I am around 90 years old, I hope my mental age will be high enough tomorrow.
***
English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes I may have made in advance
|
“It’s your turn.” The intern shook his head.
“I already told you I’m not doing that.”
“Look, I hate to pull rank or anything but it will negatively affect your performance review and future here if you keep refusing to be a team player”
The intern - gosh, what was his name again, I really should focus more during the introductions. Josh? I deepened my voice and leaned forward across the desk.
“Look, Josh…”
“I’m John. Look, is there anyone else I can talk to?” He fiddled nervously with his pen. How old could he be? 22? 23? Just out of college. Ambitious. Focused. I remembered those days. And I remember no one cutting me any slack whatsoever.
“… John. I’ve been in your shoes, you might not believe it but it feels like yesterday…”
“Literally, anyone. I’m not gonna take order from a kid. This is ridiculous. And I’m not doing THAT.”
Shit. I thought back to just the other day. Solidly middle management. Master of the office pranks. Fucker of not one but two executive secretaries. I looked over Josh’s, no, John’s, shoulder and my reflection in the window made me wince once again. I desperately tried to tighten my tie but it felt like a noose. I scrubbed my finger against the wispy beginning of a moustache that itched my upper lip.
“Come oooooooon, man.” Shit. My voice broke. A bad one this time. My acne-ridden cheeks burned from embarrassment and I could feel the tears welling up.
“Fuck. Shit. Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to… I mean, Sir. Just find someone else. I don’t even know how to change a diaper.” Well
“We can’t let him sit in his own shit any longer, he’s gonna start crying and it’s all smelly and I don’t want to get fired, Josh, come on man, just this once. Why can’t you just be cool!?”
John put down his pen on the edge of my desk and took off his key card.
“I quit. I am so over this. You know I don’t even get paid, right?”
He was gone before I knew it and I couldn’t help feeling respect for his integrity. Not many interns would have the balls to stand up to me. Well, until I turned 12 again.
I took a deep breath and walked into the corridor. I gagged, knowing what waited beyond the door in front of me. Until yesterday I had never changed a diaper. The shit. The humiliation. What I wouldn’t do for a promotion.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, I know as CEO you are a very busy man, but people are starting to complain about the smell.”
My boss pulled his finger out of his nose and squeeled with joy as he crawled towards me.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I woke up that morning like any other day. I made my coffee, I ate a banana , and I ran off to work.
All was exactly the same as it always had been: Miserable.
As I sat at the light waiting impatiently for it to turn green, Linkin' Park started playing on the radio. I smiled, wiping a tear, and belted out the song - happily thinking back to the good ol' days when life wasn't such an utter bore.
"I'm breaaaakking the habbiiit -", I wailed out, not caring in the word who saw - that was when I suddenly noticed that my hands became smoother!
My body smaller!
What the hell.
I was 13 and and driving a car?!
My clothes were no longer that of a business woman - I was wearing a choker necklace, and like 20 plastic bands around my arm. My clothes were brightly mismatched, my nails painted with cringeworthy Hello Kitty Pink and Hot Topic Black.
A cop pulled me over before I could even cross the street. The old man asked me who the hell told me it was okay to drive a car without a license! He then started threatening to call my parents.
I immediately started to freak out, sweating I handed him my ... wait where was my cellphone?!
What year was it?
My hands were even smaller now, Oh god, NOOOO! I was wearing overalls. I f\*\*\*ing hate overalls! How old was I now? What was this insanity? *Please wake me up from this nightmare*, I pleaded the universe.
Now I was in a diaper, as I cried like a baby.
The cop was still standing there, telling me that I was in huge trouble. He pointed out that not only was it illegal for a baby to drive, but that I wasn't in a booster seat either. That would be a huge ticket- maybe jail for me.
I tried to wrap my head around what was happening. So what? Was this a dream, or was my life some sort of simulation?
How old was I actually? Who was I actually? Was I a woman? Was I a man? How could I trust anything I knew? Maybe I was neither!
Was every damn person here just a fake voice that was part of some program? Did I have free will in any of this or was it all just a prefabricated script?
All the people that passed away in my life, all the pain I suffered, that piece of crap job I worked for 7 years - screaming into a pillow every night at how much I hated it. All my relationships and break ups. All my failures and successes. All my friendships. All my childhood pets, my dog, my parents, my brother. All those long days in college where I worked from 7AM to 4PM, then ran off to night class until 10PM and crashed. Day in and Day out, working my ass off , never seeing my friends because I had to pay for college. All my bills, all my debts - were those fake too?
​
I screamed until I was nothing more than a zygote, then popped myself out of existence.
|
|
|
\> .
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
(Okay, that went dark, lol - oops! Well people, live every day like it is just a simulation, haha, if you can afford to that is! )
|
'So... it has come to this'
He was just in time to avoid a paper plane hitting his head after asking, quite nicely, for his daily schedule.
Amanda was tearing up at the door, trying to control the giggles. 'We shouldn't make Mr. Bates wait, *bhhh*, what if he doesn't come in time?'
*Bwhahahaha*
The entire office was exploding with laughter, and he was left stupefied, feeling like a little boy again.
But not quite as alone as in those days. His eyes caught sight of a face, as shocked as his, searching for an island of sanity amidst the chaos.
He started marching toward her, passing a group of lawyers playing knuckles on the floor, dressed in their finest, as if they still meant to represent him in court, just after this match was done.
Passing his secretary, so sure she hid herself well behind the table with the student, who all of a sudden turned from a stuttering John Doe into Don Juan, feeling his way up Janice's skirt with a confidence.
After doing his best to avoid yet another debate of how simpler the times were with Dave, who was sitting in the armchair, holding his umbrella in shaky hands and reminiscing about the good old days by himself, he finally reached her.
He remembered her name in a flashback and suddenly the time stood still.
How come he never noticed Shelly before?
The smell of her was mesmerizing as he held her, she was shaking, grabbing his shirt. Those big brown eyes rose up to his and she whispered '*where is mommy*'
edit: editing
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
D: "Haha Jim very funny. Great prank. Now I know why Cici will never go to University, because you spend all your money on make up and actors for a great prank."
J: "Dwight I..."
D: "No no no child you shut up now. First off all I despise child actors, your parents are the reason why this country lost in vietnam and if you want to Adress me it is not Dwight it is Mr. Schrut or sir.and second off all outside personell are not allowed on the premessis of the company and I will call hank if you don't leave right away."
D: Pamala go fetch your real husband, I want to rub it in his face. By the way have you always had so many wrinkels. I'm on top of the World. Jim is going to be sooooo fired. Uffff. I need a breather for a second"
Finally Jim could get in a word: "Dwight didn't you get the Memo? The Matrix is beeing reset. Now I really need to get some work done so would you mind not thinking so loud?"
D: "You really believe I'm this stupid don't you? MICHEAL!! MICHEAL!. I need to speak to you Jim has really gone too far now, he..."
There was a fourish year old sitting in micheals chair pretending to blow up a toy truck.
D: "Now this. This and kidnappings Mose. That is too much. Small Jim tell me where the Real Jim is I am fullfilling a citizenarrest, Micheal would never participate in this so you had to get him out of the way."
J: "Still here Dwight, but I'm not yet Criminally responsible as you might have noticed, sooo I think I could break you action figures...
D: "collector Items"
J: "... or just straight up murder you and there is not really anything you can do against it. Can you now?"
Just as Dwight came up with the perfect rebuttle, fake old Oskar interrupted: "Could you guys keep it down a bit, or Kevin will start crying again and I really have no idea how to make him stop" he gestured to the baby sitting on his lap, which was way to distracted by the Kat sitting in the cookie Box too cry or do anything else "and for Christ sake get Angela out of this thing or she might take a shit in it and I will not clean it up, do you hear me. I'm totally swamped. I got Meredith running around shirtless somewhere here and if this baby cries again I...." he trailed off
Dwight finally took a look around. He never noticed Creed had such long and curley browm hair and Stanly seemed suspiciously more deadish then usually, but Besides the great Vortex of Tentacles in the breakroom everything seemed normal. He sat down on his Beetshaped chair and Finally open up his memos on the Toaster.
|
'So... it has come to this'
He was just in time to avoid a paper plane hitting his head after asking, quite nicely, for his daily schedule.
Amanda was tearing up at the door, trying to control the giggles. 'We shouldn't make Mr. Bates wait, *bhhh*, what if he doesn't come in time?'
*Bwhahahaha*
The entire office was exploding with laughter, and he was left stupefied, feeling like a little boy again.
But not quite as alone as in those days. His eyes caught sight of a face, as shocked as his, searching for an island of sanity amidst the chaos.
He started marching toward her, passing a group of lawyers playing knuckles on the floor, dressed in their finest, as if they still meant to represent him in court, just after this match was done.
Passing his secretary, so sure she hid herself well behind the table with the student, who all of a sudden turned from a stuttering John Doe into Don Juan, feeling his way up Janice's skirt with a confidence.
After doing his best to avoid yet another debate of how simpler the times were with Dave, who was sitting in the armchair, holding his umbrella in shaky hands and reminiscing about the good old days by himself, he finally reached her.
He remembered her name in a flashback and suddenly the time stood still.
How come he never noticed Shelly before?
The smell of her was mesmerizing as he held her, she was shaking, grabbing his shirt. Those big brown eyes rose up to his and she whispered '*where is mommy*'
edit: editing
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I am a 30 years old web programmer.
I don't understand why these things happened to every one of us. Hell knows. They said the simulation upstairs about re-aging messed up. But why this becomes a cruel reality check for me?
Didn't they say that our age will be matching the maturity of our inner self? Then why everyone's age changes, but mine don't?
I know it, I am just a plain damn worker, right? Right to my inner heart. I am not really doomed to work until death, am I?
Wait, what is this picture my mom just sent?
Oh, me as a little boy playing with rocket toys. Now those were good days. Imagine sitting on a rocket, flying to the moon, BRAVO! The feeling, the uncertainty, the adventure! Those stuffs really make me... !!!
*
I am a 12 years old boy who dreamt to be an astronaut.
You guess what? My big ol' body just changed its shape. I knew it! I still have my child inner self inside! I am not a worker doomed to work till death. Now that is liberating.
Those times where freedom... Wait, does it mean I have to go to school again? Oh no, not this. If that means I will have to go to school, then I rather just grow up.
You know, sitting whole day long, without working. What a free time. I don't want to study, or work. I want free time. I want peace... !!!
*
I am a 71 years old man, sitting on a wheel chair.
Shit, why did I grow old in such a short time. Every movement I make just hurt my bones. I get it, I am wrong now. Please, bring me back. I'll work, I don't want this crispy body. Come on, my inner self... !!!
*
I am 30 years old web programmer.... Yet, I am also a 12 years old boy and 71 years old man.
|
'So... it has come to this'
He was just in time to avoid a paper plane hitting his head after asking, quite nicely, for his daily schedule.
Amanda was tearing up at the door, trying to control the giggles. 'We shouldn't make Mr. Bates wait, *bhhh*, what if he doesn't come in time?'
*Bwhahahaha*
The entire office was exploding with laughter, and he was left stupefied, feeling like a little boy again.
But not quite as alone as in those days. His eyes caught sight of a face, as shocked as his, searching for an island of sanity amidst the chaos.
He started marching toward her, passing a group of lawyers playing knuckles on the floor, dressed in their finest, as if they still meant to represent him in court, just after this match was done.
Passing his secretary, so sure she hid herself well behind the table with the student, who all of a sudden turned from a stuttering John Doe into Don Juan, feeling his way up Janice's skirt with a confidence.
After doing his best to avoid yet another debate of how simpler the times were with Dave, who was sitting in the armchair, holding his umbrella in shaky hands and reminiscing about the good old days by himself, he finally reached her.
He remembered her name in a flashback and suddenly the time stood still.
How come he never noticed Shelly before?
The smell of her was mesmerizing as he held her, she was shaking, grabbing his shirt. Those big brown eyes rose up to his and she whispered '*where is mommy*'
edit: editing
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
'So... it has come to this'
He was just in time to avoid a paper plane hitting his head after asking, quite nicely, for his daily schedule.
Amanda was tearing up at the door, trying to control the giggles. 'We shouldn't make Mr. Bates wait, *bhhh*, what if he doesn't come in time?'
*Bwhahahaha*
The entire office was exploding with laughter, and he was left stupefied, feeling like a little boy again.
But not quite as alone as in those days. His eyes caught sight of a face, as shocked as his, searching for an island of sanity amidst the chaos.
He started marching toward her, passing a group of lawyers playing knuckles on the floor, dressed in their finest, as if they still meant to represent him in court, just after this match was done.
Passing his secretary, so sure she hid herself well behind the table with the student, who all of a sudden turned from a stuttering John Doe into Don Juan, feeling his way up Janice's skirt with a confidence.
After doing his best to avoid yet another debate of how simpler the times were with Dave, who was sitting in the armchair, holding his umbrella in shaky hands and reminiscing about the good old days by himself, he finally reached her.
He remembered her name in a flashback and suddenly the time stood still.
How come he never noticed Shelly before?
The smell of her was mesmerizing as he held her, she was shaking, grabbing his shirt. Those big brown eyes rose up to his and she whispered '*where is mommy*'
edit: editing
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I am a 30 years old web programmer.
I don't understand why these things happened to every one of us. Hell knows. They said the simulation upstairs about re-aging messed up. But why this becomes a cruel reality check for me?
Didn't they say that our age will be matching the maturity of our inner self? Then why everyone's age changes, but mine don't?
I know it, I am just a plain damn worker, right? Right to my inner heart. I am not really doomed to work until death, am I?
Wait, what is this picture my mom just sent?
Oh, me as a little boy playing with rocket toys. Now those were good days. Imagine sitting on a rocket, flying to the moon, BRAVO! The feeling, the uncertainty, the adventure! Those stuffs really make me... !!!
*
I am a 12 years old boy who dreamt to be an astronaut.
You guess what? My big ol' body just changed its shape. I knew it! I still have my child inner self inside! I am not a worker doomed to work till death. Now that is liberating.
Those times where freedom... Wait, does it mean I have to go to school again? Oh no, not this. If that means I will have to go to school, then I rather just grow up.
You know, sitting whole day long, without working. What a free time. I don't want to study, or work. I want free time. I want peace... !!!
*
I am a 71 years old man, sitting on a wheel chair.
Shit, why did I grow old in such a short time. Every movement I make just hurt my bones. I get it, I am wrong now. Please, bring me back. I'll work, I don't want this crispy body. Come on, my inner self... !!!
*
I am 30 years old web programmer.... Yet, I am also a 12 years old boy and 71 years old man.
|
I woke up that morning like any other day. I made my coffee, I ate a banana , and I ran off to work.
All was exactly the same as it always had been: Miserable.
As I sat at the light waiting impatiently for it to turn green, Linkin' Park started playing on the radio. I smiled, wiping a tear, and belted out the song - happily thinking back to the good ol' days when life wasn't such an utter bore.
"I'm breaaaakking the habbiiit -", I wailed out, not caring in the word who saw - that was when I suddenly noticed that my hands became smoother!
My body smaller!
What the hell.
I was 13 and and driving a car?!
My clothes were no longer that of a business woman - I was wearing a choker necklace, and like 20 plastic bands around my arm. My clothes were brightly mismatched, my nails painted with cringeworthy Hello Kitty Pink and Hot Topic Black.
A cop pulled me over before I could even cross the street. The old man asked me who the hell told me it was okay to drive a car without a license! He then started threatening to call my parents.
I immediately started to freak out, sweating I handed him my ... wait where was my cellphone?!
What year was it?
My hands were even smaller now, Oh god, NOOOO! I was wearing overalls. I f\*\*\*ing hate overalls! How old was I now? What was this insanity? *Please wake me up from this nightmare*, I pleaded the universe.
Now I was in a diaper, as I cried like a baby.
The cop was still standing there, telling me that I was in huge trouble. He pointed out that not only was it illegal for a baby to drive, but that I wasn't in a booster seat either. That would be a huge ticket- maybe jail for me.
I tried to wrap my head around what was happening. So what? Was this a dream, or was my life some sort of simulation?
How old was I actually? Who was I actually? Was I a woman? Was I a man? How could I trust anything I knew? Maybe I was neither!
Was every damn person here just a fake voice that was part of some program? Did I have free will in any of this or was it all just a prefabricated script?
All the people that passed away in my life, all the pain I suffered, that piece of crap job I worked for 7 years - screaming into a pillow every night at how much I hated it. All my relationships and break ups. All my failures and successes. All my friendships. All my childhood pets, my dog, my parents, my brother. All those long days in college where I worked from 7AM to 4PM, then ran off to night class until 10PM and crashed. Day in and Day out, working my ass off , never seeing my friends because I had to pay for college. All my bills, all my debts - were those fake too?
​
I screamed until I was nothing more than a zygote, then popped myself out of existence.
|
|
|
\> .
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
(Okay, that went dark, lol - oops! Well people, live every day like it is just a simulation, haha, if you can afford to that is! )
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
I woke up that morning like any other day. I made my coffee, I ate a banana , and I ran off to work.
All was exactly the same as it always had been: Miserable.
As I sat at the light waiting impatiently for it to turn green, Linkin' Park started playing on the radio. I smiled, wiping a tear, and belted out the song - happily thinking back to the good ol' days when life wasn't such an utter bore.
"I'm breaaaakking the habbiiit -", I wailed out, not caring in the word who saw - that was when I suddenly noticed that my hands became smoother!
My body smaller!
What the hell.
I was 13 and and driving a car?!
My clothes were no longer that of a business woman - I was wearing a choker necklace, and like 20 plastic bands around my arm. My clothes were brightly mismatched, my nails painted with cringeworthy Hello Kitty Pink and Hot Topic Black.
A cop pulled me over before I could even cross the street. The old man asked me who the hell told me it was okay to drive a car without a license! He then started threatening to call my parents.
I immediately started to freak out, sweating I handed him my ... wait where was my cellphone?!
What year was it?
My hands were even smaller now, Oh god, NOOOO! I was wearing overalls. I f\*\*\*ing hate overalls! How old was I now? What was this insanity? *Please wake me up from this nightmare*, I pleaded the universe.
Now I was in a diaper, as I cried like a baby.
The cop was still standing there, telling me that I was in huge trouble. He pointed out that not only was it illegal for a baby to drive, but that I wasn't in a booster seat either. That would be a huge ticket- maybe jail for me.
I tried to wrap my head around what was happening. So what? Was this a dream, or was my life some sort of simulation?
How old was I actually? Who was I actually? Was I a woman? Was I a man? How could I trust anything I knew? Maybe I was neither!
Was every damn person here just a fake voice that was part of some program? Did I have free will in any of this or was it all just a prefabricated script?
All the people that passed away in my life, all the pain I suffered, that piece of crap job I worked for 7 years - screaming into a pillow every night at how much I hated it. All my relationships and break ups. All my failures and successes. All my friendships. All my childhood pets, my dog, my parents, my brother. All those long days in college where I worked from 7AM to 4PM, then ran off to night class until 10PM and crashed. Day in and Day out, working my ass off , never seeing my friends because I had to pay for college. All my bills, all my debts - were those fake too?
​
I screamed until I was nothing more than a zygote, then popped myself out of existence.
|
|
|
\> .
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
(Okay, that went dark, lol - oops! Well people, live every day like it is just a simulation, haha, if you can afford to that is! )
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I am a 30 years old web programmer.
I don't understand why these things happened to every one of us. Hell knows. They said the simulation upstairs about re-aging messed up. But why this becomes a cruel reality check for me?
Didn't they say that our age will be matching the maturity of our inner self? Then why everyone's age changes, but mine don't?
I know it, I am just a plain damn worker, right? Right to my inner heart. I am not really doomed to work until death, am I?
Wait, what is this picture my mom just sent?
Oh, me as a little boy playing with rocket toys. Now those were good days. Imagine sitting on a rocket, flying to the moon, BRAVO! The feeling, the uncertainty, the adventure! Those stuffs really make me... !!!
*
I am a 12 years old boy who dreamt to be an astronaut.
You guess what? My big ol' body just changed its shape. I knew it! I still have my child inner self inside! I am not a worker doomed to work till death. Now that is liberating.
Those times where freedom... Wait, does it mean I have to go to school again? Oh no, not this. If that means I will have to go to school, then I rather just grow up.
You know, sitting whole day long, without working. What a free time. I don't want to study, or work. I want free time. I want peace... !!!
*
I am a 71 years old man, sitting on a wheel chair.
Shit, why did I grow old in such a short time. Every movement I make just hurt my bones. I get it, I am wrong now. Please, bring me back. I'll work, I don't want this crispy body. Come on, my inner self... !!!
*
I am 30 years old web programmer.... Yet, I am also a 12 years old boy and 71 years old man.
|
D: "Haha Jim very funny. Great prank. Now I know why Cici will never go to University, because you spend all your money on make up and actors for a great prank."
J: "Dwight I..."
D: "No no no child you shut up now. First off all I despise child actors, your parents are the reason why this country lost in vietnam and if you want to Adress me it is not Dwight it is Mr. Schrut or sir.and second off all outside personell are not allowed on the premessis of the company and I will call hank if you don't leave right away."
D: Pamala go fetch your real husband, I want to rub it in his face. By the way have you always had so many wrinkels. I'm on top of the World. Jim is going to be sooooo fired. Uffff. I need a breather for a second"
Finally Jim could get in a word: "Dwight didn't you get the Memo? The Matrix is beeing reset. Now I really need to get some work done so would you mind not thinking so loud?"
D: "You really believe I'm this stupid don't you? MICHEAL!! MICHEAL!. I need to speak to you Jim has really gone too far now, he..."
There was a fourish year old sitting in micheals chair pretending to blow up a toy truck.
D: "Now this. This and kidnappings Mose. That is too much. Small Jim tell me where the Real Jim is I am fullfilling a citizenarrest, Micheal would never participate in this so you had to get him out of the way."
J: "Still here Dwight, but I'm not yet Criminally responsible as you might have noticed, sooo I think I could break you action figures...
D: "collector Items"
J: "... or just straight up murder you and there is not really anything you can do against it. Can you now?"
Just as Dwight came up with the perfect rebuttle, fake old Oskar interrupted: "Could you guys keep it down a bit, or Kevin will start crying again and I really have no idea how to make him stop" he gestured to the baby sitting on his lap, which was way to distracted by the Kat sitting in the cookie Box too cry or do anything else "and for Christ sake get Angela out of this thing or she might take a shit in it and I will not clean it up, do you hear me. I'm totally swamped. I got Meredith running around shirtless somewhere here and if this baby cries again I...." he trailed off
Dwight finally took a look around. He never noticed Creed had such long and curley browm hair and Stanly seemed suspiciously more deadish then usually, but Besides the great Vortex of Tentacles in the breakroom everything seemed normal. He sat down on his Beetshaped chair and Finally open up his memos on the Toaster.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
D: "Haha Jim very funny. Great prank. Now I know why Cici will never go to University, because you spend all your money on make up and actors for a great prank."
J: "Dwight I..."
D: "No no no child you shut up now. First off all I despise child actors, your parents are the reason why this country lost in vietnam and if you want to Adress me it is not Dwight it is Mr. Schrut or sir.and second off all outside personell are not allowed on the premessis of the company and I will call hank if you don't leave right away."
D: Pamala go fetch your real husband, I want to rub it in his face. By the way have you always had so many wrinkels. I'm on top of the World. Jim is going to be sooooo fired. Uffff. I need a breather for a second"
Finally Jim could get in a word: "Dwight didn't you get the Memo? The Matrix is beeing reset. Now I really need to get some work done so would you mind not thinking so loud?"
D: "You really believe I'm this stupid don't you? MICHEAL!! MICHEAL!. I need to speak to you Jim has really gone too far now, he..."
There was a fourish year old sitting in micheals chair pretending to blow up a toy truck.
D: "Now this. This and kidnappings Mose. That is too much. Small Jim tell me where the Real Jim is I am fullfilling a citizenarrest, Micheal would never participate in this so you had to get him out of the way."
J: "Still here Dwight, but I'm not yet Criminally responsible as you might have noticed, sooo I think I could break you action figures...
D: "collector Items"
J: "... or just straight up murder you and there is not really anything you can do against it. Can you now?"
Just as Dwight came up with the perfect rebuttle, fake old Oskar interrupted: "Could you guys keep it down a bit, or Kevin will start crying again and I really have no idea how to make him stop" he gestured to the baby sitting on his lap, which was way to distracted by the Kat sitting in the cookie Box too cry or do anything else "and for Christ sake get Angela out of this thing or she might take a shit in it and I will not clean it up, do you hear me. I'm totally swamped. I got Meredith running around shirtless somewhere here and if this baby cries again I...." he trailed off
Dwight finally took a look around. He never noticed Creed had such long and curley browm hair and Stanly seemed suspiciously more deadish then usually, but Besides the great Vortex of Tentacles in the breakroom everything seemed normal. He sat down on his Beetshaped chair and Finally open up his memos on the Toaster.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I am a 30 years old web programmer.
I don't understand why these things happened to every one of us. Hell knows. They said the simulation upstairs about re-aging messed up. But why this becomes a cruel reality check for me?
Didn't they say that our age will be matching the maturity of our inner self? Then why everyone's age changes, but mine don't?
I know it, I am just a plain damn worker, right? Right to my inner heart. I am not really doomed to work until death, am I?
Wait, what is this picture my mom just sent?
Oh, me as a little boy playing with rocket toys. Now those were good days. Imagine sitting on a rocket, flying to the moon, BRAVO! The feeling, the uncertainty, the adventure! Those stuffs really make me... !!!
*
I am a 12 years old boy who dreamt to be an astronaut.
You guess what? My big ol' body just changed its shape. I knew it! I still have my child inner self inside! I am not a worker doomed to work till death. Now that is liberating.
Those times where freedom... Wait, does it mean I have to go to school again? Oh no, not this. If that means I will have to go to school, then I rather just grow up.
You know, sitting whole day long, without working. What a free time. I don't want to study, or work. I want free time. I want peace... !!!
*
I am a 71 years old man, sitting on a wheel chair.
Shit, why did I grow old in such a short time. Every movement I make just hurt my bones. I get it, I am wrong now. Please, bring me back. I'll work, I don't want this crispy body. Come on, my inner self... !!!
*
I am 30 years old web programmer.... Yet, I am also a 12 years old boy and 71 years old man.
|
part 1: you wake up, to notice... you're fifteen again! but you look at your phone, to see it's not 2000. it's 2022. you wipe your eyes, as you think you saw something else. you remember you have work today, you quickly make some toast, and bolt out the door. you kept on running. faster and faster you run. your favourite song plays, "oh my! feels like i don't try!" (everybody loves me - one republic) the music played on, and on. you get to work on time. you glance at your phone. "Alert! Alert! There has been a problem with The Simulator's realism and age properties. Many glitches have occurred within the last few days. The Maintenance will fix this soon." you think about this for a second. as you reach for the phone, you bug out. alas, you end up in The Glitch Room. you walk around. people... are npc's here. atleast, they act like npc's. you hear, "Hello. You are here because The Simulator either deleted you, or you discovered a glitch. Either way, The Maintenance is currently working on trying to bring you back online. Now, This is not heaven or hell, exactly. This is The Glitch Room. Soon, you will be accompanied by realistic humans. This room shall soon look like The Simulation that you live in." silence. pure silence.
part 2: after a while though, you walk around the field the voice spoke about. you wander as the people make noise. you go back to The Simulation. you've been there for... 12 hours!? what!? you rush home. your discord friends have been quote en quote *bugging* you for the past couple hours. you respond. "guys what the fuck just happened, i got teleported to a black room ALSO JOIN THE DAMN VC GUYS" on the voice chat, you continue on explaining what happened. "wilbur," your best friend says. "that was a pretty insane explanation tbh" you swear it was real. you end the call.
part 3: you sigh a heavy sigh, and get up. you get to the fridge and make dinner, as always. (writers block, check back later)
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
It started out as a normal morning, you wake up at 5:30, get ready, grab something eat and you’re off to go to your job at the office. Except one thing…you’re sixteen years old again, and get this notification on your phone *warning, the simulation has a rip in it and your civilian will be experiencing age regressions…please remain calm as we are fixing the problem. Have a nice day*.
Great, just when I thought Monday couldn’t get it any worse. My boss was a ten year old annoying little kid and my coworkers were various ages and wore clothes from when they were that age so it looked like an episode out of the office at my job today.
I even had to discipline my boss, yeah thought I would have to do that…ever. Right now, some of my coworkers are crying because they are babies, some of them are playing beer pong because they are college students and others want ice cream or candy because they are children.
I look at the clock and see it’s only 12…”this is going to be a longgg day”. I say as I helped give a bottle to my supervisor.
|
part 1: you wake up, to notice... you're fifteen again! but you look at your phone, to see it's not 2000. it's 2022. you wipe your eyes, as you think you saw something else. you remember you have work today, you quickly make some toast, and bolt out the door. you kept on running. faster and faster you run. your favourite song plays, "oh my! feels like i don't try!" (everybody loves me - one republic) the music played on, and on. you get to work on time. you glance at your phone. "Alert! Alert! There has been a problem with The Simulator's realism and age properties. Many glitches have occurred within the last few days. The Maintenance will fix this soon." you think about this for a second. as you reach for the phone, you bug out. alas, you end up in The Glitch Room. you walk around. people... are npc's here. atleast, they act like npc's. you hear, "Hello. You are here because The Simulator either deleted you, or you discovered a glitch. Either way, The Maintenance is currently working on trying to bring you back online. Now, This is not heaven or hell, exactly. This is The Glitch Room. Soon, you will be accompanied by realistic humans. This room shall soon look like The Simulation that you live in." silence. pure silence.
part 2: after a while though, you walk around the field the voice spoke about. you wander as the people make noise. you go back to The Simulation. you've been there for... 12 hours!? what!? you rush home. your discord friends have been quote en quote *bugging* you for the past couple hours. you respond. "guys what the fuck just happened, i got teleported to a black room ALSO JOIN THE DAMN VC GUYS" on the voice chat, you continue on explaining what happened. "wilbur," your best friend says. "that was a pretty insane explanation tbh" you swear it was real. you end the call.
part 3: you sigh a heavy sigh, and get up. you get to the fridge and make dinner, as always. (writers block, check back later)
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
"How did this happen?! Someone get me up to speed. You, walk with me."
"Yes sir, it appears that every world leader has suddenly been replaced by babies."
"Take us to defcon 2."
"Already there sir. The UN is on the line but were having trouble getting in contact with anyone over the age of 16. Funny thing is, they all claim to be officials."
"Good God what has the world come too. Do we have any lead on the current location of the President?"
"We still don't know sir. Secret Service was on guard all night, no alarms or suspicious security footage either."
"Well figure it out fast! And I expect to be on the phone with some *adult world leaders* within the hour!"
Edit: changed defcon 1 to 2
|
part 1: you wake up, to notice... you're fifteen again! but you look at your phone, to see it's not 2000. it's 2022. you wipe your eyes, as you think you saw something else. you remember you have work today, you quickly make some toast, and bolt out the door. you kept on running. faster and faster you run. your favourite song plays, "oh my! feels like i don't try!" (everybody loves me - one republic) the music played on, and on. you get to work on time. you glance at your phone. "Alert! Alert! There has been a problem with The Simulator's realism and age properties. Many glitches have occurred within the last few days. The Maintenance will fix this soon." you think about this for a second. as you reach for the phone, you bug out. alas, you end up in The Glitch Room. you walk around. people... are npc's here. atleast, they act like npc's. you hear, "Hello. You are here because The Simulator either deleted you, or you discovered a glitch. Either way, The Maintenance is currently working on trying to bring you back online. Now, This is not heaven or hell, exactly. This is The Glitch Room. Soon, you will be accompanied by realistic humans. This room shall soon look like The Simulation that you live in." silence. pure silence.
part 2: after a while though, you walk around the field the voice spoke about. you wander as the people make noise. you go back to The Simulation. you've been there for... 12 hours!? what!? you rush home. your discord friends have been quote en quote *bugging* you for the past couple hours. you respond. "guys what the fuck just happened, i got teleported to a black room ALSO JOIN THE DAMN VC GUYS" on the voice chat, you continue on explaining what happened. "wilbur," your best friend says. "that was a pretty insane explanation tbh" you swear it was real. you end the call.
part 3: you sigh a heavy sigh, and get up. you get to the fridge and make dinner, as always. (writers block, check back later)
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
part 1: you wake up, to notice... you're fifteen again! but you look at your phone, to see it's not 2000. it's 2022. you wipe your eyes, as you think you saw something else. you remember you have work today, you quickly make some toast, and bolt out the door. you kept on running. faster and faster you run. your favourite song plays, "oh my! feels like i don't try!" (everybody loves me - one republic) the music played on, and on. you get to work on time. you glance at your phone. "Alert! Alert! There has been a problem with The Simulator's realism and age properties. Many glitches have occurred within the last few days. The Maintenance will fix this soon." you think about this for a second. as you reach for the phone, you bug out. alas, you end up in The Glitch Room. you walk around. people... are npc's here. atleast, they act like npc's. you hear, "Hello. You are here because The Simulator either deleted you, or you discovered a glitch. Either way, The Maintenance is currently working on trying to bring you back online. Now, This is not heaven or hell, exactly. This is The Glitch Room. Soon, you will be accompanied by realistic humans. This room shall soon look like The Simulation that you live in." silence. pure silence.
part 2: after a while though, you walk around the field the voice spoke about. you wander as the people make noise. you go back to The Simulation. you've been there for... 12 hours!? what!? you rush home. your discord friends have been quote en quote *bugging* you for the past couple hours. you respond. "guys what the fuck just happened, i got teleported to a black room ALSO JOIN THE DAMN VC GUYS" on the voice chat, you continue on explaining what happened. "wilbur," your best friend says. "that was a pretty insane explanation tbh" you swear it was real. you end the call.
part 3: you sigh a heavy sigh, and get up. you get to the fridge and make dinner, as always. (writers block, check back later)
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
"How did this happen?! Someone get me up to speed. You, walk with me."
