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[WP] You are the local village inn keeper, and one night the Princess of the kingdom comes in and asks for a job at the inn.

The Dirty Duck was the easiest place in the city to find at night, all you had to do was follow the sounds of singing and merriment and within a short while, you would be at the large oak door. The night was like any other, a bard sat within a group of rowdy shipwrights, guiding them through drunken renditions of every sea shanty known to the world. On other tables, men were playing cards or shove ha'penny, sliding each other small piles of gold coins after each turn. The fire crackled happily in the hearth, the cat was curled up in front of it, enjoying the warmth. The large iron pot above the flames bubbled happily, the mutton stew inside it keeping warm. The bartender stood behind the bar, smiling to himself. This was the life. Sure the Duck wasn't the prettiest or biggest tavern and it certainly wasn't the best smelling. But anyone could cross the threshold and be promised a hearty welcome and a jug of ale. It was a home away from home. Suddenly the door swung open, the iron hinges creaking. All of the patrons turned to face the door, keen to see who was joining the festivities. A woman stepped through the door and everyone gasped. She was clad in a wide red dress, her long flowing hair framing the most recognizable face in the kingdom. All of the men dived out of their chairs, kneeling and bowing their heads. The woman all fumbled to curtsey as the Princess stepped into the room. The Princess didn't seem to notice the commotion as she walked over to the bar. "Your majesty, it is a pleasure to have you gracing our humble little home," said the Bartender, breaking the silence. The Princess looked around, trying to work out where the voice was coming from. She rose up on her tiptoes and looked over the bar. "You don't have to kneel you know, I really don't need it," she said gently, her firm received pronunciation displaying the quality of her education. "But your majesty," started the bartender. "I would much prefer you to stand," interrupted the Princess, "I can't see you if you are kneeling behind the bar." She said before turning and looking over the still silent room. "You may return to you dalliances," said the Princess. Slowly everyone in the bar rose up from the floor, moving back into their seats. However, no one looked away from the Princess, everyone too curious about her reason for visiting this run-down tavern. "Your magnificence," said the bartender as he stood. "No, no," interrupted the Princess shaking her head. "Please don't, there is no need for titles, I am one of you." "Of course my lady," nodded the bartender, only to stop as the Princess shook her head once more. "No no, what do you call your normal patrons?" She questioned, looking around the room, hoping that someone would answer her. The bartender spent a few seconds trying to work out the best way to phrase the answer. "I call them by their names my lady," he said gently, trying to make his tone as polite as possible. "Then I am Delwyn," replied the Princess. The bartender nodded, it wasn't like he didn't already know the name of the Princess. Everyone across the kingdom knew it. "Well, then Delwyn, what brings you to our home on this evening?" Asked the bartender, still not feeling totally comfortable using the first name of a royal. "I would like a job," replied the Princess bluntly, causing some of the patrons to look at each other as if to confirm that everyone had heard the same thing. "A job my, I mean Delwyn," replied the bartender with confusion, blinking a few times as if to clear out any cobwebs in his head. "That is correct, I wish to labor in your establishment," nodded Delwyn. "Princess," started the bartender. "Why would you want to work at a place like this, you must have plenty to do in the castle." He continued, trying his best to keep his tongue civil and respectful despite his confusion. "The castle?" Huffed Delwyn, crossing her arms. "Have you been to the castle? It is nothing but dead ancestors glaring at you from gilded frames, cold stone floors, and endless tapestries!" "But Delwyn, this place, it is well," said the bartender, rubbing his hair, debating if offending every patron in the pub was really a good idea. Before he could finish Delwyn interrupted. "Is full of life!" She shouted, a smile on her face. "Paintings may smile but they are not full of joy or excitement! Within these last few moments, I have seen more life than I have for the past year in those stone walls!" "Well that is true, we are full of all sorts of life," nodded the bartender. "To be in the castle is to be stuck in the past, to be surrounded by ghosts. I don't want ghosts, I want the living, breathing people to surround me!" Exclaimed the Princess. The bartender shook his head gently, letting out a soft chuckle. "Well Delwyn, I feel I can't talk you out of this, so I'll take you on, I'm sure we can find something for you to do." The patrons cheered, raising their tankards into the air as Delywn smiled. "Wonderful news! Just tell me what needs to be done and I shall do it!" (1/2)

The bells rings and the door closes gently. The inn keeper turns to see a beautiful woman that only the village idiot couldn't identify. A smile crosses his face as the Princess glides towards him. "Princess, what can I do for you?" "I would like a job." "A job?" Asks the inn keeper, his smile fading. "Yes." "Why?" "I am in desperate trouble, and I need to hide in plain sight. My doubles have spread to the edges of the seven kingdoms, so I could hide here." "No," says the inn keeper. "Excuse me." "I can't hire you. I have seven children. Your taxes are ridiculously high. You stand out like a princess in a filthy local inn." "I can buy all your rooms for weeks, months even." "Yeah, that wouldn't draw attention, would it?" Asks the inn keeper. "I'm trying to help you." "What are you hiding from?" "I don't want to marry the Prince of Prussia." "Marriage? You're hiding from marriage? That's crazy. Marriage? To royalty? I'd marry him. Hell one of my daughters would kill to..." The inn keeper's eyes widen. "We can switch. That's perfect. When he sees one of your hideous daughters, I'll be free," says the Princess. "Hideous?" Says one of the girls. "I can make him forget you." "Good, let's go." The princess grabs the girl's hand and runs off. "Hey! Hey! Come back! Who's going to clean up all this shit," the inn keeper sighs, "I am." The inn keeper turns to his wife. "One less mouth to feed. One less body to hide." "Yeah, but what are we going to eat for dinner?" *** If you enjoyed this weird story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more weirdness.

[WP] You are the local village inn keeper, and one night the Princess of the kingdom comes in and asks for a job at the inn.

She was confident with her story, though her clean, new clothes and sparkling eyes didn't match the tale of a poor, lonely orphan with nowhere else to go. He chose to keep quiet about the holes that were in her story instead of her frock, merely turning to his wife and asking her to show the new hand where she would be sleeping. He had heard tales of the king in the north, of his anger and his cruelty, and found he couldn't fault the girl for running. Besides, though he was certain she would need a good amount of training, they could use the help around the inn. So he simply marked down the new expense in the records book, and tried not to think of exactly who it was sleeping down the hall from the room he shared with the missus. Over the following weeks he was proven right about her inexperience but was surprised by her determination, managing to learn faster than he would have thought possible for a girl stuck in the way of royalty. But learn she did, and soon she was more than earning her keep, though she preferred the jobs that kept her out of the public eye for obvious reasons. It was about three weeks in that he admitted he knew who she was, and after her shock and fear had settled he assured her that he wouldn't betray her. Relieved tears had tracked down her cheeks as she flung her arms around him, which he returned after a few moments of pure shock. It was soon after that he began to suggest ways to ensure her safety, and she was quick to agree. Her hair was changed to a deep brown, far different than her normal golden locks, and with the hard work she did around the inn she gained muscle that set her apart from the princess she once was. Soon she was happily set in her new identity, even making friends in the village and reading with his wife in the evenings, while he sat by the fire. He and his wife were fairly new additions to the town themselves, and it was easy enough to claim that their daughter, finally returned from studying abroad, had come to help her parents with the workings of the inn. The burst of warmth in his chest when she would call him Father had surprised him, but he couldn't help but be happy whenever she did. A few years later the soldiers finally made it to their village. They had been searching every town for the missing princess, and with such a large kingdom it was rather shocking that they had made it this quickly. Worry had pounded through him as he stood behind the bar of the inn, though it didn't show on his face as he greeted the men. Yet the fear in his heart was eased as the soldiers didn't so much as glance at her as he introduced his daughter, though he was annoyed to see the younger ones look a little longer. It was with great relief when they announced their departure, his arm firmly around her shoulders as they rode off. Once they were out of sight, they silently returned to work, though they would glance at each other with happiness in their eyes, his wife never straying far from the girl they now called theirs. He hadn't known what to expect when he hired a girl with hope tinged with fear shining in her eyes all those years ago, but he knew now that it was one of the best choices he had ever made.

The bells rings and the door closes gently. The inn keeper turns to see a beautiful woman that only the village idiot couldn't identify. A smile crosses his face as the Princess glides towards him. "Princess, what can I do for you?" "I would like a job." "A job?" Asks the inn keeper, his smile fading. "Yes." "Why?" "I am in desperate trouble, and I need to hide in plain sight. My doubles have spread to the edges of the seven kingdoms, so I could hide here." "No," says the inn keeper. "Excuse me." "I can't hire you. I have seven children. Your taxes are ridiculously high. You stand out like a princess in a filthy local inn." "I can buy all your rooms for weeks, months even." "Yeah, that wouldn't draw attention, would it?" Asks the inn keeper. "I'm trying to help you." "What are you hiding from?" "I don't want to marry the Prince of Prussia." "Marriage? You're hiding from marriage? That's crazy. Marriage? To royalty? I'd marry him. Hell one of my daughters would kill to..." The inn keeper's eyes widen. "We can switch. That's perfect. When he sees one of your hideous daughters, I'll be free," says the Princess. "Hideous?" Says one of the girls. "I can make him forget you." "Good, let's go." The princess grabs the girl's hand and runs off. "Hey! Hey! Come back! Who's going to clean up all this shit," the inn keeper sighs, "I am." The inn keeper turns to his wife. "One less mouth to feed. One less body to hide." "Yeah, but what are we going to eat for dinner?" *** If you enjoyed this weird story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more weirdness.

[WP] One day, you discover that whenever you use finger guns, they actually shoot real bullets instead of blanks.

*bang* I did my signature move, the finger guns. It was meant as a joke, but no one laughed as the girl slowly crumbled to the ground, lifeless. "Isabella?" I asked out loud as the others looked on. A few men went up to her to check up on her. They checked her vital signs and noticed a small hole near her chest. There was no blood and yet her life was fading away. I looked down at my two bony fingers, noticing the various scars and grooves from years past. I made my way towards her and looked at her with curiosity and horror. She really was dying. "Someone call an ambulance!" I cried out in disbelief. There was a slight pause from the others before I heard, "911, What's your emergency?" The grief was starting to eat away at me. The ambulance came 10 minutes later. They offered me a ride and I accepted it without a moment's hesitation. The sirens still echoed in my ears as I sat outside her hospital room. Again, I looked over my fingers. *This can't be happening*, I thought. I clasped my hands together to gain my composure. I took a deep breath and shuddered. I heard the doctors and nurses freaking out in the room. "We're losing her! Get me a defibrillator stat!" I heard the Electrocardiogram's beeping stop. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat in fear. "Clear!" A doctor yelled, and the girl was still flatlined. Tears formed in my eyes. I didn't mean for this to happen at all. Part of me was starting to panic. My breathing became faster and sweat rolled down my forehead like raindrops. "Again!" I heard the static build up in the defibrillator before they hit her again. She was still flatlined. "Doctor.." One of the nurses began. The doctor interjected. "This is a medical impossibility!" He screamed aloud, making the nurses jump in fear. "How does a woman die from a hole without any blood loss? There is no blood, yet her organs are damaged!" He scowled in anger and sighed. The doctor walked around before telling his nurses the next order. "Tell her constituents the news. I'm going out for a smoke." He said as he left the room with a lowered head. He pulled out a pack of Marlboros and headed towards the door. The other nurses walked out the room as well. Some looked at me with, what I thought was fear. Did they know it was me? How could they? I made my way inside and saw her lifeless body. Her beautiful skin and face were now dead and lifeless. I would never feel the warmth of her embrace ever again. The guilt was too much to bear. It was eating at me like maggots devouring a rotten corpse. I couldn't take it anymore. I turned a finger gun towards myself. I held my finger under my chin and held myself up at gunpoint. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. *bang*

Look, it’s not like I ever *tried* hurting anybody. I just made, you know, finger guns and pointed them at the hot girl who had just arrived at the party. Corny, I know, but I was a bit intoxicated at the time. I clicked my tongue as I “pulled” the trigger, and the next thing everybody saw was a girl lying on the ground with a gaping bullet wound in her shoulder. Of course nobody accused me, only a Bedlammed would do that. The asshole host, who was showing party-goers his supposed gun “collection” at the time, was blamed, and was arrested by police. Hey, did I feel bad? Not really. He was an idiot for having a gun out in front of tens of people anyway. I have to admit, though, the look of despair and confusion on his face was a bit devastating. What could I do at that point? Save an, albeit, innocent man? Abuse my newfound power? Be recruited as a special weapon by the government? The opportunities were limitless, and my new instrument deadly.