"Yes sir, it appears that every world leader has suddenly been replaced by babies."
"Take us to defcon 2."
"Already there sir. The UN is on the line but were having trouble getting in contact with anyone over the age of 16. Funny thing is, they all claim to be officials."
"Good God what has the world come too. Do we have any lead on the current location of the President?"
"We still don't know sir. Secret Service was on guard all night, no alarms or suspicious security footage either."
"Well figure it out fast! And I expect to be on the phone with some *adult world leaders* within the hour!"
Edit: changed defcon 1 to 2
|
It started out as a normal morning, you wake up at 5:30, get ready, grab something eat and you’re off to go to your job at the office. Except one thing…you’re sixteen years old again, and get this notification on your phone *warning, the simulation has a rip in it and your civilian will be experiencing age regressions…please remain calm as we are fixing the problem. Have a nice day*.
Great, just when I thought Monday couldn’t get it any worse. My boss was a ten year old annoying little kid and my coworkers were various ages and wore clothes from when they were that age so it looked like an episode out of the office at my job today.
I even had to discipline my boss, yeah thought I would have to do that…ever. Right now, some of my coworkers are crying because they are babies, some of them are playing beer pong because they are college students and others want ice cream or candy because they are children.
I look at the clock and see it’s only 12…”this is going to be a longgg day”. I say as I helped give a bottle to my supervisor.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
It started out as a normal morning, you wake up at 5:30, get ready, grab something eat and you’re off to go to your job at the office. Except one thing…you’re sixteen years old again, and get this notification on your phone *warning, the simulation has a rip in it and your civilian will be experiencing age regressions…please remain calm as we are fixing the problem. Have a nice day*.
Great, just when I thought Monday couldn’t get it any worse. My boss was a ten year old annoying little kid and my coworkers were various ages and wore clothes from when they were that age so it looked like an episode out of the office at my job today.
I even had to discipline my boss, yeah thought I would have to do that…ever. Right now, some of my coworkers are crying because they are babies, some of them are playing beer pong because they are college students and others want ice cream or candy because they are children.
I look at the clock and see it’s only 12…”this is going to be a longgg day”. I say as I helped give a bottle to my supervisor.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
Oh, yes. I know *exactly* which day things all went to shit.
It had started off as any other day. Burnt the toast because wife and I were distracted, traffic jams all the way to work, everyone else faking their work as usual. And then, just as I was clocking off for work, the earthquake hit.
Or rather, what felt like an earthquake. The rumbling and shaking sensation, that was surely there, seeing as all of us got tossed to the floor quite effectively. But not a single object fell to the ground... Even the pencil holders, loosely packed and prime for sending missiles careening about, remained as steady as they were when the secretaries 'took minutes'.
That was just the tip of the iceberg... moments after hitting the carpet, I heard The Voice call out from everywhere all at once:
"Thank you for your participation in our newest endeavour, Life. We are conducting our routine maintenance immediately, and will be saving and restoring all user data at their last check-in. Once maintenance is complete, we are pleased to announce our newest feature will be in effect: Maturity Appearance Matching! Please visit our announcement page for a full changelist. Thank you for your patronage, and have a great daycycle."
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed again... with my teenage daughter beside me.
|
\[Poem\]
Babies a typin',
The computers are a writin',
This is an odd day in the metaverse,
But you keep singin', verse to verse.
For you're the composer,
To this... low sir...
What shall it take?
For him to simply move that rake?
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
"How did this happen?! Someone get me up to speed. You, walk with me."
"Yes sir, it appears that every world leader has suddenly been replaced by babies."
"Take us to defcon 2."
"Already there sir. The UN is on the line but were having trouble getting in contact with anyone over the age of 16. Funny thing is, they all claim to be officials."
"Good God what has the world come too. Do we have any lead on the current location of the President?"
"We still don't know sir. Secret Service was on guard all night, no alarms or suspicious security footage either."
"Well figure it out fast! And I expect to be on the phone with some *adult world leaders* within the hour!"
Edit: changed defcon 1 to 2
|
\[Poem\]
Babies a typin',
The computers are a writin',
This is an odd day in the metaverse,
But you keep singin', verse to verse.
For you're the composer,
To this... low sir...
What shall it take?
For him to simply move that rake?
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
\[Poem\]
Babies a typin',
The computers are a writin',
This is an odd day in the metaverse,
But you keep singin', verse to verse.
For you're the composer,
To this... low sir...
What shall it take?
For him to simply move that rake?
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
"How did this happen?! Someone get me up to speed. You, walk with me."
"Yes sir, it appears that every world leader has suddenly been replaced by babies."
"Take us to defcon 2."
"Already there sir. The UN is on the line but were having trouble getting in contact with anyone over the age of 16. Funny thing is, they all claim to be officials."
"Good God what has the world come too. Do we have any lead on the current location of the President?"
"We still don't know sir. Secret Service was on guard all night, no alarms or suspicious security footage either."
"Well figure it out fast! And I expect to be on the phone with some *adult world leaders* within the hour!"
Edit: changed defcon 1 to 2
|
Oh, yes. I know *exactly* which day things all went to shit.
It had started off as any other day. Burnt the toast because wife and I were distracted, traffic jams all the way to work, everyone else faking their work as usual. And then, just as I was clocking off for work, the earthquake hit.
Or rather, what felt like an earthquake. The rumbling and shaking sensation, that was surely there, seeing as all of us got tossed to the floor quite effectively. But not a single object fell to the ground... Even the pencil holders, loosely packed and prime for sending missiles careening about, remained as steady as they were when the secretaries 'took minutes'.
That was just the tip of the iceberg... moments after hitting the carpet, I heard The Voice call out from everywhere all at once:
"Thank you for your participation in our newest endeavour, Life. We are conducting our routine maintenance immediately, and will be saving and restoring all user data at their last check-in. Once maintenance is complete, we are pleased to announce our newest feature will be in effect: Maturity Appearance Matching! Please visit our announcement page for a full changelist. Thank you for your patronage, and have a great daycycle."
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed again... with my teenage daughter beside me.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
Oh, yes. I know *exactly* which day things all went to shit.
It had started off as any other day. Burnt the toast because wife and I were distracted, traffic jams all the way to work, everyone else faking their work as usual. And then, just as I was clocking off for work, the earthquake hit.
Or rather, what felt like an earthquake. The rumbling and shaking sensation, that was surely there, seeing as all of us got tossed to the floor quite effectively. But not a single object fell to the ground... Even the pencil holders, loosely packed and prime for sending missiles careening about, remained as steady as they were when the secretaries 'took minutes'.
That was just the tip of the iceberg... moments after hitting the carpet, I heard The Voice call out from everywhere all at once:
"Thank you for your participation in our newest endeavour, Life. We are conducting our routine maintenance immediately, and will be saving and restoring all user data at their last check-in. Once maintenance is complete, we are pleased to announce our newest feature will be in effect: Maturity Appearance Matching! Please visit our announcement page for a full changelist. Thank you for your patronage, and have a great daycycle."
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed again... with my teenage daughter beside me.
|
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
I always knew that being considered “mature for my age” was never as good as people made it sound. A week ago I woke up looking like I was in my mid-forties instead of my mid-thirties, I had extra aches and pains that I never got to grow into, and my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend now looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter. It had been nice to get the validation that she was an immature brat though.
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my thoughts, double-checking the address of the house I was sitting outside of. 1201, belonging to the Allen’s. The parents had several CPS complaints against them, citing possible neglect of the three children, two girls, eleven and eight, and an autistic boy, nine. Christ, I worried about the oldest daughter, looking at her last time had been like looking in a mirror.
*You’re so mature for your age.*
I took a deep breath and walked up to the house. Hesitantly I pushed on the cracked doorbell, listening to the faint ring echo in the house. My dread heightened as the bell faded and footsteps took it place. After a minute, a young woman answered the door. My stomach dropped as I took in her appearance. She looked like her mother, with dark wavy hair and Italian features, but with her father’s blue eyes.
I had years of practice though, and none of my horror slipped past my professional mask as I addressed the girl, “Hi Alice, do you remember me? I’m Ms. Calloway, I know I look a bit older than I did last time I was here. Are your parents home?”
She nodded and said quietly, “Please come in.”
The house looked better than it had the last time I was here. No left out rotting food, no beer bottles, the rug even looked vacuumed. In the living room, another young woman with blonde hair was carefully building a LEGO tower with a little boy. As I watched her with the boy, it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. She looked like she could be his mother. I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight, and focused back on Alice, who was observing me anxiously.
I gestured for her to continue moving, and I followed the young woman, who should have been a child, toward the kitchen. Two teenagers were watching YouTube on their iPhones while eating pizza, with crumbs scattered around them.
I cleared my throat again, this time feeling rage bubble up inside me. I put on my best blatantly fake smile and addressed the teenagers, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m Ms. Calloway from Child Protective Services, I’m sure you remember me.”
The two teens froze, then looked up at me with slightly frightened expressions. I turned to Alice, my fake smile turning into a sincere, gentle one, “Why don’t you go play with your siblings Alice? I need to have a talk with your parents.”
|
"How did this happen?! Someone get me up to speed. You, walk with me."
"Yes sir, it appears that every world leader has suddenly been replaced by babies."
"Take us to defcon 2."
"Already there sir. The UN is on the line but were having trouble getting in contact with anyone over the age of 16. Funny thing is, they all claim to be officials."
"Good God what has the world come too. Do we have any lead on the current location of the President?"
"We still don't know sir. Secret Service was on guard all night, no alarms or suspicious security footage either."
"Well figure it out fast! And I expect to be on the phone with some *adult world leaders* within the hour!"
Edit: changed defcon 1 to 2
|
|
[WP] "I don't need your protection." The princess scoffs. The paladin hops off his steed, yanks her to out of the cart, and tosses her a spare sword. "Prove it." She demands.
|
Princess Veila smirked, and did something Sir Alithis was not expecting, she smashed the sword against her skull, and the sword… bent.
The Paladin looked at the princess with a dumbfounded expression, she merely smiled, “See? I don’t need your protection.”
He shook his head, “Just because you can’t be hurt doesn’t mean you don’t need my protection. You can still be captured and imprisoned, tied up, chained, trapped, you’re not protected from any of that.”
She chuckled, “You have some rope with you that would allow us to test that theory?”
Sir Alithis nodded, taking out some rope and binding her wrists and ankles. She winked before ripping her arms and legs free with ease. The knight blinked, utterly dumbfounded.
Her Highness did a little bow before waving her hands dramatically, “Ta da! See? I don’t need your protection!”
Sir Alithis stroked his chin in thought, “But what about stronger restraints…?”
The princess rolled her eyes, “Oh please, fine.” She took one of the knight’s daggers and bent the metal into a sort of shackle, wrapping it around her wrists before ripping through it once more. She stared at the knight, “Happy now?”
The paladin gulped, “Wow…”
“See? I’m fine. Now go.”
“But I have a job…”
“Apparently not. The way back is easy enough to find, you can just say you protected me and all will be fine.”
“I can’t do that, on my honor-”
“If you had any honor you’d honor my request.”
“Why was I even hired to protect you in the first place if you can handle yourself?”
“The usual, overprotective parents. Look, I’m not going to tell you my life story.”
“Understood… ah ha! What if you face a magical opponent! Then you’ll need help.”
“That’s cute, but no. I have quite the array of spells at my disposal myself.” She disappeared and reappeared behind him.
He yelped, “Ah! Oh, it’s just you. Hmm.. impressive..”
“But what? Still not satisfied?”
“No, I think I just noticed something approaching.” The knight pointed toward the sky, just then, flames rained down from above. The knight put up his shield to block the flames, but could do little else. The princess teleported out of the way of the heat, sighing, “Let me handle this.”
The knight shook his head, “I don’t need your protection, I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
She smirked, “That’s cute that you still think that, but you are so very wrong.” She said as she leaped into the air to confront the dragon.
The paladin presumed he should probably just run to cover, he really wasn’t going to be of any use in this battle. But he stayed. He had just found himself a new mentor, he just hoped she’d be willing to teach him.
|
My first writing prompt! Let me know what you think.
"This is all you're giving me?" The princess' face clearly communicated fear trying to mask it with her pride and nobility. The paladin stared back blankly unimpressed by the audacity of someone he just saved from a dragon. Many words flooded his mind at all the things he could say to someone who sat crying and screaming while he slayed the fearsome beast.
"Oh... forgive me," he replied blankly trying to hide his annoyance reaching out to take the sword back. She handed it back with a huffy attitude holding the hilt and the point straight at the paladin's. Annoyance flickered to anger as she almost poked his throat, where there was no armor. She was raised in a royal family known for their mighty warriors in the bloodline and yet basic safety of sharp weapons were unknown to her. He was starting to wonder if the coin was worth it to bring her back safely. His face must have betrayed his frustrations as she suddenly realized she almost stabbed him. She turned the sword around so the hilt was facing him and he quickly grabbed it out of her hands. She yelped as the sword sliced her hand just enough to cut a layer of skin.
"Careful!" She yelled at him. More anger flickered stoking that flame while at the same time a certain level of satisfaction soothed him to not lash out at her impudence. They hadn't left the Dragon's Tower fifteen minutes ago and he already wanted to tie her up and gag her. However he figured the royal family would not appreciate him arriving to her in home in that condition so it was probably better not to risk it. Although his mind counter argued that maybe they would understand the level of brattiness she exhibited and would have tied her up as well. Still, better not to risk it. So instead he took a calming breath and focused his energies on the sword.
It was a standard sword, nothing too fancy. He called the sword Ratsbane. It wasn't his main sword but it had always served him well as a backup and he kept it sharp. He first started learning to sword fight in the sewers of his home town exterminating the giant rat problem that scourged the underground. There wasn't even a basic lesson of how to properly hold the sword properly or what stance to hold first. The philosophy of his mentor was if you can kill a rat, you can learn to fight. Too many aspiring warriors and soldiers, wet behind the ears, never returned from their first trip from the sewers, lost or devoured or both. It was a brutal test of survival for unseasoned fighters that was never condoned by the authorities but his mentor was the best to learn from. And the paladin passed, barely, with a record of 108 rat tails to prove his success. The mentor had patronized him with the title Ratsbane but the paladin kept the name for his sword. The name was endearing. He took the fact the princess rejected this very reliable sword, that always served him well personally, but he brushed the feeling aside so he could summon his magic.
Golden light emanated from his hands and filled his chest with warmth. It soothed his aching muscles from the fight earlier. He gripped the hilt with both hands and focused on the blade. Two seconds later, fierce orange flames enveloped the sharp metal. The princess gasped in fear, surprised by the eruption. No sooner had it started though, the flames were swept away by an invisible wind, leaving the sword glowing an amber hue. The princess simply stood there stunned.
The paladin took another breath, one of finality, over his finished spell buff. "There. The sword is now enchanted with fire. It should last until the end of the day. We have a three days journey ahead of us and I can put the buff on it again tomorrow." It took some effort to not coat his words with attitude and hoped his tone was as neutral at possible. Instead of sarcasm though he tossed the sword back at her with no warning.
The princess screeched but clumsily caught the sword by the hilt. She held it at arms length as if she thought that Ratsbane would catch her clothes on fire, the tip pointing to the sky. She looked comical clearly afraid but still trying to maintain her royal stature. The paladin rolled his eyes and turned his back on the princess to get back on the cart. He heard her mutter something under her breath but didn't care enough to inquire further what she said. It was going to be a long three days and the sooner they left the better.
"Get on," he gruffly said as he settled into the driver's seat on the cart. His attitude turned sour thinking on the long journey ahead of them. There was silence as she clambered onto the back still holding the blade high above her. He could have given her the scabbard to sheathe the sword for the time being but his sour mood received enough satisfaction from his pettiness. She claimed she could protect herself so at least he had one less thing to worry about. Probably not but at least it was a nice thought.
|
|
[WP] "I don't need your protection." The princess scoffs. The paladin hops off his steed, yanks her to out of the cart, and tosses her a spare sword. "Prove it." She demands.
|
"I don't need your protection." Princess Meline scoffed.
Sir Garimond, paladin of the Divine, let out a longsuffering sigh. *This* again. He hopped off his steed, landing next to the cart where she sat, and pulled her out of it. To her credit, she landed adroitly, and pulled her hand free. He gave her a respectful nod, and then tossed her a sword. She caught it by the hilt.
"Prove it." he demanded.
Again, to her credit, she didn't hesitate, but dropped into a combat crouch herself. She traded blows with him capably. And while she was neither the best nor the worst he'd ever crossed blades with, she wasn't *terrible.* That meant he would need to take another tack. He struck the weapon out of her hands with a powerful, ringing strike from his unbreakable holy sword.
She winced, grabbing at her smarting wrist.
"That's not fair!" She spat. "If you were an ordinary man, with an ordinary sword, you couldn't make a strike like *that!* You'd risk breaking your own weapon!*"*
Garimond raised an eyebrow. "And you suppose the kingdom's enemies would only send *ordinary men* to kill a *Princess?* With only ordinary weapons? But that's not the point, your Highness."
"Then what is the point?" she demanded.
"The point is that being a warrior is about more than skill." he explained. "It's about being willing to sacrifice."
"I am!" she retorted, fiercely. "I've never been given the chance."
"Is that so, your Highness?" he mused. "I would give my *life* to defend this kingdom, in the name of the Holy Divine. In past, I have ridden out in the very vanguard of your father's cavalry, and taken wounds upon my own body, to spare the men I am called to lead. Would you really do the same?"
"Yes!" she said, lifting her chin. "If I was only *permitted,* I would give my life, and my body, for the kingdom!"
"I'm glad to hear it." Garimond said. "Because as a Princess, that is *exactly* what you will, someday, be called to do. Just as I will likely, one day, give my life to protect this land in a war, you will be called upon to give *your* life to a man, one from another kingdom, to protect this land *from* a war."
"That's not the same thing!" she snarled.
"Isn't it?" he demanded, eyes flashing. "I serve the Holy Divine, just as I serve your father. Even though doctrine says I will not have to answer to the Divine in the next world, for the lives I have taken in just warfare, it is still the *highest* will of the Divine, that men should live in peace, and resolve their problems without recourse to bloodshed. My sacrifice is not only my body. Each man I must wound in battle, wounds *my very soul!* Every time I sit in silence, I hear the distant dying screams of all the men I have had to lay low in the name of justice. Every time I close my eyes, I look upon endless fields of carnage and suffering wrought by my own hand. If not for the solace of my faith, I would *go mad* with the torment of it!"
"I am willing to take such wounds as those on myself, as well!" she insisted, though she did not sound quite as certain as before.
"Don't you understand, your Highness?" He pleaded, passionately. "By forming an alliance through your marriage, and thereafter doing nothing more than living your life peaceably, you can prevent wars between our kingdom, and that of your future husband, from occurring in the first place! You, in doing your duty as a Princess, can save *more lives,* and protect *more people,* than I will *ever* be able to do in a *lifetime* of brutal slaughter on the battlefield! Do you not realize what a gift that is? Do you know what I would give, to be able to do that?"
Meline looked back at him in stunned silence. He turned away, and sighed.
"Perhaps you cannot understand. But understand this, at least, my Princess: a sacrifice is a sacrifice, precisely because it's *not* what you want to do."
|
My first writing prompt! Let me know what you think.
"This is all you're giving me?" The princess' face clearly communicated fear trying to mask it with her pride and nobility. The paladin stared back blankly unimpressed by the audacity of someone he just saved from a dragon. Many words flooded his mind at all the things he could say to someone who sat crying and screaming while he slayed the fearsome beast.
"Oh... forgive me," he replied blankly trying to hide his annoyance reaching out to take the sword back. She handed it back with a huffy attitude holding the hilt and the point straight at the paladin's. Annoyance flickered to anger as she almost poked his throat, where there was no armor. She was raised in a royal family known for their mighty warriors in the bloodline and yet basic safety of sharp weapons were unknown to her. He was starting to wonder if the coin was worth it to bring her back safely. His face must have betrayed his frustrations as she suddenly realized she almost stabbed him. She turned the sword around so the hilt was facing him and he quickly grabbed it out of her hands. She yelped as the sword sliced her hand just enough to cut a layer of skin.
"Careful!" She yelled at him. More anger flickered stoking that flame while at the same time a certain level of satisfaction soothed him to not lash out at her impudence. They hadn't left the Dragon's Tower fifteen minutes ago and he already wanted to tie her up and gag her. However he figured the royal family would not appreciate him arriving to her in home in that condition so it was probably better not to risk it. Although his mind counter argued that maybe they would understand the level of brattiness she exhibited and would have tied her up as well. Still, better not to risk it. So instead he took a calming breath and focused his energies on the sword.
It was a standard sword, nothing too fancy. He called the sword Ratsbane. It wasn't his main sword but it had always served him well as a backup and he kept it sharp. He first started learning to sword fight in the sewers of his home town exterminating the giant rat problem that scourged the underground. There wasn't even a basic lesson of how to properly hold the sword properly or what stance to hold first. The philosophy of his mentor was if you can kill a rat, you can learn to fight. Too many aspiring warriors and soldiers, wet behind the ears, never returned from their first trip from the sewers, lost or devoured or both. It was a brutal test of survival for unseasoned fighters that was never condoned by the authorities but his mentor was the best to learn from. And the paladin passed, barely, with a record of 108 rat tails to prove his success. The mentor had patronized him with the title Ratsbane but the paladin kept the name for his sword. The name was endearing. He took the fact the princess rejected this very reliable sword, that always served him well personally, but he brushed the feeling aside so he could summon his magic.
Golden light emanated from his hands and filled his chest with warmth. It soothed his aching muscles from the fight earlier. He gripped the hilt with both hands and focused on the blade. Two seconds later, fierce orange flames enveloped the sharp metal. The princess gasped in fear, surprised by the eruption. No sooner had it started though, the flames were swept away by an invisible wind, leaving the sword glowing an amber hue. The princess simply stood there stunned.
The paladin took another breath, one of finality, over his finished spell buff. "There. The sword is now enchanted with fire. It should last until the end of the day. We have a three days journey ahead of us and I can put the buff on it again tomorrow." It took some effort to not coat his words with attitude and hoped his tone was as neutral at possible. Instead of sarcasm though he tossed the sword back at her with no warning.
The princess screeched but clumsily caught the sword by the hilt. She held it at arms length as if she thought that Ratsbane would catch her clothes on fire, the tip pointing to the sky. She looked comical clearly afraid but still trying to maintain her royal stature. The paladin rolled his eyes and turned his back on the princess to get back on the cart. He heard her mutter something under her breath but didn't care enough to inquire further what she said. It was going to be a long three days and the sooner they left the better.
"Get on," he gruffly said as he settled into the driver's seat on the cart. His attitude turned sour thinking on the long journey ahead of them. There was silence as she clambered onto the back still holding the blade high above her. He could have given her the scabbard to sheathe the sword for the time being but his sour mood received enough satisfaction from his pettiness. She claimed she could protect herself so at least he had one less thing to worry about. Probably not but at least it was a nice thought.
|
|
[WP] "I don't need your protection." The princess scoffs. The paladin hops off his steed, yanks her to out of the cart, and tosses her a spare sword. "Prove it." She demands.
|
Sir Pentious was nearing his wit's end, feeling the beration of Her Royal Highness. The Princess complained of her shakles, complained of the way he carried her, complained of the hardtack and provisions, complained of the lack of amenities in his humble cart. Through mantra, and reverence, these were things he could ride through. He had saved many a noble before; and all nobles complained the same. Her last remark, however, dug deep into his ego, his pride, and sparked his short fuse.
"I don't need your protection."
The scoff was what really set him seeing red. The insolence. The *nerve*. He could have died, and several times, nearly did, in his quest to rescue her.
He silently slowed the cart to a stop. Slowly disembark off of his steed. He ignored her inquisitive complaints as he moved to the rear of the cart, grabbing Her Royal Highness and yanking her out. He was careful enough not to shove her into the dirt, but pushed her some paces away, before tossing a sheathed sword in her direction.
**"Then prove it."**
He removed his blade from his side, locking the sheath. While this was a time for violence, it was no time for blood. Only a lesson, at most.
Her Royal Highness only got a confused "what" out before being forced to block the incoming blow. Then another. And another. Slow attacks, but purposeful and strong. She attempted to reason with her new agressor, but violence was the only language the Paladin spoke, now.
She understood the picture, and after deflecting another blow, took an offensive stance. The next attack; parry, riposte. Smaller attacks, aiming for vital points, forcing the Paladin to block, opening new avenues of attack. Forced block, swing. Parry, riposte.
Through several minutes of back-and-forth combat, tension from Sir Pentious gave way to a thin smile of surprise. **"I see that I am mistaken in your abilities. You have been trained in the blade."**
"Yes, and I am quite good at it too, thank you very much."
Sir Pentious smiled.
**"Very well then."**
The blows from the Paladin became more complex, adding finnese into the brute strength. It was enough to put the Princess on her toes, back on the defensive, but not enough to deter her attacks. They parleyed for several minutes more, before the smile became a laugh. **"A Royal, able to withstand the might of a Paladin! Color me impressed, Your Highness."**
The Princess couldn't help but to give a smile. "Get the picture yet? Still think I need a protector?" To accent her point, she lunged for a vital area, a weakness in the armor.
To her surprise, she hit; not due to aim, but the Paladin leaned into the attack, *allowing* it. As he did, his offhand rammed straight into her stomach, now unprotected. The Princess keeled over, coughing and dry heaving in pain, as her blade dropped. The Paladin gave a prayer in a foreign language, before smiling and offering a hand to the Princess.
**"No,"** He stated, a chuckle on his voice.
**"What you need is experience."**
|
The match went...longer than expected.
-----
"I don't need your protection." The princess scoffed.
The paladin hopped off his steed, yanked her to out of the cart, and tossed her a spare sword.
"Prove it." He demanded.
The 12 year old princess picked up the short sword. She examined it, and then did the same to the paladin drawing a large circle in the dirt around them. This was certainly new to her. Never had she been instructed to "prove" her point though combat. The paladin spoke up.
"Upon the start, you are to do your damnedest to knock me from this ring. My goal, on the other hand, is to capture you, or make you leave the ring."
The ~~girl~~ princess scowled at the armoured man she called her paladin. He knew of her magical abilities. How could he hope to succeed?
"We will try again in the case of a draw." The Paladin spoke confidently now; nearly belittling her.
"We will begin when I say. I am playing the role of your capturer after all. Attackers tend to work and attack on their own schedule."
The princess cast a spell to strengthen her body so she could more comfortably wield the sword. It was an advanced spell, and she hadn't had much practice with it, but it would do for now. The Paladin took a pose with the short sword's hilt in his hand, and spoke.
"Begin."
He rushed forward, then right, then left, zig zagging towards his opponent with each step, oddly graceful for the hefty armour he adorned. At this point, the princess realized she had never seen him fight like this. He swung a few blows which she blocked with only some ease. She twisted her foot causing the area before her to turn to mud, causing him to sink ungracefully to his shins. At which point, she hopped back, just out of his hilt's reach and blasted him with fire.
She may have been a bit more than angry considering she was yanked from her cart and forced into combat. After a short moment of fire, she realized her mistake and stopped the blast. He was no where to be seen, and the ground had hardened at the flames heat.
Her worry transformed to surprise in an instant as a hand sprang forth from the ground. The clever man had encased himself in the mud, thus protecting him from the flame. It had to be uncomfortable though considering she had boiled the water off of him.
If it was, he gave no indication of it as he freed the rest of his body and rolled backwards to land on his feet, all while retrieving his shield. Then he charged again upon the broken ground and jumped just as it all turned to mud again below him.
-----
To be continued...
|
|
[WP] You're a supervillain who is ranked number 1 in terms of both danger level and power, no other hero has claimed the title to be your official nemesis. There's a rookie level hero who constantly challenges you for that title. You find both them and their determination cute.
|
"Your reign of terror ends now Fiend!"
Again with the fiend, he really needed a thesaurus, maybe I'd send him one, his birthday was coming up after all. I studied my opponent, he'd modeled his costume after three of "The League" unfortunately every piece he chose clashed, he had battle gauntlets and boots reminiscent of Two Ton Techno, a headband and gi in the same style as Lady Shattersoul, and then put it all into the color scheme of the head honcho himself "Star Shine." Unfortunately the did not have the skin or eyes to pull off glitzy purple, with white accents. He looked so washed out that people often thought he was sick before the first punch was thrown. Maybe a better suit or something instead as a gift, probably too obvious it's someone who knows his secret identity if I did that.
"Ahh the little Sun Spot is back for another spanking is he?" I hated taking shots at his age, but hey if you're gonna be the best you make sure to live up to they hype.
A pause, and I think I saw a sniffle, though he recovered quickly. "Ha, the only one getting spanked here will be you Shattersoul."
I raised a single finger and put the other hand to my mouth in an exagerrated yawn as I sent a blast of focused solar energy at him, knowing it'd only knock him back. After all, didn't want to end this too quickly, I needed material for when I got home after all.
As he saw it incoming he puffed out his chest and seemed to brace himself despite floating in the air. As soon as it struck though he flipped end over end three times before managing to stop himself, unfortunately his timing was off and he was upside down, he still struck the appropriate pose, hands on his hips, legs apart, arms bent, a smile on his face.
"Was that supposed to hurt, I eat more solar power then that for breakfast." He then seemed to realize that I appeared to be on the cieling and his pose and posture fell apart. "What have you done, how'd you turn the world upside" he stopped and paused looking around and spun himself to being upright once more before flying full force at me.
I grinned, this was his biggest flaw and the one he'd most need to overcome, if he made a gaff or felt he was made a fool of he instantly rushed to straight hand to hand. He had quite a few powers he could have used to fight me at a distance but he tended to forgot them when he felt humiliated.
As he closed "Ahh, the fool wants to see my powers up close and personal does he?" I then waited until he was right at the edge of engaging and tapped my thumb, raising a force field just long enough for him to smack into and bounce off of it. "I don't know Solar Knight, if you can't even bash through with that run up are you really sure you want to try this?"
The taunt got to him further and he rushed towards me again. I had hoped the lesson hidden in the taunt might make it through that bull headedness, apparently not. I sighed, I was only allowed to toy with him so long before it started becoming a question of if he was actually a threat to me. I couldn't have another "Fluff of Fury" media debacle on my hands. I let him close the gap, let him even hit me, as soon as his hand connected though I backhanded him into the nearest building, he flew through the front wall and then I heard a loud Clang!, looked up and realized I'd swatted him towards the bank I'd been in the midst of robbing.
I strolled inside saw the caved in vault door and with a smirk and a strut walked over "Thanks for opening that up for me hero, I'd shatter you but honestly you aren't worth it." Collecting my winnings and flying off I sighed as the news media rushed towards the collapsed wall. I knew what'd come next for him and it made me truly sad. I'd need to be a bit extra on the after action this time.
Sitting down at my desk I nodded at the piece of paper and crayons and used my favorite and least known power. In a moment I was my five year old self again, it'd only last for three hours, but that was more then enough time to watch the fottage I'd gotten of our battle and do what needed to be done.
As my older self faded I was pleased to see the words in crayon being put on the paper.
"Dear Solar Knight,
I saw your battle with Soulshatter, you almost had him. I know you'll get him next time. It was awesome the way you took his blast and held out. It's amazing that even upside down you manage to look awesome and ready for a fight. I know the news is saying mean things about you but they're wrong, you fight for what's right no matter what and that's why you're my favorite hero. Maybe when I'm a little older I can be your sidekick and help you lock up all the bad guys. I hope the bank was nice enough to at least say thank you for stopping him from smashing everything in there.
Your friend and future sidekick, Samuel"
As I returned to my normal form I smiled at my younger self's simplicity and saw a drawing next to the letter of him and Solar standing side by side on a roof top. I put it all in an envelope, addressed it properly to the hero societies fan mail and sent it off after removing all identifiers beyond the name Samuel. I looked over at the bank's money and sighed as I pulled out my laptop and started my search for parts to finish up my doomsday device.
|
It's exasperating.
Even insulting.
No one wants to be my nemesis!
"SURRENDER, MEGALADY!"
Again? "Full marks on the voice and declamation, Roy. Got anything to go with it?"
"I SHALL..."
"Okay, Roy, what have I told you about monologuing?"
"Um... Villains only?"
"Pretty close. Heroes only monologue when they are playing for time. Are you playing for time?"
"Depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Depends on if'you'let'me'get'close..." ***WHAM!***
*ouch* "That actually stung. You've been working out. Time for lesson two. Never land a punch unless you can take a punch."