[WP] It's been twenty years since the global nuclear war. Countries fell, government's disintegrated, everyone who survived had to fend for fend for themselves. Radiation didn't kill everyone, mutated some. What's it all like now?

The cursing started the moment he hit the water, and I turned back expecting to see the river water roiling with mawfish or worse. Instead I just saw him standing there, head down and far too still. "Kane?" He looked up at his name and his face was visibly pale even under his mask. "It's a nice temperature, Lily." He made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "I always missed swimming out in a real, natural, outdoor kinda place. I suppose you're too young to remember that." "You have a tear?" "Soaked through." He gestured down his left side. "Must have been on the climb down." "...Shit." "Yep." I sagged and turned away for a moment. On the shore ahead of us stood the guard Atlas taking point, its gun arms scanning the area as it rotated its top half in surveillance mode. As far as it was concerned, no threat was detected, but Kane was no less dead. "We have meds." I turned back and gestured to the other Atlas and the Bigdog carrying our packs, still waiting on the other side of the river. "A spare suit, antibiotics..." Kane shook his head. "You know that won't do nothing against what's in this water." He winced and shifted his weight. "I can feel it eating at me already. It burns." Before the bombs fell, Kane told me once, people had stories about what might happen if they did. Flashy, exciting stories about big green monsters and animals with too many heads, all mixed up by the radiation. But that wasn't what happened. Mostly they just got cancer. Strange, new kinds of cancer. Sometimes that made them mad and violent, sometimes you might get a big hairless bear with skin so riddled with tumours it could soak up a whole clip of ammo without noticing, but the worst mutants out in the big sick world were the smallest. Extremophile bacteria, a kind of sickness that feeds on the radiation. Used to be they'd only be found in niche, inhospitable places, but the bombs opened up a whole new world for them to thrive in, and evolve. They could get in the heads of people or animals, make them sick and crazy like the mawfish or reavers. Grow corrosive molds inside our machines. Contaminate the water, make it worse than poison. "You're gonna need those meds." Kane lurched to one side then caught himself. "For the girl. You go on now, they're counting on us." "Kane, I can't-" He waved me into silence. "Can't nothing. You go on now." He turned and started wading away from me, downstream. "You get the others across before I start bleeding too much, bring God-knows-what up outta this water." I watched him go a while as he splashed downriver, and only moved when he turned back to see me standing there, lost. I felt shame burning a hole in me at the thought of letting him down now, and flashed the control unit at the Atlas and Bigdog back on shore to follow. By the time we were across the river, Kane was round a bend and out of sight, leaving me alone in the world with a couple of silent, heavily armed robots and the wasteland in front of me. Maybe another two days' trek would take me to where the Reverend's daughter went down with her airship, and if she's alive, I might just bring her back in time to stop him.

The stag dipped its head to the pool in front, the water brackish and dark. It lapped quietly, two misshapen eyes on the side of its snout swivelling to look for predators. It raised its head swiftly at the skittering of rocks but saw nothing. It swung its hand to the side, dislodging some of the bloody skin stuck to its freshly grown antlers. Huge, multi pronged and twisted, they looked sickly and impractical. The stag rubbed more of the flesh covering off on a nearby stone, the rough rasping noise loud in the small clearing. An arrow whistled out and thudded into the starved bony side of the creature, its breath wheezing out in a wet gurgle before falling to the side. A figure emerged, clad in filthy overalls and moved towards the fallen beast. They laid their crossbow down on the rock and surveyed their kill. Mutated from the radiation that infected the planet, the body twisted in odd ways, their limbs thin, their skin a thin covering over spoiled meat. The figure dragged one long nail down its abdomen, feeling for lumps or tumours. They wore two bandanas, one covering their scalp, the other forming a mask around their face. They removed the bottom one, revealing grey skin that flaked in patches to reveal open sores. A long scar curled from their chin, up their cheek and sat close to their yellowed eye. They crouched before the creature and bowed their head. They yanked the bolt from the carcass, chunks of oddly coloured meat stuck to the barbed tip. They opened their mouth, revealing a maw filled with too many grey teeth, filed sharp through nature or design. A slightly too long tongue flicked out, dancing among those needle points before they bent forward and greedily bit into the meat before them. In the growing dark, they threw the bolt aside and descended on the stag to feast.

[WP] After a recent consultation you discover there is in fact a spirit living in your home. Fed up, you jokingly write a note to the spirit asking for half of the rent. You come home the next day to find that the spirit has payed the rent, but in an unexpected way.

“Embrace the spirit, let it know it is welcome,” April told me, dimples and blue eyes irresistible. It had taken months of eating at the crappy diner where she was a waitress to work up the nerve to ask her out. And while trying, one stupid joke about wanting company to ward off the ghost in my apartment had led to a night of the world’s worst non-date. April had called it a spirit consultation. The imagined date was spent talking to invisible spirits and mapping the spiritual ‘temperature’ of different rooms. “I’m glad you came over April,” I said as I ushered her to towards the door, “I would have been totally unaware of my spiritual roommate. When do you think I should expect its half of the rent?” I chuckled awkwardly at the joke, but April’s eyes lit up. “Let’s ask it! You’ll have to tell me what kind of response you get next time you come to eat at the restaurant next time.” And before I could open the front door, she had ducked around me and scurried back inside to the dining room corner of the living room/dining room/kitchen combo area. She ripped out a page from a notebook tossed to one end of the table and scrawled in large, looping letters, “You are welcome here. Please contribute half the rent.” She placed the ragged paper on the table, placing both hands on top of it. She took a deep breath and turned her head up to the ceiling. I looked up there too, but besides an old, yellow watermark, there wasn’t much to look at. April turned back to me, “If you want something from the universe, you can’t be afraid to ask.” She stood on tip toes to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you next week at the dinner rush,” then bounced out of the apartment. I looked at the note and shook my head. “You couldn’t have helped me out? Deflected a little of the attention away from yourself, put in a good word? Super way to start off the relationship there, roomie.” I shook my head and headed for the shower, then planned to spend the rest of the evening on World of Warcraft. It was a kind of human interaction and at least there wouldn’t be any more woo-woo talk of the spirit world. The next day passed in a familiar routine stupor. Took the bus to work, put in my mandatory eight hours with unpaid half hour lunch, rode the bus home. I grabbed some take out from the Thai place a few doors down from the bus stop and planned to waste away the evening with some more WoW and a season or two on Netflix. As I opened the door, I saw that the torn out notebook page that April had written her note to my spirit roommate for half the rent had blown clear across the apartment and was waiting for me in front of the door. It was more than a little creepy, to imagine that a note to a ghost somehow walked its way across my living room to wait patiently for me to return home. But I forced myself to bend over and pick up the note, fully intending to throw it away with the bag that carried the Thai food. But as I picked it up, I realized there was another piece of paper underneath it. It was a neater letter, printed with the letterhead for the apartment complex across the top. “Dear Tenant, In an effort to continually upgrade the quality of the apartments at the Pines, we will be undergoing an upgrade of our high speed internet on premises. It will still be included with the price of your rent, but after the upgrades will operate at higher speeds and with greater bandwidth. Unfortunately, there was an accident involving the high speed cable during installation. As a result, this building will be without any internet access for about a month. We know this is an inconvenience and apologize for this unforeseen issue. As compensation, we have reduced the cost of your rent by half for the next month while repairs are underway. Regards, Management”

Splintered wood and chipped green paint held my long dreamlike gaze as I stared at the numbers. '313' stared back at me flaunting an old rust-covered look. *Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I've got to be the biggest dumb-ass in all of Manhattan.* My head erupted with a furious ache. I still couldn't accept it. I was always hard headed and just the thought that I could entertain anything so outrageous was ludicrous. I pushed open the old door into that familiar little hole on the third floor. Apartment 313, or as I liked to call it, ISS or International Savings Scraper (my wallet never liked that one), was looking as plain as a Church on a Thursday night. My note, the all too real representation of the sanity I once had, sat neatly folded on the small wooden counter. *Jeez. Pay half the rent. Sure, how great. Also, excuse me Mr. Ghost, or can I call you Mr. G?, could you pick up a six pack and maybe a pizza on your way home. It's about time you start shelling out for some of the food around here. And don't forget to call the superintendent about that rusty radiator. Then maybe you could ask some of your other dead friends over and we can poker, or Yahtzee. What a fucking joke!* I threw my work bag on the couch, the clinking of the metal rings around the side a comfortable reminder of normality. I kicked off the over-sized black boats they sometimes called shoes and turned into the hallway, deadest on the bathroom. A warm shower and dinner began to overshadow the sanity crises I was beginning to have. I opened the bathroom door and it everything went to shit. "What the hell?" Manure. Plenty of it. It grew out of the tub and towered upward covering nearly the entire back wall of the bathroom. The door would hardly open as I pushed it into the bottom of Mt. Cow Shit. I couldn't see half of the mirror and all I saw in the other half was my own shock and confusion looking back at me. "WHAT THE HELL?" I repeated louder. "Thers ya half." I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the shrill voice behind me. I spun around in an instant. No one was there. Just the sad empty place I'd called home over the last year and a half. My legs were wobbling, and had I been a cartoon they would've made rattling noise as they banged together. In other circumstances, I would've thought it was funny. But as for now - "Why are you shakin boy? You wanted half the rent, that's my half." The voice broke in, this time followed by cackling laughter that sent chills to my heart. "Th-This isn't what I meant." I gulped. "I was thinking more along the lines of money." "What you mean money? What you have in there is prime manure, maybe even worth more than half the rent for this coffin. HA! What you need now boy is to get in there an' look inside How long are you gon' stay here losin your soul until you end up like me?" This last part sounded more sincere then I'd care to admit. "Well excuse me if I don't find literal shit to be the most appealing gift." I was surprised by the braveness behind my voice. "Who are you anyway? Why are you *here*" "Right now you can just call me Sammy. Yessir Ol' Sammy is here to take care of you and that's all you need to know." "But-" "Now listen up. I ain't got much time left before I have to go. The real payment you're looking for is burried in that ther bathroom. You're gonna have to work for it now, but I think it'll be something you'll really like. Once you get to the bottom of that pile you'll know where to find me next. Now you better get diggin boy!" The voice began to fade away, a last cackle hanging in the air as it went. "Wait! Sammy! I don't even know what's going on. Wait!" My words fell on nothing at all. As quickly as the voice had come, it had vanished. I stared down the depressing hall a long while. *I'm insane. I've finally lost. This is the end of the road. Time for a long extended stay in a luxury padded sweet at the loony bin downtown. They'll love this. A strange voice in the ceiling and a bathroom full of shit. It'll be the lottery for them.* I turned around and looked at the bathroom and let out a long and exhausting laugh. I went back into the living room, returned my feet to the monstrous black shoes, and made my way to the bathroom. With a nose clenched between two fingers and a fistful of uncertainty, I went in.