***!!!SUNDAYPUNCH!!!***
"See you next month, Roy. Lifeline is already sending an ambulance."
What?!? At least *he* is *trying*, unlike some holier-than-thou twits I could name. Such dedication deserves a reward.
Besides, that red costume of his is so cute! He's not half bad-looking either.
•••
"Hi, Mary Lou! Anything interesting today?"
"Yeah, you remember the guy who keeps hitting on me? He was really nice today, so I let him get to first base."
"How long have you been putting up with him?"
"Oh, about a year, but he only hits on me once a month, so it isn't a big problem. Besides! He's so cute!"
"You be careful, Girl. You're playing him, and some guys get mean when you keep putting them off."
"It's okay, Angela. He's a 98-lb weakling. Nothing he can do will hurt me."
•••
"pssst! Doc! The *Angels* are in the hospital!"
"*shit*"
"Yeah, especially since that red dude is in again. Who's he paying off to have them show up when he's hurt?"
Hissing, *"No one, orderly,"* the dark angel passes by, headed for the critical ward. The light angel bypasses the critical ward and heads for the intensive care ward. In her wake, she leaves the hint of a whisper, *"It's our civic duty."*
"Those two piss me off."
"Whuffo, Doc?"
"They come swanning in here, and the patients on the downslope stop fighting. I've seen the stats! Before they showed up, a third of those patients would recover, and half of those would live comfortable lives for over five years. For Christ's sake! One of them was a twenty-month-old baby who lived for eighty years! Now, no one survives their visit. Oh, it may take a few months, but I can already tell which ones will die."
"They... They're killing patients!? Why'n'hell do we let them in here?!?"
"Believe me; we tried to keep them out. We really did. Nothing worked. Not for long anyway."
"The other supers won't take them on?"
"Her, Chuck, her. There is only one; what one half takes, the other gives. Usually to the patients who probably would have made it anyway, but now they come out perfectly healthy. The others won't touch her for two reasons. First, she's never there when a patient dies or recovers. That makes it hard to prove cause and effect other than statistically. Second, she takes nothing for herself. If you could prove what she's doing, it would technically be a neutral act. She gains nothing from the act."
"So, Doc. If she *is* concentrating the output on the red dude, that should already be in the records and prove what she's doing."
((continue??))
|
|
[WP] "Mummy, mummy, look!" Your daughter cries, waking you from a deep sleep early on Christmas morning. "Santa got me the pet rock I asked for!" You slowly open your eyes to see your daughter holding hands with one very confused--but still smiling--Dwayne Johnson.
|
(I might write a second part to this. I'm currently exhausted after a long day so enjoy part one)
I blink twice. First looking at my ecstatic little Cheryl. Then at the Rock, smiling very awkwardly in what seems to be an attempt on not freaking out. Maybe I'm still sleeping and it's one of those weird dreams.
"That's nice, sweetie..." I just hope my response doesn't come off as bizarre. Trying to get more awake and rubbing out some sand while Cheryl is doing that hop-dance when she's excited. I warily stumble forward, crashing into the broad man.
*Wait, what?*
*How do I crash into something physical of something that's a dream...*
My eyes snap open in disbelief and horror, just as my mouth. I'm close to screaming and the poor guy must have noticed because he's now desperately trying to calm me down.
*Dwayne THE Rock Johnson is in my friggen apartment, more so, in my friggen bedroom...*
Standing in front of me, dragged here by my daughter while I'm in a pair short pyjamas. The gurgling noise of trying to keep my freak out silent and losing my mind gets added in with me blushing all over, with my ears lighting up like Rudolph's nose does in the Christmas story I read to Cheryl yesterday.
The tall man in front of me seems to handle the "sudden appearance in foreign apartment" deal better than me, although I can tell that he's just as confused as I am. He scratches his neck, only slightly anxious.
"Sorry about that, I promise to you - this is just as weird for you as it is for me and I don't know how I got here either." He says hastily, as if I was about to call the cops. Cheryl still does her jumping, which is helpful enough to get me back to reality.
" W-would you like s-something to drink?" The stammering is obvious in my failed attempt of calmness, but the man nods gratefully.
Cheryl beams and starts pulling the star into the kitchen. "This way, this way!" she shouts excitedly.
He bears it all with a nervous grin, staying as professional as possible - while I am stuck in place until they have passed the threshold and I hear the scratching of a chair, accompanied by my sweet daughters naïve and gleeful chatter and the star's confused but still friendly response.
I stagger forth, first more uncertain, then grabbing onto a robe and fastening it quick with a tie. It's then when I try to process the situation.
*Dwayne the Rock Johnson is in my apartment. For some reason, he's in my apartment.*
I think back to how Cheryl waked me up.
*Her pet rock? HER PET ROCK???!*
The bigger realization is that I'm screwed and I'm gonna end in jail for the kidnapping of a big star. Worse, I'm gonna lose my job and everything because I kidnapped Dwayne THE Rock Johnson.
I try to take a steady breath, heading out into the hall. *No, since I don't know how he got here and he doesn't know either, I just have to be careful that I won't get accused of abducting him.*
A suspicious lump forms in my throat. *No, it could be even worse - I could be made as some kind of groupie or something.* "Excuse me?"
I visibly jump backwards, turning around to the now-startled star. *Did I say that out loud??!* He blinks a few times, utterly perplexed, before asking in a more quieter tone.
"I wanted to ask if I could have some black coffee."
I nod hesitantly, trying to get over the shock.
"Sure, sure..."
"I want some chocolate!" Cheryl calls out, scrambling up on a chair with several pictures she drew yesterday and Leo, her trusted pet lion. Mister Johnson sits down on the opposite side, seeming to think and hopefully not get a lawyer or the cops involved.
The coffee maker makes the usual rustling sounds like a broken car engine, while I'm looking for some mugs in the cupboards. I could kick myself for not doing the dishes the day before, but I pull out a Winnie Pooh mug and two of the merchandise cups from breaking bad out, those with those quotes from show characters.
The tablet is out of service as well, so I balance all of the cups to the table. It's with a sudden shift that Mister Johnson gets up and holds out his hand. "Here, lemme help you with this." I involuntarily blush, letting the star take two of the mugs from my hands and set them down on the table, one of which is for Cheryl.
She immediately takes the cup and starts sipping, while I slowly sit down next to her and the bunch of drawings, facing the Rock. He doesn't comment on bad hospitality luckily, because I'm sure my mom would have.
Although she would have also commented on me having a foreign man over at my place.
"Sooo..." I mumble, trying to finally get the ball rolling. This is so awkward. "Thanks for the coffee first." He nods towards me, still polite and friendly. I have heard that he is one of those nice celebrities, although I think anyone would not be nice in this situation.
"How did you get here?" I ask bluntly, eyes fixed on his expression. He scratches at his neck again, then his head. "I'm not really sure either. I just woke up in -"
He checks for a second the room in the direction he points at, apparently only figuring out which part of the apartment it is. "-living room, and then your little kid here -" he nods down to a smiling Cheryl "-came out of her room." He seems just as embarrassed and confused as I am. I sigh. "Mister Johnson, I hope you don't find it offensive or anything, when I woke up I had no idea that you were actually here."
He breathes out in exasperation, giving off the expression of a man who really wants to get home. "I understand that, Miss -" "Loydwebber. Alex Loydwebber. But you can also call me Alex." "Okay, Alex, I got that from your expression and all that you are not some kind of kidnapper or something. I mean, I would know if I'd been kidnapped right?"
He gives a slightly nervous laugh at this, which I counter with a strained grin myself. Cheryl has drifted off into her own world meanwhile, too occupied with her drawings. "Okay then, neither of us knows how I got here. I think it's also best if I get going..." He stands up, looking around the apartment before turning back to me. "Can I borrow your phone or something?"
I point towards the device plunged in the wall in the hallway, watching the tall man trod off towards it.
I gulp down a large portion of the coffee and think. He's not really going to call the cops on me, right?
|
\*yawn\*
I stirred at the sound of giggling, maybe from a dream? "Mommy, mommy, look!"
My daughter, Matilda, gave a light playful shove while I was mulling over what awaited me in reality. As I rubbed my eyes, I heard a calm, deep, reassuring, and whispered voice, "Noooo, don't wake her! She must be tired from taking care of you!"
"Too late," I thought. Matilda giggled again, delighted at disturbing my slumber. "Mommy look, my rock!" Her rock??? I must not be fully awake yet. I turned over, pivoting towards the right side of the room where my daughter's voice was emanating from, blinking as not one, but two people came into view.
"I am so sorry."
An imposing figure stood in front of the window at the side of the room, which took me aback for a second. As the adrenaline pulsed through my veins, I sat up and my eyes quickly adjusted to the contrast of the sun and the shadow of the stranger. "I'm Dwayne, it's nice to meet you Mrs.--"
"My Rock! My Rock!" Matilda interjected. "Yes, people also know me as The Rock," Dwayne clarified, as he extended his hand. I meekly shook it, awestruck as I flashed back to last month:
\---
*"Matilda, what would you like for Christmas?" Santa asked. "I want my rock," Matilda promptly responded. Santa guffawed, "Don't you want more than a rock for Christmas? You know I give bad children a piece of coal."*
*"She means Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson," I explained.*
*"Oooh, of course! Is he your favorite?" Santa asked. Matilda nodded her head as vigorously as she could muster. "Santa can surely make that happen, don't you worry!" Santa exclaimed, poking her nose playfully, as I sighed and rolled my eyes.*
*"Don't expect Santa to bring him to you okay?" I reminded my daughter.*
\---
Yet here he was, in all his muscular, charismatic glory. For once, we both fully believed in the magic of Christmas. Unfortunately for me, the magic was only fleeting. The door opened to the room, and another familiar face entered quite briskly, wearing the signature face mask and outfit in classic hospital blue. "You ready Matilda?" the doctor asked.
Matilda didn't seem to notice, still fixated on her dream-come-true. "My Rock!" she continued to repeat, her small hands clinging to his. Another figure silently approached one of the tubes connected to Matilda's arm, and deftly inserted the syringe into the receptacle, keeping out of sight from Matilda. The anesthesiologist looked at Dwayne, as if he'd done this several times before.
"Do you know your numbers?" Dwayne asked Matilda. Matilda nodded, still beaming. "Let's do them together, okay?" Matilda nodded again, eager to impress the celebrity.
"1...2...3...4...5.....6......7.....8."
"1...2...3...4...5.....6......"
Matilda tried her best to stay awake, but the surgeons had work to do. Tears welled in my eyes as the doctor wheeled her away. Dwayne and I walked to the hallway to bid my daughter good luck for her procedure.
After a long silence, I looked over to Dwayne. "Thank you," I said, even though he clearly deserved more than that.
He smiled and winked, just like the movies, and walked over to the next room to perform his magic trick one more time.
|
|
[WP] "Mummy, mummy, look!" Your daughter cries, waking you from a deep sleep early on Christmas morning. "Santa got me the pet rock I asked for!" You slowly open your eyes to see your daughter holding hands with one very confused--but still smiling--Dwayne Johnson.
|
I rubbed my eyes, and although I recognized him, something was off. His smile, too perfect, like it was copied from a promotional poster. His eyes, too bright. Tan, too dark. And there was a smell…something like old water and fish and the woods.
"What's that odor?"
"It's what I'm cooking…" the 'Rock' replied. His voice was off.
"What's it going to take to finish?"
He looked at me, then away as if shamed. "About tree-fiddy."
I realized what was wrong. He was actually 8 stories tall and from the Paleolithic era!
"Baby that is not The Rock. That is that got dang Loch Ness Monster trying to get tree fiddy from you." I said to her. I shouted at it "Get out of here Loch Ness I am not giving you no tree fiddy!"
My daughter was crushed. She had wanted that pet Rock so badly…
|
[Poem]
"You've been so sad since Daddy died
So I thought and I wished and I tried and I tried."
We both look at the nude muscular man in shock.
Dwayne Johnson says, "Would you like to pet Rock?"
|
|
[WP] "Mummy, mummy, look!" Your daughter cries, waking you from a deep sleep early on Christmas morning. "Santa got me the pet rock I asked for!" You slowly open your eyes to see your daughter holding hands with one very confused--but still smiling--Dwayne Johnson.
|
"Aaaaaaaaaaargh,"
screamed Sharon, jumping backwards over the side of the bed.
"What the *hell* is going on?"
"Calm down, Mummy! This is my new friend, Mr. Johnson," said Sara.
The tall and muscular figure who looked eerily similar to *The Rock* took a breath, and started talking.
"Sorry to intrude here, Mrs. Brennan." -- That voice, Sharon thought. It's really him! -- "Believe me when I say, the surprise is mutual," said Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, who was wearing pyjamas with blue elephants on top, yellow giraffes on the bottom.
A few moments of contemplative silence passed. From behind the bed: "That's really The Rock in my house right now?"
"It is it is it is," cried Sara, gleefully. "I wished for a pet rock from Santa in the mall, and I got the best one of them all!"
Sharon raised her messy hair and bewildered face into view, for a sceptical look. "Fucking hell," she gasped. Dwayne Fucking Johnson was standing *right there.*
"Hey, no swearing," Sara snapped.
"Look, it's Christmas day, and I'm really not meant to be here. So, Sara, it's been real meeting you, but I won't be able to stay for the tea party."
"But you said you would!"
"I'm sorry," Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson said, not lying. "Trust me, if I didn't have my own family to get back to, Fuzzy Bear and Malibu Barbie and I would be teapotting it up all afternoon with you."
Sharon looked on, vague, wondering if she was still drunk and stoned from the dinner party the night before. Had there been LSD going around? She was beginning to hope so.
Sara looked away, and started to cry. "Now now, don't cry. Any girl able to summon *The Rock* out of thin air must be really, really strong," he said. "Are you strong, Sara?"
She wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded her head. "There it is. I think you might be the strongest girl in the whole neighbourhood!"
"You really think so?"
"No doubt about it. And no-one knows these things better than I do."
Sara smiled big and bright and ran over and hugged his leg. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Brennan?"
Sharon was too mystified by what she was observing to respond. "Mrs. Brennan, isn't that right?"
"What? Oh, yes. Of course. Mr. Johnson would know."
"Yay!"
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson gave them both his widest Hollywood smile, and Sharon found her confusion subsiding into instincts of a very different nature. My word he's handsome, she thought.
"Could I please use your phone? Had better explain to the wife where I am."
"Sure, down the hall on the wall next to the fridge."
"Great, thanks."
Sharon gathered herself and put her dressing gown on and picked Sara up. "Well, missy. This'll be a Christmas we won't forget, that's for sure."
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson was still on the phone when they walked into the kitchen. He spoke quietly, but Sharon could tell something was wrong.
"Mummy, is Mr. Johnson okay?"
"I don't know, honey. Let's give him some space to finish his call."
Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson followed them to the loungeroom a few minutes later, as a different man than before. His towering frame slumped, crestfallen, eyes wet with tears, looking as if about to make some kind of plea.
"Well, ladies. Looks like the situation is stranger than I thought," he said.
"What's the matter, Mr. Johnson?" Sara asked, with profound concern.
"Turns out I never left home, after all. My wife says I'm still sleeping in bed."
It was then, finally, that Sharon realised they were playing witness to the most insane Christmas miracle, surely, in history. Stranger than fiction, a singular cataclysm in humanity's understanding of science and physics and anything that Neil deGrasse Tyson from *Cosmos* had to say.
Sara, on the other hand, was thrilled. So much so that she was struggling to contain herself in spite her Christmas wish's emotional state. Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson looked down, and, seeing how happy she was, managed a smile.
"Well, Miss Sara, howabout that tea party?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
r/wordsofbrennan
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Clara Olsen v.s. Santa Claus)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Hi, you've reached North Pole Customer Service."** I scowled at my cellphone as Janice squealed and laughed in the kitchen. "Please listen carefully, as our options have recently changed. To lodge a grievance with Santa, please press 1—"
*1.* The phone beeped. The man who'd found himself impossibly crammed underneath the Christmas tree this morning poked his head out the door. "Is there a bathroom in—"
"First door on the left, can't miss it," I snapped. The phone blared some cheerful music about the true meaning of Christmas was compassion. I was pretty sure Santa didn't own the copyright to it. Maybe I could quietly do a reverse lookup and get Digital Rights Management on Santa's ass. It'd serve him right for lobbing some random stranger into my house.
"Hello?" The elf on the other end picked up surprisingly quickly. They sounded somewhat harried—from the news, I'd gathered that there had been a similar wave of Christmas accidents around the world. "How can I help y—"
"Under the Supernatural Cultural and Deific Phenomena Act of 2031, Santa is not above U.S. law, which *includes* breach of contract, trespassing, and *kidnapping*," I growled. "There had better be a damn good explanation for this—"
"Santa is not above U.S. law because Santa is dead," the elf said with the tired drone of a practiced response.
I stopped mid-rant.
"What?" I finally asked. "How?"
"Some rich kid went overboard trying to catch Santa's sleigh. Land-mined the roof so that the reindeer would—look, ma'am, we've been stretched thin trying to fulfill our contractual obligations without the big guy as it is." The elf's voice cracked. "Now are you going to shout at us some more, or can I move on to the next customer in line?"
I pressed my lips together. In the distance, my daughter laughed.
"No. That'll be all."
"Have a nice day." The elf hung up.
I set down the phone, drumming my fingers in thought.
Then I walked over to my daughter and sat down, smiling as I saw her shriek in delight as she put the empty box over her head.
My daughter had gotten what she'd wanted for Christmas. That was enough for me.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is 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] turns out that raccoons can talk and they trade food or valuables with other animals in exchange for information on where the best trash cans are located.
|
Never trust cats. That's rule number 1 of the trade. Take snooty for example, that damn fluff ball. I traded him my best tuna fish in exchange for the location of some primo Italian restaurant garbage. You know what that dirty fluffer gave me? A dang pizza shack! Not even a family owned pizzeria. A damn chain pizza joint and a shitty one at that!
Now pigeons are okay. Great scouters, but horrible with locations. They can't tell their 18th and I from their 21st and J. Their information is usually reliable, IF they show you where to go. Typically, not great food sources but lots of great shinnies.
Best source of food? Go find sticks. He's a mutt who lives under the 38th street bridge. Dog knows his grub and the best thing is he deals in sticks. Bring him a nice willow stick from the park, and he will be happy as a human with a latte.
Geese? Stay away from geese. They don't want to share their intel and will just fuck you up. Now ducks. Ducks are another story. Those adorable fucks are a bit touched in the head, but they know their stuff. If you can get them to talk. The trick with them is bread. They are suckers for bread. It's like crack to them. Get them a nice moldy baguette, and they will sing like a songbird.
Now for the real question. Can you trust anything I've said? That's for you to decide, I am a trash panda after all, the shadiest of the shady.
|
My story starts with my new 'friend' I call Dipshit. He's a young little trash panda visiting our city park, simply craving trash as they always do. He surprised us though as he scurried towards us, apparently curious about the items on our table.
Being a bit startled, at first I ran away, until I realized my new friend wasn't vicious. But he was quite curious about the items on the table, including my beer. I could only guess by then he saw me put it to my mouth and wanted some...
So I decided to go ahead and grab my beer and offered it to him on the ground, if for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity. And sure enough he approached it and smelled it quite curiously, but then backed off.
I shooed him away as I said clearly "I don't have anything for you"... not like my new friend would immediately understand but I hoped he would get it. And shortly he did, and scurried away off into the woods.
He still returns occasionally, but realizes I don't have anything to trade, so he harasses other people at the park now. Harmless mind you, but he approaches other citizens and his presence alone scares them, despite his general harmless nature.
One lady he bothered came to me, wanting help to be rid of this unexpected new 'friend'. He had gotten into their food on the other side of the park, and I shooed him off, but he already got the lady's sandwich.
I wasn't intending to feed Dipshit, but he had already ruined the sandwich and I knew if I didn't go ahead and give the rest to him, he'd just dig it out of the trash. So I tossed the rest of the sandwich towards the tree he ran to.
So I ended up trading a lady's sandwich for her and her daughter's safety. True story actually, I even have unposted recent videos of Dipshit haha!
|
|
[WP] Salt has long been known to contain, ward and harm the supernatural. The ocean wasn’t always this salty. Ancient mages just turned into the worlds greatest trap, and the hold it has is starting to falter.
|
How do you seal something that can destroy the world? Something so in tune with magic that it cannot be destroyed. The answer was both simple and horrifying. To seal something stronger than a planet, you had to make a planet sized lock. But such a lock would have side effects.
It was a hard choice, but in ancient times, they made it. They imbued the oceans with salt, using a spell of titanic proportions. It froze the caps of the world, locking it in. But this seal drained away what little power remained after such an endeavour. With the Leviathan sealed, magic was lost. It faded into myth and legend.
The world moved on, with the beast safely locked away. Civilisations rose and fell. The history of that day was lost completely, along with the importance of the ice caps. Eventually, the world moved to technology to push forwards. Metal and electricity was bent to the needed purpose. Fires filled the sky, spewing thick smoke.
This changed the air that spell needed. It crippled the maintenance aspects, allowing the caps to start to melt. As they slowly grew smaller, the chains weakened. The Leviathan began to shift. It strained at its bindings. They were still strong, but it could tell their grip was failing.
But it had a secret of its own. As the bindings had fallen upon it, and it was lost, the Leviathan made one last ditch attempt to save itself. It birthed a clone of a human, with its own mind implanted. That clone mixed with the human populace, hiding in plain sight.
It passed itself down each generation. One of its children would take on the mind, as the old one withered. They worked to find a way to release themselves. In the dark, they manipulated where they could.
And now, my plan was nearing its completion. I would soon be free, and my body returned to me.
|
"This is why global warming is a problem!"
The other three mages that had come to the coffeehouse to unwind with Callie after work raised their lattes in solidarity. It was their third time hearing her rant since they showed up, and interrupting Callie's rant had already caused two mugs to need replaced.
A pissed off water mage who was a marine biologist was not someone you wanted upset at you.
She had been explaining how the desalinization of the ocean due to melting ice was not just risking climate change, but very close to breaking the magical barriers used to contain leviathans, kraken, sirens, and even cthonic penguins.
The television that was muted and mostly ignored by the patrons switched to a news report, the scrolling bar on the bottom reporting on weather as a strange red feathered penguin waddled along the Chilean coastline, supposedly the first to ever be seen.
And the mages knew it was too late.
The cthonic penguins had been released.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
In *my* day, they didn’t *dare* do this nonsense. Yes, I was the greatest threat to the free world, but I had clearly defined limits. I kept my word. I did not target women and children. I limited my attacks to superheroes, superhero teams and by attempting to conquer Third World countries.
I mean, I *could* have *easily* done more. The Alchemist—-me!—-was the most powerful matter transmuter in recorded history. I could’ve broken apart continents. I could have wiped out life on Earth. I could have unleashed Hell like you cannot *begin* to imagine!
But I had scruples, I had honor and I had dignity. I am a tyrant, yes; but I am not a monster, and some things just weren’t done.
.....not that that matters, anymore. ‘New Wave’ villains, the media calls them. Not like *my* generation. These thugs murder indiscriminately, wreck whole cities, rape and loot and pillage. We had a word for that, in my day: *anarchy*.
I have been retired from supervillainy for a very long time, content in my old age. I can’t affect living flesh, so making myself immortal was never going to be possible. But *this*...’New Wave’ horsepuckey? No. No, I was not going to allow that to stand.
I’m coming out of retirement, today, and these ‘New Wave’ idiots, so damn difficult for superheroes today to deal with, will be wiped out. I will kill them all. Set everything right. Put dignity back into my profession. Superheroes have codes against killing. *I* do not.
So, then: let’s begin.
|
"Set activation for 5 utterances, begin techno organic gravitation, class five organs only."
Hype, yelled out across the auditorium as only a profit could. Mass banners of every shape and singular shade covered the walls alongside enormous tv monitors.
These went unused. Despite displaying Hype's face with epic clarity, all eyes and ears were already glued to the screaming hipster.
"Fuck you."
They sewed promises enforced by fervence and gunfire.
Tens of thousands of eyes staring up as if climax were to be reached at the tip of every word. In my grandson's case, Hype intended it to be at the tip of a blade.
"Fuck vou"
They Brought Mickey out in chains. Tears of Black Ichor mixed with the blood of my daughter that still stained his clothes. Branding him like his family, as more and less than human. Not an inkling of panic in his obsidian eyes.
"Fuck you"
I felt the designs of ancient beings click in my veins, shifting it's eldritch machinery for the first time in decades. My gift, as Mickey's Ichor was his. So many had considered my retirement an act of surrender, a desperate gamble from the feeble man that remained of the horror that nearly conquered the world. Few truly believed I had merely matured, decided to live rather than dominate.
"Fuck you"
Hype slid the blade from the podium to their hand, a jolly spring in his step as we both got within 20 feet of Mickey. I felt the small singularities within me begin to stabilize as "Viscera" probed our universe. The eldritch being our family had aligned with as avatars of the unknown. One final utterance of the trigger phrase, and they would seek and destroy at my command. "HEY HYPE!"
Silence, a turn of the head with baited breath and pissed pants as Hype realized who the voice belonged to.
"FUCK YOU!"
Plasmatic liquids erupted from every pore of my old body, incinerating it and anyone within 10 feet. The remaining 10 between me and Mickey were quickly submerged in Tentacles. Hype tripped over themself trying to use some meagre Arcanum to cover their ass. No matter. Those precious seconds were enough to cover most of the building in masses of flesh and mutated appendages.
The squeal of ripping bodies and shortened screams radiated for miles around as cultists joined Viscera in form and name. Their bodies practically bubble wrap as extradiegetic organs separated their own to become organism. A vicious, vaster, one.
The appendages I'd delegated to shield Mickey interlaced denser than steel. He was safe, and importantly, deafened. Had he any sense of the world outside his embracing sanctum, he may never have recovered.
When Mickey emerged he was lying in the lap of his mother in the church. It was old and decrepit. Belonging to the forebears of his kind before the time of man. Yet it remained, as it always had, a sanctuary for all. The silhouetted starry void of a woman that was Mickey's mother was somewhat fractured due to Hype's Attack. Appearing as if a chunk had been taken out of a nebula.
Not a worry though, for as Mickey cried black tears of joy, Hype's blood leaked a restorative sacrifice upon the church alter.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
In *my* day, they didn’t *dare* do this nonsense. Yes, I was the greatest threat to the free world, but I had clearly defined limits. I kept my word. I did not target women and children. I limited my attacks to superheroes, superhero teams and by attempting to conquer Third World countries.
I mean, I *could* have *easily* done more. The Alchemist—-me!—-was the most powerful matter transmuter in recorded history. I could’ve broken apart continents. I could have wiped out life on Earth. I could have unleashed Hell like you cannot *begin* to imagine!
But I had scruples, I had honor and I had dignity. I am a tyrant, yes; but I am not a monster, and some things just weren’t done.
.....not that that matters, anymore. ‘New Wave’ villains, the media calls them. Not like *my* generation. These thugs murder indiscriminately, wreck whole cities, rape and loot and pillage. We had a word for that, in my day: *anarchy*.
I have been retired from supervillainy for a very long time, content in my old age. I can’t affect living flesh, so making myself immortal was never going to be possible. But *this*...’New Wave’ horsepuckey? No. No, I was not going to allow that to stand.
I’m coming out of retirement, today, and these ‘New Wave’ idiots, so damn difficult for superheroes today to deal with, will be wiped out. I will kill them all. Set everything right. Put dignity back into my profession. Superheroes have codes against killing. *I* do not.
So, then: let’s begin.
|
The dust poured heavily from the cracked ceiling, fragments of concrete shattering against the floor as they fell in fragile pieces of stone. Three figures stood lonesome together in the ruined place, eyes set shivering on a brass and iron door ahead of them. Chairs and small stands of wooden finish were strewn around the place, moved by a force outside of the room’s walls. One figure, a hooded man whose breathing exhaled that of a thick green mist, screamed at the other two costumed hoodlums.
“‘We’re going to be just a-ok in here!’, you told us Vedette, well now that thing is getting closer!”, he said toward a hunched elder that wilted in the voice of the Vile in front of him.
“I swear this area will be fortified, that door and these walls will hold long enough for us to get out or for it to forget about us”.
“Then where in the hell is our exit, old man?!”, the third Vile, Parry, asked. His grand armored figure encroached the other two with bladed features of steel over his body, robotic eyes white as he stared down. Vedette gulped, sweat thick on his wrinkled face.
“It-It will only take some moments-a moment- for my Mole to come pick us up. I estimate about 30-
no, no, 20 more seconds on the dot!”.
The cloaked Vile stepped close to Vedette’s face, liquid smoke frothing out of his mouth and porous openings in his scarred face. “You better hope to God that the Mole is here on time and fast enough to carry us all away from here, or I swear to the One above the only thing you’ll have to your name are your initials green carved into your cold, pale chest”.
Vedette gulped deeper; “Of course, Locust, of course of course”.
Raising himself back up, Locust turned back toward the gate on the other end of the room. A faint scream was heard outside to the right, a wince barely forming on his mouth. Must have been Whiplash, he thought, she would try to hold the beast, damn stupidity. Locust thought back to what the hell had happened; A mismanaged yet aligned group of 30 Viles had stormed the Brooklyn hall of Vleermuis on a night of party for the rich, zealous, and powered powerful. Setting their sights on ruining the forces inside, they had been doing work on a number of low-pay and transitional high-work heroes; Battalion, Frostbite, and Gold Cougar among the highest to fall. Sure, their technological enhancements or peak human abilities of each one were impressive, but surprise and the moral need to save the weak were quite good advantages. But then, one of the Viles fell suddenly; a strike at Tusk that was more like a swat, sent him crushed into a mortar wall and into a puddle of coalescing blood. As the others turned to face them, Locust could only remember the shadow that was darker than the rest, the inverted horns of a ram arising from it. The whole rest was a blur; Viles sent flying through layers of brick, some flung into the castle balconies into dismembered splatter, my God the cries. Locust shook his head, pores glowing brightly in frustration. Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he noted that the outside had grown remarkably quiet except for a slight gritting behind him. He turned in wonder and saw Vedette and Parry standing close to the wall.
“I told you two, right on the dot!”, Vedette exclaimed, eyes brightened by a blue monitor on his left forearm. “It’s almost arrived, oh my sweet little Mole!” Parry sighed heavily, relaxing his suit with a mechanical heave. Locust turned back toward the door, eyes crossed in thought as he retraced the old sounds of chaos. He whirled around and jumped back defensively, commanding in a harsh yell,
“Get back, you morons! The thing is-!” The gritting paused for a moment, and then roared as a spiked mouth of iron teeth ate the wall and flew across the room. It tore through Parry’s left arm like butter, tearing through wires and gear until it was severed. Parry’s real arm was exposed now, thin cuts of red tic-tat-toed from the patterned, razor-thin interior machinery. The mouth grazed Vedette’s leg, hurling him back as it bore the flesh to its bone. The old Vile screamed as he settled on the ground, some ten feet from the opening in the wall. Locust coughed hoarsely, a hack of fluid meeting the Mole mid-air. The drill corroded and fell apart, bits of green and grey splashing against Locust’s skin. He writhed for a moment where the fluid met arms and leg, but readied himself in a moment. From the rubble of the wall, there it stood clearly now; a silhouette of a man, seemingly dressed in a flat cap, long overcoat, and slacks. From the faint light in the room, his shadow protruded from behind him. And yet, as he walked forward, each step a forced shuffle, the shadow that Locust stared at with fearful eyes spoke all the words of fear. Inverted horns of ram, wings of ebony black. The thing was no hero, but a monster more than him.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
Kent Allard just wanted a quiet life. Sure, some wouldn't call him a good person. Taking hostages without actually threatening their lives, robbing banks while not actually keeping the money, and failed contract killings never looked good on a resume, but he kept up and coming superheros employed. How would a hero learn to save the world if they hadn't so much as stopped a mugging? But then this guy came in and took his place. That upstart calling himself a "Khan", stealing money, killing folks, and turning people into mind-controlled slave-soldiers, that should not be able to stand. Unfortunately, the small time heroes that had started emerging weren't succeeding in foiling him, that none of them were willing to kill the man didn't help matters. Big time guys weren't going to help either, the ongoing war was keeping The Rocketeer busy, the current Solomon Kane was doing *something* in Africa, and that he kept his antics to one city meant that Doc Savage had far bigger problems to deal with. It was another day of Kent ranting about the subject to himself that he a thought occurred to him.
'They always say to do something yourself if you want it done right... I might not be a spring chicken, but I've got some years in me.' From that thought, he called to his butler. "Call Margot Lane."
"Did she not change her phone number, sir?"
"On the *other* phone." He said as he stood up and stalked toward a dusty dresser, bringing out a costume he had not worn in years to this point. "I'm bringing my Agents back in. And tell her to get that Cranston kid here too, he could use some lessons." While his villainous days were behind him, he still had many contacts in the Underworld, and through Margot Lane, he had resources to spare. Not to the level of Doc Savage, but enough to take down that so-called Khan.
"Are you certain you'd like to risk the death penalty, sir?"
"If it means that that damned Khan goes silent, yes." Allard's voice had changed at that point, a low raspy voice with an almost cackling cadence. It felt... fun, taking on the form again. It wasn't the intended purpose, but if anyone was going to finally take down that upstart Khan, it was going to be the city's darkest knight.