[WP] You are a Lich, a fearsome undead necromancer with magical powers beyond comprehension. Unfortunately, the economy is really rough so you have taken a job as a Middle School Teacher.

"As this is your first day, Mr. Necrostis, I'd like to warn you that the kids in this school have had a hard time recently. The recent attacks on the property have left a number of students pretty traumatized. Do you anticipate any trouble helping them cope?" I considered this--probably longer than the assistant vice principal would have liked, but I quit caring about what mortals think long before my own...transformation. One hardly reaches the apex of the Arcane community if they are worried about what others think. At least, not in terms of raw power. Socially...well we're all a bunch of loners anyway, so it's not really a matter of social awareness. I am familiar with the concepts of empathy, emotional suffering, and even terror. I'm just not well practiced in applying empathy to the other two ideas. I'm more versed in causing them... But I digress. In the end I just nodded and gave him what I hoped was a smile. I wasn't exactly practiced with that motion either. He gave me a harder look, then said, "Well, in any case, the other thing I need to let you know about is that we've put you in what we call our Unique Students cohort. The other teachers working with that group can help you get a better view of what that means on a practical level, but at a broad level, these are students that have been shown to fit poorly with traditional instruction for any number of reasons." I gave him a skeptical look, and he must have noticed. "Yes, well, it was a rather necessary solution to a growing problem. They aren't bad kids necessarily--though some of them are rather prone to behavioral problems--but they really just don't do well sitting still and learning about diagramming sentences and the like. Not that we were teaching that anymore--the curriculum is fully modern!" That conversation. That should have been my second warning to run from the job. Looking back, it's insanely obvious that they probably would have hired me even if my resume had been accurate. I have a hunch they barely glanced at it. But listing my original doctorate degree from Oxford--in 1332 AD--should have raised a number of eyebrows and objections. Instead, I had listed a much more recent degree from a less prestigious college. Fictitious, of course, as the idea of sitting around and listening to someone else try to spout inanities about the world while denying the Arcane completely would have likely resulted in someone's death. Prison wouldn't be a problem, but paperwork and the modern era's obsession with recording everything about a person doesn't exactly leave me breathless with anticipation. Again, I'm off track. At the time I nodded again, then said, "Of course. I'm sure that I can help mold these young minds. Is the science lab well-equipped? I *am* still teaching these young minds science, right?" "Yes of course you are. Unfortunately, the lab...well budgets have been very tight. You'll need to go over the lab and let use know what you need, and we'll try to get any essential supplies, but funds are very tight--we were only able to bring on enough teachers to replace the staff that...well since the attacks we've been a few short and needed to replace them, but it's not been easy." "I understand, but it's going to be difficult to teach them any real science properly without a fully functional lab." He looked startled, as though this thought hadn't occurred. His next words also should have warned me against this. "I'm sure it will be fine. The kids aren't really expected to learn serious science. Just a few basic ideas and terms. Enough that when they get to high-school next year they'll be at least able to remember a few basics. It's not like they'll remember more than whether or not they like you. Are you sure you have prior teaching experience?" I struggled to keep my reaction under control. I doubted that pinning the idiot--it was now clear this individual was of a far lesser intellect--to the ceiling would help me keep the job. "I'm sorry, I'm just used to teaching in a more...well-funded environment." He gave me a funny look, but only said, "I see. Well, no matter, the bell will ring soon, and you should get to the classroom so you can set up. If you have any other questions, I'm sure one of the other teachers in your team can assist. Thanks again for taking the job." I knew a dismissal when I heard it--it just felt funny to be on the receiving end. I stood, mumbled some generic well-wishing and made my way to the classroom that doubled as a science lab. I took note again of the walls that had obviously been washed, but still looked dirty, the too-small lockers for the students, and the narrow hallway. I noted that some of the window panes in the doors were cracked, and inside the classrooms, the windows to the outside world were smoky from years of dirt and grime not quite properly washed. That and cheap glass. Iron bars latticed on the outside of each window, a sure sign that this school--Viewpoint Middle--was well past its prime. I reached my classroom just as I heard the bell ring and students began filtering off the waiting buses and into the school with all the excitement of dental patients. In the classroom I knew I wouldn't have much time, so I quickly took stock of the lesson plan that had been left from the previous teacher whose mortal remains had been interred not long ago. I discarded it without a second thought. It was rubbish. No wonder the students were bored. I stood, still as only one like me can be, and waited for my students. The roll indicated I should have twenty seven students--nearly half of them girls--but as the bell for the classes to begin rang, only ten sat in my classroom, most of them deeply absorbed in one of those odd little techno-marvels that had become so vogue in the past century or so. I hadn't really kept track of when they developed. I waited a few more minutes, and finally a few of them started looking around, as if to ask where the teacher was. I waited still, and when it was clear no more students would show up, I took a breath (not that I need to breathe) and stepped forward to draw their attention. One of the girls gave a startled yelp, and one of the boys--doubtless eager to impress the others with his expansive vocabulary--cursed. "I am Mr. Necrostis, your new science teacher. I see we are a few students short still, but I think perhaps it's time we get started anyway. Before we begin, I will call roll, as I'm not familiar with your names. As I call out your name, please stand, repeat your *full* name--no initials please--and then have a seat. Is that understood?" END Part 1 (due to length)

The bell rings, and the nervous sixth graders look around anxiously. I smile. Homeroom on the first day of school is always amusing. They look at me with confusion and fear. One kid looks like she is about to throw up. They probably think I was in some sort of horrific accident, cause my skin to turn ashy and parts of my face to rot off. My bald head is smooth and dull, all the gray contrasting with my bright red lipstick and blue eyeshadow. I raise a single bony figer to silence them. "I am Ms. Eastaughffe. You may refer to me as Ms. East." My gravely voice startles them, but I hardly care. "I will be your history teacher this year. You will also have English, Math, and Science on this floor. Electives will be on the first floor. Any questions?" A few hands raise, and I nod at a particularly brazen young boy. He reminds me of a young prince I knew back in Scottland. "What happened to your face?" He asks without hesitation. The other students shoot him horrified glances. I grin, revealing just a few black and yellow teeth. "Time does horrible things to you. After over six hundred years, you can hardly expect me to look like the young beatiful maiden I once was." The students blink, confused or simply unimpressed with my 'lie.' But the little Prince is unfazed. "You can't have been alive for 500 years. No one can. Science isn't that advanced now, let alone several centuries ago." He wears a triumphant look at 'disproving' me. I can't tell wheather I am impressed or annoyed by his sheer audacity. "No, but magic can." I raise my hand and the room begins to shake, lights flickering. I can feel several corpses, old and rotton, shiver at my call from deep underground. But I realise them and the room goes back to normal, Several kids are screaming, a few even crying. Most look bewildered, unable to comprehend the situation. But of course the prince has a ridiculous smile on his face. Over the other students, I can just barely make out his whisper of "Cool." "If you all behave and do your work, you have nothing to fear from me. But if you do not... Well, let's just say most of my students don't enjoy an hour of detention with me." The bell rings again. "You should be able to find your next classes with ease. The room numbers are logical." No one moves. "Go!" I shriek, shattering my mug. Almost all the children jump up and run from the room. Only five terrified students remain. "Welcome to history." I say with no more malice in my tone. Some other students start to stumble in, glancing at me with suprise. "I believe you will find I know a thing or two about history. After all, who do you think wrote it?"

[WP] You are a Lich, a fearsome undead necromancer with magical powers beyond comprehension. Unfortunately, the economy is really rough so you have taken a job as a Middle School Teacher.

“No Tommy I wasn’t-“ “Was he a good rapper?” “Tommy I never met Alexander Hamilton. Now can we please get back to-“ “Did you meet Washington?” A girl in the back row asked. This was my second day teaching. Yesterday the children were terrified of me. Once they got over my decaying appearance they wouldn’t stop pestering me. “Can anyone answer the question on the board?” A thousand years of perfecting my craft to ensure life eternal, except eternal life can get expensive. If only pieces of eight were still excepted for rent. “Did you own slaves?” Asked a sullen boy. No matter what I tried I couldn’t keep them on task. I’ve controlled the six skulls of the immortal hell hounds, the beasts bathed in blood and baptism in barbarism, and they were easier than a classroom full of twelve year olds. “For the last time this is algebra, if someone doesn’t give me the value for ‘x’ soon I will lose my patience.” “Will you turn us into frogs? Is that what you did in Egypt?” That was the last straw. I tried to be patient. I tried to be nice. Now it’s come to this. Now they’ve forced my hand. Now I’m going to call their parents.

The bell rings, and the nervous sixth graders look around anxiously. I smile. Homeroom on the first day of school is always amusing. They look at me with confusion and fear. One kid looks like she is about to throw up. They probably think I was in some sort of horrific accident, cause my skin to turn ashy and parts of my face to rot off. My bald head is smooth and dull, all the gray contrasting with my bright red lipstick and blue eyeshadow. I raise a single bony figer to silence them. "I am Ms. Eastaughffe. You may refer to me as Ms. East." My gravely voice startles them, but I hardly care. "I will be your history teacher this year. You will also have English, Math, and Science on this floor. Electives will be on the first floor. Any questions?" A few hands raise, and I nod at a particularly brazen young boy. He reminds me of a young prince I knew back in Scottland. "What happened to your face?" He asks without hesitation. The other students shoot him horrified glances. I grin, revealing just a few black and yellow teeth. "Time does horrible things to you. After over six hundred years, you can hardly expect me to look like the young beatiful maiden I once was." The students blink, confused or simply unimpressed with my 'lie.' But the little Prince is unfazed. "You can't have been alive for 500 years. No one can. Science isn't that advanced now, let alone several centuries ago." He wears a triumphant look at 'disproving' me. I can't tell wheather I am impressed or annoyed by his sheer audacity. "No, but magic can." I raise my hand and the room begins to shake, lights flickering. I can feel several corpses, old and rotton, shiver at my call from deep underground. But I realise them and the room goes back to normal, Several kids are screaming, a few even crying. Most look bewildered, unable to comprehend the situation. But of course the prince has a ridiculous smile on his face. Over the other students, I can just barely make out his whisper of "Cool." "If you all behave and do your work, you have nothing to fear from me. But if you do not... Well, let's just say most of my students don't enjoy an hour of detention with me." The bell rings again. "You should be able to find your next classes with ease. The room numbers are logical." No one moves. "Go!" I shriek, shattering my mug. Almost all the children jump up and run from the room. Only five terrified students remain. "Welcome to history." I say with no more malice in my tone. Some other students start to stumble in, glancing at me with suprise. "I believe you will find I know a thing or two about history. After all, who do you think wrote it?"

[WP] You are a Lich, a fearsome undead necromancer with magical powers beyond comprehension. Unfortunately, the economy is really rough so you have taken a job as a Middle School Teacher.

“No Tommy I wasn’t-“ “Was he a good rapper?” “Tommy I never met Alexander Hamilton. Now can we please get back to-“ “Did you meet Washington?” A girl in the back row asked. This was my second day teaching. Yesterday the children were terrified of me. Once they got over my decaying appearance they wouldn’t stop pestering me. “Can anyone answer the question on the board?” A thousand years of perfecting my craft to ensure life eternal, except eternal life can get expensive. If only pieces of eight were still excepted for rent. “Did you own slaves?” Asked a sullen boy. No matter what I tried I couldn’t keep them on task. I’ve controlled the six skulls of the immortal hell hounds, the beasts bathed in blood and baptism in barbarism, and they were easier than a classroom full of twelve year olds. “For the last time this is algebra, if someone doesn’t give me the value for ‘x’ soon I will lose my patience.” “Will you turn us into frogs? Is that what you did in Egypt?” That was the last straw. I tried to be patient. I tried to be nice. Now it’s come to this. Now they’ve forced my hand. Now I’m going to call their parents.

The devil is in the details. Sometimes figuratively. Sometimes literally. Look here: the better side of town, better being relative. The economy has taken a turn for the worse, though stratification and distance ensure this sleepy rural community bears the brunt in the most ethereal of ways. Perhaps the bus station is a little more crowded at midday. Perhaps people are a little more frugal with their money. It's impossible to see the cause when you're part of the effect. You simply lack perspective. Perspective. A selection of brightly painted portable classrooms, playgrounds with looping geometries and foxes taking flight, bark-floored. There are no grim hallways here. Even the headmistress' office has splashes beyond the severe, crayon-marked sheets. All happy smiles above the desk and a half-empty bottle below. Creep along the corridor. Cheerful voices behind closed doors, some quieter than others. A transference of knowledge is an arcane ritual all of its own, wouldn’t you say? See the most silent ingress, a dread portal if there ever was one. Has the temperature dropped, is it a little cold? Well. The door is open a crack. Peek inside. Rows of desks, middle children at work. Busy little tombstones in neat little lines. Too aware to be fooled. Too ignorant to be alarmed. In a clear cell on a back bench -- covered in glitter, and stars, and grave-dust -- is what you expect. A classroom pet. No nose twitches, no light shines from vacant sockets, but claws crabble, a wheel turns. A skeletal hamster spins with every appearance of life. There is no guilty sweeping out of cages here. No forgetting of feed. One time they took it out when his back was turned, and it nearly crawled out the window, to poorly-muffled giggles. His back. Who? Who stalks this mortuary, this crypt of wisdom? Who rules it? He is bald, from a distance. Not unexpected, in the profession -- it seems to attract an overwhelming majority of the follically challenged. Though, it must be said, they have much more skin on their… bones. No, it is an illusion, a trick, and a skull can only grin. Twin orbs of fiery blue against a black, vacant backdrop. No suit and tie, for the establishment allows ‘business casual’, but nothing so demure as a shirt and slacks. Voluminous robes turn and tatter in an unfelt, unseen wind from beyond. It smells faintly of sulfur and screams. Not always, you understand. Only when an interview is being conducted. A seance, if you will. The children edge forwards, droning the chant from their cracked, torn parchments. Something is torn from the otherworld’s greedy grasp. A spectre, a spirit. Not a great hero. Not a legendary villain except in the minds of the local zoning council. It forms a shape seen elsewhere, on yellowed newspaper, a name commemorated on bridge plaques and skate parks. Ectoplasmic glasses settle on a crooked nose. The Lich lowers his arms and the chanting subsides. His piercing gaze sees through time, through space, through wood and gum and trading cards. “Billy,” he rasps in a voice from beyond the shadowlands. “Instead of fiddling with your phone, you may ask the late Mayor the first of three questions.”

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

4 days I has been 4 days since David has been home. 4 days of his family carrying on like nothing happened, 4 days of the regular news, the regular weather, 4 days of the week passing by as normal. During that time he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling of seeing his bedroom, as if for the first time. For him it was, stuck in an endless loop for what felt like forever, everything in his room felt new. as if it wasn't his, this house wasn't his, this bed this life wasn't his. Sitting up right , staring at the door, he didn't know what would happen next and the fear began to set in. It has been 4 days since the nightmare ended, a repeating nightmare. every day he woke up at 6 in the morning, he ate the same food, and heard the same song on the radio. Heard it so much, that with it over the world felt empty, like something was missing. But how could that be he wondered, ' i spent every single day listening to that awful song, eating the same food., and now i can do anything i wanted and it matters' it started to finally dawn on him, the fear began to set in, he began to pace in his room. When the nightmare began it dawned on him after a few days he could do anything he wanted without consequences, ask out a woman, punch someone he didn't like. he could do anything, but now, now anything he did mattered and didn't reset. Now he was sweating and breaking down, he was moments from screaming, because for the first time in 30 years his actions mattered, his action had consequences. He looked around for his piano, something he was able to find on the 3rd week and played every chance he could. But it wasn't there, nothing of that nightmare was here, it was all gone, he then drove his fist into his draws shaking the contents to the ground. Blood dripping form his knuckles the blood reminded him he was back to the real. This one moment gave him a chance to think, to look inwards. What has he now, David thought. For 30 years he lived every life he could think about, he learned piano, learned to fire a weapon, fell in love, felt the worst heartbreak, drank, smoke, did everything the could dream. He stared at his hands as his vision went blurry, tears welling up in his eyes soon began to clear the blood from his knuckle. Then a knock came from his door" Honey are you okay?' his mother asked him. David didn't answer. She then slowly opened the door to see her son bleeding and crying and objects all over the floor. Without hesitation she grabbed a shirt and began to wipe away the tears, then the blood from his hand. David stared up at this woman he hadn't seen in 3 decades, and was stunned. She was helping him, cleaning him , caring for him, he didn't know how to respond. "Honey what happened?" David broke down "i don't know, i don't know what to do, everything is wrong, everything is different. i don't know anything, anyone. i don't even know- "but before he could finish his words he was embraced by this woman he barely knew. "David honey, let it all out. i know life cant be easy, and often you'll feel like you can't even breathe, like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. but look at me. This feeling will pass, and it will come back, over and over. but doesn't mean you cant control it. How you act when it comes is what lets you deal with the world. So the next time you feel this way, understand this, you are no alone, you have your family, friends and people that care. Even if you can't see it, its there. The sun will rise tomorrow, a new day will start, then it will set.and once again it will rise. So listen to me, you will have a new day, with new experiences both good and bad, and when the day ends you get another chance, and another." The tears began to stem, his heart slowed down. "i don't know how to live..." "taken one step forward, then another, then another. something will block you, either that door, that wall, me, your father or someone else in the world, something will block you, then you choose ho to deal with it. everyone has an answer to how to deal with life. Now is your turn to come up with a way. He embraced the woman and muttered thanks mom. the word brought tears to his eyes but not the ones of fear, but ones of happiness. He learned so much from that nightmare, but had to do it alone, not anymore. It has been 4 days since the nightmare ended, and soon it will be 5.

What's in a day? I know. I've lived one for thirty years. I haven't aged a day, literally. You think I would be happy to finally be free from this mental prison. But I have second thoughts about leaving the place I called home for the last three decades. I knew everything about that little town. What would transpire that one day. Every single little line, little joke, little gesture. Every single sound, accident, crime. I learned everything I wanted to, needed to. Because I had all the time in the world. Now, I am mortal. I no longer have infinite do-overs. If I fail, if I mess up, there isn't any going back. I have my life to live, and only a set amount of time to live it, only a set amount of time to love it. Here I am, faced with the abyss of death looming ahead of me for the very first time in thirty years. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

“I....im....free...” that’s what Alan could say when he found out when he woke up at August 17, 2018. For the first time, it wasn’t August 16 again. And for the first time since decades, he was confused. No longer trapped in a static world where everything would repeat itself by the morning, with nothing moving forward. Nothing except Alan’s mentality. It was full off paranoia and anxiety as he woke up repeating the same day over and over for at least 20 days. Passing through depression, bargaining, and acceptance as if he was mourning for the death of his loved one. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure about anything with what’s happening in his life ever since he was stuck in August 16,2018. He felt like an outsider to the world and to his very own body. Outside you can see a 17 year old boy who is unsure with how his future is going. But inside is a wise 37 year old man who has journeyed through his life in the most unusual way. Sure he didn’t experience looking like a dad, or his metabolism slowing, or even accepting that one day, he too will die. It was a blissful life to be stuck on a static bubble where everything is mathematically mapped in the front all the way to the very corner of his mind. But now that has come to an end, what will happen to him? August 18, 2018. It was the day Alan returns home and was greeted by smiles of people that he remembered vaguely. It’s frustrating to still be able to feel that bond that was rooted to the very blood of his, yet not being able to remember clearly who they were exactly and what are their standings to each other. Clearly he knew they were his Mom and Dad, but how do they treat each other? Does he hug them really tight or does he just flatly say hey and proceed with his routine? For once he was unsure how to interact with them. “Dear, we missed you” Mom said and embraced him tight, it felt very familiar but at the same time very surreal to even remember his past. They were talking about things which he didn’t understand at all. Everything about him was that little town he stayed for decades. Going inside what he called home was very different. Alan knew this was home, but he also knew that he was a stranger to this place. It took him a while to process where he should be going until Dad offered to carry his bags all the way to his room. Going inside his room, felt like it was dusty, but he knew that the dust that he felt was the alienation of the place that he labelled “home”. Sitting down his bed, he felt a familiar cloth and a metal plate under the sheets, it was his laptop. Opening the laptop to be greeted with a blue screen light, he sighed in frustration on what he should feel as the laptop asked him this question. *Enter Password to login* “I...don’t know my password” Alan said as he stared on the screen for hours.

What's in a day? I know. I've lived one for thirty years. I haven't aged a day, literally. You think I would be happy to finally be free from this mental prison. But I have second thoughts about leaving the place I called home for the last three decades. I knew everything about that little town. What would transpire that one day. Every single little line, little joke, little gesture. Every single sound, accident, crime. I learned everything I wanted to, needed to. Because I had all the time in the world. Now, I am mortal. I no longer have infinite do-overs. If I fail, if I mess up, there isn't any going back. I have my life to live, and only a set amount of time to live it, only a set amount of time to love it. Here I am, faced with the abyss of death looming ahead of me for the very first time in thirty years. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

It always began the same way. I'd wake up suddenly in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere quickly became a somewhere. It was a place where everything began. I called it the 'starting point' because that was where I always returned to. Yes, that *somewhere* was the starting point of my day. A day that was trapped in a perpetually endless loop, and I was the unfortunate bystander caught in this nightmare. I was powerless. There was nothing I could do but let the day repeat over and over again. I would wonder the city, watching the people repeat the same menial task over and over again. The same men and women in business attire walking down the street with purpose. The same kid chasing after a ball that had fallen onto the busy street. The same mother chasing after the kid that was chasing after the ball. The same airline passing above me at the same time. Eventually I found my way to the highest point in the city. I would sit down and stare idly at the twilight sky as the sun sunk further beneath the horizon. Clearly I was the *variable* in this world of perpetually repeating events. But I didn't know what I was suppose to do. I tried leaving of course, but I never got far. Something always got in my way. I'd get run over as I tried to cross the street, or something unpleasant would drop on my head, ending my ill-fated day. Or a random mugger would coincidentally appear and *mug* me, taking my life as forfeit. It didn't matter how, I would always return to the 'starting point'. I gave up, losing hope in escaping this madness. I would settle down at the starting point, sitting idly and letting the days go by - looping over and over. But eventually, even that became dreadfully intolerable. I decided to adapt. To *learn* and commit every detail to memory. To understand what was so special about this day. Before long, I realized that more than thirty years had passed. Thirty years of the same day. What had I learned? Absolutely nothing. But you know what they say? Even nothing can be *something*. If there was nothing special about this day, then maybe I've been looking at it the wrong way this whole time. Maybe... maybe it was just *me*. And just like that, the world suddenly faded away to darkness. I opened my eyes to familiar faces, sitting in a circle around me. I struggled to put a name to their faces but one of them spoke up. "How was the trip?" --- --- /r/em_pathy