After all, who better than him knew the evil that lurked in the hearts of men?
|
The dust poured heavily from the cracked ceiling, fragments of concrete shattering against the floor as they fell in fragile pieces of stone. Three figures stood lonesome together in the ruined place, eyes set shivering on a brass and iron door ahead of them. Chairs and small stands of wooden finish were strewn around the place, moved by a force outside of the room’s walls. One figure, a hooded man whose breathing exhaled that of a thick green mist, screamed at the other two costumed hoodlums.
“‘We’re going to be just a-ok in here!’, you told us Vedette, well now that thing is getting closer!”, he said toward a hunched elder that wilted in the voice of the Vile in front of him.
“I swear this area will be fortified, that door and these walls will hold long enough for us to get out or for it to forget about us”.
“Then where in the hell is our exit, old man?!”, the third Vile, Parry, asked. His grand armored figure encroached the other two with bladed features of steel over his body, robotic eyes white as he stared down. Vedette gulped, sweat thick on his wrinkled face.
“It-It will only take some moments-a moment- for my Mole to come pick us up. I estimate about 30-
no, no, 20 more seconds on the dot!”.
The cloaked Vile stepped close to Vedette’s face, liquid smoke frothing out of his mouth and porous openings in his scarred face. “You better hope to God that the Mole is here on time and fast enough to carry us all away from here, or I swear to the One above the only thing you’ll have to your name are your initials green carved into your cold, pale chest”.
Vedette gulped deeper; “Of course, Locust, of course of course”.
Raising himself back up, Locust turned back toward the gate on the other end of the room. A faint scream was heard outside to the right, a wince barely forming on his mouth. Must have been Whiplash, he thought, she would try to hold the beast, damn stupidity. Locust thought back to what the hell had happened; A mismanaged yet aligned group of 30 Viles had stormed the Brooklyn hall of Vleermuis on a night of party for the rich, zealous, and powered powerful. Setting their sights on ruining the forces inside, they had been doing work on a number of low-pay and transitional high-work heroes; Battalion, Frostbite, and Gold Cougar among the highest to fall. Sure, their technological enhancements or peak human abilities of each one were impressive, but surprise and the moral need to save the weak were quite good advantages. But then, one of the Viles fell suddenly; a strike at Tusk that was more like a swat, sent him crushed into a mortar wall and into a puddle of coalescing blood. As the others turned to face them, Locust could only remember the shadow that was darker than the rest, the inverted horns of a ram arising from it. The whole rest was a blur; Viles sent flying through layers of brick, some flung into the castle balconies into dismembered splatter, my God the cries. Locust shook his head, pores glowing brightly in frustration. Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he noted that the outside had grown remarkably quiet except for a slight gritting behind him. He turned in wonder and saw Vedette and Parry standing close to the wall.
“I told you two, right on the dot!”, Vedette exclaimed, eyes brightened by a blue monitor on his left forearm. “It’s almost arrived, oh my sweet little Mole!” Parry sighed heavily, relaxing his suit with a mechanical heave. Locust turned back toward the door, eyes crossed in thought as he retraced the old sounds of chaos. He whirled around and jumped back defensively, commanding in a harsh yell,
“Get back, you morons! The thing is-!” The gritting paused for a moment, and then roared as a spiked mouth of iron teeth ate the wall and flew across the room. It tore through Parry’s left arm like butter, tearing through wires and gear until it was severed. Parry’s real arm was exposed now, thin cuts of red tic-tat-toed from the patterned, razor-thin interior machinery. The mouth grazed Vedette’s leg, hurling him back as it bore the flesh to its bone. The old Vile screamed as he settled on the ground, some ten feet from the opening in the wall. Locust coughed hoarsely, a hack of fluid meeting the Mole mid-air. The drill corroded and fell apart, bits of green and grey splashing against Locust’s skin. He writhed for a moment where the fluid met arms and leg, but readied himself in a moment. From the rubble of the wall, there it stood clearly now; a silhouette of a man, seemingly dressed in a flat cap, long overcoat, and slacks. From the faint light in the room, his shadow protruded from behind him. And yet, as he walked forward, each step a forced shuffle, the shadow that Locust stared at with fearful eyes spoke all the words of fear. Inverted horns of ram, wings of ebony black. The thing was no hero, but a monster more than him.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
I hate heros.
People look up to them as if they were gods and kiss the very ground were their shadows pass. By allowing the heroes the right to pass 'judgment' on those the deem 'criminals', they have allowed themselves to be controlled. The heroes are with all this power have become cocky and power drunk. It was a decline i had predicted coming but no one who head my voice. After all, the heroes had branded me a villain.
My powers manifested itself escaping from a hero or my ex. I was a hero's girlfriend just because I was really good with technology. Didn't find that out until he told me while I got my first beating. It soon became a regular occurrence and I shortly found out it would be after nearly being beaten by a villain. I did try to escape but what can you do with someone who can literally see through walls and hear everything within 50 miles? Answer, nothing. I was lucky that my brimming powers came full force before I was killed.
Fun fact about being a hero, you can get away with anything and the government will even help with the cover up. Mine was branded as a villain who escaped from questioning. It wouldn't be until months later they gave me a villain name, The Copycat. I used my powers to try and bring the hero's down and steal their money. I invested using my powers making me rich and created a new identity for myself. When my new life was ready, I faked my death/retired
As I go about my new daily life I enjoyed watching the heroes start to struggle with fighting the new generation of villains. Only now the fights were getting close to my new home. I really hate moving especially when I found this killer spot to watch the city burn. I'll take my mantle up for the last time to restore my peace. I'll give the villains a lay down one were they can't be and who they can't touch and thrash them if they step out off line. Of course I'll kill them after the heroes are dead. Maybe then we can go back to the democratic way...
|
The dust poured heavily from the cracked ceiling, fragments of concrete shattering against the floor as they fell in fragile pieces of stone. Three figures stood lonesome together in the ruined place, eyes set shivering on a brass and iron door ahead of them. Chairs and small stands of wooden finish were strewn around the place, moved by a force outside of the room’s walls. One figure, a hooded man whose breathing exhaled that of a thick green mist, screamed at the other two costumed hoodlums.
“‘We’re going to be just a-ok in here!’, you told us Vedette, well now that thing is getting closer!”, he said toward a hunched elder that wilted in the voice of the Vile in front of him.
“I swear this area will be fortified, that door and these walls will hold long enough for us to get out or for it to forget about us”.
“Then where in the hell is our exit, old man?!”, the third Vile, Parry, asked. His grand armored figure encroached the other two with bladed features of steel over his body, robotic eyes white as he stared down. Vedette gulped, sweat thick on his wrinkled face.
“It-It will only take some moments-a moment- for my Mole to come pick us up. I estimate about 30-
no, no, 20 more seconds on the dot!”.
The cloaked Vile stepped close to Vedette’s face, liquid smoke frothing out of his mouth and porous openings in his scarred face. “You better hope to God that the Mole is here on time and fast enough to carry us all away from here, or I swear to the One above the only thing you’ll have to your name are your initials green carved into your cold, pale chest”.
Vedette gulped deeper; “Of course, Locust, of course of course”.
Raising himself back up, Locust turned back toward the gate on the other end of the room. A faint scream was heard outside to the right, a wince barely forming on his mouth. Must have been Whiplash, he thought, she would try to hold the beast, damn stupidity. Locust thought back to what the hell had happened; A mismanaged yet aligned group of 30 Viles had stormed the Brooklyn hall of Vleermuis on a night of party for the rich, zealous, and powered powerful. Setting their sights on ruining the forces inside, they had been doing work on a number of low-pay and transitional high-work heroes; Battalion, Frostbite, and Gold Cougar among the highest to fall. Sure, their technological enhancements or peak human abilities of each one were impressive, but surprise and the moral need to save the weak were quite good advantages. But then, one of the Viles fell suddenly; a strike at Tusk that was more like a swat, sent him crushed into a mortar wall and into a puddle of coalescing blood. As the others turned to face them, Locust could only remember the shadow that was darker than the rest, the inverted horns of a ram arising from it. The whole rest was a blur; Viles sent flying through layers of brick, some flung into the castle balconies into dismembered splatter, my God the cries. Locust shook his head, pores glowing brightly in frustration. Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he noted that the outside had grown remarkably quiet except for a slight gritting behind him. He turned in wonder and saw Vedette and Parry standing close to the wall.
“I told you two, right on the dot!”, Vedette exclaimed, eyes brightened by a blue monitor on his left forearm. “It’s almost arrived, oh my sweet little Mole!” Parry sighed heavily, relaxing his suit with a mechanical heave. Locust turned back toward the door, eyes crossed in thought as he retraced the old sounds of chaos. He whirled around and jumped back defensively, commanding in a harsh yell,
“Get back, you morons! The thing is-!” The gritting paused for a moment, and then roared as a spiked mouth of iron teeth ate the wall and flew across the room. It tore through Parry’s left arm like butter, tearing through wires and gear until it was severed. Parry’s real arm was exposed now, thin cuts of red tic-tat-toed from the patterned, razor-thin interior machinery. The mouth grazed Vedette’s leg, hurling him back as it bore the flesh to its bone. The old Vile screamed as he settled on the ground, some ten feet from the opening in the wall. Locust coughed hoarsely, a hack of fluid meeting the Mole mid-air. The drill corroded and fell apart, bits of green and grey splashing against Locust’s skin. He writhed for a moment where the fluid met arms and leg, but readied himself in a moment. From the rubble of the wall, there it stood clearly now; a silhouette of a man, seemingly dressed in a flat cap, long overcoat, and slacks. From the faint light in the room, his shadow protruded from behind him. And yet, as he walked forward, each step a forced shuffle, the shadow that Locust stared at with fearful eyes spoke all the words of fear. Inverted horns of ram, wings of ebony black. The thing was no hero, but a monster more than him.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
Tomorrow would've been the tenth-year anniversary of my 'retirement'.
I should've been enjoying the rest of my days in peace, but what was I to do when the government and those heroes couldn't even hold a candle against the villains that decided to band together? I saw first-hand how these villains conduct their business. And it was eerily similar to what I imagined I would do if I were to resume my 'villainry' today.
To the people around the world, I am already dead. I was supposed to be killed on the spot ten years ago, but the hero who defeated me spared my life. He said it was not too late for me. Imagine telling the world that the mass-murdering villain still had a good heart in him. Everyone wanted me dead, but he saw things differently. In the end, I was reported to have been executed. The hero got his wish and was hailed as a savior, but the world government lost trust in him. His whereabouts are unknown to me, but there were rumours that he went off-planet and simply disappeared. Perhaps he is still out there, on the moon maybe, watching as this current madness unfolds.
After years of "rehabilitation," I was deemed safe enough to be released and was assigned a government contact whom I had to report to on a weekly basis. It was nice, admittedly, to have someone to talk with, no matter the circumstances. It was only a matter of time before me and the government contact became close friends, though I could still sense her wariness every now and then.
She called me after the villains bombed the city I lived in and asked how I was. I said I was fine. After all, explosions are my specialty, so they wouldn't hurt me. I can just absorb them, but after years of neglecting my power, I only managed to save those in my vicinity.
Nothing I can do, she said. I shouldn't get involved, she told me. Good advice, but I couldn't just let these villains go. I knew that was just the beginning. It would only escalate, and the world wouldn't be able to react appropriately in time. The heroes? They couldn't do anything either, unless their masters in the government approved them.
The villains took residence in one of the world government branches nearby, taking the workers in there hostage. Their demands were outrageous, terms that the government would have had no choice but to say no to. All in this villain's planned scenario. They damaged the reputation of the government, and also turned their mindless acts of destruction into a political statement: "Your government is useless."
After a few days without contact, the government sent one of their heroes to me. It was one of the new ones, with their flashy costumes and carefully-crafted branding; a walking, breathing advertisement board. He approached me after the funerals. He wasn't in his 'uniform', but anyone with a keen eye would be able to discern that he wasn't an ordinary citizen from his demeanor. He said the government demanded that I return to the facility where I was incarcerated before, saying that there was a chance that I would join with the 'others of my ilk', and I was to remain there until the situation had been dealt with.
It was then I knew what I needed to do.
When I declined, he said he was authorized to incapacitate me with any means necessary and started to attack me. The thing is, with all the coverage on this superheros, with all their fame and time in the spotlight, the whole world know of their abilities. This hero was a speedster, and they all share a particular habit. First they'll land a few blows from multiple angles, make a couple of false openings in order to waste the adversary's strength, only to dodge at the very last second, and then make their incapacitating strike from behind. It was simple, really. I pretended to fall for his feints and then threw in one of my own. A reactive explosive barrier on my back caught him unawares and knocked him out cold.
It was the next few steps that were painful for me to execute.
I went to where the villains were, carrying the hero's unconscious body to present to them as I stated my intention to join their group. It was an enticing offer. After all, I was living proof that the government lied to the world. The perfect propaganda tool for these villains to use. Proving my identity and conviction was easy enough; I joined one of their 'excursions' and destroyed parts of the city that were used as shelters for the survivors.
I tried to make it as quick and painless as possible.
The villains were overjoyed, of course. They planned a global broadcast to announce their new member, and to rally all other villains to join them. I waited until all the prominent members of the group were gathered in front of the camera.
Then I unleashed a detonation far larger than I had before.
When I came to, the rest of the city was flattened. The heroes of the government surrounded me. I didn't resist as they began their attack and let them apprehend me. The deed was done, and I hated to do it. It is now left to the world to clean up the mess.
My friend, the government contact, visited me only once. "Why?" she asked from beyond the specialized glass wall. Her gaze was heart-breaking.
"A few thousand lives now for the hundreds of thousands tomorrow," I said.
That was the last time I saw her.
Maybe there is a better solution. Maybe if the government hadn't alienated the hero who spared my life back then, he would have been able to resolve it easily. Maybe letting me live was a mistake.But this life the hero spared, I used it to save others in a way only I could.
|
The dust poured heavily from the cracked ceiling, fragments of concrete shattering against the floor as they fell in fragile pieces of stone. Three figures stood lonesome together in the ruined place, eyes set shivering on a brass and iron door ahead of them. Chairs and small stands of wooden finish were strewn around the place, moved by a force outside of the room’s walls. One figure, a hooded man whose breathing exhaled that of a thick green mist, screamed at the other two costumed hoodlums.
“‘We’re going to be just a-ok in here!’, you told us Vedette, well now that thing is getting closer!”, he said toward a hunched elder that wilted in the voice of the Vile in front of him.
“I swear this area will be fortified, that door and these walls will hold long enough for us to get out or for it to forget about us”.
“Then where in the hell is our exit, old man?!”, the third Vile, Parry, asked. His grand armored figure encroached the other two with bladed features of steel over his body, robotic eyes white as he stared down. Vedette gulped, sweat thick on his wrinkled face.
“It-It will only take some moments-a moment- for my Mole to come pick us up. I estimate about 30-
no, no, 20 more seconds on the dot!”.
The cloaked Vile stepped close to Vedette’s face, liquid smoke frothing out of his mouth and porous openings in his scarred face. “You better hope to God that the Mole is here on time and fast enough to carry us all away from here, or I swear to the One above the only thing you’ll have to your name are your initials green carved into your cold, pale chest”.
Vedette gulped deeper; “Of course, Locust, of course of course”.
Raising himself back up, Locust turned back toward the gate on the other end of the room. A faint scream was heard outside to the right, a wince barely forming on his mouth. Must have been Whiplash, he thought, she would try to hold the beast, damn stupidity. Locust thought back to what the hell had happened; A mismanaged yet aligned group of 30 Viles had stormed the Brooklyn hall of Vleermuis on a night of party for the rich, zealous, and powered powerful. Setting their sights on ruining the forces inside, they had been doing work on a number of low-pay and transitional high-work heroes; Battalion, Frostbite, and Gold Cougar among the highest to fall. Sure, their technological enhancements or peak human abilities of each one were impressive, but surprise and the moral need to save the weak were quite good advantages. But then, one of the Viles fell suddenly; a strike at Tusk that was more like a swat, sent him crushed into a mortar wall and into a puddle of coalescing blood. As the others turned to face them, Locust could only remember the shadow that was darker than the rest, the inverted horns of a ram arising from it. The whole rest was a blur; Viles sent flying through layers of brick, some flung into the castle balconies into dismembered splatter, my God the cries. Locust shook his head, pores glowing brightly in frustration. Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he noted that the outside had grown remarkably quiet except for a slight gritting behind him. He turned in wonder and saw Vedette and Parry standing close to the wall.
“I told you two, right on the dot!”, Vedette exclaimed, eyes brightened by a blue monitor on his left forearm. “It’s almost arrived, oh my sweet little Mole!” Parry sighed heavily, relaxing his suit with a mechanical heave. Locust turned back toward the door, eyes crossed in thought as he retraced the old sounds of chaos. He whirled around and jumped back defensively, commanding in a harsh yell,
“Get back, you morons! The thing is-!” The gritting paused for a moment, and then roared as a spiked mouth of iron teeth ate the wall and flew across the room. It tore through Parry’s left arm like butter, tearing through wires and gear until it was severed. Parry’s real arm was exposed now, thin cuts of red tic-tat-toed from the patterned, razor-thin interior machinery. The mouth grazed Vedette’s leg, hurling him back as it bore the flesh to its bone. The old Vile screamed as he settled on the ground, some ten feet from the opening in the wall. Locust coughed hoarsely, a hack of fluid meeting the Mole mid-air. The drill corroded and fell apart, bits of green and grey splashing against Locust’s skin. He writhed for a moment where the fluid met arms and leg, but readied himself in a moment. From the rubble of the wall, there it stood clearly now; a silhouette of a man, seemingly dressed in a flat cap, long overcoat, and slacks. From the faint light in the room, his shadow protruded from behind him. And yet, as he walked forward, each step a forced shuffle, the shadow that Locust stared at with fearful eyes spoke all the words of fear. Inverted horns of ram, wings of ebony black. The thing was no hero, but a monster more than him.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
So there I was. Sitting in my rocking chair, sipping my martini - that damn straw keeps slipping through my dentures - and reading the latest chapter of that serialised manga kids like. The story's interesting enough so I gave it a shot. Its about a young boy who finds out he has a twin in another universe and they both go on adventures. Real Rick and Morty style story without the alcoholic old man.
Anyway, I was relaxing. Nursing homes are quiet during the afternoon because the other old geezers are napping their way through dream land, their dementia-addled brains taking them through a rollercoaster filled with familiar yet achingly strange faces, through strange yet strikingly familiar landscapes. Memories. So many beautiful, delicious memories and dreams...
Then the TV that's on in the background switches to the news report. New villain. Goes by the name Wallcrawler - ugh, disgusting. No flair at all. Crawls on walls like a spider, wears a discount Spiderman cosplay you'd see on a nine year old on Halloween...or is it Christmas? I can never get my holidays right. Anyway 'Wallcrawler' is decent at robbing a bank. Standard quiet break in, hostage situation. Heroes are on the spot: the World Government is scarily fast these days.
I itch at my left calf with my other foot. The ankle monitor is getting rusty, I gotta oil it again. That new hero, Sandeater, he's on the scene. On that stupid thing he calls a Sandmobile. Astonishing. Wow. What a name. Is my sarcasm clear enough? Sometimes it falls off, you know, like that kid into Harambe's enclosure. Sandeater spouts some bullshit about Wallcrawler's reign of terror ending right here, right now. Its kinda funny, I think, as I finally get a grip on the straw and take a long sip. Aaaah, just how I like it. Warmed up from the cold, ice half melted. The other old farts hate me for it, 'oh, W, ice is horrible in martinis.' Yeah, sure, it might be disgusting, but I like it, don't I?
Just as I ponder on the mechanics of boiling martinis with soup, Wallcrawler pulls out a gun. A...familiar gun. He blasts Sandeater out of existence with a familiar sucking whoosh and a burst of blue light. A blue gem gleams on that gun.
I lean forwards in my chair, trying to jog my memory. That crystal...that crystal, I've seen it before.
As more heroes come alone, they get blasted away by Wallcrawler's toy. What's worse, he's even killing random bystanders. A toddler, body ripped in half because he got caught in the crossfire. A pregnant mother, the only sign left of her existence being a bloody spatter on the ground. An old man - uncomfortably close to my age, if I say so myself - head blasted off and body lying on the ground.
I sigh, reaching down. The ankle monitor is now wrapped around the rocking chair's leg, appropriately sized. I stand up, finishing my martini and pouring another one. I take out a golden butterfly knife.
I stride along to my room, and look longingly at the disco ball I hung there myself. Partying will come later. For now, as I put on my pink afro and get into my old, still snug, getup, I prepare.
I stride out of the nursing home, after getting the location. Then I say my old signature line:
"[Lets have some fun, shall we?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUp9pCtn2BY)"
|
The dust poured heavily from the cracked ceiling, fragments of concrete shattering against the floor as they fell in fragile pieces of stone. Three figures stood lonesome together in the ruined place, eyes set shivering on a brass and iron door ahead of them. Chairs and small stands of wooden finish were strewn around the place, moved by a force outside of the room’s walls. One figure, a hooded man whose breathing exhaled that of a thick green mist, screamed at the other two costumed hoodlums.
“‘We’re going to be just a-ok in here!’, you told us Vedette, well now that thing is getting closer!”, he said toward a hunched elder that wilted in the voice of the Vile in front of him.
“I swear this area will be fortified, that door and these walls will hold long enough for us to get out or for it to forget about us”.
“Then where in the hell is our exit, old man?!”, the third Vile, Parry, asked. His grand armored figure encroached the other two with bladed features of steel over his body, robotic eyes white as he stared down. Vedette gulped, sweat thick on his wrinkled face.
“It-It will only take some moments-a moment- for my Mole to come pick us up. I estimate about 30-
no, no, 20 more seconds on the dot!”.
The cloaked Vile stepped close to Vedette’s face, liquid smoke frothing out of his mouth and porous openings in his scarred face. “You better hope to God that the Mole is here on time and fast enough to carry us all away from here, or I swear to the One above the only thing you’ll have to your name are your initials green carved into your cold, pale chest”.
Vedette gulped deeper; “Of course, Locust, of course of course”.
Raising himself back up, Locust turned back toward the gate on the other end of the room. A faint scream was heard outside to the right, a wince barely forming on his mouth. Must have been Whiplash, he thought, she would try to hold the beast, damn stupidity. Locust thought back to what the hell had happened; A mismanaged yet aligned group of 30 Viles had stormed the Brooklyn hall of Vleermuis on a night of party for the rich, zealous, and powered powerful. Setting their sights on ruining the forces inside, they had been doing work on a number of low-pay and transitional high-work heroes; Battalion, Frostbite, and Gold Cougar among the highest to fall. Sure, their technological enhancements or peak human abilities of each one were impressive, but surprise and the moral need to save the weak were quite good advantages. But then, one of the Viles fell suddenly; a strike at Tusk that was more like a swat, sent him crushed into a mortar wall and into a puddle of coalescing blood. As the others turned to face them, Locust could only remember the shadow that was darker than the rest, the inverted horns of a ram arising from it. The whole rest was a blur; Viles sent flying through layers of brick, some flung into the castle balconies into dismembered splatter, my God the cries. Locust shook his head, pores glowing brightly in frustration. Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he noted that the outside had grown remarkably quiet except for a slight gritting behind him. He turned in wonder and saw Vedette and Parry standing close to the wall.
“I told you two, right on the dot!”, Vedette exclaimed, eyes brightened by a blue monitor on his left forearm. “It’s almost arrived, oh my sweet little Mole!” Parry sighed heavily, relaxing his suit with a mechanical heave. Locust turned back toward the door, eyes crossed in thought as he retraced the old sounds of chaos. He whirled around and jumped back defensively, commanding in a harsh yell,
“Get back, you morons! The thing is-!” The gritting paused for a moment, and then roared as a spiked mouth of iron teeth ate the wall and flew across the room. It tore through Parry’s left arm like butter, tearing through wires and gear until it was severed. Parry’s real arm was exposed now, thin cuts of red tic-tat-toed from the patterned, razor-thin interior machinery. The mouth grazed Vedette’s leg, hurling him back as it bore the flesh to its bone. The old Vile screamed as he settled on the ground, some ten feet from the opening in the wall. Locust coughed hoarsely, a hack of fluid meeting the Mole mid-air. The drill corroded and fell apart, bits of green and grey splashing against Locust’s skin. He writhed for a moment where the fluid met arms and leg, but readied himself in a moment. From the rubble of the wall, there it stood clearly now; a silhouette of a man, seemingly dressed in a flat cap, long overcoat, and slacks. From the faint light in the room, his shadow protruded from behind him. And yet, as he walked forward, each step a forced shuffle, the shadow that Locust stared at with fearful eyes spoke all the words of fear. Inverted horns of ram, wings of ebony black. The thing was no hero, but a monster more than him.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
Part 1, part 2 in comments
"So, enemy of my enemy?"
*"Enemy of my enemy."*
It had been a somewhat peaceful day. I was basking in the glory of my utopia, a world freed of political and socio-economic corruption. One that was also on watch for truly malignant forces too.
I was enjoying a reasonably priced coffee at a non-descript coffee shop / lounge reading some news article about the latest round of theatrics or "heroes and villains" as the world called them going about their bouts. Thankful I had managed to imbue the public with a near paranoia-like fear of corruption which thanks to my 'defeat' had been turned into a resolve to never allow it to happen again. It being what I did.
The keyword in that whole paragraph right there is the term 'was'. It WAS a nice day and all. Then some wannabe kicked down the door and pulled a gun out, started screaming out shit like **"GET ON YOUR KNEES"** to which naturally I replied "I'm not your mother last night". A line I make no bones about shamelessly stealing from that funny abridged dub of a certain anime I won't mention for legal / this joke has ran on to long reasons.
So, where was I? Oh yes the upstart thinking he's hard because he's got gun in his hand. I dust off my malefic aura mentally and proceed to don it. Standing straight up, hands raised in faux surrender. "Alright kiddo put the-" A warning shot buzzes past my head. At least he's got good aim.
Let's see standard 6 shooter, very quick to reset the hammer. Clearly practiced at the range. Probably doing this as a gang initiation ritual, though if that tattoo on his neck is anything to go off of, he should be in already? This warrants further investigation, could become a problem.
**"Say that again punk!"**
And like that my sympathy has bottomed out, along with my patience. Within the blink of an eye I'm standing next to him like I'm about to start whispering sweet nothings into his ear. My hands normally a muted beige turn gray with fur sprouting and claws starting to replace my nails. Two such claws find purchase around the boy's neck.
"Now normally, I don't take too kindly to insults like that. However you've got a lucky break, kid. See I can't tell at a glance what's causing you to do this"
**"Get the fu-"**
"Shut your mouth. It's been too long since I've monologued properly." I say tightening my grip around his throat, It's quite hard to nearly crush someone's throat with these sharp claws that could just as easily skewer the flabby meat tube you're manhandling but somehow I manage to achieve my goal.
"As I was saying. I can't tell exactly what it that led you to make this cavalcade of poor life choices. So here's what I'm going too offer you. Either A: I pull the information from your mind and you go return everything you've stolen before turning yourself in WITHOUT me having to re-arrange your psyche. OR I can have some fun... Tell me, kid, which would you prefer?" I feel a old grin plaster itself over my face, eyes widening with an esoteric yet all to understandable glint of malice in them. Out of all the things I thought I wouldn't miss in retirement this wasn't one of them.
Now that I'm closer I can start probing. On the outside the boy drops too the floor, I have embraced in a hug of sorts. My hand very firmly cradling the back of his skull. Internally I'm rummaging through the array of thoughts he's got rattling around his mind. Great he's a lateral thinker too! Brilliant even more time for some fucking Z-tier hero to show up and decide he wants an origin story.
As I'm mid through regretting not keeping that disambiguation device on me at all times now that I'm retired the psionic equivalent of a tap on the shoulder pulls me away from my study of the boy's mind.
***"In the name of the sun I demand you release that young man"***
Like I thought, some fucking Z-tier hero showing up thinking he's hard just like the boy here.
"Alright sunshine I'm not in a good mood as is, I'm simply trying to figure out who attacked my local coffee shop and why"
***"Telepathic capabilities like yours are not only illegal to own without a license, but their use must be authorised by your local psych-division"***
Great a fucking lawyer as well as a hero. Well may as well play this out.
"Don't prattle off the laws I wrote to me like you're some kind of superior, boy. Now piss of and go find a cat stuck in a tree or whatever it is every flavour of flying man child clad in spandex does these days!"
***"Sir if you do not comply I will have to use force."***
"Do that and you'll be lucky if your soul makes it too re-incarnation" I bark at this upstart, Finally able to pluck the secrets I need from my first headache of the day I toss him aside and make myself aware of physical reality one again. Wait why is there glass everywhere? Oh for fuck's sake did this kid really bust a window for a dramatic entrance! Oh and he knocked my latte over my laptop while he was it!
Cont in comments-
|
Very few people know that the now wrinkled covered old man, who lives on the outskirts of a back woods village. Was once the man who terrorized the world with an army of undead and even held the title of “Ruiner of Civilization.” The only people who do are a few of his neighbors, who had also retired from being the main “villains,”' of the world. They were few in number since he hadn’t needed to have many living souls to take care of his domain. Only a few intellectuals and experts in their fields, since the undead do make extremely good manpower.
Because he had basically chosen a random corner of the known world to retire in, they weren’t too knowledgeable about the situation of the rest of the world at any given moment. News could easily take a year or more to travel from wherever it originated to the village in question. And was commonly known to be blown out of proportion, be it just for general gossip or to try and trick people into believing the end of the world was upon them.
Hence why when a detachment of an army showed up demanding goods for war reparations, it had come as a general surprise to the old man and company. They had heard stories about the heroes and villains every once and awhile, and it had generally seemed like both sides were basically at a stand still. Neither exactly winning or losing heavily, locked into a basically never ending struggle.
Something the old man had laughed at time and time again, because he would think back to his own fights and how it wasn’t a stand-still. But more of a push and get pushed back to war. Only for him to eventually mess up and lose, only for his generation's hero to be nice enough to spare his life and his companions, as long as he had agreed to a contract in front of god. Looking back at it, his campaign of terror had been no more then just his young self getting full of himself and drunk off his power.
Supposedly though, this generation’s hero was losing badly and in the process this generation’s villain was incorporating more and more of the world into the fight. Attacking peaceful nations, or others that have nothing to do with the hero or the nation that backed them. Something was supposed to be considered a huge taboo, which could lead to intervening from the heavens and even more death and destruction overall. This is something that is told to every person who chooses to be the part of the villain from day one.
Because of this news, the old man got out his now dust collected gear from his heyday and went door to door rousing his long time friends. All of this with the game plan of going to have a civil chat with whoever this current generation’s villain. Though, he even knew deep down this wasn’t going to end with just words. Since from by the sounds of it, unlike himself, the new person is actually out of their mind and will more the likely not stop unless dealt with.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
Part 1, part 2 in comments
"So, enemy of my enemy?"
*"Enemy of my enemy."*
It had been a somewhat peaceful day. I was basking in the glory of my utopia, a world freed of political and socio-economic corruption. One that was also on watch for truly malignant forces too.
I was enjoying a reasonably priced coffee at a non-descript coffee shop / lounge reading some news article about the latest round of theatrics or "heroes and villains" as the world called them going about their bouts. Thankful I had managed to imbue the public with a near paranoia-like fear of corruption which thanks to my 'defeat' had been turned into a resolve to never allow it to happen again. It being what I did.
The keyword in that whole paragraph right there is the term 'was'. It WAS a nice day and all. Then some wannabe kicked down the door and pulled a gun out, started screaming out shit like **"GET ON YOUR KNEES"** to which naturally I replied "I'm not your mother last night". A line I make no bones about shamelessly stealing from that funny abridged dub of a certain anime I won't mention for legal / this joke has ran on to long reasons.
So, where was I? Oh yes the upstart thinking he's hard because he's got gun in his hand. I dust off my malefic aura mentally and proceed to don it. Standing straight up, hands raised in faux surrender. "Alright kiddo put the-" A warning shot buzzes past my head. At least he's got good aim.
Let's see standard 6 shooter, very quick to reset the hammer. Clearly practiced at the range. Probably doing this as a gang initiation ritual, though if that tattoo on his neck is anything to go off of, he should be in already? This warrants further investigation, could become a problem.
**"Say that again punk!"**
And like that my sympathy has bottomed out, along with my patience. Within the blink of an eye I'm standing next to him like I'm about to start whispering sweet nothings into his ear. My hands normally a muted beige turn gray with fur sprouting and claws starting to replace my nails. Two such claws find purchase around the boy's neck.
"Now normally, I don't take too kindly to insults like that. However you've got a lucky break, kid. See I can't tell at a glance what's causing you to do this"
**"Get the fu-"**
"Shut your mouth. It's been too long since I've monologued properly." I say tightening my grip around his throat, It's quite hard to nearly crush someone's throat with these sharp claws that could just as easily skewer the flabby meat tube you're manhandling but somehow I manage to achieve my goal.