What's in a day? I know. I've lived one for thirty years. I haven't aged a day, literally. You think I would be happy to finally be free from this mental prison. But I have second thoughts about leaving the place I called home for the last three decades. I knew everything about that little town. What would transpire that one day. Every single little line, little joke, little gesture. Every single sound, accident, crime. I learned everything I wanted to, needed to. Because I had all the time in the world. Now, I am mortal. I no longer have infinite do-overs. If I fail, if I mess up, there isn't any going back. I have my life to live, and only a set amount of time to live it, only a set amount of time to love it. Here I am, faced with the abyss of death looming ahead of me for the very first time in thirty years. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

"Honey, I'm home." Alan walked into what he thought was his house, after 30 years of living the same day, over and over and over again. "Hello? Is anyone here?" Suddenly, he heard someone come down the stairs, in a rush. Little feet tapping on the stairs, like a child. 2 children, a boy and a girl, ran towards Alan screaming: **"DADDY!"** The 2 kids hugged Alan, but he doesn't remember these kids. They seem familiar, but it's all a blur. "Hey... Kids..." Was all Alan could say, as he thought of every single possible name he would've given these kids. "Daddy, did you get me my present?" The girl asked, in a sweet little voice. *Shit,* Alan couldn't even remember this kid's name, now he has to remember something she asked for 30 years ago. Well, at least it felt like 30 years. "Uh... Yeah sweetie, I got you..." Alan reached into his pocket, praying to God whatever helped him get out of the loop, could get him out of this situation. Then Alan pulled out a small little slap-on pink bracelet, with the Town's name on it. "Thanks Daddy!" The little girl took the bracelet from Alan's hands, and slapped it onto her arm. "It's perfect!" The little girl jumped for joy. "I'm gonna tell Mommy!" As she ran excitedly upstairs. Then the little boy started looking at him. Alan started thinking of every single thing a boy this kid's age would like. Action figures? Water Guns? What is it? "Dad? Did you get what I wanted?" The little boy asked Alan. Now Alan was racing through his mind, thinking of all the 30 years he spent in that town. He thought of what his son wanted. Then he remembered. Alan pulled out from his suitcase, a Hot Wheels toy car still in the box. Alan didn't know why he got it that day, he just felt like getting one. "You got it!" The little boy grabbed the box and ran up the stairs, probably to wake up their Mom. Alan then walked to the living room, and sat on the couch. He thought of all the people he had met, and all the outcomes that he had lived. Then he felt a tap from his back. "Hey Sweetie." He looked up, and he saw the most beautiful face he had seen in years. I think I have an addiction of writing late at night. I need help.

What's in a day? I know. I've lived one for thirty years. I haven't aged a day, literally. You think I would be happy to finally be free from this mental prison. But I have second thoughts about leaving the place I called home for the last three decades. I knew everything about that little town. What would transpire that one day. Every single little line, little joke, little gesture. Every single sound, accident, crime. I learned everything I wanted to, needed to. Because I had all the time in the world. Now, I am mortal. I no longer have infinite do-overs. If I fail, if I mess up, there isn't any going back. I have my life to live, and only a set amount of time to live it, only a set amount of time to love it. Here I am, faced with the abyss of death looming ahead of me for the very first time in thirty years. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

The funny thing about time is, without a way to track it, it doesn't take long to lose all sense of it. I can't tell you how many times I've relived May 5, 2017 because at some point you're not really sure if it's the fifteenth time you've waken up in a cold sweat at 1 am or the fiftieth and by that point you really don't care. Once you've got past the surealness and the panic, well it's not like there is a calendar you can flip through and count the number of days you've been in hell. I do know how many times I tried to get home. You would think, traveling 1000 miles in 23 hours (because for some reason it reset at midnight but I always woke up at one in the morning) wouldn't be impossible, especially if you're desperate. I got close once. Stepped foot on my driveway just as the clock hit midnight. Spent the next, who the hell knows how many, cycles as drunk as I could get. Turned the phone off, couldn't play pretend when I knew my husband would call to tell me good morning and good luck with my meeting. It's not like he'd remember later. Eventually, you adapt. The human mind is amazing at survival and compartmentalizing. I couldn't hold my husband, fall asleep in his arms, but I would stretch our morning call as long as I could, would call him "after my meeting" and talk for an hour. I heard about how the cat slept on his head all night long thousands of times and cherished every one. I couldn't hang up the phone at night, like back when we were teenagers. I never did figure out what changed, what released me from my weird prison and personal hell. I woke up to a ringing phone, a concerned husband that said my boss called, said I hadn't shown up to my meeting, did he know where I was? Was I sick? It's nearly noon. That was 156 days ago. I know that because every night before I go to bed I cross out the day on the calendar and I can count the little black Xs as many times as I want. I've changed. I can see it in the way my husband looks at me, in the careful way he reminds me of things, like the name of the restaurant on the corner where we used to have breakfast every saturday, my nieces and nephews names, and where the grocery store is. The doctors say things like stroke and nervous breakdown. One was convinced I had a time related OCD when they noticed my slight obsession with needing to know the date and time at all times. I don't know how long I was stuck, and I'll probably never get back to normal. But the human mind is an amazing thing, I'll adapt and I'll survive.

What's in a day? I know. I've lived one for thirty years. I haven't aged a day, literally. You think I would be happy to finally be free from this mental prison. But I have second thoughts about leaving the place I called home for the last three decades. I knew everything about that little town. What would transpire that one day. Every single little line, little joke, little gesture. Every single sound, accident, crime. I learned everything I wanted to, needed to. Because I had all the time in the world. Now, I am mortal. I no longer have infinite do-overs. If I fail, if I mess up, there isn't any going back. I have my life to live, and only a set amount of time to live it, only a set amount of time to love it. Here I am, faced with the abyss of death looming ahead of me for the very first time in thirty years. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

The first thing to go was my ability to drive. Accident on the second day, bleary eyed panic attack in the middle of the road, screaming voices as for once in my miserable life, more than decades passed without a hint of chaos, someone turned when they weren't supposed to. Car smashed in, glass shattered, gas in the air. Hands shaking, I couldn't remember the year when the officers showed up. Slight concussion. The house that awaited me was full of strangers I distantly remembered, their shadowy features as they talked about something from a few days before but the food in my mouth was nothing but ash. Mechanical chewing, the flavor was unnatural, something I'd never gotten; poor food, but earnestly made with love. How did I forget that? The court declared that I'd had a nervous breakdown, but my eyes were locked on their lips, moving regularly, with a cadence I couldn't forget. Their search of my belongings turned up formulas and equations with variables that made no sense, and slowly, slowly, slowly, quivering muscles and with a face like a broken god, the judge declared, with a quiet voice, that perhaps I should go to therapy in addition to my remedial driving classes. The first thing to go was my ability to drive, but the second thing to go was the sanctity of my mind. Fingers flew together and tapped across skin, nicked with marks, days. I didn't remember how many days had passed. The therapist saw me staring insensate in his room, and carefully, calmly walked across the room. "Where would you like to start?" Gibbering madness; the circumstance had never came up; the repetition had formed a rock hard equation of what was supposed to happen; a perfect day with all variables solved, and never again would it happen, but reality had grown distant on that rocky shoal surrounded by the vapid seas of time, and I could not look behind the steady face of the man to see the repetitions and equations that governed him, the great clockwork edifice embedded under his skin. The steady tick of his heartbeat, the predetermined variables written in the fabric of his skull, they were no longer bared to me. Distant memories of memorizing people, days spent staring at everything and nothing in particular, books filled with information, then closed, then filled back again. But now I was here, and out from that strange queer place, and time was flowing again, but I could not remember the year. "It started..." I stammered. "A week ago." But his eyes did not light up with understanding, and I had forgotten what it was like to not be wholly optimal, what it was like to interface with people I did not know, not really, the purity of the unknown mixed in with the terror of manipulation. No gods, no, no more, only baseline humanity. But his eyes drifted over to mine, and he reached forward, tossing me the bear in the corner of the room. "Take your time. What you say won't leave this room." So I did. ---- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ For more like this click here.

What's in a day? I know. I've lived one for thirty years. I haven't aged a day, literally. You think I would be happy to finally be free from this mental prison. But I have second thoughts about leaving the place I called home for the last three decades. I knew everything about that little town. What would transpire that one day. Every single little line, little joke, little gesture. Every single sound, accident, crime. I learned everything I wanted to, needed to. Because I had all the time in the world. Now, I am mortal. I no longer have infinite do-overs. If I fail, if I mess up, there isn't any going back. I have my life to live, and only a set amount of time to live it, only a set amount of time to love it. Here I am, faced with the abyss of death looming ahead of me for the very first time in thirty years. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

It always began the same way. I'd wake up suddenly in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere quickly became a somewhere. It was a place where everything began. I called it the 'starting point' because that was where I always returned to. Yes, that *somewhere* was the starting point of my day. A day that was trapped in a perpetually endless loop, and I was the unfortunate bystander caught in this nightmare. I was powerless. There was nothing I could do but let the day repeat over and over again. I would wonder the city, watching the people repeat the same menial task over and over again. The same men and women in business attire walking down the street with purpose. The same kid chasing after a ball that had fallen onto the busy street. The same mother chasing after the kid that was chasing after the ball. The same airline passing above me at the same time. Eventually I found my way to the highest point in the city. I would sit down and stare idly at the twilight sky as the sun sunk further beneath the horizon. Clearly I was the *variable* in this world of perpetually repeating events. But I didn't know what I was suppose to do. I tried leaving of course, but I never got far. Something always got in my way. I'd get run over as I tried to cross the street, or something unpleasant would drop on my head, ending my ill-fated day. Or a random mugger would coincidentally appear and *mug* me, taking my life as forfeit. It didn't matter how, I would always return to the 'starting point'. I gave up, losing hope in escaping this madness. I would settle down at the starting point, sitting idly and letting the days go by - looping over and over. But eventually, even that became dreadfully intolerable. I decided to adapt. To *learn* and commit every detail to memory. To understand what was so special about this day. Before long, I realized that more than thirty years had passed. Thirty years of the same day. What had I learned? Absolutely nothing. But you know what they say? Even nothing can be *something*. If there was nothing special about this day, then maybe I've been looking at it the wrong way this whole time. Maybe... maybe it was just *me*. And just like that, the world suddenly faded away to darkness. I opened my eyes to familiar faces, sitting in a circle around me. I struggled to put a name to their faces but one of them spoke up. "How was the trip?" --- --- /r/em_pathy