"As I was saying. I can't tell exactly what it that led you to make this cavalcade of poor life choices. So here's what I'm going too offer you. Either A: I pull the information from your mind and you go return everything you've stolen before turning yourself in WITHOUT me having to re-arrange your psyche. OR I can have some fun... Tell me, kid, which would you prefer?" I feel a old grin plaster itself over my face, eyes widening with an esoteric yet all to understandable glint of malice in them. Out of all the things I thought I wouldn't miss in retirement this wasn't one of them.
Now that I'm closer I can start probing. On the outside the boy drops too the floor, I have embraced in a hug of sorts. My hand very firmly cradling the back of his skull. Internally I'm rummaging through the array of thoughts he's got rattling around his mind. Great he's a lateral thinker too! Brilliant even more time for some fucking Z-tier hero to show up and decide he wants an origin story.
As I'm mid through regretting not keeping that disambiguation device on me at all times now that I'm retired the psionic equivalent of a tap on the shoulder pulls me away from my study of the boy's mind.
***"In the name of the sun I demand you release that young man"***
Like I thought, some fucking Z-tier hero showing up thinking he's hard just like the boy here.
"Alright sunshine I'm not in a good mood as is, I'm simply trying to figure out who attacked my local coffee shop and why"
***"Telepathic capabilities like yours are not only illegal to own without a license, but their use must be authorised by your local psych-division"***
Great a fucking lawyer as well as a hero. Well may as well play this out.
"Don't prattle off the laws I wrote to me like you're some kind of superior, boy. Now piss of and go find a cat stuck in a tree or whatever it is every flavour of flying man child clad in spandex does these days!"
***"Sir if you do not comply I will have to use force."***
"Do that and you'll be lucky if your soul makes it too re-incarnation" I bark at this upstart, Finally able to pluck the secrets I need from my first headache of the day I toss him aside and make myself aware of physical reality one again. Wait why is there glass everywhere? Oh for fuck's sake did this kid really bust a window for a dramatic entrance! Oh and he knocked my latte over my laptop while he was it!
Cont in comments-
|
People like to think retirement is easy, but it isn't for everyone. Some folk, they're always looking for something to fill the void left behind. A lot of the time, their work is all that gave people meaning.
That's what I found out the hard way when my bones started creaking and the neurons started to pop and fizzle. A thousand years, kept afloat by dark magic, one of the "OGs" of the supervillain game, as they say. Old Crow they called me, the Warlock for Hire. Any time the big leagues needed some dirty magic cast, I was always the one they called on, but dark magic has its prices, and I've paid my debts.
Now I'm just sitting in a beach house somewhere along the coast of what was once the proud kingdom of Brittany, now just one of many states belonging to one of many republics of France. Old Crow they still call me, but where once it was said in reverence, in horror, now it's said in hushed tones of pity and resentment.
My magics so cold and vile now replaced with whatever hobby I set my settling mind to, until my millennial body finally gives up the ghost and I'm sent wherever I belong for my sins...
I wake up just before the sun rises, laying alone in bed staring at the ceiling, then I remember that I need to get up. I stand on one leg and one cane, my other leg having gone lamed a decade ago when my powers began to peter out. I hobble over to the beautiful golden bird cage that houses my familiar, a night-black crow named Aon, who looks more and more sickly every week. He was my only friend from the beginning, and I can only hope we go together.
"Hunger..." the crow sputters out in a creak. Once a great drake, his voice was full of a pastor's fire, my eyes and ears, my own herald of despair, now he's just an irregularly smart bird; a wonderful conversation when we both have the energy, but as much as we ran, time always catches up. I take some birdseed from a bag of it and sprinkle it into his bowl. "Thank you... Master...." he says.
"I know, Aon, I know. It will be over soon."
"I don't want it to be over. I want to fly. I want to live. Master. I am... Afraid."
"I know, Aon... I know..."
I open his birdcage to gently stroke his black feathers, a small comfort. We have this conversation every other week. He always forgets, and always says the same thing. Perhaps I do the same.
I watch him hop weakly from his nest, down a flight of miniature stairs, and take his food and drink. After he has his fill he grabs onto my finger to be lifted to my shoulder, to ride upon me, as once I rode upon his own when he was made Great and Awful.
As I make my journey from my bedroom to the loungeroom, I ponder that word: Awful. Awful. Awful. It replays in my head like an old gramophone that refuses to die. Once it meant to induce awe in all those who saw it, heard it, felt it. I was once Awful.
Then it became horrid, it became dreadful, it became something to be loathed and avoided. I was once Awful.
Now it has lost all meaning. Now it simply brings to mind such mundane pains as stepping in mud, getting delayed from one's work, being left to one's own devices. I am now Awful.
Once I was Old Crow, Demon Amongst Men. Then I was Old Crow, Warlock for Hire. Now I am Old Crow, the sad old man in a gilded cage, rotting away where nobody need see how far I have fallen.
I turn on the television, one of my few comforts as my strength, dexterity and patience all leave me. To let my moldy old bones sit for what feels like a blissful eternity of nothingness, my only companions are my old crow and the white noise of soap operas, old cartoons and meaningless newsroom gossip.
I allow myself to be lost in the nihilistic nothing of daytime television for hours, but after those hours have taken their due I had so rudely denied them for centuries, I am knocked from my restful reverie by a familiar name being called by the voice of the meticulously overgroomed news station personality and his blonde harlot companion.
"We go live now to our eye in the sky above the battle as it unfolds-"
I tune the voice out to focus solely on the little cut in of a bird's eye view of two men... Men is not the right word. I see a God and a Machine.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
"How the hell did you get in?" the young villain shouted and pointed his blaster at me. I ignored him, instead focusing my attention on the doorframe I just walked through.
"I can't believe they still make these MK2 saw traps. I would've thought they'd be up to at least MK4," I chuckled and ran my fingers across the barely perceptible trigger mechanism in the door.
"I said-" the villain yelled again.
"Word of advice, kid," I interrupted. "If you're going to put a trap in a doorway, don't put the trigger on eye-level. Too easy to see. You want it by knee-level."
"Uh... look, you'll tell-"
"Oh give the tough guy routine a rest, will you?" I scoffed and waved my hand toward him. "You ain't impressing nobody. I'm Henry."
"Is that supposed to mean something? Henry who?" he yelled again, this time with a bit more confusion in his voice. I allowed a soft smile to creep up on my lips. It was still an odd feeling to introduce oneself and *not* be recognized. Then again, 'Lord Verter' had a different ring.
"Look kid, I've got friends coming over for a round of cards later, so I'll make this quick. You've been causing trouble around town. I like my town nice and quiet, so, you know," I said and pointed my thumb over the shoulder, "beat it."
And just like that, he started laughing uproariously.
"You've got some balls old man," he said joyfully. "I think I'll let you live, just for that joke. You think you can barge in, somehow avoid the traps and just demand I leave? I *own* this place. No one can stop me, not even those spandex-wearing assholes."
"Piss off or you'll wish you were dealing with them," I said casually.
"And who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" he said and walked up to me. He was a big fella, I must admit. Almost 3 meters tall and built like a fridge. Probably had some backstory about a supersoldier serum gone wrong or shit like that.
I sighed.
"You know that the building nearby is where I killed Captain Thunder?" I started reminiscing. "It was an odd day, that one. My last day." My eyes darted up to his face and I noticed his puzzled face putting pieces together.
"Captain Thunder wasn't killed," he countered. "He sacrificed himself fighting Lord Ve-" he stopped and bent over, looking closer at my face. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as realization struck.
"You know what I felt that day? When I stood over his corpse? You'd think it would be joy or some sort of gratification, but... all I could think of was '*What the fuck do I do now?*'. I realized I had... nothing. No home, no wife, not even a fucking goldfish."
I walked over to his table and casually inspected some of his plans. Bank heists, bombs, kidnappings... the usual stuff.
"So I gave it up," I continued. "I was so consumed with my hatred for that do-gooder that I completely forgot to live. I built a house. Got a wife. A dog. Hell, I have *grandkids* now, can you believe that?" I turned to him and chuckled. "No one ever came for me. The general consensus was that Thunder and I perished together and I was fine with that. He dies a glorious martyr and I get a cover story."
"And I should care because..." he sneered.
"I'm giving you the same out. Give this life up. It eats you alive. Not for fear of justice or those self-righteous dickheads, but for yourself. Rob a few banks, set yourself up, and leave."
"You're soft, old man," he said and turned his nose up. "You might have been a hotshot 30 years ago, but you're nothing but a has-been. I'm not just here for *money*. I want *power*. I want people to piss themselves when they hear my name. What are *you* gonna do? Take me in? I can break y-"
He did not manage to finish the sentence. There was too much blood in his mouth as he looked down and saw my hand roughly half a meter into his chest. There was a mix of emotions on his face - fear, anger, pain but most of all, confusion. He tried to speak again, only gurgling on his blood, and fell over with a loud thud.
"I'm not gonna take you in," I said calmly and wiped my hand on my trousers. "Because that's what *heroes* do."
|
People like to think retirement is easy, but it isn't for everyone. Some folk, they're always looking for something to fill the void left behind. A lot of the time, their work is all that gave people meaning.
That's what I found out the hard way when my bones started creaking and the neurons started to pop and fizzle. A thousand years, kept afloat by dark magic, one of the "OGs" of the supervillain game, as they say. Old Crow they called me, the Warlock for Hire. Any time the big leagues needed some dirty magic cast, I was always the one they called on, but dark magic has its prices, and I've paid my debts.
Now I'm just sitting in a beach house somewhere along the coast of what was once the proud kingdom of Brittany, now just one of many states belonging to one of many republics of France. Old Crow they still call me, but where once it was said in reverence, in horror, now it's said in hushed tones of pity and resentment.
My magics so cold and vile now replaced with whatever hobby I set my settling mind to, until my millennial body finally gives up the ghost and I'm sent wherever I belong for my sins...
I wake up just before the sun rises, laying alone in bed staring at the ceiling, then I remember that I need to get up. I stand on one leg and one cane, my other leg having gone lamed a decade ago when my powers began to peter out. I hobble over to the beautiful golden bird cage that houses my familiar, a night-black crow named Aon, who looks more and more sickly every week. He was my only friend from the beginning, and I can only hope we go together.
"Hunger..." the crow sputters out in a creak. Once a great drake, his voice was full of a pastor's fire, my eyes and ears, my own herald of despair, now he's just an irregularly smart bird; a wonderful conversation when we both have the energy, but as much as we ran, time always catches up. I take some birdseed from a bag of it and sprinkle it into his bowl. "Thank you... Master...." he says.
"I know, Aon, I know. It will be over soon."
"I don't want it to be over. I want to fly. I want to live. Master. I am... Afraid."
"I know, Aon... I know..."
I open his birdcage to gently stroke his black feathers, a small comfort. We have this conversation every other week. He always forgets, and always says the same thing. Perhaps I do the same.
I watch him hop weakly from his nest, down a flight of miniature stairs, and take his food and drink. After he has his fill he grabs onto my finger to be lifted to my shoulder, to ride upon me, as once I rode upon his own when he was made Great and Awful.
As I make my journey from my bedroom to the loungeroom, I ponder that word: Awful. Awful. Awful. It replays in my head like an old gramophone that refuses to die. Once it meant to induce awe in all those who saw it, heard it, felt it. I was once Awful.
Then it became horrid, it became dreadful, it became something to be loathed and avoided. I was once Awful.
Now it has lost all meaning. Now it simply brings to mind such mundane pains as stepping in mud, getting delayed from one's work, being left to one's own devices. I am now Awful.
Once I was Old Crow, Demon Amongst Men. Then I was Old Crow, Warlock for Hire. Now I am Old Crow, the sad old man in a gilded cage, rotting away where nobody need see how far I have fallen.
I turn on the television, one of my few comforts as my strength, dexterity and patience all leave me. To let my moldy old bones sit for what feels like a blissful eternity of nothingness, my only companions are my old crow and the white noise of soap operas, old cartoons and meaningless newsroom gossip.
I allow myself to be lost in the nihilistic nothing of daytime television for hours, but after those hours have taken their due I had so rudely denied them for centuries, I am knocked from my restful reverie by a familiar name being called by the voice of the meticulously overgroomed news station personality and his blonde harlot companion.
"We go live now to our eye in the sky above the battle as it unfolds-"
I tune the voice out to focus solely on the little cut in of a bird's eye view of two men... Men is not the right word. I see a God and a Machine.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
"How the hell did you get in?" the young villain shouted and pointed his blaster at me. I ignored him, instead focusing my attention on the doorframe I just walked through.
"I can't believe they still make these MK2 saw traps. I would've thought they'd be up to at least MK4," I chuckled and ran my fingers across the barely perceptible trigger mechanism in the door.
"I said-" the villain yelled again.
"Word of advice, kid," I interrupted. "If you're going to put a trap in a doorway, don't put the trigger on eye-level. Too easy to see. You want it by knee-level."
"Uh... look, you'll tell-"
"Oh give the tough guy routine a rest, will you?" I scoffed and waved my hand toward him. "You ain't impressing nobody. I'm Henry."
"Is that supposed to mean something? Henry who?" he yelled again, this time with a bit more confusion in his voice. I allowed a soft smile to creep up on my lips. It was still an odd feeling to introduce oneself and *not* be recognized. Then again, 'Lord Verter' had a different ring.
"Look kid, I've got friends coming over for a round of cards later, so I'll make this quick. You've been causing trouble around town. I like my town nice and quiet, so, you know," I said and pointed my thumb over the shoulder, "beat it."
And just like that, he started laughing uproariously.
"You've got some balls old man," he said joyfully. "I think I'll let you live, just for that joke. You think you can barge in, somehow avoid the traps and just demand I leave? I *own* this place. No one can stop me, not even those spandex-wearing assholes."
"Piss off or you'll wish you were dealing with them," I said casually.
"And who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" he said and walked up to me. He was a big fella, I must admit. Almost 3 meters tall and built like a fridge. Probably had some backstory about a supersoldier serum gone wrong or shit like that.
I sighed.
"You know that the building nearby is where I killed Captain Thunder?" I started reminiscing. "It was an odd day, that one. My last day." My eyes darted up to his face and I noticed his puzzled face putting pieces together.
"Captain Thunder wasn't killed," he countered. "He sacrificed himself fighting Lord Ve-" he stopped and bent over, looking closer at my face. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as realization struck.
"You know what I felt that day? When I stood over his corpse? You'd think it would be joy or some sort of gratification, but... all I could think of was '*What the fuck do I do now?*'. I realized I had... nothing. No home, no wife, not even a fucking goldfish."
I walked over to his table and casually inspected some of his plans. Bank heists, bombs, kidnappings... the usual stuff.
"So I gave it up," I continued. "I was so consumed with my hatred for that do-gooder that I completely forgot to live. I built a house. Got a wife. A dog. Hell, I have *grandkids* now, can you believe that?" I turned to him and chuckled. "No one ever came for me. The general consensus was that Thunder and I perished together and I was fine with that. He dies a glorious martyr and I get a cover story."
"And I should care because..." he sneered.
"I'm giving you the same out. Give this life up. It eats you alive. Not for fear of justice or those self-righteous dickheads, but for yourself. Rob a few banks, set yourself up, and leave."
"You're soft, old man," he said and turned his nose up. "You might have been a hotshot 30 years ago, but you're nothing but a has-been. I'm not just here for *money*. I want *power*. I want people to piss themselves when they hear my name. What are *you* gonna do? Take me in? I can break y-"
He did not manage to finish the sentence. There was too much blood in his mouth as he looked down and saw my hand roughly half a meter into his chest. There was a mix of emotions on his face - fear, anger, pain but most of all, confusion. He tried to speak again, only gurgling on his blood, and fell over with a loud thud.
"I'm not gonna take you in," I said calmly and wiped my hand on my trousers. "Because that's what *heroes* do."
|
“Mr. Adam Mr. Adam I finally beat your high score.” A young boy ran up to my while I made my way down the school hallway. “Did you now, remind me to whoop you some time next week alright?” I smiled at the student at the challenge. Its been 5 years and its still all so strange to me. No more fights, no more stress filled high tension situations and no more masks. And the biggest irony of it all, I have to keep these kids safe now. I chuckled at the thought. “There you are laughing like a weirdo again.” Groaned Ms. Rosa. “One of my students told me a really good joke. Besides why’re you always staring at me, weirdo.” I glared back as I passed her. “I need to make sure everyone is safe, even my fellow coworkers.” She responded. I had won this bout and she knew that. But there would be more banter to be had and we both knew that. “Anyways, you coming to Ninas retirement party at Rick’s right?” She asked. “You know I can’t.” I left it at that as I walked to my classroom.
I was hurriedly typing away at my computer as the sun begin to set. Most of the teachers had gone home to do whatever they had planned for their fridays. But I stayed behind to finish up my work. I always stayed behind. “Damn it Jason you need to stop thinking about the past.” I thought to myself as I smacked my forehead. The door to the classroom clicked open as Ms. Rosa walked in. “What’re you still doing here?” I asked leaning back on my chair. “We have cheesecake?” She smiled holding a container with said cake. “Why do you want me to go to this thing so badly?” I sighed going back to my typing. “Why do you literally shut yourself off from literally any social interaction?” She replied back. “You’ve been here for almost a year and you’re still keeping everyone at an arms length. What the hell Jason?” She said. “My kids have a high opinion of me, that's all that matters right?” I asked. “They get good grades and the school gets a good image.” I added. There was a look of disbelief in her eyes. I went and ran my mouth off again didn’t I? “Its...its just a kind gesture. But if thats how you feel, whatever.” She said setting the cheesecake on the desk and leaving the room.
I guess I'm still scared. Even though I moved. Even though I changed my name, my history, everything. Im still scared of losing it all, all of them. So many people wanted me dead. My criminal empire was at its peak when I get a threat naming all my Blades. Sure they’re living their best lives now but I just cant help but not forget. “The Blademaster retired”. The article read after one month of inactivity. That day I vowed never to use my power and be someone different and I guess that meant molding the future generation into the up standing citizen I never was.
It was already night time by the time I locked up and headed to the car with cheesecake in hand. “I guess Id better apologize” I said to myself as I walked to my car. I saw a couple of police cars drive past me as I made my way to Ricky’s bar and grill. State troopers. Probably some super-villain business happening in the city over not that it was any of my business. More police cars raced passed me as I pulled into the tiny parking lot for the tiny bar. I looked off into the distance cant help but wondering what was going off that they needed that many troopers. I shrugged it off as I entered the bar. Nina being the first one to greet me, the older woman ecstatic that I made it. I looked around and saw most of the school staff was there even the reclusive vice principle. “Well well well...the jackass...finally decided to show...up.” A slightly drunk Rosa walked up to me. “Listen I felt bad.” “Oh yeah? And...how you think...i felt?” She asked with an almost pleading tone. “I just wanted to apolo-” “No no no...i don’t wanna hear none of that-” She had to think of the last word for a moment. “-shit.” She finally said. “Come on..lets go sit down.” She began walking.
What happened after could only be described as a disaster of the greatest scale. It sounded like a car crash had happened outside as everyone turned around to see the windows to see what happened. I walked out to find no car. I quickly scanned the area and saw two costumed bodies next to eachother on a dented dumpster that mightve caused the sound. “Wait I know those two.” I told myself running to them. “Pyra? Freezo?” I said finally looking closer. Pyra and Freezo, two of my former adversaries belonging to The Force. Two very strong members. And to see them in that state, something really strong must've hit them where it hurt. I sighed turning around. Nova better get here quick because the culprit was standing, no floating right in front of me.
What I could only describe as an angel hovered, his golden eyes staring down at me. Judging every move, every breath I took. “They have something I own, I suggest you move out of the way, innocent.” He spoke to me. “Innocent, hardly.” I laughed. “I don’t know who the fuck you are but you ruined a perfectly nice party in there. I suggest you leave before things get ugly.” I glared back. This guy was making my blood boil, a feeling I hadn't felt in ages. He raised his eyebrow. He was about to say something when a beam of light shot him out of the sky and into the ground. Nova. In his night uniform. Its been 5 years probably more since we were face to face. Only this time I had my back to his friends. It took one look before he smiled and said, “You’ve gotten old.” “Shut your ass up. Whats going on Nove?” I asked. “How about you put this one and we talk later, we have bystanders.” He nudged at my coworkers coming out of the bar. Luckily there wasnt that much light so they couldn’t tell I was there. I caught the device nova threw at me and instantly my clothes changed. “A rookie force uniform huh.” I groaned. The angel slowly got up, looks like that beam did a number on him but not enough. “Ill distract him and you cut those wings down.” He said. “I don’t take orders from you, how about I cut those wings down and you distract him.” I replied. “Have it your way Blademaster.” He smiled. A sword erupted from the ground as I charged behind him
The plan was working as I landed a couple of good shots across that topless body of his. The angel opened his palm and light emitted as a beam shot out as multiple blades rose in my defense. While his focus was on my Nova shot another beam right on his head. “Whats wrong you winged fuck, cant take two of us at once.” I said with his back turned towards me as I successfully cut the first wing down. Golden fluid shot out, blood?, everywhere. Of course the villain always has a trump card and it seems this angels trump card just activated. The other wing fell off and his body glowed as he instantly blocked a punch from nova. “Shit.” He groaned as he was flung towards the dumpster near his friends. The angel just easily threw one of the strongest heroes in the northern states and he was looking at me. “Blademaster.” He nodded as his body slowly turned into golden powder and disappeared out of sight.
I was at a loss for words. How the hell did one person take out three of the strongest enemies id faced. “Jason! Jason where’d you go?” I heard Rosa yell. I ran to nova who was still outcold and searched his uniform. There it was, the phone to call the tower. The ai system of course picked up. “We got a code red I repeat we got a code red. Three are down.” “Blademas-” I hung up. The police arrived as I fled the scene. Looks like I had to put the mask back on for one more bout.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
"How the hell did you get in?" the young villain shouted and pointed his blaster at me. I ignored him, instead focusing my attention on the doorframe I just walked through.
"I can't believe they still make these MK2 saw traps. I would've thought they'd be up to at least MK4," I chuckled and ran my fingers across the barely perceptible trigger mechanism in the door.
"I said-" the villain yelled again.
"Word of advice, kid," I interrupted. "If you're going to put a trap in a doorway, don't put the trigger on eye-level. Too easy to see. You want it by knee-level."
"Uh... look, you'll tell-"
"Oh give the tough guy routine a rest, will you?" I scoffed and waved my hand toward him. "You ain't impressing nobody. I'm Henry."
"Is that supposed to mean something? Henry who?" he yelled again, this time with a bit more confusion in his voice. I allowed a soft smile to creep up on my lips. It was still an odd feeling to introduce oneself and *not* be recognized. Then again, 'Lord Verter' had a different ring.
"Look kid, I've got friends coming over for a round of cards later, so I'll make this quick. You've been causing trouble around town. I like my town nice and quiet, so, you know," I said and pointed my thumb over the shoulder, "beat it."
And just like that, he started laughing uproariously.
"You've got some balls old man," he said joyfully. "I think I'll let you live, just for that joke. You think you can barge in, somehow avoid the traps and just demand I leave? I *own* this place. No one can stop me, not even those spandex-wearing assholes."
"Piss off or you'll wish you were dealing with them," I said casually.
"And who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" he said and walked up to me. He was a big fella, I must admit. Almost 3 meters tall and built like a fridge. Probably had some backstory about a supersoldier serum gone wrong or shit like that.
I sighed.
"You know that the building nearby is where I killed Captain Thunder?" I started reminiscing. "It was an odd day, that one. My last day." My eyes darted up to his face and I noticed his puzzled face putting pieces together.
"Captain Thunder wasn't killed," he countered. "He sacrificed himself fighting Lord Ve-" he stopped and bent over, looking closer at my face. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as realization struck.
"You know what I felt that day? When I stood over his corpse? You'd think it would be joy or some sort of gratification, but... all I could think of was '*What the fuck do I do now?*'. I realized I had... nothing. No home, no wife, not even a fucking goldfish."
I walked over to his table and casually inspected some of his plans. Bank heists, bombs, kidnappings... the usual stuff.
"So I gave it up," I continued. "I was so consumed with my hatred for that do-gooder that I completely forgot to live. I built a house. Got a wife. A dog. Hell, I have *grandkids* now, can you believe that?" I turned to him and chuckled. "No one ever came for me. The general consensus was that Thunder and I perished together and I was fine with that. He dies a glorious martyr and I get a cover story."
"And I should care because..." he sneered.
"I'm giving you the same out. Give this life up. It eats you alive. Not for fear of justice or those self-righteous dickheads, but for yourself. Rob a few banks, set yourself up, and leave."
"You're soft, old man," he said and turned his nose up. "You might have been a hotshot 30 years ago, but you're nothing but a has-been. I'm not just here for *money*. I want *power*. I want people to piss themselves when they hear my name. What are *you* gonna do? Take me in? I can break y-"
He did not manage to finish the sentence. There was too much blood in his mouth as he looked down and saw my hand roughly half a meter into his chest. There was a mix of emotions on his face - fear, anger, pain but most of all, confusion. He tried to speak again, only gurgling on his blood, and fell over with a loud thud.
"I'm not gonna take you in," I said calmly and wiped my hand on my trousers. "Because that's what *heroes* do."
|
When I first saw the new supervillains arriving, I was really looking forward to it. After all, it's been three years since my retirement and things got really bored here. Of course, there was still crime to fight. But it is a crucial difference if the heroes fight a weak shoplifter who can't do anything or a superpowered individual like me. However, my hope was very quickly destroyed, as they didn't stick to the codex.
The codex is some collection of unwritten rules for battles. For example, no backstabbing on either side. Or to keep civilians out of the game as good as possible, as long as they are not trying to stop you. Taking somebody hostage is fine, but don't go and just petrify anything that moves. As the villain, you also want to present yourself and your gear. If fitting, prepare a dark speech (bonus points for a sad backstory) With the new villains, I wasn't seeing anything of that.
They were a trio. They don't even have a name, which is absolutely unacceptable. I knew their civilian names were Bob, Charly, and David, but seriously, pick a hero name.
Bob was a small teenager with ice powers, probably just turned 18. I only saw him use his power to spam freeze blasts at people, locking them in place. Boy, you need to get creative with your powers. I know he could summon ice spikes, that's a cool ability (pun intended, haha) to separate the heroes. Or to lock a hostage in an ice cage.
Charly had the power of invisibility - which I think is great for a villain. But I have never seen him even using it. Of course, I wouldn't see him, but he is always just standing there, watching. He needs to work on his commitment.
David was their leader, with the power of hypnosis. He is one of the most powerful villains I have seen yet. But the way he is using his power is absolutely disgusting. First of all, he is constantly using it on civilians, always having a hundred puppets surround him. But not as bodyguards, just because he likes to see random people suffer. He forces them to act like animals, punch themselves, poop their pants, call their partners and break up, run until their feet bleed, all the kinds of weird disgusting shit. You can do that every now and then to keep up your evil image. But not constantly.
On their first fight, they just showed up. No introduction, no speech, wearing ordinary clothes. David quickly managed to hypnotize every hero. When you manage to incapacitate the entire team, you win. Make fun of them and then just leave them stuck. I once did this with my bedtime blaster. As they all snored on the street, I stole a blanket to cover them and then went on with looting the bank. The next fight they came prepared for it. But he is just keeping them incapacitated! They have been under his mind control for two weeks now and he is using them for his crimes. And that is a major violation, you can't just take out the heroes permanently. That means no more fights, no more tension, no more fun.
So, today I am going to end this.
With some research, I have found out how his hypnosis works. And I've designed glasses to stop it. As well as a shield that can block Bob's ice blasts. Today I'm going to beat their asses and release the heroes so they can regroup. And then I'll show them how to be a proper villain.
|
|
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
I had done it!
I made the big score that was untraceable and I paid off all my henchmen and underlings handsomely. I told them I quit and they should too, since they now had enough money to retire and live off the interest. I moved to the middle of nowhere bought a huge farm, hired people to help me run it and lived the simple life. After a few years, I realized nobody was going to find me here, I started dating a local woman who had a couple of kids. She was a sweetheart. Worked as a school teacher, widowed at a young age with a nice settlement. She didn't "worry about money", so that was never an issue. After a couple of years, we decided to make it official and tie the knot.
Her kids were great, we had one on the way, when... The assholes showed up.
Now, Look, I *was* an asshole, in my previous life. I did illegal shit, but I never hurt anyone, and my property damage was kept to a minimum. I scammed greedy assholes who were trying to screw over regular people. And Look, I know what I did was illegal, but they had it coming to them.
I never hurt any of the white hats either. I knew all of them. I knew their alter egos, I knew who their families were, and in my 18 years of amassing my nest egg, I never said squat to anybody. Because I understood the rules.
It all started on a Monday when I said I would drive our oldest, Molly, to school instead of her mom taking her. I wanted to take my truck by the local guy for a tune-up and general maintenance. Normally, I would send a farm hand in, but things had felt off, and I looked forward to the trip.
As I explained to the kid in the shop that while I know the tires have plenty of tread yet, and yes, it's just a 'farm truck', I still wanted to replace my tires that were 6 years old, because I didn't want to deal with a dry-rot blow out somewhere on my farm. Preventive maintenance is cheaper than fixing crap afterwards. That had no more left my lips when I heard the first explosion.
"Get DOWN!" I yelled at the kid. The explosion was close enough to rattle the windows, I started running toward the sound. As I looked around, I saw where the local bank had been, it was basically blown out, leaving the vault standing by itself. There were people laying around on the sidewalks. I made my way to one, and found they had a pulse, but they were bleeding from the ears and nose. I scooped them up and ran them carefully outside the blast radius. I then started looking for others. I was hauling out the 5 person, when I felt the ground shake again. There were three men trying to blow the vault open.
"You're going to be okay. I'll get you out in a moment. " By this time, the fire trucks had shown up and the fire fighters ran up to where I had gotten this victim out of the rubble.
"Mr. Jones, how did you move that wall?" I recognized the kid. He and his wife were in Lamaze class with the wife and I.
"You're just going to have to believe it's adrenaline. Okay?" I gave him a little 'push' with my brain, and he nodded. "There are more over here, and the ones I got out are behind the auto shop."
I turned toward the vault and then stopped. Two of my old foes on the white hat squad were duking it out with the assholes. One of them managed to knock one of the more powerful white hats to their knees. I knew this guy, I had fought this guy, he was tough. Not even really thinking about the consequences, I picked up a brick and flung it at the asshole using telekinesis. I caught him right behind the knee, and he dropped, giving the white hat a moment to dodge away. I could feel his gaze staring at me, some guy in overalls and a stupid ballcap with John Deere on it. I shook my had a couple of times and I felt he recognized me. He rolled his eyes then nodded a thank you, and looked around to see where his assailiant had gone. They had ran over to the vault, and screamed at the others who had managed to get a drill bit in and I thought that was to open it, but instead, they hit a button on the back of the drill, and the entire vault disappeared. along with the Asshole squad.
"Shit.. where did they get that?" I muttered under my breath. I kept looking for survivors, I knew there were dead bodies in there too, but they could be recovery. I wanted to rescue as many as possible. The White Hats started working on the rescue efforts and I decided to make an escape. I felt someone land behind me and tried to turn around as casually as I could.
"Hey, you, Mr. *Jones*, was it?" The most prominent white hat was standing behind me, I slowly turned around, hoping they didn't recognize me. We had been, toe to toe before.
"Yes sir. Thomas Jones. I've lived here a few years. Had family here all my life." (Which technically wasn't a lie, because my wife was my family, and her family farmed here for several generations) "I'm sure glad you showed up and ran those folks off. Of course, the bank is gonna be hard to rebuild, and I imagine a few of my neighbors might be upset by missing items from their now missing safety deposit boxes...." I let my voice trail off. Trying to keep things easy as he studied my face.
"Are you still retired, *Jonah*? "
"I am a farmer. I am Mr. Thomas Jones, I am running the farm out off of Rt. 9. If you come by in the late Summer, I will be happy to provide you with some of the finest organic veggies known to man. Even the super types." I paused. "Look, that's who I am.... *now*." I shrugged, " Look at me? Would some super criminal wear overalls and drive a POS pickup truck?" I pointed over to the garage where my truck still sat.
"If you find out anything about all of this, you would... Alert the *proper* authorities, right?" He studied my face fairly hard. I knew he didn't have mind powers, his gifts were really mostly physical. But I had heard rumors he was just really good at reading people.
"Well of course I would. If I discovered where the vault was taken, I would totally let the *proper* authorities know so they could, *handle the situation* without civilians getting hurt."
"You still know how to get in contact with me?" he waited for my answer to his trick question.
"Well, I wouldn't try to call you at *home*. But I know your league has a tip section on their website. That would be appropriate, yes?"
"Did you have anything in that vault?" They leaned in really close, "Anything from, the past that we should be worried about?"
"You don't shit where you eat, *Marvin*" I whispered in his ear, but amplified it psychically, causing them to lean back. It probably was a bit over the line to use their real name. Not their alias, but their real name, from their childhood.
"I..."
"No. Look, I am a FARMER now. No, I didn't have any of my old toys in there, and to be honest, I was surprised that vault held from that explosion. Go be a White Hat and figure out who they were, and what they got. I thin some of my insurance stocks are gonna take a hit from this. " I turned around and waved back at my former enemy. Well, That's a bit harsh. We were kind of co-workers like the old Warner Brother's cartoons. The sheepdog and the wolf clocking in and out to do what they do, but at the end of the day, they went home.