“I....im....free...” that’s what Alan could say when he found out when he woke up at August 17, 2018. For the first time, it wasn’t August 16 again. And for the first time since decades, he was confused. No longer trapped in a static world where everything would repeat itself by the morning, with nothing moving forward. Nothing except Alan’s mentality. It was full off paranoia and anxiety as he woke up repeating the same day over and over for at least 20 days. Passing through depression, bargaining, and acceptance as if he was mourning for the death of his loved one. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure about anything with what’s happening in his life ever since he was stuck in August 16,2018. He felt like an outsider to the world and to his very own body. Outside you can see a 17 year old boy who is unsure with how his future is going. But inside is a wise 37 year old man who has journeyed through his life in the most unusual way. Sure he didn’t experience looking like a dad, or his metabolism slowing, or even accepting that one day, he too will die. It was a blissful life to be stuck on a static bubble where everything is mathematically mapped in the front all the way to the very corner of his mind. But now that has come to an end, what will happen to him? August 18, 2018. It was the day Alan returns home and was greeted by smiles of people that he remembered vaguely. It’s frustrating to still be able to feel that bond that was rooted to the very blood of his, yet not being able to remember clearly who they were exactly and what are their standings to each other. Clearly he knew they were his Mom and Dad, but how do they treat each other? Does he hug them really tight or does he just flatly say hey and proceed with his routine? For once he was unsure how to interact with them. “Dear, we missed you” Mom said and embraced him tight, it felt very familiar but at the same time very surreal to even remember his past. They were talking about things which he didn’t understand at all. Everything about him was that little town he stayed for decades. Going inside what he called home was very different. Alan knew this was home, but he also knew that he was a stranger to this place. It took him a while to process where he should be going until Dad offered to carry his bags all the way to his room. Going inside his room, felt like it was dusty, but he knew that the dust that he felt was the alienation of the place that he labelled “home”. Sitting down his bed, he felt a familiar cloth and a metal plate under the sheets, it was his laptop. Opening the laptop to be greeted with a blue screen light, he sighed in frustration on what he should feel as the laptop asked him this question. *Enter Password to login* “I...don’t know my password” Alan said as he stared on the screen for hours.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

The funny thing about time is, without a way to track it, it doesn't take long to lose all sense of it. I can't tell you how many times I've relived May 5, 2017 because at some point you're not really sure if it's the fifteenth time you've waken up in a cold sweat at 1 am or the fiftieth and by that point you really don't care. Once you've got past the surealness and the panic, well it's not like there is a calendar you can flip through and count the number of days you've been in hell. I do know how many times I tried to get home. You would think, traveling 1000 miles in 23 hours (because for some reason it reset at midnight but I always woke up at one in the morning) wouldn't be impossible, especially if you're desperate. I got close once. Stepped foot on my driveway just as the clock hit midnight. Spent the next, who the hell knows how many, cycles as drunk as I could get. Turned the phone off, couldn't play pretend when I knew my husband would call to tell me good morning and good luck with my meeting. It's not like he'd remember later. Eventually, you adapt. The human mind is amazing at survival and compartmentalizing. I couldn't hold my husband, fall asleep in his arms, but I would stretch our morning call as long as I could, would call him "after my meeting" and talk for an hour. I heard about how the cat slept on his head all night long thousands of times and cherished every one. I couldn't hang up the phone at night, like back when we were teenagers. I never did figure out what changed, what released me from my weird prison and personal hell. I woke up to a ringing phone, a concerned husband that said my boss called, said I hadn't shown up to my meeting, did he know where I was? Was I sick? It's nearly noon. That was 156 days ago. I know that because every night before I go to bed I cross out the day on the calendar and I can count the little black Xs as many times as I want. I've changed. I can see it in the way my husband looks at me, in the careful way he reminds me of things, like the name of the restaurant on the corner where we used to have breakfast every saturday, my nieces and nephews names, and where the grocery store is. The doctors say things like stroke and nervous breakdown. One was convinced I had a time related OCD when they noticed my slight obsession with needing to know the date and time at all times. I don't know how long I was stuck, and I'll probably never get back to normal. But the human mind is an amazing thing, I'll adapt and I'll survive.

“I....im....free...” that’s what Alan could say when he found out when he woke up at August 17, 2018. For the first time, it wasn’t August 16 again. And for the first time since decades, he was confused. No longer trapped in a static world where everything would repeat itself by the morning, with nothing moving forward. Nothing except Alan’s mentality. It was full off paranoia and anxiety as he woke up repeating the same day over and over for at least 20 days. Passing through depression, bargaining, and acceptance as if he was mourning for the death of his loved one. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure about anything with what’s happening in his life ever since he was stuck in August 16,2018. He felt like an outsider to the world and to his very own body. Outside you can see a 17 year old boy who is unsure with how his future is going. But inside is a wise 37 year old man who has journeyed through his life in the most unusual way. Sure he didn’t experience looking like a dad, or his metabolism slowing, or even accepting that one day, he too will die. It was a blissful life to be stuck on a static bubble where everything is mathematically mapped in the front all the way to the very corner of his mind. But now that has come to an end, what will happen to him? August 18, 2018. It was the day Alan returns home and was greeted by smiles of people that he remembered vaguely. It’s frustrating to still be able to feel that bond that was rooted to the very blood of his, yet not being able to remember clearly who they were exactly and what are their standings to each other. Clearly he knew they were his Mom and Dad, but how do they treat each other? Does he hug them really tight or does he just flatly say hey and proceed with his routine? For once he was unsure how to interact with them. “Dear, we missed you” Mom said and embraced him tight, it felt very familiar but at the same time very surreal to even remember his past. They were talking about things which he didn’t understand at all. Everything about him was that little town he stayed for decades. Going inside what he called home was very different. Alan knew this was home, but he also knew that he was a stranger to this place. It took him a while to process where he should be going until Dad offered to carry his bags all the way to his room. Going inside his room, felt like it was dusty, but he knew that the dust that he felt was the alienation of the place that he labelled “home”. Sitting down his bed, he felt a familiar cloth and a metal plate under the sheets, it was his laptop. Opening the laptop to be greeted with a blue screen light, he sighed in frustration on what he should feel as the laptop asked him this question. *Enter Password to login* “I...don’t know my password” Alan said as he stared on the screen for hours.

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

The funny thing about time is, without a way to track it, it doesn't take long to lose all sense of it. I can't tell you how many times I've relived May 5, 2017 because at some point you're not really sure if it's the fifteenth time you've waken up in a cold sweat at 1 am or the fiftieth and by that point you really don't care. Once you've got past the surealness and the panic, well it's not like there is a calendar you can flip through and count the number of days you've been in hell. I do know how many times I tried to get home. You would think, traveling 1000 miles in 23 hours (because for some reason it reset at midnight but I always woke up at one in the morning) wouldn't be impossible, especially if you're desperate. I got close once. Stepped foot on my driveway just as the clock hit midnight. Spent the next, who the hell knows how many, cycles as drunk as I could get. Turned the phone off, couldn't play pretend when I knew my husband would call to tell me good morning and good luck with my meeting. It's not like he'd remember later. Eventually, you adapt. The human mind is amazing at survival and compartmentalizing. I couldn't hold my husband, fall asleep in his arms, but I would stretch our morning call as long as I could, would call him "after my meeting" and talk for an hour. I heard about how the cat slept on his head all night long thousands of times and cherished every one. I couldn't hang up the phone at night, like back when we were teenagers. I never did figure out what changed, what released me from my weird prison and personal hell. I woke up to a ringing phone, a concerned husband that said my boss called, said I hadn't shown up to my meeting, did he know where I was? Was I sick? It's nearly noon. That was 156 days ago. I know that because every night before I go to bed I cross out the day on the calendar and I can count the little black Xs as many times as I want. I've changed. I can see it in the way my husband looks at me, in the careful way he reminds me of things, like the name of the restaurant on the corner where we used to have breakfast every saturday, my nieces and nephews names, and where the grocery store is. The doctors say things like stroke and nervous breakdown. One was convinced I had a time related OCD when they noticed my slight obsession with needing to know the date and time at all times. I don't know how long I was stuck, and I'll probably never get back to normal. But the human mind is an amazing thing, I'll adapt and I'll survive.

It always began the same way. I'd wake up suddenly in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere quickly became a somewhere. It was a place where everything began. I called it the 'starting point' because that was where I always returned to. Yes, that *somewhere* was the starting point of my day. A day that was trapped in a perpetually endless loop, and I was the unfortunate bystander caught in this nightmare. I was powerless. There was nothing I could do but let the day repeat over and over again. I would wonder the city, watching the people repeat the same menial task over and over again. The same men and women in business attire walking down the street with purpose. The same kid chasing after a ball that had fallen onto the busy street. The same mother chasing after the kid that was chasing after the ball. The same airline passing above me at the same time. Eventually I found my way to the highest point in the city. I would sit down and stare idly at the twilight sky as the sun sunk further beneath the horizon. Clearly I was the *variable* in this world of perpetually repeating events. But I didn't know what I was suppose to do. I tried leaving of course, but I never got far. Something always got in my way. I'd get run over as I tried to cross the street, or something unpleasant would drop on my head, ending my ill-fated day. Or a random mugger would coincidentally appear and *mug* me, taking my life as forfeit. It didn't matter how, I would always return to the 'starting point'. I gave up, losing hope in escaping this madness. I would settle down at the starting point, sitting idly and letting the days go by - looping over and over. But eventually, even that became dreadfully intolerable. I decided to adapt. To *learn* and commit every detail to memory. To understand what was so special about this day. Before long, I realized that more than thirty years had passed. Thirty years of the same day. What had I learned? Absolutely nothing. But you know what they say? Even nothing can be *something*. If there was nothing special about this day, then maybe I've been looking at it the wrong way this whole time. Maybe... maybe it was just *me*. And just like that, the world suddenly faded away to darkness. I opened my eyes to familiar faces, sitting in a circle around me. I struggled to put a name to their faces but one of them spoke up. "How was the trip?" --- --- /r/em_pathy

Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc. **Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**

[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.

The funny thing about time is, without a way to track it, it doesn't take long to lose all sense of it. I can't tell you how many times I've relived May 5, 2017 because at some point you're not really sure if it's the fifteenth time you've waken up in a cold sweat at 1 am or the fiftieth and by that point you really don't care. Once you've got past the surealness and the panic, well it's not like there is a calendar you can flip through and count the number of days you've been in hell. I do know how many times I tried to get home. You would think, traveling 1000 miles in 23 hours (because for some reason it reset at midnight but I always woke up at one in the morning) wouldn't be impossible, especially if you're desperate. I got close once. Stepped foot on my driveway just as the clock hit midnight. Spent the next, who the hell knows how many, cycles as drunk as I could get. Turned the phone off, couldn't play pretend when I knew my husband would call to tell me good morning and good luck with my meeting. It's not like he'd remember later. Eventually, you adapt. The human mind is amazing at survival and compartmentalizing. I couldn't hold my husband, fall asleep in his arms, but I would stretch our morning call as long as I could, would call him "after my meeting" and talk for an hour. I heard about how the cat slept on his head all night long thousands of times and cherished every one. I couldn't hang up the phone at night, like back when we were teenagers. I never did figure out what changed, what released me from my weird prison and personal hell. I woke up to a ringing phone, a concerned husband that said my boss called, said I hadn't shown up to my meeting, did he know where I was? Was I sick? It's nearly noon. That was 156 days ago. I know that because every night before I go to bed I cross out the day on the calendar and I can count the little black Xs as many times as I want. I've changed. I can see it in the way my husband looks at me, in the careful way he reminds me of things, like the name of the restaurant on the corner where we used to have breakfast every saturday, my nieces and nephews names, and where the grocery store is. The doctors say things like stroke and nervous breakdown. One was convinced I had a time related OCD when they noticed my slight obsession with needing to know the date and time at all times. I don't know how long I was stuck, and I'll probably never get back to normal. But the human mind is an amazing thing, I'll adapt and I'll survive.