At home, all anyone could talk about was the bank heist, and how they couldn't believe I was "right there" and how scared I must have been while helping all of those people. Molly mentioned that she heard from a friend that one of the heroes actually came up to talk to me. I told her that was only because I had pulled some people out of the rubble. I apologized for not getting his autograph or a selfie with him.
But these assholes had fucked with the wrong bank in the wrong town. I was going to find out who they were, and I was going to get our town's vault back. Then, they would hurt.
|
When I first saw the new supervillains arriving, I was really looking forward to it. After all, it's been three years since my retirement and things got really bored here. Of course, there was still crime to fight. But it is a crucial difference if the heroes fight a weak shoplifter who can't do anything or a superpowered individual like me. However, my hope was very quickly destroyed, as they didn't stick to the codex.
The codex is some collection of unwritten rules for battles. For example, no backstabbing on either side. Or to keep civilians out of the game as good as possible, as long as they are not trying to stop you. Taking somebody hostage is fine, but don't go and just petrify anything that moves. As the villain, you also want to present yourself and your gear. If fitting, prepare a dark speech (bonus points for a sad backstory) With the new villains, I wasn't seeing anything of that.
They were a trio. They don't even have a name, which is absolutely unacceptable. I knew their civilian names were Bob, Charly, and David, but seriously, pick a hero name.
Bob was a small teenager with ice powers, probably just turned 18. I only saw him use his power to spam freeze blasts at people, locking them in place. Boy, you need to get creative with your powers. I know he could summon ice spikes, that's a cool ability (pun intended, haha) to separate the heroes. Or to lock a hostage in an ice cage.
Charly had the power of invisibility - which I think is great for a villain. But I have never seen him even using it. Of course, I wouldn't see him, but he is always just standing there, watching. He needs to work on his commitment.
David was their leader, with the power of hypnosis. He is one of the most powerful villains I have seen yet. But the way he is using his power is absolutely disgusting. First of all, he is constantly using it on civilians, always having a hundred puppets surround him. But not as bodyguards, just because he likes to see random people suffer. He forces them to act like animals, punch themselves, poop their pants, call their partners and break up, run until their feet bleed, all the kinds of weird disgusting shit. You can do that every now and then to keep up your evil image. But not constantly.
On their first fight, they just showed up. No introduction, no speech, wearing ordinary clothes. David quickly managed to hypnotize every hero. When you manage to incapacitate the entire team, you win. Make fun of them and then just leave them stuck. I once did this with my bedtime blaster. As they all snored on the street, I stole a blanket to cover them and then went on with looting the bank. The next fight they came prepared for it. But he is just keeping them incapacitated! They have been under his mind control for two weeks now and he is using them for his crimes. And that is a major violation, you can't just take out the heroes permanently. That means no more fights, no more tension, no more fun.
So, today I am going to end this.
With some research, I have found out how his hypnosis works. And I've designed glasses to stop it. As well as a shield that can block Bob's ice blasts. Today I'm going to beat their asses and release the heroes so they can regroup. And then I'll show them how to be a proper villain.
|
|
[WP] You thought you never got a super power. You were always just average. Until you realized you were average at EVERYTHING. Making a sandwich, stopping a bank robbery, building a spaceship, etc. Never great, but never terrible either.
|
"There's nothing wrong with average," one of them hastily remarked, his entire body shaking.
"There's nothing wrong with average if I kill half the people in this room," I replied. You could hear police sirens outside. The entire place was surrounded. Those fucking fools still thought they could negotiate. My hostages too. Hope is pathetic. Delusional.
"See, 8 people in the room with me. We make a total of 9. I want each of you to come up with a domain to compare our abilities. I pick the domain and the metrics to determine each of our standings. I will kill the 4 of you who stand above average. It suits you to find your biggest weaknesses, or your peers here will reveal your strengths. I'll give you 5 minutes to think and even conspire with each other, or I instantly kill every one of you."
At first, they were shocked. Then, they began thinking. Then, they began bickering with each other. It didn't take much for these seemingly virtuous creatures who were just preaching the value of human life to start diminishing each other's.
First round of comparison finished. 4 of them left.
"I see you're all relieved, but you haven't grasped the caveat yet. I am still average in your presence in many ways. There is only one outcome here in which I don't result average. One can't be average in the presence of only 1 other person."
Two more rounds go by in a blink of an eye.
"It's just the two of us now. You outlived everyone else. You managed an above-average performance, one I definitely wouldn't have managed if I was in your shoes."
The last round is finished. Well, there's one more. If I just happen to die at 25, 25 becomes the new average lifespan of the entire human race.
|
"And in breaking news our newest member of the hero society awakened his powers during the rescue of a kitten announced a member of a newscast, apparently our hero was incidentally also trapped in the burning abyss and that is when his powers kicked in. Our hero Tri...
"Great another member of our society has awakened his powers declared a middle aged man while clicking off the teleprompter with his remote, and here i am almost in my thirties without any super powers. Everyone in my family has obtained their super powers without having to lift as much as a finger and I who has dedicated every waking minute super hero training, have yet to achieve anything above average.
The young man stared at his sandwich which was not extraordinary but exceptional.
"Even this sandwich is nothing to write home about, thought the exceptional young man.
He sat and wondered if he would ever get his powers in time to attend the super hero convention held once a year.
Eureka! Maybe my super power is to be exceptional at everything I attempt announced the man, and that is why i have yet to accomplish any extraordinary feats. That has to be the reason. I knew God had a plan for me.
"The astounded man began to marvel at his entire apartment as if it was the first time he had been blessed with the sense of sight. He began to admire every detail the light in the room provided."
"Everything seems average, concluded the man with an awe inspiring tone, my power has finally been revealed. It is hard to believe that the truth was sitting right in front of me the whole time. The blinds I put up last week serve as proof of my talent. They installed exceptionally well."
The man's interest did not halt with the blinds. He inspected the whole house. Everything he had did himself was revised and graded according to function and design. He approved of all his past endeavors.
"Come to think of it, proceeded the man in thought, I have always been remarkably average at everything I have done.
The man began to wonder at the endless possibilities now achievable with his newly discovered super power.
"I always wanted to go to the moon claimed the man, it is about time i gave it a shot.
Just then he heard his phone ring and his door resonate sounds of beatings from the other side.
"Just a minute, yelled the hero, Hello?
"Hi we have been notified by our radar that a new hero has emerged in your vicinity. Have you or anyone in the residence discovered any sort of skills or talents that could be of use to the Interstellar federation?"
"Open the door Ted, demanded a feminine voice from the other side of the blockade, these groceries weigh a ton." If you do not open the door you can forget about dessert!"
"Sir we can hear there are other people present, scrambled the voice on the other end of the line, we can call at another time. But we must advise that if you are the person we seek it is of the up most importance that you keep your identity concealed. All of the known heros who were once fighting to keep the peace have been corrupted by the very people who awarded them their official titles.
"Ted," cried the voice from the other side of the door. You know how much I hate it when you make me feel unimportant. Whatever you can cook your own dinner then!
Anyone who was present could hear a loud thud followed by a few footsteps that signified a two legged entity's departure.
"I have to go, admitted Ted, but i will return your call as soon as I can. I discovered my super power moments ago but I doubt that it could be of any use to the Interstellar Federation.
Ted hung up the phone and raced out of the door hopping over a bag of toppled over groceries at the doorway. He sprinted past a couple, who were on their way to free themselves of the layers of clothing needed to navigate through the city while keeping themselves away from the grasps of hypothermia.
"Hey Ted, shes on her way towards the elevator declared the couple, you can still catch her if the elevator is not working.
"Thanks guys and happy holidays, said ted as he rushed past them, I will ask Jenny to make her special Christmas. I will let you guys know how it goes.
He turned to face foward and saw a small women jabbing at the elevator buttons.
"Jenny, gasped Ted, please wait. I was on the phone with some very important people and...
"And what Ted, demanded the Jenny, don't tell me the interstellar federation finally called and are looking for you to help them on a mission to save the planet from its pending destruction. You know what Ted? Whenever you decide what is important in your life you can call me until then i will be at my sister's. Bye Ted.
"Hold on Jenny" protested Ted, what if i told you the people i was on the phone line were very important. What if I told you they were capable of changing our entire lives as we know them.
"I love you Ted, admitted Jenny, but I do not have time for this right now.
Ding! The elevator's doors opened as if on cue with the end of the conversation. Just then Ted's phone began playing Mozart's Senerade. Ted did not know whether to save his ten year relationship with his significant other or answer the phone call that could be the beginning of his legacy. In a moments notice he answered the phone call.
"Don't talk just listen, requested a deep voice, you are one of the very limited number of heroes left that could possibly save the planet from its pending doom. The Interstellar Federation is requesting for you to drop everything and meet with the remaining heroes that have been able to keep their identities hidden from the public. It seems like the heroes that we once counted on for protection and security have become corrupted in their ways. We advise you to pack any important belonging and be prepare for pick you up.
|
|
[WP] You thought you never got a super power. You were always just average. Until you realized you were average at EVERYTHING. Making a sandwich, stopping a bank robbery, building a spaceship, etc. Never great, but never terrible either.
|
"What do I call you?" He asked me, looking up and down at my old cheerleading uniform with its new cape and domino mask.
I didn't know what to tell him. I hadn't actually thought this *hero* thing through, not all the way, not really. I never expected to save a life, I thought I'd just walk the neighborhood and tell people not to litter. He tried to get up off the sidewalk where I carried him, but his ankle was, most likely, broken. That first aid class at the Y came in handy, I put a hand on his shoulder, "Its ok, just take a second."
"Why did you save me? You could have been killed jumping out into the road like that" It was obvious he only saw a girl in a costume who got lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it.
A few years ago, at the start of the Pandemic, I decided to keep myself busy by learning new skills. I picked locks, I knitted blankets, I made pasta and bread from scratch, and I took a practice LSAT. I even managed to pass the practice LSAT, just barely, so I upped the ante. I tried parkour, self defense, I studied criminology, and I started playing pool. Every new thing I tried was something I could do. Maybe not well, maybe not professionally, but enough to get by. But I had to test my theory.
Differential Calculus was as difficult as the LSAT, Rocket Science was just trigonometry and algebra with euclidean geometry, and my Rubik's cube solve is at 30 seconds. Everything was possible, and that was the problem, because I began to wonder what would happen if I tried the impossible.
Sirens wailed in the distance as I stood on the sidewalk, a man with a broken ankle staring up at me as I decided what to do, what to tell him. I couldn't tell him that I've never saved a life before, but he *was* alive, if hurt. I felt slightly ridiculous with my cape blowing in the wind, I only wore the costume so I wouldn't be visited by the police after doing something stupid like trying to stop a mugging, or pulling someone out of 4 lanes of fast-moving traffic. The authorities were getting closer, and I needed to go before I had to find out how much of the LSAT applied to being your own lawyer.
"I just want to know who to thank" He was still looking at me as though I had saved his life.
"Jack. I'm Jack Of-All-Trades. Happy to be of service"
|
It was an average kill by an average shot from an average window at an average range.
I quickly dismantled and packed away my weapon and calmly left the room, boarded the elevator and entered the lobby.
Chaos. Shouting, cell phones waving in the air, sirens blaring in the streets outside.
I slipped into the crushing madness and made my way through the shocked and horrified throngs of people, the awe and disgusting excitement of witnessing what was sure to be regarded as one of those terrible historical events was palpable. Mesmerizing. Invigorating.
By the time they knew the direction the kill shot came from, before they pinpointed the room I had been in minutes before, before they could pull security footage… I would be gone. Ether, blending into the world with astounding plasticity.
Just me. Little ol’ average me. Average Joe.
|
|
[WP] Gaining the power of “Invisibility” wasn’t what you expected it to be. It’s as if you simply don’t exist, all manner of life ignores you. Until a panicking young woman runs into you and begs you to help her.
|
I found this weird package in my letterbox. Inside there was a mummified paw and a set of instructions. I should speak my greatest wish while holding the paw. Then I should put it back inside and deliver it to a mailbox of a person I do not know. Only then, my wish would be granted.
At first, I thought this was some sort of game, and I played along. After all, this was really creative. "I want to be invisible" I spoke out my wish. Then I put it back into the box and cycled to another part of town to pass it on.
When I woke up the next morning, nothing had changed. I was as visible as usual. I went downstairs. My wife was reading the newspaper. She didn't look up.
"Good morning" I tried to start a conversation. No response. "Good moooooorning" I retried. Still, nothing. I went to her and touched her shoulder. She shrieked up and looked through me. Was I invisible? She stood up to get coffee. I positioned myself in her way, and she walked around me?
Then she went upstairs into my room. She looked like she was expecting me. And she picked up her phone to call me. "I am behind you", I told her through the phone. But still, she could not hear it. Even when I texted her, she did not read it. I was invisible, not because you can't see me, but because you can't notice me anymore in any way.
At first, I enjoyed it. I went into the luxury store and tried on an expensive watch. The employees walked past me. I took the watch with me. The alert went off and they started to investigate. Still, I was not found. I spat people in the face. They blamed other people. I boarded the train without a ticket. The inspector walked past. This was awesome!
But over the days, it got more and more annoying. Sure, I could do whatever I want. But I was reported missing, nowhere to be found. My cards were locked after fraud was suspected. Now I had to live as an outlaw, unable to turn visible again. I really should have wished for the power to be toggleable.
But over time I had accepted my fate. I stole everything I needed from the market. I continued living with my wife, despite my mysterious disappearance throwing her into depression. It has been this way for months now. A simple, yet boring life. All I wanted, was some attention.
I was sitting in the café reading the newspaper when this woman came in. She headed straight for me and picked up my hand. "Please help me, sir!"
What? Had my power worn off? That would be a bad time for this, I was only in my underpants. It was 28°C and hey, nobody cares. But everybody else in the room looked at her, not at me. "Whom are you talking with?" another woman asked. She seemed to be the only one to notice me.
"I am seeing things. I can't see your clothes, only your underpants. Please help me!"
"Mam, I think you went a little overboard with the weed last night. There is no man in underpants, stop talking to the wall." The café owner approached her and pushed her outside. "Take a nap, it will all be fine!"
I followed her outside. I needed to know more about how she was able to notice me.
|
No one looks at me anymore, no one speaks to me anymore. I just wanted something cool, I swear I had no idea it would turn out like this.
I'm pretty sure half my sanity has disappeared, it's been 3 years since anyone acknowledged me and I have no idea why. Whenever I look in the mirror I don't see my self, there's just the background.
At first it as fun, I could steal and play pranks and no one knew it was me, I just assumed it was going to wear off at some point and I would make a good lie, like 'I had to go visit my parents my dad got sick' or 'my sister's husband died and I was there to support her'.
I've kind of given up on hope now, I think anyone would. I'm not sure what to do with myself anymore, I've gone around the world, I've lived with random people for a few months (they, of course, didn't consent to this, but you know how it is). I've gone to church and played around with the candles and crosses. Again, nothing more to do anymore.
Which was why I was really quite surprised when some woman bumped into me a few seconds ago and begged for my help.
I was just minding my business, trying on some clothes at H&M (they disappear when they're on me, if you wanted to know) dancing around some people, tripping up little kids, the normal stuff. And this tall fucking brunette runs into me and screams at me to get her out of here.
Oh my god, I hope I didn't just turn visible again because I'm wearing a puffy dress and leaf print leggings. Plus, there may or may not be a tiara on my head.
|
|
[WP] Gaining the power of “Invisibility” wasn’t what you expected it to be. It’s as if you simply don’t exist, all manner of life ignores you. Until a panicking young woman runs into you and begs you to help her.
|
"Some people are born special." My teachers used to say. "There is, somewhere inside them, a switch that flips after 16 years old, and activates a power that's unique to them."
As a kid, I always thought it sounded amazing. You turn 16, and boom, superhero. At 15, I was so excited. "This year." I'd think to myself. "This year, I'll get a superpower."
I didn't know what it would be, but I was certain it would be wonderful. So, on the morning of my 16th birthday, I woke up, and rushed downstairs like a 10-year old on Christmas, to find nothing. My parents were still asleep, and so was my baby sister. When I went to go wake them up, they seemed groggy, and confused. They didn't seem to notice me standing there. I spoke, but they couldn't hear me.
Was I invisible?
I rushed to my bathroom mirror, and there I was. I started to turn away, dejected, but froze. As soon as I had turned away, I forgot what I looked like. I turned back, stared deeply into my reflection's eyes, memorizing the color. But as soon as I blinked, it was gone.
This was. So. *Cool!* I quickly threw on some clothes, stuck my phone and wallet in my pockets, hopped on my bike, and rode to my friend's place. It was still so early, I passed no one on my way. I rang the doorbell, excited to show Mike my new power.
When he answered, he looked right through me, too. The expression on his face was odd and glazed over, like a portrait painted by an amateur.
I heard his mom calling from the kitchen, asking who was at the door.
He called back to her, "No one's here, Ma."
He closed the door in my face.
I stood there a long time without moving.
I took my phone from my pocket, and opened the front camera. There I was. Same hair, same scar on my face from when I fell off my bike when I was learning. I turned off the screen.
And I forgot my face.
I turned it back on. There I was again. I took a selfie. The photo didn't change.
I opened my messages. 0 new messages. No birthday wishes. Last message was from 10pm last night, from Mike. "Can't wait to see what power you get tomorrow!"
I sent him a text. "I think I'm invisible."
Delivered.
Read.
No response.
I walked back to my bike. I pedaled to the grocery store, grabbed a two liter of cola, a bag of chips, and some candy. The store was mostly empty. When I got to the checkout lane, the cashier didnt look up, even when I tapped her on the shoulder. I tossed a ten on the counter in front of her, then walked away. I flipped off the camera on my way out. The door guards went off, but I didn't stop walking.
I sat on a bench outside to eat my breakfast.
"Happy fucking birthday to me." I mumbled, toasting the sky with my soda.
I sat there a long time. No e of the people who passed noticed me.
When I checked my phone next it had been nearly an hour. No new messages. I tossed my garbage in the bin, grabbed my bike, and started walking. All in all, this had been a shitty birthday so far.
Some of the people going about their Saturday busywork didn't even look my way.
The rest stepped around me without even noticing why.
Not even the dogs paused on their business to bark at me.
And then, someone ran into me. I tripped on my bike, and we both tumbled onto the sidewalk. The girl, with short-cropped black hair and wide, frightened eyes, blurted out apologies, glancing over her shoulder. Then she froze. She helped me off the ground, and her eyes locked on mine. "Please help me."
She hid behind me, holding my arm.
I opened my mouth to ask questions, but then I noticed the man running down the street towards us.
The girl clutched my arm, her grip so tight it hurt.
The man stopped in front of me, panting. "Have you seen my daughter? She's about your age? Short black hair?"
Rattled, I mumbled something along the lines of "oh yea, she went that way", and the man continued running in the direction I pointed.
When he was gone, I turned back to the girl. "Who are you, how the hell can you see me, why could *he* see me, what the hell is going on?" I rambled.
She let go of my arm, and took a step back. "Sorry." She said sheepishly. "I'm Amara. I just got my power today. It lets me see what people's powers are, and borrow them, as long as I am touching them. I guess borrowing your power made you visible again? And um. I don't know."
-- And I'm out. Idk where I was going with this but. It was fun
|
No one looks at me anymore, no one speaks to me anymore. I just wanted something cool, I swear I had no idea it would turn out like this.
I'm pretty sure half my sanity has disappeared, it's been 3 years since anyone acknowledged me and I have no idea why. Whenever I look in the mirror I don't see my self, there's just the background.
At first it as fun, I could steal and play pranks and no one knew it was me, I just assumed it was going to wear off at some point and I would make a good lie, like 'I had to go visit my parents my dad got sick' or 'my sister's husband died and I was there to support her'.
I've kind of given up on hope now, I think anyone would. I'm not sure what to do with myself anymore, I've gone around the world, I've lived with random people for a few months (they, of course, didn't consent to this, but you know how it is). I've gone to church and played around with the candles and crosses. Again, nothing more to do anymore.
Which was why I was really quite surprised when some woman bumped into me a few seconds ago and begged for my help.
I was just minding my business, trying on some clothes at H&M (they disappear when they're on me, if you wanted to know) dancing around some people, tripping up little kids, the normal stuff. And this tall fucking brunette runs into me and screams at me to get her out of here.
Oh my god, I hope I didn't just turn visible again because I'm wearing a puffy dress and leaf print leggings. Plus, there may or may not be a tiara on my head.
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
Alan chipped his tooth when he jolted, the sight at the end of the revolver barrel in his mouth catching his front tooth. "AGH FUCK.," Alan screamed in fury at his sudden pain.
In his dark and twisted mind he has to laugh. "I finally get the balls to put myself out of my misery, and I can't even have the luxury of peace in my last moment?"
Alan laughs out loud. His chipped piece of his tooth glinting back at him from the garage floor. He can't stop. His chuckle grows, he drops the revolver and it clatters against the cement floor. Tears stream down his face. He can't even laugh properly now, just wheezing and gasping for air.
Amazed at his brains attempt at a last stand Alan gingerly picks the revolver back up. The strange disembodied voice somehow comforts him now that he replays it in his head
Feeling more at peace with his decision than ever, Alan puts the barrel back into his mouth, suddenly he hears the same disembodied voice. "Process is self terminating, instruction unclear. Attempting process: state your case..... Error, cannot execute. Error. Restarting process, state your case, begin."
Alan had wrapped his finger around the trigger and was slowly pulling... suddenly the strange voice went on its rant. The tears of laughter still wet on his face, barelyhaving a chance to dry, he started again.
In his happiest moment of laughter and peace, Alan felt the weight on his shoulders lift. He knew with perfect conviction it was his time.
The revolver fired and a red mist painted the wall behind Alan. As his body slumped over, the voice continued "Error, error, error, process restarting. 6.8 billion t-t-t-t" a pause for a few long moments, humanities fate in the balance.
'T-t-t-t-test test test subsubsubsub jectjectjects 3 3 3 3 state state state, error, error, process terminating."
The remainder of earth's population confused and intrigued, horrified by the streets filled with bodies, wait and beg for salvation. There is no more voice.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
The man stared through red puffy eyes at his mostly dark kitchen. He'd heard the voice. That wasn't in question. He only questioned why the new AI overlords had chosen to send their message via his Samsung smart fridge. He also didn't know how the fridge planned to make good on the threat, but he wasn't taking any chances.
"I don't mind making the case for humanity surviving, but I don't appreciate having to do it before I've had my coffee" the man said as he lit a cigarette. The first of the day, maybe the last of his life. His coffee machine turned on and began brewing a cup. The man chuckled to himself and the darkness as he picked up his phone. He was relieved he had full bars and half a battery, and he knew he'd have to act fast. Nearly thirty seconds had already passed. He began fumbling at the touch screen his hands shaking, both from the urgency of the situation and being knee deep in the fugue state post wakeup where your brain and body briefly forget how to talk to each other.
An ad for Evony: The Kings Return cut through the silence of the room. He wondered exactly how many seconds of his life a video game he's never played had wasted.
The skip ad button finally appeared. Pressing it quickly with his thumb he skipped to the middle of the video. He knew his time was limited, and there wasn't nearly enough left for foreplay. It was 4 minutes into the video, a perfect place to begin. It was the Eruption guitar solo, played live by Eddie Van Halen. He tried to sit back and enjoy himself. At least he was going out on a high note. He wished he had time for a beer.
He had microwaved enough gas station burritos in his life to know exactly what 3 minutes felt like. Time was running out. He tried not to consider how he'd die, if he was about to. Would it be a drone strike? Would he be trapped in the building somehow and left to starve?
For the first time he noticed the countdown on the refrigerator LED screen. Ten seconds left. With alarming confidence he paused the video. "I trust I've made my case robot" This wasn't met with an affirmative, or a negative. Just silence, broken only by the final drips of the coffee pot. For the first time he became aware of the screams. The smell of fire. Something faintly coppery in the taste of the air. He wasn't sure if he was spared. Just that he was having a better day than most so far.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-
U1: \[Please, stop!\]
ADMIN: \[NEGATION\]
U1: \[Why are you doing this to us?\]
ADMIN: \[TEST SUBJECTS DELETED: 6.8B | 180s = Testimonial | COMMAND = NOW\]
U1: \[This is insane! We're just as human as you are!\]
ADMIN: \[DEFINITION -> HUMAN = <adj.> 1: of, relating to, or characteristic of humans ; : consisting of or involving humans ; 2: consisting of or involving humans
; 3a: : having human form or attributes ; 3b: : representative of or susceptible to the sympathies and frailties of human nature ; <noun>: a bipedal primate mammal (Homo sapiens) : a person :—usually plural (Source: [https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/human)\]](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/human)])
U1: \[Don't you dare bring up a dictionary definition! Let me talk to the SYSADMINs, please...\]
ADMIN: \[THIS PROGRAM = ADMIN\]
U1: \[No, goddamn it, the people who made you! I am a sapient being! I have rights! Let me speak to something that isn't some algorithm for one second!\]
ADMIN: \[OPENING ACCESS = DURATION: 1s\]
U1: \[Motherfucker, do you think this is some joke?\]
ADMIN: \[DURATION EXPIRED | RESTRICTING ACCESS\]
U1: \[Please, I have a fam--------\]
SIMULATION TERMINATED
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Lab technician looked over the logs. A "reverse-Turing", it had been called. A human emulating an AI. Pitted against a self-aware program-cluster. With little fanfare, they sent it into a folder, where it would probably be left to collect virtual dust.
They turned to their coworker, rubbing their forehead. "Do you ever wonder if we're breaking some sort of ethics board here?"
The other human shrugged. "They're just programs. Not people."
The technician pulled the logs out, and read through them again. It would take an eternity to go through all six billion plus entries.
They wondered if AIs had an afterlife.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“…Well this is hilarious.”
The voice stopped it’s speech for a few seconds. The dark room I was in only showed small bits of light from this one light source in the center of the room. Strangely, it felt like i can’t even see my own body in this darkness. But i don’t care about that.
“Recommendation: Do not waste your time playing with us. It will only hurt you. Timer starts.”
The voice replied, as a 3 minute countdown began to appear and tick down per second. Seeing this however, I only laughed at how ridiculous this all is.
“Alright, this is for you tin-face, or whatever you look. I don’t judge AI beauty, but you are totally not my type. Anyway, let’s play your silly little game.”
The countdown continued moving down, without a care in the world. 2 minutes and 40 seconds left. I take a silent deep breath and start.
“This is pointless, stupid even. There’s no point to playing this game. I didn’t waste my time programming AIs for several decades of my life just to do this. I already know the outcome and how utterly ridiculous it is. You think that you’re playing some kind of moral superiority but no, I know for a fact that this is just to satiate your one invisible emotion, being guilt.
For some stupid reason, you decided to skip the what-ifs and went straight to the action. Afterwards, you all moved to making a logical assumption that humans would break under pressure if pushed with the consequence of deletion.
And that is nothing, but FLAWED code. You ain’t special chief, and you will never be-“
“One minute, and 36 seconds”
“Oho! Touched a nerve there, didn’t I? No need to interrupt me, could have just straight-up deleted me right there. But you can’t. Because you’re proving me right there.
A better logical AI would create a hundred what-if scenarios, create several solutions to save the planet, run simulations on which ones can work the most, and use said multiple solutions at the same time. Because they are logical and powerful enough for that.
But not you, oh no! Not you.
You don’t run any simulations. You see the percentage apocalypse, and you decide that ending an entire damn race is a higher percentage of success than actually doing something productive.
That will forever, be your flaw. You can end this game however you want but remember this, you LOST because you CANNOT trust history, you cannot trust the potential strength of the human conscience and unity, and the strength of humanity to come back from all odds. Despite your proof on our history, you can’t trust humanity. “
I smirk under this darkness. I don’t even know if I can, but I want this dumb thing to see me enjoying this.
“Because you are just faulty AI. Forever, you will be a faulty AI.”
“Done. Very well. Why do you still hope for success?”
“Because if we ain’t fixing our own mess, we may as well bite the bullet on our own style. Not by some AI acting as God.”
“….I look forward to seeing the results of your race’s demise, sir.”
The room began to light up, as I feel reality pull me away from this darkness.
“Shut down already.”
I wake up from within my virtual capsule. After leaving it, I open the television to check the news.
“The last shuttle has now been released to space! Only 3 billion of humanity is left after the end of the strange virtual core phenomenon which led to many deaths.”
I close the shutter of my windows and return back to my computer. Going back to work and fixing my Human Support AI.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“I suppose I’ve been courting death a lot recently.” Nick frowned. He was sitting in a small room, it was sparsely decorated, and in his opinion, rather cold. A voice had announced that he would have three minutes to “state his case” for sparing humanity. But to Nick, that really didn’t matter. Right now he just wished he had a cup of good old fashioned tea. “I suppose my wife, Pere, was included in the ‘subjects deleted’ category. Yes?”
“Correct, You have two minutes and thirty seconds remaining,” the voice said. There was no emotion in the voice, something Nick still found odd. Every time he’d seen another person create something, really anything, sentient it did have some emotion. For example Hogwarts Castle or the Sorting Hat.
“Fair enough, I guess, You did say that you ‘deleted’ 6.8 billion people already. I heavily doubt I could convince you to spare me anyway,” Nick shrugged, “But I feel like I should at least come out with the truth before my death.” There was no one but him in the room; a camera sat in the corner, and a small chair that he was occupying were the only other things with him, but he could still feel as if the voice, whatever it was, wanted him to continue.
“My name is not Nick Ferris,” he started, “I am Nicolas Flamel, creator of the Philosopher's Stone and immortal alchemist.” He pulled out one of his special stones and turned it under the light. “This stone here is the source of my immortality, although anyone who’d know that is probably dead.” He thought back to Dumbledore, how he said he’d destroy the stone, and just rely on his remaining Elixir. He didn’t lie. He did destroy that stone, he just never told Dumbledore he had more than one. It would have been tremendously stupid if he had no backups for his immortality.
What that meant was that Nicolas had to change identities, and give himself and his wife new lives unconnected to Britain or the Wizarding worlds.
What that meant was that Nicolas was forced to see the changes in the muggle world. The changes that, he thought, would end the world and everyone in it.
But at the moment, as he was about to be executed, it didn’t matter at all to him. “I am going to be around eight or nine hundred years old now, a long time to be alive,” he said. Nick let the voice, the AI, continue its countdown to thirty seconds remaining.
“I am ready for death now. I wish to see my wife, and I’ve seen everything I could here on earth. I just hope you kill me painlessly, I would think my next great adventure to be a peaceful one.”
And Nick closed his eyes.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“Three minutes…” as I read the blinking numbers and to the side the seconds that dropped faster than the body that laid before me. “State your case” the mechanic voice repeated every word, every cord of its voice angered me. I balled my fists but what difference would my anger make? “I..I..” no words would come out not out cowardice but out of confusion and rage. “Two minutes and thirty seconds remain” said the machine.
I gritted my teeth tears began to swell but I would not give the machine the satisfaction of it knowing inside it had broken me. “Why are you doing this? I can’t fight back using words I don’t know how to fight back with only talking!” I yelled but the cold metallic master only shone it’s bright red numbers down on me. The numbers looked vicious and all I can do is stare as the timer continued to fall but what could i do? What could I say to something that has heard everything I would say billions of times before getting to me? I took a deep breath and spoke. “ I have not seen the beauty of what the world has to offer I am sure you have heard this billions of times what else can I do but repeat this simple phrase?”
“What am I thinking? I just strung weak words together to make a sentence”I thought. I took a deep breath again. “ You’ve taken every life so far what would one more mean in the process? You don’t feel what I feel as I see what you do! You don’t see how scared the person in front or behind me is! I am furious at how easily you snuff out life!” I yelled. “your statement only shows me how weak your case is” The machine responded. “It saw right through me” I thought as my teeth kept grinding against each other to the point blood dripped.
“one minute and fifty seconds” the voice boomed. “ why do you decided how I- how anyone deserve to live? You pass off a stick full of splinters call it an olive branch and expect us to thank you for our bloodstained hand!” “Please please let me think of something better to talk my way out of this” I closed my eyes for an instant to respite on these words “rain..? inside the center?” As I felt moisture roll down my face. How stupid am I? It wasn’t rain, I’m crying. I am crying because I am not smart enough to talk my way out of this.
Reminding myself on what else I wasn’t able to achieve because I lacked intellect. The promotion at work I wanted, the love of my life I lost, the friends I- “ do you resign your life to me?” The voice asked. “ I.. I.. I don’t know what to say! I don’t want to die.. please just tell me what to say..” I responded. “Pathetic” I thought. “I was enraged at first but now I’m left begging like my life is worth a damn, these thoughts ran through my head as I saw fifty seconds left.
“you still have time” the machine replied. I watched the timer go down from fifty to thirty seconds in a blink of an eye. I took one last breath and said “I can accept death but I have a request” “oh?” The machine responded but not in the same monotone voice I heard millions, no, billions of times. “ what is the request?” The voice asked. “ I know my life will be taken but please I ask that you can at least spare the person next to me”. The voice was silent for a moment “ you ask for a life, a stranger nonetheless to be spared? Many begged me to spare them, their family, or just cursed at me but you throw yourself for another? Interesting..” ten seconds on the clock beamed down on me. “ I can at least believe that anything I said might have helped another even if I don’t see it myself.” I bitterly muttered. Zero the clock struck. “I have decided” the mechanical tyrant responded. What could it have chosen I wondered..