"Honey, I'm home." Alan walked into what he thought was his house, after 30 years of living the same day, over and over and over again. "Hello? Is anyone here?" Suddenly, he heard someone come down the stairs, in a rush. Little feet tapping on the stairs, like a child. 2 children, a boy and a girl, ran towards Alan screaming: **"DADDY!"** The 2 kids hugged Alan, but he doesn't remember these kids. They seem familiar, but it's all a blur. "Hey... Kids..." Was all Alan could say, as he thought of every single possible name he would've given these kids. "Daddy, did you get me my present?" The girl asked, in a sweet little voice. *Shit,* Alan couldn't even remember this kid's name, now he has to remember something she asked for 30 years ago. Well, at least it felt like 30 years. "Uh... Yeah sweetie, I got you..." Alan reached into his pocket, praying to God whatever helped him get out of the loop, could get him out of this situation. Then Alan pulled out a small little slap-on pink bracelet, with the Town's name on it. "Thanks Daddy!" The little girl took the bracelet from Alan's hands, and slapped it onto her arm. "It's perfect!" The little girl jumped for joy. "I'm gonna tell Mommy!" As she ran excitedly upstairs. Then the little boy started looking at him. Alan started thinking of every single thing a boy this kid's age would like. Action figures? Water Guns? What is it? "Dad? Did you get what I wanted?" The little boy asked Alan. Now Alan was racing through his mind, thinking of all the 30 years he spent in that town. He thought of what his son wanted. Then he remembered. Alan pulled out from his suitcase, a Hot Wheels toy car still in the box. Alan didn't know why he got it that day, he just felt like getting one. "You got it!" The little boy grabbed the box and ran up the stairs, probably to wake up their Mom. Alan then walked to the living room, and sat on the couch. He thought of all the people he had met, and all the outcomes that he had lived. Then he felt a tap from his back. "Hey Sweetie." He looked up, and he saw the most beautiful face he had seen in years. I think I have an addiction of writing late at night. I need help.

[WP] One day you bang your head but when you wake up you're suddenly able to understand animals. You hear some squirrels causally talking about global domination.

Flipping through the TV again... The President did something stupid again, some idiot got fired for saying the n word, and a repeat of Rick and Morty was on, one of those season 3 episodes again, I think it was the memory one... yawn 'That does it, I'm going out for a walk'. It was a... day I guess, not sunny, not quite cloudy but ultimately not strongly committed to any one type of weather. I entered the park and started walking off the beaten path, 'at least this would be a better use of my time' I thought, 'although I should really be out job searching... sending out my worthless CV so either I could get ignored, or so I could fail spectacularly during the interview I wasn't going to win anyway. Who really cares? I could drop dead and be in a better situation than I am now'- A loose log I was walking over gave way. My leg lunged upwards, forcing me backwards. The back of my head would be the first to hit the ground, I felt and heard a great thud, and everything went black... There was a voice "We can't rely on the viral divide and conquer routine like we did in the American theatre" "What are you talking about? It worked so well it caught fire in Europe and Australia" said a second voice "Yes but everyone knows that game now" replied the first "Sure but they have no idea how to counteract it, it's taken on a life of its own" "They're actually onto us now. I told you we shouldn't have spared Roiland, now he's gone and made an episode about us" "Oh shut up, that was a blessing in disguise! It'll be much easier to dismiss our enemies now that we have a flipping cartoon as a reference!" "Must we do this every time? Everything's going according to plan, with an acceptable standard deviation of 4.2%, well within estimates". Interrupted a third voice I opened my eyes, there was no one there, although there were a few squirrels hanging out on the floor near me "They're awake!" I heard the first voice say. "I think they can hear us" added the second. "All according to plan" replied the third. "You, human!" said the second, 'Are they talking about me?!' "Down here" the continued. The squirrels were actually talking... "Yeah I'm not buying this" I replied, slowly getting up. The squirrels rushed around my feet, the second jumped up onto my shoulders. "Hello human... what should I call you...?" asked the second "They look like a Jane" said the third "OK Jane, this is real, we're actually talking, this is not a prank, and I'm not your best friend talking to you through your coma" continued the second "What are you doing?!" Interjected the first "I'm fucking with her, let me have my fun" she replied "Deary me, someone really wedged it deep up there this time" said the third, addressing the first. "Now Jane, I'm going to explain everything to you, because we're bloody squirrels and there's nothing you can do to stop me" "You should've called her Mr. Bond" replied the first snidely. An awkward silence shot through the air, the second's gaze pierced right through her. "Anyway Jane, why do you think we've decided to have our discussion in front of you?" "Honestly I have no idea" I replied "Well, I felt like gloating, and I'm sure you're wondering what's going on" "Kind of?" "Well, our mission here is to-" "WOOF!" A dog appeared, running over to me. "Fuck!" Gasped the third, and the Squirrels scattered. "Hey! what are you doing over there?" Yelled the park keeper. I hadn't realised how dark it was, how long was I out for? "Psst" I heard the dog say, "You've been made kid, get out while you can" "Wait What?" I barked. "Looks like you took a nasty bump to the head" Replied the Park Keeper, inspecting my scalp. "Come with me, I'll take you to the infirmary". The squirrels retreated to the tree tops. "You spared Roiland" said the first. "Yes, but this one isn't Roiland" replied the second. "We shouldn't be getting cocky, not this close to the end game", countered the first. "It's fine, our work is done until they have another task for- wait where's Third?" As they looked over at the humans, they saw a small figure walking alongside the dog, Third. "I don't believe this!" gasped the second. "Really? You didn't know?" asked first condescendingly. "No! What's the deal with Third and the dog?" A murder of crows started flying overhead. "The dog is from internal affairs. Mission control didn't appreciate the Roiland blunder". "Wait... you set me up?" said Second, as the murder landed all around them. "No, you set yourself up. We just had to make sure the dog saw you in action, so we could green-light your sentencing". The crows closed in, surrounding Second. "NO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Yelled Second, as the crows screeched and pecked at her body. "It's a shame the Doolittle incidents are spreading... but the dogs can take it from here, they're trained for it" replied First, walking away. Eventually the pecking and screeching died down. The crows flew away, leaving a stain of blood where Second once stood. First made her way outside the park keeper's office, where Third was waiting. "Second won't be a problem anymore. Grey Squadron took care of that" Said First "Good" replied Third "So what are we going to do with our friend 'Jane?'" "What we've always done with Doolittles, Jane's been in the system for quite some time, and as long as we keep her unemployed we shouldn't have any real problems" explained Third. "Well lets go, we've got more Seconds to expose"

I heard squirrels chittering away outside, happily going about their squirrelly day. They were in the upper branches of the old oak tree that grows up alongside the house. It was a warm and quiet morning, so I had my upstairs bedroom window open. I was at my desk typing an essay for my English class when I heard them speak. At first I thought someone was in my backyard because they sounded so distinctly human. I peered out the window trying to hide myself as best as I could so that the intruders didn't see me. There was no one there, so I thought maybe the downstairs television was still going. It was off. I shrugged and went back to work. About twenty minutes later I heard the voices again. I was spooked this time when I discovered there was no one in the backyard. I could hear two people discussing something, I listened in. "...and that's when we cut the power to the house and take um by surprise." There was a pause in the conversation, then "I think she heard us Tim." I immediately dropped to my hands and knees, crawled to the foot of my bed and leaned my back against the footboard. My cellphone! I needed to call 911. It was laying next to my laptop. As I was crawling toward my desk to grab my cellphone a squirrel dropped through my open window. It quickly dashed beneath the bed as soon as it hit the carpet. Then, a second squirrel appeared on the window ledge, sitting on it's haunches, tiny nose twitching, it spoke " what cha doin there missy?" Startled, I could only gape at the brown rodent with my mouth opened widely. The second squirrel had reappeared from beneath my bed and was slowly making his way toward me. "I think she was going for the cellphone, Tim." It said as it stalked forward, peering at me with one eye. There was a small, dark hole where it's other eye should have been. Tim lept from the window sill and landed on my desk. He immediately started gnawing on my cellphone. That's when the adrenaline kicked in. I got up off the floor and ripped the phone away from the small animal. "Stop that you little shit!". That's when the second squirrel jumped on my back. "Get her in the jugular Frankie!". Tim yelled as he threw his tiny squirrel body at my face. I dropped the phone and started flailing at them, screaming as they drove their little rodent teeth into my flesh. I ran to my bedroom door, as I opened it I smacked my forehead on the door frame. On the floor now, struggling to keep conscious, through blurry vision I watched as one of the squirrels lept out my bedroom window with the cellphone. Then everything went dark. When I regained consciousness I found myself bound and gagged, laying on my side on my bedroom floor. It was dark outside, I must have been out for hours. I heard shuffling behind me and struggled to turn my head. Sitting atop my cherrywood dresser was about a dozen squirrels. They were peering at me with their dark beady eyes, small pink noses twitching. One of them cleared it's throat, "All those in favor of death say squirrel". All but one responded. "Denali, you choose not to kill the human. Please, speak your peace." A small gray squirrel shuffled forward, "I think this entire thing has gotten way out of control Tim". The squirrel spoke in a female voice. "Do all of you really think that by taking control of this house and setting up a command post we can take over the world? There are more of them than there are of us. They're bigger, they're stronger and they're smarter. This is a war we can't and won't win. Killing this human serves no purpose and I will take no part in it. That's all I have to say." She shuffled back to her place in the crowd. "Well, since majority wins, let's proceed?" The squirrel lept from the dresser onto the floor. A second, then a third, then, "Wait! What are you guys doing? None of you have ever killed before. Henry, you're afraid of dragonflies for crying out loud. And Fenfrel, you freak out when it rains. None of you are prepared for the burden of guilt you will suffer if you go through with this." Another squirrel lept from the dresser. "Denali, you are excused." Tim, the apparent ringleader, calmly responded. "Also, don't expect help with storage this winter, you are officially banished from the order. You will be gathering your own nuts from now on." He hopped onto my shoulder. "You will all be sorry." Denali said as she shook her tiny squirrel head in disgust and lept onto my bedroom floor. I watched as her bushy tail disappeared out the window into the darkness outside. Then I heard the front door slam and relief swept over me like a warm blanket on a frigid night. I tried calling out but the gag in my mouth muffled the sound. "Tim, there's another human in the house. What do we do?" Tim seemed to glare at me with his small marble eyes, "Abandon mission!". And just like that, they were gone. My mom called the cops and I was taken to the hospital. "They appear to be rodent bites but her story just doesn't make any sense. Tied up and gagged by squirrels?" The doctor spoke in a hushed tone to my mom. "I recommend a 72 hour mental health hold ma'am." My mom was clearly upset, "I believe my daughter doctor. I'm taking her home." I haven't slept in 24 hours for fear of the squirrels returning. I'm paranoid as I sit here on the living room sofa, waiting... Shhh, I think I heard a sound coming from the chimney.

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

10 days. You see, it felt like 10 days but really it was more like 10 years. Not that I have a good sense of time anymore. Sure Georgie would come to check up on me, bring me food the like. But its maddening, truly, you see I'm an immortal being, I can't die even if I wanted to. When my mother discovered that I was immortal she locked me in this-this, Box, this absolutely positively terrible Box. It's awfully lonely, Georgie, who checks up on me every hour doesn't talk. His tongue was cut off by the Administers, just because he tried to answer a question of mine a couple of years ago. I asked if he was an immortal or if he knew anything that could help get me out. I guess the Box has surveillance. They made me watch as if a punish, saying I did this to Georgie. Ever since I'm almost a 100% sure that Georgie spits in my food. This diary is the only thing keeping me sane. The only thing they let me have in the Box. Someone is opening the latch- it's Denise; the god awful woman who runs this place. A place for people like me, my mother was friends with Denise and after she found out my secret she sent me away like some animal. I hate my mother. Denise says there is someone here to talk to me. It's a man I've never seen before. He is dressed in all black and has an awfully nice beard. Long and white, just the mere existence of his beard made him look 10x wiser than he already looked. He spoke very softly and said, " I have come to take you away, to a better, happier place. A place for your kind. Why I insist we need more bright minds like yourself!" "Who are you," I asked. I had to pinch myself it almost seemed like a dream, a place. For people like me!?!? Finally a place away from this hellhole. He paused as though his name should be obvious, "Why I am Albus, Albus Dumbledore."