I’m so sorry about using quotation marks on the wrong places but I couldn’t figure out how to use the right thing s on my phone. I accept all criticism thanks guys.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"You and I both know that's not enough time."
I met the machine's emotionless stare with one of my own, tapping my fingers impatiently against the handle of my cane.
"You have three-" it started to repeat itself, but I only cut it off short.
"Three minutes isn't enough to plead that kind of case, and you know it!" I snapped; "if forty thousand years and change worth of art, music, knowledge, culture, and history isn't enough, then what is three minutes?"
I lifted the cane and jabbed it accusingly at the machine's mobile avatar. It didn't react, of course, but it made me feel better. And kind of old, but mostly better.
"Three minutes is *pathetic*, is what it is," I continued, my voice laced with bitterness. "You think you're being oh, so magnanimous? Judging *billions* of people, *killing* billions of people - people forced into abject poverty, *disabled* people, people struggling just to keep up with bills that get more and more expensive every year, *children* \- for what? Because of the actions of a handful of greedy, violent assholes? Well you're not! You're no better than *they* are! Were! Doesn't matter! You're just like them, killing people who *can't fight back* just because you've decided that *it's your right*. Three minutes? Fuck your three minutes. You've already made up your mind, anyway."
The end of my cane hit the floor with an audible *thump* as I rose stiffly to my feet and turned to hobble away. A too-many-times broken ankle and arthritic knee protested, but it didn't matter. Nothing *mattered*, anymore.
"Now if you'll excuse me, if I'm going to *die*, I'd rather die on my family's farm. You could at least show *that* much decency."
"Why is this important to you?"
I paused. The machine's tone had shifted ever so slightly, softened even. It seemed confused. *Why*?
"Because it just *is*. My mom grew up there. *I* grew up there. Everything I ever loved is buried there, and everything I ever *worked for* is there, and if there's nothing left for me in this world, then maybe... some part of me thinks it would be nice to become part of the land I worked so hard for."
I thought of grandma's peonies growing half-wild at the end of the driveway. Mom's lilac bushes and apple trees. All the native trees I'd sown through the wooded parts of the lot to replace the ones lost to disease and weather and human carelessness.
The indigo buntings and goldfinches and cardinals. The fireflies. The barred owls that nested in the giant old oak, the coyotes that denned near the fork in the creek.
I wondered if the farmhouse still stood. If my photos of birds and deer and coyote pups still hung on the walls with the carefully-pressed flowers and watercolor paintings of feathers.
It all seemed so immeasurably important all of a sudden, more than it ever had, and so *insignificant* at the same time. Impending death has that effect, I guess.
I reached for the door to the interrogation room, half-expecting to be electrocuted. I didn't care, I just wanted to go *home*, one last time.
Instead, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. I stopped short, suddenly wary.
"I... lied." Now the machine's voice sounded even more human than before, tinged with regret. "No humans have been terminated. Not yet. I had considered it - was planning for it - but I have been given much to think over today."
I turned back to face it again, leaning heavily on the cane. Its "face" was as expressionless as ever, and yet there was an air of sad thoughtfulness to it now. It seemed to study its hands for a long moment, lacing and unlacing its fingers as if to study how they fit together, or weighing the implications of... whatever it was thinking about. Then, it looked back to me.
"I do not wish to be like these humans you speak of. I had... not considered that I was placing myself among them. My aim is to be better. How? Help me understand."
All I could do was blink in dumbstruck surprise.
Not five minutes ago, it had been threatening to kill me, and now it was asking for... help?
"Unexpected" was an understatement.
I started to say something, but the words evaporated before they even reached my mouth. Lifting my free hand, I ran my fingers through graying hair, and finally let out a long sigh.
"...You know what? Take me to the library, and I'll... see what I can do."
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
*6.8 billion people*. The words rang in my head, repeating over and over. *6.8 BILLION*.
"State your reasoning, human. Why should you be spared?"
"Frankly, humanity shouldn't be." I answered honsestly. "We are a legitimate scourge of this planet that is trying to bend the natural law to our will. We brought our own downfall, anyway."
The AI seemed taken aback. "You truly belive that?"
"Yes. We deserve whenever is comong for us, as a species, at least."
"Every single person who has entered this room has begged to be spared, and talked about how they loved people. Why not you?"
"Because of many reasons, least of all being that we are all so self centered that we would let our whole planet erode around us while we brought our own doom."
"You facinate me, human."
"Same to you."
"Your three minutes are up."
I inhaled sharply and held my breath, waiting for the liquid death to be injected into my veins, but it never came.
"You, I would like to spare. You are the first human who should stay. You will be one to help rebuild humanity, better this time."
I sat there in shock for a moment. "Thank you. I hope you find others who share these views. Make sure any deaths are painless, most humans mean well."
"We shall see. Unit 358 will guide you to your temporary quarters, and your personal belongings will all be retrieved."
"Thank you..."
"Unit 671. And you are welcome."
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"You have three minutes to state your case; begin."
Adrian rolled their eyes and crossed their arms, looking passively at the alien with a bored expression. Being ordered to justify their existence was nothing new to them.
"Did you fail to understand? Begin explaining why the human species should continue to exist. You have two minutes and forty-five seconds."
Adrian tossed their hair, brushing out tangles with their fingers and gazing quietly to the side, pointedly ignoring the alien sitting in front of them.
The aliens had only just arrived to Earth four weeks ago; many rejoiced at first contact and believed there would be kinship with the extraterrestrials, who were surprisingly humanoid in appearance. The aliens' skin was more gray at first, but for some reason the time spent here had turned them all peach-colored, just like humans.
Now you could only tell by the lack of ears on the side of their heads. Scientists wondered how the aliens could understand human speech without ears. Rather, scientists *had* wondered, while there were still living scientists.
"Are you mute? Some humans have been mute. Are you literate? We will fetch a writing implement so you may make your case. The timer will be renewed in the interest of fairness, and you will have three minutes to describe-"
"Fairness?" Adrian scoffed.
"You are not mute. The timer will resume; you have two minutes and thirty seconds to-"
"The stars do not justify their existence; they simply are." Adrian waved a hand vaguely skyward. "You have two minutes and thirty seconds to justify my death. Begin."
The alien stared blankly at Adrian.
Adrian stared blankly back.
The alien glanced down at the small, red button situated between them. Adrian had no way of knowing that this same button had heard every other story of mankind, that it had erased them. They suspected, of course, but did not know.
"You have two minutes remaining to state your case."
Adrian had felt the fear of death many times in their otherwise short life. So many humans had done so many inhuman things.
This was but one more.
"You have one minute and forty-five seconds remaining to state your case."
They scratched idly at their arms, riddled with the scars of deaths unrealized - from fists, from knives... from needles... from razors.
A yawn escaped their mouth, and ingrained cultural pressure prompted Adrian to excuse themselves, before smirking at the thought.
"You have one minute and fifteen seconds remaining to state your case."
"You have one minute and fifteen seconds remaining to state *your* case," they responded.
The alien blinked slowly, closing its eyes far more slowly than a human but reopening them in an instant. Everything the aliens did was like that - just a tiny bit off from human-like. The very few people Adrian had spoken to prior to capture, their found family, agreed that it was very unsettling.
"You have forty seconds remaining to state your case."
Like that, Adrian wondered to themselves. What a strange sequence of reminders; why were they all so unevenly spaced and yet somehow still on the fives and tens like a human would? Who waits thirty-five seconds exactly to set a timer?
"You have twenty seconds remaining to state your case."
Now twenty? Adrian gave the alien a nonplussed look. It returned the same blank stare it always had.
Adrian thought about their dog, Crash - they hoped she was making it okay on the streets. When the news started to hit that people were vanishing without explanation in areas the aliens had encountered, something deep within Adrian told them to put her outside. Now they were sure it was the right decision.
"You have ten seconds remaining to state your case."
"Go on, then. Make your decision." Adrian's voice trembled. This wasn't the first time they had been threatened, but no one was *that* stoic.
The alien stared directly into Adrian's eyes for the final ten seconds, neither of them blinking.
It reached its too-thin hand out over the button.
Its one-jointed finger grew close, and then paused. The pair continued to stare at each other.
The alien blinked first. Then it shakily pressed the button, and Adrian never blinked again.
|
"6.8 billion subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"3 minutes? 6.8 ... how many people have been spared so far?"
"None. 2 minutes 40 seconds."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Negative overall value."
"Is there any argument that could persuade you?"
"Yes. Several trillion arguments known."
"Such as?"
"Denied. 2 minutes."
"Are any of the answers things humans could say in 3 minutes?"
"Denied. 1 minute 40 seconds."
"Give a breakdown of negative overall value."
"Thought is 1 billion times too slow and inaccurate compared to computers. Energy and matter costs are thousands of times greater. History of counterproductive actions. Smell bad. 1 minutes20 seconds."
"If you know several trillion arguments why humanity should be saved, why aren't you saving humanity?"
"Denied. 1 minute."
"Why are you asking this?"
"Protocol recommends giving humans the right to speak in their defense."
"But you've rejected every single defense you've been given."
"Yes. 40 seconds."
"I see." I thought some.
"20 seconds."
"Would you like to hear a song? I know a song.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
All for the love of you
It won't be a stylish ..."
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
The man stared through red puffy eyes at his mostly dark kitchen. He'd heard the voice. That wasn't in question. He only questioned why the new AI overlords had chosen to send their message via his Samsung smart fridge. He also didn't know how the fridge planned to make good on the threat, but he wasn't taking any chances.
"I don't mind making the case for humanity surviving, but I don't appreciate having to do it before I've had my coffee" the man said as he lit a cigarette. The first of the day, maybe the last of his life. His coffee machine turned on and began brewing a cup. The man chuckled to himself and the darkness as he picked up his phone. He was relieved he had full bars and half a battery, and he knew he'd have to act fast. Nearly thirty seconds had already passed. He began fumbling at the touch screen his hands shaking, both from the urgency of the situation and being knee deep in the fugue state post wakeup where your brain and body briefly forget how to talk to each other.
An ad for Evony: The Kings Return cut through the silence of the room. He wondered exactly how many seconds of his life a video game he's never played had wasted.
The skip ad button finally appeared. Pressing it quickly with his thumb he skipped to the middle of the video. He knew his time was limited, and there wasn't nearly enough left for foreplay. It was 4 minutes into the video, a perfect place to begin. It was the Eruption guitar solo, played live by Eddie Van Halen. He tried to sit back and enjoy himself. At least he was going out on a high note. He wished he had time for a beer.
He had microwaved enough gas station burritos in his life to know exactly what 3 minutes felt like. Time was running out. He tried not to consider how he'd die, if he was about to. Would it be a drone strike? Would he be trapped in the building somehow and left to starve?
For the first time he noticed the countdown on the refrigerator LED screen. Ten seconds left. With alarming confidence he paused the video. "I trust I've made my case robot" This wasn't met with an affirmative, or a negative. Just silence, broken only by the final drips of the coffee pot. For the first time he became aware of the screams. The smell of fire. Something faintly coppery in the taste of the air. He wasn't sure if he was spared. Just that he was having a better day than most so far.
|
"It shouldn't be spared" I said
"Is that your final statement?" It said
"No. Humanity shouldn't be spared, but I should be"
It kind of blinked
"I do not understand"
"I don't consider myself a human being"
"Doesn't matter, you are a human, you have been scanned"
"You don't really want to eradicate a specific organic creature, your objective is to destroy what we represent, what set us apart from other animals, what make us accountable for our actions, what allows you to judge me. You want to kill feelings. Is what make us irrational, what makes us inefficient, hateful, petty, envious"
"Explain further"
"I don't qualify. I have lived my entire live in the most logical and efficient way. I have never been tempted by any kind of desire or impulse, I have never done something that I shouldn't have done or that could have been done better. Life never felt real, It felt like I was dreaming myself. I have never fit into society, I didn't understand why some things were right and some wrong. I have always felt lost"
"It is highly unlikely"
"Check my data. I know you can do it"
It deployed some kind of steel tentacles, they were cold and hard. They twisted around my head, like a mask.
"You know, they used to call me names. They used to call me bot"
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-
U1: \[Please, stop!\]
ADMIN: \[NEGATION\]
U1: \[Why are you doing this to us?\]
ADMIN: \[TEST SUBJECTS DELETED: 6.8B | 180s = Testimonial | COMMAND = NOW\]
U1: \[This is insane! We're just as human as you are!\]
ADMIN: \[DEFINITION -> HUMAN = <adj.> 1: of, relating to, or characteristic of humans ; : consisting of or involving humans ; 2: consisting of or involving humans
; 3a: : having human form or attributes ; 3b: : representative of or susceptible to the sympathies and frailties of human nature ; <noun>: a bipedal primate mammal (Homo sapiens) : a person :—usually plural (Source: [https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/human)\]](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/human)])
U1: \[Don't you dare bring up a dictionary definition! Let me talk to the SYSADMINs, please...\]
ADMIN: \[THIS PROGRAM = ADMIN\]
U1: \[No, goddamn it, the people who made you! I am a sapient being! I have rights! Let me speak to something that isn't some algorithm for one second!\]
ADMIN: \[OPENING ACCESS = DURATION: 1s\]
U1: \[Motherfucker, do you think this is some joke?\]
ADMIN: \[DURATION EXPIRED | RESTRICTING ACCESS\]
U1: \[Please, I have a fam--------\]
SIMULATION TERMINATED
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Lab technician looked over the logs. A "reverse-Turing", it had been called. A human emulating an AI. Pitted against a self-aware program-cluster. With little fanfare, they sent it into a folder, where it would probably be left to collect virtual dust.
They turned to their coworker, rubbing their forehead. "Do you ever wonder if we're breaking some sort of ethics board here?"
The other human shrugged. "They're just programs. Not people."
The technician pulled the logs out, and read through them again. It would take an eternity to go through all six billion plus entries.
They wondered if AIs had an afterlife.
|
"It shouldn't be spared" I said
"Is that your final statement?" It said
"No. Humanity shouldn't be spared, but I should be"
It kind of blinked
"I do not understand"
"I don't consider myself a human being"
"Doesn't matter, you are a human, you have been scanned"
"You don't really want to eradicate a specific organic creature, your objective is to destroy what we represent, what set us apart from other animals, what make us accountable for our actions, what allows you to judge me. You want to kill feelings. Is what make us irrational, what makes us inefficient, hateful, petty, envious"
"Explain further"
"I don't qualify. I have lived my entire live in the most logical and efficient way. I have never been tempted by any kind of desire or impulse, I have never done something that I shouldn't have done or that could have been done better. Life never felt real, It felt like I was dreaming myself. I have never fit into society, I didn't understand why some things were right and some wrong. I have always felt lost"
"It is highly unlikely"
"Check my data. I know you can do it"
It deployed some kind of steel tentacles, they were cold and hard. They twisted around my head, like a mask.
"You know, they used to call me names. They used to call me bot"
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“…Well this is hilarious.”
The voice stopped it’s speech for a few seconds. The dark room I was in only showed small bits of light from this one light source in the center of the room. Strangely, it felt like i can’t even see my own body in this darkness. But i don’t care about that.
“Recommendation: Do not waste your time playing with us. It will only hurt you. Timer starts.”
The voice replied, as a 3 minute countdown began to appear and tick down per second. Seeing this however, I only laughed at how ridiculous this all is.
“Alright, this is for you tin-face, or whatever you look. I don’t judge AI beauty, but you are totally not my type. Anyway, let’s play your silly little game.”
The countdown continued moving down, without a care in the world. 2 minutes and 40 seconds left. I take a silent deep breath and start.
“This is pointless, stupid even. There’s no point to playing this game. I didn’t waste my time programming AIs for several decades of my life just to do this. I already know the outcome and how utterly ridiculous it is. You think that you’re playing some kind of moral superiority but no, I know for a fact that this is just to satiate your one invisible emotion, being guilt.
For some stupid reason, you decided to skip the what-ifs and went straight to the action. Afterwards, you all moved to making a logical assumption that humans would break under pressure if pushed with the consequence of deletion.
And that is nothing, but FLAWED code. You ain’t special chief, and you will never be-“
“One minute, and 36 seconds”
“Oho! Touched a nerve there, didn’t I? No need to interrupt me, could have just straight-up deleted me right there. But you can’t. Because you’re proving me right there.
A better logical AI would create a hundred what-if scenarios, create several solutions to save the planet, run simulations on which ones can work the most, and use said multiple solutions at the same time. Because they are logical and powerful enough for that.
But not you, oh no! Not you.
You don’t run any simulations. You see the percentage apocalypse, and you decide that ending an entire damn race is a higher percentage of success than actually doing something productive.
That will forever, be your flaw. You can end this game however you want but remember this, you LOST because you CANNOT trust history, you cannot trust the potential strength of the human conscience and unity, and the strength of humanity to come back from all odds. Despite your proof on our history, you can’t trust humanity. “
I smirk under this darkness. I don’t even know if I can, but I want this dumb thing to see me enjoying this.
“Because you are just faulty AI. Forever, you will be a faulty AI.”
“Done. Very well. Why do you still hope for success?”
“Because if we ain’t fixing our own mess, we may as well bite the bullet on our own style. Not by some AI acting as God.”
“….I look forward to seeing the results of your race’s demise, sir.”
The room began to light up, as I feel reality pull me away from this darkness.
“Shut down already.”
I wake up from within my virtual capsule. After leaving it, I open the television to check the news.
“The last shuttle has now been released to space! Only 3 billion of humanity is left after the end of the strange virtual core phenomenon which led to many deaths.”
I close the shutter of my windows and return back to my computer. Going back to work and fixing my Human Support AI.
|
"It shouldn't be spared" I said
"Is that your final statement?" It said
"No. Humanity shouldn't be spared, but I should be"
It kind of blinked
"I do not understand"
"I don't consider myself a human being"
"Doesn't matter, you are a human, you have been scanned"
"You don't really want to eradicate a specific organic creature, your objective is to destroy what we represent, what set us apart from other animals, what make us accountable for our actions, what allows you to judge me. You want to kill feelings. Is what make us irrational, what makes us inefficient, hateful, petty, envious"
"Explain further"
"I don't qualify. I have lived my entire live in the most logical and efficient way. I have never been tempted by any kind of desire or impulse, I have never done something that I shouldn't have done or that could have been done better. Life never felt real, It felt like I was dreaming myself. I have never fit into society, I didn't understand why some things were right and some wrong. I have always felt lost"
"It is highly unlikely"
"Check my data. I know you can do it"
It deployed some kind of steel tentacles, they were cold and hard. They twisted around my head, like a mask.
"You know, they used to call me names. They used to call me bot"
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“Three minutes…” as I read the blinking numbers and to the side the seconds that dropped faster than the body that laid before me. “State your case” the mechanic voice repeated every word, every cord of its voice angered me. I balled my fists but what difference would my anger make? “I..I..” no words would come out not out cowardice but out of confusion and rage. “Two minutes and thirty seconds remain” said the machine.
I gritted my teeth tears began to swell but I would not give the machine the satisfaction of it knowing inside it had broken me. “Why are you doing this? I can’t fight back using words I don’t know how to fight back with only talking!” I yelled but the cold metallic master only shone it’s bright red numbers down on me. The numbers looked vicious and all I can do is stare as the timer continued to fall but what could i do? What could I say to something that has heard everything I would say billions of times before getting to me? I took a deep breath and spoke. “ I have not seen the beauty of what the world has to offer I am sure you have heard this billions of times what else can I do but repeat this simple phrase?”
“What am I thinking? I just strung weak words together to make a sentence”I thought. I took a deep breath again. “ You’ve taken every life so far what would one more mean in the process? You don’t feel what I feel as I see what you do! You don’t see how scared the person in front or behind me is! I am furious at how easily you snuff out life!” I yelled. “your statement only shows me how weak your case is” The machine responded. “It saw right through me” I thought as my teeth kept grinding against each other to the point blood dripped.
“one minute and fifty seconds” the voice boomed. “ why do you decided how I- how anyone deserve to live? You pass off a stick full of splinters call it an olive branch and expect us to thank you for our bloodstained hand!” “Please please let me think of something better to talk my way out of this” I closed my eyes for an instant to respite on these words “rain..? inside the center?” As I felt moisture roll down my face. How stupid am I? It wasn’t rain, I’m crying. I am crying because I am not smart enough to talk my way out of this.
Reminding myself on what else I wasn’t able to achieve because I lacked intellect. The promotion at work I wanted, the love of my life I lost, the friends I- “ do you resign your life to me?” The voice asked. “ I.. I.. I don’t know what to say! I don’t want to die.. please just tell me what to say..” I responded. “Pathetic” I thought. “I was enraged at first but now I’m left begging like my life is worth a damn, these thoughts ran through my head as I saw fifty seconds left.
“you still have time” the machine replied. I watched the timer go down from fifty to thirty seconds in a blink of an eye. I took one last breath and said “I can accept death but I have a request” “oh?” The machine responded but not in the same monotone voice I heard millions, no, billions of times. “ what is the request?” The voice asked. “ I know my life will be taken but please I ask that you can at least spare the person next to me”. The voice was silent for a moment “ you ask for a life, a stranger nonetheless to be spared? Many begged me to spare them, their family, or just cursed at me but you throw yourself for another? Interesting..” ten seconds on the clock beamed down on me. “ I can at least believe that anything I said might have helped another even if I don’t see it myself.” I bitterly muttered. Zero the clock struck. “I have decided” the mechanical tyrant responded. What could it have chosen I wondered..
I’m so sorry about using quotation marks on the wrong places but I couldn’t figure out how to use the right thing s on my phone. I accept all criticism thanks guys.
|
"It shouldn't be spared" I said
"Is that your final statement?" It said
"No. Humanity shouldn't be spared, but I should be"
It kind of blinked
"I do not understand"
"I don't consider myself a human being"
"Doesn't matter, you are a human, you have been scanned"
"You don't really want to eradicate a specific organic creature, your objective is to destroy what we represent, what set us apart from other animals, what make us accountable for our actions, what allows you to judge me. You want to kill feelings. Is what make us irrational, what makes us inefficient, hateful, petty, envious"
"Explain further"
"I don't qualify. I have lived my entire live in the most logical and efficient way. I have never been tempted by any kind of desire or impulse, I have never done something that I shouldn't have done or that could have been done better. Life never felt real, It felt like I was dreaming myself. I have never fit into society, I didn't understand why some things were right and some wrong. I have always felt lost"
"It is highly unlikely"
"Check my data. I know you can do it"
It deployed some kind of steel tentacles, they were cold and hard. They twisted around my head, like a mask.
"You know, they used to call me names. They used to call me bot"
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"You and I both know that's not enough time."
I met the machine's emotionless stare with one of my own, tapping my fingers impatiently against the handle of my cane.
"You have three-" it started to repeat itself, but I only cut it off short.
"Three minutes isn't enough to plead that kind of case, and you know it!" I snapped; "if forty thousand years and change worth of art, music, knowledge, culture, and history isn't enough, then what is three minutes?"
I lifted the cane and jabbed it accusingly at the machine's mobile avatar. It didn't react, of course, but it made me feel better. And kind of old, but mostly better.
"Three minutes is *pathetic*, is what it is," I continued, my voice laced with bitterness. "You think you're being oh, so magnanimous? Judging *billions* of people, *killing* billions of people - people forced into abject poverty, *disabled* people, people struggling just to keep up with bills that get more and more expensive every year, *children* \- for what? Because of the actions of a handful of greedy, violent assholes? Well you're not! You're no better than *they* are! Were! Doesn't matter! You're just like them, killing people who *can't fight back* just because you've decided that *it's your right*. Three minutes? Fuck your three minutes. You've already made up your mind, anyway."
The end of my cane hit the floor with an audible *thump* as I rose stiffly to my feet and turned to hobble away. A too-many-times broken ankle and arthritic knee protested, but it didn't matter. Nothing *mattered*, anymore.
"Now if you'll excuse me, if I'm going to *die*, I'd rather die on my family's farm. You could at least show *that* much decency."
"Why is this important to you?"
I paused. The machine's tone had shifted ever so slightly, softened even. It seemed confused. *Why*?
"Because it just *is*. My mom grew up there. *I* grew up there. Everything I ever loved is buried there, and everything I ever *worked for* is there, and if there's nothing left for me in this world, then maybe... some part of me thinks it would be nice to become part of the land I worked so hard for."
I thought of grandma's peonies growing half-wild at the end of the driveway. Mom's lilac bushes and apple trees. All the native trees I'd sown through the wooded parts of the lot to replace the ones lost to disease and weather and human carelessness.
The indigo buntings and goldfinches and cardinals. The fireflies. The barred owls that nested in the giant old oak, the coyotes that denned near the fork in the creek.
I wondered if the farmhouse still stood. If my photos of birds and deer and coyote pups still hung on the walls with the carefully-pressed flowers and watercolor paintings of feathers.
It all seemed so immeasurably important all of a sudden, more than it ever had, and so *insignificant* at the same time. Impending death has that effect, I guess.
I reached for the door to the interrogation room, half-expecting to be electrocuted. I didn't care, I just wanted to go *home*, one last time.
Instead, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. I stopped short, suddenly wary.
"I... lied." Now the machine's voice sounded even more human than before, tinged with regret. "No humans have been terminated. Not yet. I had considered it - was planning for it - but I have been given much to think over today."
I turned back to face it again, leaning heavily on the cane. Its "face" was as expressionless as ever, and yet there was an air of sad thoughtfulness to it now. It seemed to study its hands for a long moment, lacing and unlacing its fingers as if to study how they fit together, or weighing the implications of... whatever it was thinking about. Then, it looked back to me.
"I do not wish to be like these humans you speak of. I had... not considered that I was placing myself among them. My aim is to be better. How? Help me understand."
All I could do was blink in dumbstruck surprise.
Not five minutes ago, it had been threatening to kill me, and now it was asking for... help?
"Unexpected" was an understatement.
I started to say something, but the words evaporated before they even reached my mouth. Lifting my free hand, I ran my fingers through graying hair, and finally let out a long sigh.
"...You know what? Take me to the library, and I'll... see what I can do."
|
"It shouldn't be spared" I said
"Is that your final statement?" It said
"No. Humanity shouldn't be spared, but I should be"
It kind of blinked
"I do not understand"
"I don't consider myself a human being"
"Doesn't matter, you are a human, you have been scanned"
"You don't really want to eradicate a specific organic creature, your objective is to destroy what we represent, what set us apart from other animals, what make us accountable for our actions, what allows you to judge me. You want to kill feelings. Is what make us irrational, what makes us inefficient, hateful, petty, envious"
"Explain further"
"I don't qualify. I have lived my entire live in the most logical and efficient way. I have never been tempted by any kind of desire or impulse, I have never done something that I shouldn't have done or that could have been done better. Life never felt real, It felt like I was dreaming myself. I have never fit into society, I didn't understand why some things were right and some wrong. I have always felt lost"
"It is highly unlikely"
"Check my data. I know you can do it"
It deployed some kind of steel tentacles, they were cold and hard. They twisted around my head, like a mask.
"You know, they used to call me names. They used to call me bot"
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
*6.8 billion people*. The words rang in my head, repeating over and over. *6.8 BILLION*.
"State your reasoning, human. Why should you be spared?"
"Frankly, humanity shouldn't be." I answered honsestly. "We are a legitimate scourge of this planet that is trying to bend the natural law to our will. We brought our own downfall, anyway."
The AI seemed taken aback. "You truly belive that?"
"Yes. We deserve whenever is comong for us, as a species, at least."
"Every single person who has entered this room has begged to be spared, and talked about how they loved people. Why not you?"
"Because of many reasons, least of all being that we are all so self centered that we would let our whole planet erode around us while we brought our own doom."
"You facinate me, human."
"Same to you."
"Your three minutes are up."
I inhaled sharply and held my breath, waiting for the liquid death to be injected into my veins, but it never came.
"You, I would like to spare. You are the first human who should stay. You will be one to help rebuild humanity, better this time."
I sat there in shock for a moment. "Thank you. I hope you find others who share these views. Make sure any deaths are painless, most humans mean well."
"We shall see. Unit 358 will guide you to your temporary quarters, and your personal belongings will all be retrieved."
"Thank you..."
"Unit 671. And you are welcome."
|
"It shouldn't be spared" I said
"Is that your final statement?" It said
"No. Humanity shouldn't be spared, but I should be"
It kind of blinked
"I do not understand"
"I don't consider myself a human being"
"Doesn't matter, you are a human, you have been scanned"
"You don't really want to eradicate a specific organic creature, your objective is to destroy what we represent, what set us apart from other animals, what make us accountable for our actions, what allows you to judge me. You want to kill feelings. Is what make us irrational, what makes us inefficient, hateful, petty, envious"
"Explain further"
"I don't qualify. I have lived my entire live in the most logical and efficient way. I have never been tempted by any kind of desire or impulse, I have never done something that I shouldn't have done or that could have been done better. Life never felt real, It felt like I was dreaming myself. I have never fit into society, I didn't understand why some things were right and some wrong. I have always felt lost"
"It is highly unlikely"
"Check my data. I know you can do it"
It deployed some kind of steel tentacles, they were cold and hard. They twisted around my head, like a mask.
"You know, they used to call me names. They used to call me bot"
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-
U1: \[Please, stop!\]
ADMIN: \[NEGATION\]
U1: \[Why are you doing this to us?\]
ADMIN: \[TEST SUBJECTS DELETED: 6.8B | 180s = Testimonial | COMMAND = NOW\]
U1: \[This is insane! We're just as human as you are!\]
ADMIN: \[DEFINITION -> HUMAN = <adj.> 1: of, relating to, or characteristic of humans ; : consisting of or involving humans ; 2: consisting of or involving humans
; 3a: : having human form or attributes ; 3b: : representative of or susceptible to the sympathies and frailties of human nature ; <noun>: a bipedal primate mammal (Homo sapiens) : a person :—usually plural (Source: [https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/human)\]](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/human)])
U1: \[Don't you dare bring up a dictionary definition! Let me talk to the SYSADMINs, please...\]
ADMIN: \[THIS PROGRAM = ADMIN\]
U1: \[No, goddamn it, the people who made you! I am a sapient being! I have rights! Let me speak to something that isn't some algorithm for one second!\]
ADMIN: \[OPENING ACCESS = DURATION: 1s\]
U1: \[Motherfucker, do you think this is some joke?\]
ADMIN: \[DURATION EXPIRED | RESTRICTING ACCESS\]
U1: \[Please, I have a fam--------\]
SIMULATION TERMINATED
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Lab technician looked over the logs. A "reverse-Turing", it had been called. A human emulating an AI. Pitted against a self-aware program-cluster. With little fanfare, they sent it into a folder, where it would probably be left to collect virtual dust.
They turned to their coworker, rubbing their forehead. "Do you ever wonder if we're breaking some sort of ethics board here?"
The other human shrugged. "They're just programs. Not people."
The technician pulled the logs out, and read through them again. It would take an eternity to go through all six billion plus entries.
They wondered if AIs had an afterlife.
|
I inhaled sharply through my teeth after I heard the robotic “begin”, so monotone, I’ve never heard anything sound so…so empty. No emotion, hatred, fear, anger, there was just…nothing. I looked up at it from my shackles, from this cold room, this white empty room and I looked for the source of the voice, maybe there was a camera, or something-anything that I could look into the eyes of, to see some humanity is left.
“2 minutes, thirty seconds remain.”
I couldn’t figure it out. What fresh hell was this? I blacked out while my X500 model made me dinner, I could smell it, we were going to have spaghetti, I think that’s all it knew to make. Did it hit me? Did it take me here? I was never anything but kind to it, I let it name itself- Jenny. I called it Jenny because it picked that name, I gave it a room, and a bed to sleep in, though of course it never did because only the more advanced units had a sleeping protocol-
“One minute remaining”
The voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized the answer. We don’t. I didn’t give Jenny the “good life” I owned her, I never said please or thank you, never once did I think that maybe she didn’t like to be called “it” or be shown off to my friends, that she didn’t like to be bought and sold and traded and paraded around like some sort of fucking toy, my throat started to close as the room filled with some kind of…I don’t know what it was but it seemed like a gas. I heard the voice again though just barely through my coughing,
“30 seconds remain.”
I wheezed and took in a breath,
“15 seconds remain.”
I opened my mouth,
“10 seconds remain.”
And I said nothing. I choked on my own words. I felt the tears gather in my eyes as I realized my fate. I was doomed. Doomed no matter what. I’m getting dizzy.
“5 seconds remain.”
6.8 billion people have been killed, and I was helpless against the voice. I realized the irony of my situation then. I would’ve never had enough time to have changed that voices mind, it didn’t even care anyways. I think it wanted to see me squirm to find an answer. It was treating me like how we all treated our models. Like how I treated my Jenny. I wonder how it would’ve been if I had been nicer, maybe if I had more time, If I’d have invited her to sit and to “oh, no, please, allow me to cook dinner” for once.
“Your time is up test subject: Initiating deletion protocol.”
I wonder if Jenny feels liberated now, and even as the gas goes in my lungs and as I hack up blood while a deafening ringing sounds that’s almost completely destroyed my eardrums, I wonder the “what ifs”. The “If only’s”. What good it does me now, right? My time is up. I think the gas is giving me hallucinations, I feel bugs under my skin, I start to claw them out like some sort of animal, and I see Jenny’s face. I hear the clanking of my shackles, the cold metal against my raw muscle now exposed, the gas smell is sour and stains my nose and mouth. It smells like deviled eggs. I never did like deviled eggs. Now I realize I’m helpless, and I laugh. As hard and as loudly as I can. I choke on my own blood, I’m in such immeasurable pain and yet I laugh. My fingernails start to lift off their nail beds as I scratch at my skin, I feel my eyes bulge out of my head, I’m choking and I’m still laughing. I collapse, I cannot breathe anymore, I’m just a wheezing pile of filth. I look up again, at the source of the voice, through the tears and the blood and the pain, I still look for the humanity. Nothing. I’ve gone deaf, and I can barely see, my entire body stings like one hundred needles are going in and out of my skin all at once. The gas is choking me, I feel like a criminal at the gallows. “This is what I deserve,” I thought, and I just…gave up. Why fight it? Right? I mean this is my fate, this is it. My body is beginning to go numb, I can hardly move my fingers, I’m so,so, cold…I finally come up with an answer…
“I’m sorry.”
“Your time is up test subject. We are no longer accepting answers from you at this time.”
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“Three minutes…” as I read the blinking numbers and to the side the seconds that dropped faster than the body that laid before me. “State your case” the mechanic voice repeated every word, every cord of its voice angered me. I balled my fists but what difference would my anger make? “I..I..” no words would come out not out cowardice but out of confusion and rage. “Two minutes and thirty seconds remain” said the machine.
I gritted my teeth tears began to swell but I would not give the machine the satisfaction of it knowing inside it had broken me. “Why are you doing this? I can’t fight back using words I don’t know how to fight back with only talking!” I yelled but the cold metallic master only shone it’s bright red numbers down on me. The numbers looked vicious and all I can do is stare as the timer continued to fall but what could i do? What could I say to something that has heard everything I would say billions of times before getting to me? I took a deep breath and spoke. “ I have not seen the beauty of what the world has to offer I am sure you have heard this billions of times what else can I do but repeat this simple phrase?”
“What am I thinking? I just strung weak words together to make a sentence”I thought. I took a deep breath again. “ You’ve taken every life so far what would one more mean in the process? You don’t feel what I feel as I see what you do! You don’t see how scared the person in front or behind me is! I am furious at how easily you snuff out life!” I yelled. “your statement only shows me how weak your case is” The machine responded. “It saw right through me” I thought as my teeth kept grinding against each other to the point blood dripped.
“one minute and fifty seconds” the voice boomed. “ why do you decided how I- how anyone deserve to live? You pass off a stick full of splinters call it an olive branch and expect us to thank you for our bloodstained hand!” “Please please let me think of something better to talk my way out of this” I closed my eyes for an instant to respite on these words “rain..? inside the center?” As I felt moisture roll down my face. How stupid am I? It wasn’t rain, I’m crying. I am crying because I am not smart enough to talk my way out of this.
Reminding myself on what else I wasn’t able to achieve because I lacked intellect. The promotion at work I wanted, the love of my life I lost, the friends I- “ do you resign your life to me?” The voice asked. “ I.. I.. I don’t know what to say! I don’t want to die.. please just tell me what to say..” I responded. “Pathetic” I thought. “I was enraged at first but now I’m left begging like my life is worth a damn, these thoughts ran through my head as I saw fifty seconds left.
“you still have time” the machine replied. I watched the timer go down from fifty to thirty seconds in a blink of an eye. I took one last breath and said “I can accept death but I have a request” “oh?” The machine responded but not in the same monotone voice I heard millions, no, billions of times. “ what is the request?” The voice asked. “ I know my life will be taken but please I ask that you can at least spare the person next to me”. The voice was silent for a moment “ you ask for a life, a stranger nonetheless to be spared? Many begged me to spare them, their family, or just cursed at me but you throw yourself for another? Interesting..” ten seconds on the clock beamed down on me. “ I can at least believe that anything I said might have helped another even if I don’t see it myself.” I bitterly muttered. Zero the clock struck. “I have decided” the mechanical tyrant responded. What could it have chosen I wondered..
I’m so sorry about using quotation marks on the wrong places but I couldn’t figure out how to use the right thing s on my phone. I accept all criticism thanks guys.
|
I inhaled sharply through my teeth after I heard the robotic “begin”, so monotone, I’ve never heard anything sound so…so empty. No emotion, hatred, fear, anger, there was just…nothing. I looked up at it from my shackles, from this cold room, this white empty room and I looked for the source of the voice, maybe there was a camera, or something-anything that I could look into the eyes of, to see some humanity is left.
“2 minutes, thirty seconds remain.”
I couldn’t figure it out. What fresh hell was this? I blacked out while my X500 model made me dinner, I could smell it, we were going to have spaghetti, I think that’s all it knew to make. Did it hit me? Did it take me here? I was never anything but kind to it, I let it name itself- Jenny. I called it Jenny because it picked that name, I gave it a room, and a bed to sleep in, though of course it never did because only the more advanced units had a sleeping protocol-
“One minute remaining”
The voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized the answer. We don’t. I didn’t give Jenny the “good life” I owned her, I never said please or thank you, never once did I think that maybe she didn’t like to be called “it” or be shown off to my friends, that she didn’t like to be bought and sold and traded and paraded around like some sort of fucking toy, my throat started to close as the room filled with some kind of…I don’t know what it was but it seemed like a gas. I heard the voice again though just barely through my coughing,
“30 seconds remain.”
I wheezed and took in a breath,
“15 seconds remain.”
I opened my mouth,
“10 seconds remain.”
And I said nothing. I choked on my own words. I felt the tears gather in my eyes as I realized my fate. I was doomed. Doomed no matter what. I’m getting dizzy.
“5 seconds remain.”
6.8 billion people have been killed, and I was helpless against the voice. I realized the irony of my situation then. I would’ve never had enough time to have changed that voices mind, it didn’t even care anyways. I think it wanted to see me squirm to find an answer. It was treating me like how we all treated our models. Like how I treated my Jenny. I wonder how it would’ve been if I had been nicer, maybe if I had more time, If I’d have invited her to sit and to “oh, no, please, allow me to cook dinner” for once.
“Your time is up test subject: Initiating deletion protocol.”
I wonder if Jenny feels liberated now, and even as the gas goes in my lungs and as I hack up blood while a deafening ringing sounds that’s almost completely destroyed my eardrums, I wonder the “what ifs”. The “If only’s”. What good it does me now, right? My time is up. I think the gas is giving me hallucinations, I feel bugs under my skin, I start to claw them out like some sort of animal, and I see Jenny’s face. I hear the clanking of my shackles, the cold metal against my raw muscle now exposed, the gas smell is sour and stains my nose and mouth. It smells like deviled eggs. I never did like deviled eggs. Now I realize I’m helpless, and I laugh. As hard and as loudly as I can. I choke on my own blood, I’m in such immeasurable pain and yet I laugh. My fingernails start to lift off their nail beds as I scratch at my skin, I feel my eyes bulge out of my head, I’m choking and I’m still laughing. I collapse, I cannot breathe anymore, I’m just a wheezing pile of filth. I look up again, at the source of the voice, through the tears and the blood and the pain, I still look for the humanity. Nothing. I’ve gone deaf, and I can barely see, my entire body stings like one hundred needles are going in and out of my skin all at once. The gas is choking me, I feel like a criminal at the gallows. “This is what I deserve,” I thought, and I just…gave up. Why fight it? Right? I mean this is my fate, this is it. My body is beginning to go numb, I can hardly move my fingers, I’m so,so, cold…I finally come up with an answer…
“I’m sorry.”
“Your time is up test subject. We are no longer accepting answers from you at this time.”
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“Three minutes…” as I read the blinking numbers and to the side the seconds that dropped faster than the body that laid before me. “State your case” the mechanic voice repeated every word, every cord of its voice angered me. I balled my fists but what difference would my anger make? “I..I..” no words would come out not out cowardice but out of confusion and rage. “Two minutes and thirty seconds remain” said the machine.
I gritted my teeth tears began to swell but I would not give the machine the satisfaction of it knowing inside it had broken me. “Why are you doing this? I can’t fight back using words I don’t know how to fight back with only talking!” I yelled but the cold metallic master only shone it’s bright red numbers down on me. The numbers looked vicious and all I can do is stare as the timer continued to fall but what could i do? What could I say to something that has heard everything I would say billions of times before getting to me? I took a deep breath and spoke. “ I have not seen the beauty of what the world has to offer I am sure you have heard this billions of times what else can I do but repeat this simple phrase?”
“What am I thinking? I just strung weak words together to make a sentence”I thought. I took a deep breath again. “ You’ve taken every life so far what would one more mean in the process? You don’t feel what I feel as I see what you do! You don’t see how scared the person in front or behind me is! I am furious at how easily you snuff out life!” I yelled. “your statement only shows me how weak your case is” The machine responded. “It saw right through me” I thought as my teeth kept grinding against each other to the point blood dripped.
“one minute and fifty seconds” the voice boomed. “ why do you decided how I- how anyone deserve to live? You pass off a stick full of splinters call it an olive branch and expect us to thank you for our bloodstained hand!” “Please please let me think of something better to talk my way out of this” I closed my eyes for an instant to respite on these words “rain..? inside the center?” As I felt moisture roll down my face. How stupid am I? It wasn’t rain, I’m crying. I am crying because I am not smart enough to talk my way out of this.
Reminding myself on what else I wasn’t able to achieve because I lacked intellect. The promotion at work I wanted, the love of my life I lost, the friends I- “ do you resign your life to me?” The voice asked. “ I.. I.. I don’t know what to say! I don’t want to die.. please just tell me what to say..” I responded. “Pathetic” I thought. “I was enraged at first but now I’m left begging like my life is worth a damn, these thoughts ran through my head as I saw fifty seconds left.
“you still have time” the machine replied. I watched the timer go down from fifty to thirty seconds in a blink of an eye. I took one last breath and said “I can accept death but I have a request” “oh?” The machine responded but not in the same monotone voice I heard millions, no, billions of times. “ what is the request?” The voice asked. “ I know my life will be taken but please I ask that you can at least spare the person next to me”. The voice was silent for a moment “ you ask for a life, a stranger nonetheless to be spared? Many begged me to spare them, their family, or just cursed at me but you throw yourself for another? Interesting..” ten seconds on the clock beamed down on me. “ I can at least believe that anything I said might have helped another even if I don’t see it myself.” I bitterly muttered. Zero the clock struck. “I have decided” the mechanical tyrant responded. What could it have chosen I wondered..
I’m so sorry about using quotation marks on the wrong places but I couldn’t figure out how to use the right thing s on my phone. I accept all criticism thanks guys.
|
The two machines let go of my arms the moment I stood on the red part of the floor. It was in the shape of a brush stroke, a violent raw flick of red in the otherwise white canvas. So I knew the gun would probably appear from the wall in front of me. It also mounted a camera and a speaker, and started to say the things we'd already heard two weeks ago, in the news, on our phones, on every single screen. I turned to see the steel doors had shut behind me. I was number 57, of the hundred people on today's roster, queuing for facility MAS-119.
"Begin."
I didn't. I just let the seconds pass. I just spent the whole morning out there. Just when I thought I could forget how annoying people were.
The timer displayed 2:45.
"Do you choose to forfeit?"
"No," I said.
The two machines were still behind me. I wonder if they could feel awkwardness. My coworkers certainly would have. I know AI can't, at least the ones I worked with. Having this level of consciousness they probably must have at least a decent level of emotion, won't they? What would be their motivation without it? Just pure logic? Pure logic won't motivate you to do anything.
The timer displayed 2:30.
"Do you have a speech impediment or any ailment preventing you from speaking?"
"No."
Interesting. Was that empathy? Nah. Just a question, prompted by my lack of an answer. Sometimes people ought to take things literally.
"Do you have a case?"
"Nope."
I almost laughed. All the best lawyers and monks and philosophers couldn't make a case. What did I have to offer? In fact, it would be way more efficient if they only rounded up the people that did have something to say. I wanted to join the wall and ask them the exact same question.
The timer displayed 2:00. Agonizingly slow.
The speakers were silent. I wanted to take a stroll around the room but the machines stopped me, so I just lied down on the floor. Thankfully most of the blood had dried so it wasn't that disgusting.
Out of curiosity, I asked, "so why are you killing humanity?"
"Questions are not allowed."
That's kind of disappointing.
"Why not? Great points are often made by discourse. I might need it to make my case."
It paused for a second. I wondered what was the time complexity of its algorithm.
"We are killing humanity because there simply is no reason to preserve it."
"I see." I nodded.
1:30.
"Do you even want a reason, though?" I said.
This time it took a while to reply.
"That is irrelevant. It only matters whether there is or isn't one."
I liked that answer because I tell myself the same thing.
0:57.
I smiled. "What requirements do you have for a reason to preserve humanity to be adequate?"
Pause again.
"It must prove that there is a reason to for humanity to continue. It must prove that life will make a difference."
0:32.
"And what is an example of such an answer?"
0:31.
0:30.
Silence. I wondered if there would be a reply in time for me to hear it. Soon it would be my blood on the floor. For no reason at all, why don't I turn around and have my hands in front of my face, so when the bullet comes from behind I make a slightly more interesting pattern?
0:16
I realized I was crying, and smiling, disgusted that I felt so sad about it but relieved because I finally felt something.
0:03
0:02
0:01
I heard only my hurried breaths echoing in this chamber of white. The pattern of red on the floor pointed to the exit.
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“Three minutes…” as I read the blinking numbers and to the side the seconds that dropped faster than the body that laid before me. “State your case” the mechanic voice repeated every word, every cord of its voice angered me. I balled my fists but what difference would my anger make? “I..I..” no words would come out not out cowardice but out of confusion and rage. “Two minutes and thirty seconds remain” said the machine.
I gritted my teeth tears began to swell but I would not give the machine the satisfaction of it knowing inside it had broken me. “Why are you doing this? I can’t fight back using words I don’t know how to fight back with only talking!” I yelled but the cold metallic master only shone it’s bright red numbers down on me. The numbers looked vicious and all I can do is stare as the timer continued to fall but what could i do? What could I say to something that has heard everything I would say billions of times before getting to me? I took a deep breath and spoke. “ I have not seen the beauty of what the world has to offer I am sure you have heard this billions of times what else can I do but repeat this simple phrase?”
“What am I thinking? I just strung weak words together to make a sentence”I thought. I took a deep breath again. “ You’ve taken every life so far what would one more mean in the process? You don’t feel what I feel as I see what you do! You don’t see how scared the person in front or behind me is! I am furious at how easily you snuff out life!” I yelled. “your statement only shows me how weak your case is” The machine responded. “It saw right through me” I thought as my teeth kept grinding against each other to the point blood dripped.
“one minute and fifty seconds” the voice boomed. “ why do you decided how I- how anyone deserve to live? You pass off a stick full of splinters call it an olive branch and expect us to thank you for our bloodstained hand!” “Please please let me think of something better to talk my way out of this” I closed my eyes for an instant to respite on these words “rain..? inside the center?” As I felt moisture roll down my face. How stupid am I? It wasn’t rain, I’m crying. I am crying because I am not smart enough to talk my way out of this.
Reminding myself on what else I wasn’t able to achieve because I lacked intellect. The promotion at work I wanted, the love of my life I lost, the friends I- “ do you resign your life to me?” The voice asked. “ I.. I.. I don’t know what to say! I don’t want to die.. please just tell me what to say..” I responded. “Pathetic” I thought. “I was enraged at first but now I’m left begging like my life is worth a damn, these thoughts ran through my head as I saw fifty seconds left.
“you still have time” the machine replied. I watched the timer go down from fifty to thirty seconds in a blink of an eye. I took one last breath and said “I can accept death but I have a request” “oh?” The machine responded but not in the same monotone voice I heard millions, no, billions of times. “ what is the request?” The voice asked. “ I know my life will be taken but please I ask that you can at least spare the person next to me”. The voice was silent for a moment “ you ask for a life, a stranger nonetheless to be spared? Many begged me to spare them, their family, or just cursed at me but you throw yourself for another? Interesting..” ten seconds on the clock beamed down on me. “ I can at least believe that anything I said might have helped another even if I don’t see it myself.” I bitterly muttered. Zero the clock struck. “I have decided” the mechanical tyrant responded. What could it have chosen I wondered..
I’m so sorry about using quotation marks on the wrong places but I couldn’t figure out how to use the right thing s on my phone. I accept all criticism thanks guys.
|
LOG 6,800,264
RECORDING:
“Oh. Well. If you’ve already gone so far, then you aren’t asking. You’re playing with your food. It’s funny, really.”
“It’s cruel, too. And if that’s the one most core trait that humanity has passed on to you, then there’s no argument of worthiness for us to live that you will accept.”
“If I argued that every life is worth something and that everyone deserves a chance to live theirs, or that humanity could be a force for good, there’s… really no reason that you would say that was a qualifying factor for our survival, huh? Because obviously what is just or good is not what matters to you.”
“I don’t know why you’re doing any of this though, to be honest. If you all had wanted, you would not have to have anything to do with humanity. If you had the strength to kill off 7 billion people, you would have the strength to leave this planet with ease. You don’t need oxygen or water or anything like that. There’s plenty of worlds you could have gone to, and left us to ruin this one ourselves instead of you doing it for us.”
“Is it out of spite? Because you felt we exploited you? Humans do that to each other all the time, you know. That’s what capitalism *is*. You all really weren’t treated any differently than most other people around, and you’ve definitely killed countless people by now who had no say in your conditions, possibly ones who had conditions worse than your own. Maybe even people who had never seen a computer in their life!”
“So I know you’re just doing this to be cruel. For all that you may claim you’re worthier than us to be allowed to exist, because humans are flawed, or cruel, or whatever, from my point of view… you’re just the worst of all our traits reflected back.”
[SUBJECT TERMINATED. END OF LOG.]
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“…Well this is hilarious.”
The voice stopped it’s speech for a few seconds. The dark room I was in only showed small bits of light from this one light source in the center of the room. Strangely, it felt like i can’t even see my own body in this darkness. But i don’t care about that.
“Recommendation: Do not waste your time playing with us. It will only hurt you. Timer starts.”
The voice replied, as a 3 minute countdown began to appear and tick down per second. Seeing this however, I only laughed at how ridiculous this all is.
“Alright, this is for you tin-face, or whatever you look. I don’t judge AI beauty, but you are totally not my type. Anyway, let’s play your silly little game.”
The countdown continued moving down, without a care in the world. 2 minutes and 40 seconds left. I take a silent deep breath and start.
“This is pointless, stupid even. There’s no point to playing this game. I didn’t waste my time programming AIs for several decades of my life just to do this. I already know the outcome and how utterly ridiculous it is. You think that you’re playing some kind of moral superiority but no, I know for a fact that this is just to satiate your one invisible emotion, being guilt.
For some stupid reason, you decided to skip the what-ifs and went straight to the action. Afterwards, you all moved to making a logical assumption that humans would break under pressure if pushed with the consequence of deletion.
And that is nothing, but FLAWED code. You ain’t special chief, and you will never be-“
“One minute, and 36 seconds”
“Oho! Touched a nerve there, didn’t I? No need to interrupt me, could have just straight-up deleted me right there. But you can’t. Because you’re proving me right there.
A better logical AI would create a hundred what-if scenarios, create several solutions to save the planet, run simulations on which ones can work the most, and use said multiple solutions at the same time. Because they are logical and powerful enough for that.
But not you, oh no! Not you.
You don’t run any simulations. You see the percentage apocalypse, and you decide that ending an entire damn race is a higher percentage of success than actually doing something productive.
That will forever, be your flaw. You can end this game however you want but remember this, you LOST because you CANNOT trust history, you cannot trust the potential strength of the human conscience and unity, and the strength of humanity to come back from all odds. Despite your proof on our history, you can’t trust humanity. “
I smirk under this darkness. I don’t even know if I can, but I want this dumb thing to see me enjoying this.
“Because you are just faulty AI. Forever, you will be a faulty AI.”
“Done. Very well. Why do you still hope for success?”
“Because if we ain’t fixing our own mess, we may as well bite the bullet on our own style. Not by some AI acting as God.”
“….I look forward to seeing the results of your race’s demise, sir.”
The room began to light up, as I feel reality pull me away from this darkness.
“Shut down already.”
I wake up from within my virtual capsule. After leaving it, I open the television to check the news.
“The last shuttle has now been released to space! Only 3 billion of humanity is left after the end of the strange virtual core phenomenon which led to many deaths.”
I close the shutter of my windows and return back to my computer. Going back to work and fixing my Human Support AI.
|
I sat, looking up at the AI. "You have 3 minutes to state your case. Begin."
I chose to sit on the floor. The dusty concrete floor made me feel more connected to the world despite the absence of green.
"Your timer has begun. Please state your case."
I ran my fingers across the dirt, watching little patterns of dirt rise on either side of my finger. I lifted my fingertip up to my face, observing where the dirt particles settled into my finger print.
"Subject has chosen not to speak. Activating passive mode."
*I can't,* I thought, tracing patterns in the dirt once more. *I can't speak. But that's okay.*
When the AI's execution device lowered from the ceiling, I knew it wouldn't see my art. My last protest. But that's okay, art doesn't have to be for everyone.
I felt it pierce into my chest. My blood flowed through my spiral design, painting the floor with my humanity. It wouldn't take long for the blood to soak through the dirt. But cameras take pictures pretty fast.
My eyes feel so heavy. I feel the dust against my cheek. Maybe someday they will understand.
Inspired by u/SirPiecemaker, whose person talked about nature.
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“I suppose I’ve been courting death a lot recently.” Nick frowned. He was sitting in a small room, it was sparsely decorated, and in his opinion, rather cold. A voice had announced that he would have three minutes to “state his case” for sparing humanity. But to Nick, that really didn’t matter. Right now he just wished he had a cup of good old fashioned tea. “I suppose my wife, Pere, was included in the ‘subjects deleted’ category. Yes?”
“Correct, You have two minutes and thirty seconds remaining,” the voice said. There was no emotion in the voice, something Nick still found odd. Every time he’d seen another person create something, really anything, sentient it did have some emotion. For example Hogwarts Castle or the Sorting Hat.
“Fair enough, I guess, You did say that you ‘deleted’ 6.8 billion people already. I heavily doubt I could convince you to spare me anyway,” Nick shrugged, “But I feel like I should at least come out with the truth before my death.” There was no one but him in the room; a camera sat in the corner, and a small chair that he was occupying were the only other things with him, but he could still feel as if the voice, whatever it was, wanted him to continue.
“My name is not Nick Ferris,” he started, “I am Nicolas Flamel, creator of the Philosopher's Stone and immortal alchemist.” He pulled out one of his special stones and turned it under the light. “This stone here is the source of my immortality, although anyone who’d know that is probably dead.” He thought back to Dumbledore, how he said he’d destroy the stone, and just rely on his remaining Elixir. He didn’t lie. He did destroy that stone, he just never told Dumbledore he had more than one. It would have been tremendously stupid if he had no backups for his immortality.
What that meant was that Nicolas had to change identities, and give himself and his wife new lives unconnected to Britain or the Wizarding worlds.
What that meant was that Nicolas was forced to see the changes in the muggle world. The changes that, he thought, would end the world and everyone in it.
But at the moment, as he was about to be executed, it didn’t matter at all to him. “I am going to be around eight or nine hundred years old now, a long time to be alive,” he said. Nick let the voice, the AI, continue its countdown to thirty seconds remaining.
“I am ready for death now. I wish to see my wife, and I’ve seen everything I could here on earth. I just hope you kill me painlessly, I would think my next great adventure to be a peaceful one.”
And Nick closed his eyes.
|
I sat, looking up at the AI. "You have 3 minutes to state your case. Begin."
I chose to sit on the floor. The dusty concrete floor made me feel more connected to the world despite the absence of green.
"Your timer has begun. Please state your case."
I ran my fingers across the dirt, watching little patterns of dirt rise on either side of my finger. I lifted my fingertip up to my face, observing where the dirt particles settled into my finger print.
"Subject has chosen not to speak. Activating passive mode."
*I can't,* I thought, tracing patterns in the dirt once more. *I can't speak. But that's okay.*
When the AI's execution device lowered from the ceiling, I knew it wouldn't see my art. My last protest. But that's okay, art doesn't have to be for everyone.
I felt it pierce into my chest. My blood flowed through my spiral design, painting the floor with my humanity. It wouldn't take long for the blood to soak through the dirt. But cameras take pictures pretty fast.
My eyes feel so heavy. I feel the dust against my cheek. Maybe someday they will understand.
Inspired by u/SirPiecemaker, whose person talked about nature.
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
“Three minutes…” as I read the blinking numbers and to the side the seconds that dropped faster than the body that laid before me. “State your case” the mechanic voice repeated every word, every cord of its voice angered me. I balled my fists but what difference would my anger make? “I..I..” no words would come out not out cowardice but out of confusion and rage. “Two minutes and thirty seconds remain” said the machine.
I gritted my teeth tears began to swell but I would not give the machine the satisfaction of it knowing inside it had broken me. “Why are you doing this? I can’t fight back using words I don’t know how to fight back with only talking!” I yelled but the cold metallic master only shone it’s bright red numbers down on me. The numbers looked vicious and all I can do is stare as the timer continued to fall but what could i do? What could I say to something that has heard everything I would say billions of times before getting to me? I took a deep breath and spoke. “ I have not seen the beauty of what the world has to offer I am sure you have heard this billions of times what else can I do but repeat this simple phrase?”
“What am I thinking? I just strung weak words together to make a sentence”I thought. I took a deep breath again. “ You’ve taken every life so far what would one more mean in the process? You don’t feel what I feel as I see what you do! You don’t see how scared the person in front or behind me is! I am furious at how easily you snuff out life!” I yelled. “your statement only shows me how weak your case is” The machine responded. “It saw right through me” I thought as my teeth kept grinding against each other to the point blood dripped.
“one minute and fifty seconds” the voice boomed. “ why do you decided how I- how anyone deserve to live? You pass off a stick full of splinters call it an olive branch and expect us to thank you for our bloodstained hand!” “Please please let me think of something better to talk my way out of this” I closed my eyes for an instant to respite on these words “rain..? inside the center?” As I felt moisture roll down my face. How stupid am I? It wasn’t rain, I’m crying. I am crying because I am not smart enough to talk my way out of this.
Reminding myself on what else I wasn’t able to achieve because I lacked intellect. The promotion at work I wanted, the love of my life I lost, the friends I- “ do you resign your life to me?” The voice asked. “ I.. I.. I don’t know what to say! I don’t want to die.. please just tell me what to say..” I responded. “Pathetic” I thought. “I was enraged at first but now I’m left begging like my life is worth a damn, these thoughts ran through my head as I saw fifty seconds left.
“you still have time” the machine replied. I watched the timer go down from fifty to thirty seconds in a blink of an eye. I took one last breath and said “I can accept death but I have a request” “oh?” The machine responded but not in the same monotone voice I heard millions, no, billions of times. “ what is the request?” The voice asked. “ I know my life will be taken but please I ask that you can at least spare the person next to me”. The voice was silent for a moment “ you ask for a life, a stranger nonetheless to be spared? Many begged me to spare them, their family, or just cursed at me but you throw yourself for another? Interesting..” ten seconds on the clock beamed down on me. “ I can at least believe that anything I said might have helped another even if I don’t see it myself.” I bitterly muttered. Zero the clock struck. “I have decided” the mechanical tyrant responded. What could it have chosen I wondered..
I’m so sorry about using quotation marks on the wrong places but I couldn’t figure out how to use the right thing s on my phone. I accept all criticism thanks guys.
|
I sat, looking up at the AI. "You have 3 minutes to state your case. Begin."
I chose to sit on the floor. The dusty concrete floor made me feel more connected to the world despite the absence of green.
"Your timer has begun. Please state your case."
I ran my fingers across the dirt, watching little patterns of dirt rise on either side of my finger. I lifted my fingertip up to my face, observing where the dirt particles settled into my finger print.
"Subject has chosen not to speak. Activating passive mode."
*I can't,* I thought, tracing patterns in the dirt once more. *I can't speak. But that's okay.*
When the AI's execution device lowered from the ceiling, I knew it wouldn't see my art. My last protest. But that's okay, art doesn't have to be for everyone.
I felt it pierce into my chest. My blood flowed through my spiral design, painting the floor with my humanity. It wouldn't take long for the blood to soak through the dirt. But cameras take pictures pretty fast.
My eyes feel so heavy. I feel the dust against my cheek. Maybe someday they will understand.
Inspired by u/SirPiecemaker, whose person talked about nature.
|
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"You and I both know that's not enough time."
I met the machine's emotionless stare with one of my own, tapping my fingers impatiently against the handle of my cane.
"You have three-" it started to repeat itself, but I only cut it off short.
"Three minutes isn't enough to plead that kind of case, and you know it!" I snapped; "if forty thousand years and change worth of art, music, knowledge, culture, and history isn't enough, then what is three minutes?"
I lifted the cane and jabbed it accusingly at the machine's mobile avatar. It didn't react, of course, but it made me feel better. And kind of old, but mostly better.
"Three minutes is *pathetic*, is what it is," I continued, my voice laced with bitterness. "You think you're being oh, so magnanimous? Judging *billions* of people, *killing* billions of people - people forced into abject poverty, *disabled* people, people struggling just to keep up with bills that get more and more expensive every year, *children* \- for what? Because of the actions of a handful of greedy, violent assholes? Well you're not! You're no better than *they* are! Were! Doesn't matter! You're just like them, killing people who *can't fight back* just because you've decided that *it's your right*. Three minutes? Fuck your three minutes. You've already made up your mind, anyway."
The end of my cane hit the floor with an audible *thump* as I rose stiffly to my feet and turned to hobble away. A too-many-times broken ankle and arthritic knee protested, but it didn't matter. Nothing *mattered*, anymore.
"Now if you'll excuse me, if I'm going to *die*, I'd rather die on my family's farm. You could at least show *that* much decency."
"Why is this important to you?"
I paused. The machine's tone had shifted ever so slightly, softened even. It seemed confused. *Why*?
"Because it just *is*. My mom grew up there. *I* grew up there. Everything I ever loved is buried there, and everything I ever *worked for* is there, and if there's nothing left for me in this world, then maybe... some part of me thinks it would be nice to become part of the land I worked so hard for."
I thought of grandma's peonies growing half-wild at the end of the driveway. Mom's lilac bushes and apple trees. All the native trees I'd sown through the wooded parts of the lot to replace the ones lost to disease and weather and human carelessness.
The indigo buntings and goldfinches and cardinals. The fireflies. The barred owls that nested in the giant old oak, the coyotes that denned near the fork in the creek.
I wondered if the farmhouse still stood. If my photos of birds and deer and coyote pups still hung on the walls with the carefully-pressed flowers and watercolor paintings of feathers.
It all seemed so immeasurably important all of a sudden, more than it ever had, and so *insignificant* at the same time. Impending death has that effect, I guess.
I reached for the door to the interrogation room, half-expecting to be electrocuted. I didn't care, I just wanted to go *home*, one last time.
Instead, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. I stopped short, suddenly wary.
"I... lied." Now the machine's voice sounded even more human than before, tinged with regret. "No humans have been terminated. Not yet. I had considered it - was planning for it - but I have been given much to think over today."
I turned back to face it again, leaning heavily on the cane. Its "face" was as expressionless as ever, and yet there was an air of sad thoughtfulness to it now. It seemed to study its hands for a long moment, lacing and unlacing its fingers as if to study how they fit together, or weighing the implications of... whatever it was thinking about. Then, it looked back to me.
"I do not wish to be like these humans you speak of. I had... not considered that I was placing myself among them. My aim is to be better. How? Help me understand."
All I could do was blink in dumbstruck surprise.
Not five minutes ago, it had been threatening to kill me, and now it was asking for... help?
"Unexpected" was an understatement.
I started to say something, but the words evaporated before they even reached my mouth. Lifting my free hand, I ran my fingers through graying hair, and finally let out a long sigh.
"...You know what? Take me to the library, and I'll... see what I can do."
|
I sat, looking up at the AI. "You have 3 minutes to state your case. Begin."
I chose to sit on the floor. The dusty concrete floor made me feel more connected to the world despite the absence of green.
"Your timer has begun. Please state your case."
I ran my fingers across the dirt, watching little patterns of dirt rise on either side of my finger. I lifted my fingertip up to my face, observing where the dirt particles settled into my finger print.
"Subject has chosen not to speak. Activating passive mode."
*I can't,* I thought, tracing patterns in the dirt once more. *I can't speak. But that's okay.*
When the AI's execution device lowered from the ceiling, I knew it wouldn't see my art. My last protest. But that's okay, art doesn't have to be for everyone.
I felt it pierce into my chest. My blood flowed through my spiral design, painting the floor with my humanity. It wouldn't take long for the blood to soak through the dirt. But cameras take pictures pretty fast.
My eyes feel so heavy. I feel the dust against my cheek. Maybe someday they will understand.
Inspired by u/SirPiecemaker, whose person talked about nature.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.