One in a million. That was the phrase that defined people, no, beings like me. Always one in a million. I was old. Old enough that I remembered the first hunts on the savannahs of Africa, old enough that I was there at the first fire, old enough that I have died thousands of times. Death for us is never the end. We die, we are born anew, and we seem normal even to ourselves until puberty, then the memories return, always the memories. First the pain, then the fear, then joy and exaltation, horror, shock, wonder, pleasure. Like a perfectly orchestrated symphony of lives lived and lives lost. The new ones always played the mortal games, twisting and manipulating the world to their version of perfection. Dozens of us died for their arrogance during the bronze age collapse, and dozens more over the next few thousand years. The 20th century saw me lose more friends than the entirety of history. The Great War, Spanish Influenza, the Great Depression, World War 2, Stalin. One in a million. No more, no less. Perhaps I am the last. For countless lifetimes I have been born, raised, and died in this cell. Every hour, I think it's every hour, someone opens a tiny hatch in the door. I see nothing, but I hear the click. Bed, toilet, sink, door. No windows, no lights, no change. I am young in body now, my memories returned what I believe to be 10 years ago. And now, after untold lifetimes there is finally change. *Click* The crisp sound of the latch. *Thunk* A sound I have not heard before. *Creak* The door moving on ancient hinges. The light burns my unaccustomed eyes, bright white all but blocking out the image of 2 people, tearstained faces showing deep lines beffiting of their age. "We need you." The man states, his voice sorrowful as he leans on his cane. Knarled fingers showing white knuckles. "We cannot do this alone."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Long ago, I walked an empty, nameless world. I gained and lost many companions as I wandered. Names elude my reckoning as I ponder that time so long before this. Cultures rose and fell in my wake. Myself, and companions, becoming myth and legend within the legacies of those that came before. Languages long dead, and others that were alive when last I walked free echo through the halls of my mind and fill this space I have, so long, found myself confined within. တံခါးပေါက်, ngaphakathi, دروازے, doras, dør, door... The small portal opened. I held back as I awaited the routine of food and drink, the only things that ever changed in this closed space. The only fleeting moment that still confirmed time flowed outside these walls of mine. "We need you..." The words hung in the air. I rolled them through the library of meanings within me until I could find the right one to respond. "Why?" Long disused locks moved and withdrew from long occupied bore holes with a scraping tone. A rumbling stirred as the larger door opened for the first time in an unknown age, not since I had learned of the flush toilet now behind me. Runes and sigils in plethora that covered the room glowed brighter for an instant before finally losing the faint glow that had lit my space even before my modern lighting had been fixed in place. A man stood in a strange, crisp, black suit with armored men and women abreast down the length of the long corridor now revealed to me. "We need a trickster."

One in a million. That was the phrase that defined people, no, beings like me. Always one in a million. I was old. Old enough that I remembered the first hunts on the savannahs of Africa, old enough that I was there at the first fire, old enough that I have died thousands of times. Death for us is never the end. We die, we are born anew, and we seem normal even to ourselves until puberty, then the memories return, always the memories. First the pain, then the fear, then joy and exaltation, horror, shock, wonder, pleasure. Like a perfectly orchestrated symphony of lives lived and lives lost. The new ones always played the mortal games, twisting and manipulating the world to their version of perfection. Dozens of us died for their arrogance during the bronze age collapse, and dozens more over the next few thousand years. The 20th century saw me lose more friends than the entirety of history. The Great War, Spanish Influenza, the Great Depression, World War 2, Stalin. One in a million. No more, no less. Perhaps I am the last. For countless lifetimes I have been born, raised, and died in this cell. Every hour, I think it's every hour, someone opens a tiny hatch in the door. I see nothing, but I hear the click. Bed, toilet, sink, door. No windows, no lights, no change. I am young in body now, my memories returned what I believe to be 10 years ago. And now, after untold lifetimes there is finally change. *Click* The crisp sound of the latch. *Thunk* A sound I have not heard before. *Creak* The door moving on ancient hinges. The light burns my unaccustomed eyes, bright white all but blocking out the image of 2 people, tearstained faces showing deep lines beffiting of their age. "We need you." The man states, his voice sorrowful as he leans on his cane. Knarled fingers showing white knuckles. "We cannot do this alone."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Long ago, I walked an empty, nameless world. I gained and lost many companions as I wandered. Names elude my reckoning as I ponder that time so long before this. Cultures rose and fell in my wake. Myself, and companions, becoming myth and legend within the legacies of those that came before. Languages long dead, and others that were alive when last I walked free echo through the halls of my mind and fill this space I have, so long, found myself confined within. တံခါးပေါက်, ngaphakathi, دروازے, doras, dør, door... The small portal opened. I held back as I awaited the routine of food and drink, the only things that ever changed in this closed space. The only fleeting moment that still confirmed time flowed outside these walls of mine. "We need you..." The words hung in the air. I rolled them through the library of meanings within me until I could find the right one to respond. "Why?" Long disused locks moved and withdrew from long occupied bore holes with a scraping tone. A rumbling stirred as the larger door opened for the first time in an unknown age, not since I had learned of the flush toilet now behind me. Runes and sigils in plethora that covered the room glowed brighter for an instant before finally losing the faint glow that had lit my space even before my modern lighting had been fixed in place. A man stood in a strange, crisp, black suit with armored men and women abreast down the length of the long corridor now revealed to me. "We need a trickster."

10 days. You see, it felt like 10 days but really it was more like 10 years. Not that I have a good sense of time anymore. Sure Georgie would come to check up on me, bring me food the like. But its maddening, truly, you see I'm an immortal being, I can't die even if I wanted to. When my mother discovered that I was immortal she locked me in this-this, Box, this absolutely positively terrible Box. It's awfully lonely, Georgie, who checks up on me every hour doesn't talk. His tongue was cut off by the Administers, just because he tried to answer a question of mine a couple of years ago. I asked if he was an immortal or if he knew anything that could help get me out. I guess the Box has surveillance. They made me watch as if a punish, saying I did this to Georgie. Ever since I'm almost a 100% sure that Georgie spits in my food. This diary is the only thing keeping me sane. The only thing they let me have in the Box. Someone is opening the latch- it's Denise; the god awful woman who runs this place. A place for people like me, my mother was friends with Denise and after she found out my secret she sent me away like some animal. I hate my mother. Denise says there is someone here to talk to me. It's a man I've never seen before. He is dressed in all black and has an awfully nice beard. Long and white, just the mere existence of his beard made him look 10x wiser than he already looked. He spoke very softly and said, " I have come to take you away, to a better, happier place. A place for your kind. Why I insist we need more bright minds like yourself!" "Who are you," I asked. I had to pinch myself it almost seemed like a dream, a place. For people like me!?!? Finally a place away from this hellhole. He paused as though his name should be obvious, "Why I am Albus, Albus Dumbledore."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

The walls were bare, windowless and had the look of abandoned ruins. The guard, for lack of a better word, would stop by often. Most of the time with food and drink but that stopped not too long ago and ever since, I've gone without. It is unpleasant, but I survive. I always do. My name is Arlen, I was born in a small village, quiet but pleasant. I remember the day I first died. We we're erecting a stone monument for the magi, it was hard work. Quarrying the stones and rolling them on tree trunks stripped of their branches. Hauling them for leagues to the site picked by the magi himself. I was struck by something that crushed my chest in. I couldn't breath. The others rushed me to the apoteka, our healer, but there was nothing they knew to do that could save me. I healed over many days all the while not being able to breath. But I lived. No one trusted me after that, claiming I'd made some pact with evil and I was to do it's bidding on for the extra days it's given me. They chased me out. I don't know why I lived. Or why I survived any other time I should have died. But here I stand, starved to death without dying. I was captured centuries later and I've been here in this prison ever since. Finally the guard was approaching after days without food, I could hear the foot steps. The door creeped open, the hinges howling from the eeffort. But instead of of food, a figure was standing in the wide open doorway. He spoke in a language I hadn't heard since the day I was banished from my home. It was the old words, my ears barely recognized their meaning. It appears that the monument I had helped build for the magi, the place I should have died, had been destroyed. They called it "Stonehenge" now, and they needed me, my help, to repair it. The magic seems to have been the means of protecting humanity from what was beyond, it protected the living from death. My everlasting life itself was given accidently by the magi's conjuring, a spell gone wrong, and had made me into the living antithesis of death, I had died and in that moment gained life itself. My being alive and the henge was preventing death from taking all but the most frail and sick of humanity. Preventing death of pestilence and plague that in the past had brought humanity to the brink of extinction, was once again a threat. They needed the magic in me to repair the monument. The man explained that the magi had tried again to imbue the monument with the power to keep death at bay, but the power had always fallen mostly to me since I was the original vessel. His misfire had spent the magic, the monument had only prevented death from taking my life. He said the magi only realized this after I'd been run off from my village and ever since a fraternity started by the villagers had saught me out. They are the reason I have been imprisoned, a life never ending in this room waiting for death. For the first time since that day I didn't die, I knew what I had to do. I stood and picked up my sparse belongings, among them I found my knife. Finally the magic of the monument was destroyed, and I could die. Death had finally gotten enough power to take the eternal life keeping me alive, he just needed a little help. Without the protection of the spells cast by the magi on me, and the monument destroyed, I could give death the power to once again take life at will. The cool edge of the blade cut my throat and warm blood turned my weathered old tunic a dark red. Humanity would finally get the life they deserve. Edit: I'm still learning how to write. I have an idea for an epic book and the story is dying to get out of me but I need to learn how to improve on this skill in order to give the story the telling it deserves. Please critique and be honest, it will help me. Thanks!

The metal clanking of the door latch rattles through the black, cement room once again. The piercing light hits your eyes briefly before disappearing behind the figure looking in on you. You can remember a time when you desperately tried to communicate with this figure, begging for any kind of explanation as to where you are and why, but this was never successful. Questions about the circumstances surrounding all of this used to occupy you obsessively, but after so long, you’ve given into apathy and indifference. The figure makes no sound, watches you for a few seconds, and then slams the latch shut, leaving you alone again in the darkness of your cell. They’ll check on you again in an hour. You know this because, back in the beginning when you first found yourself here, you sat and counted the seconds in between each check. Knowing this is the only way you’ve been able to keep track of how long you’ve been captive – 136 days. The most apparent thing to you upon your first wakening in this hell is the fact that you cannot remember anything – nothing at all! Who are you? What have you done? You still have concepts of language, mathematics, history – everything you’ve learned throughout your life. But nothing exists in your head that is specific to you. No memories of parents or siblings. No friends or spouses or children. No job or hobby. Hollow information makes up your brain and your individuality began only when you opened your eyes in this cell. Fantasies of escaping this place used to fill most of your thoughts. You would dream of taking that figure behind the door down; beating the literal breath out of him. Of course, with your frame, you knew this to be unrealistic. You weren’t old, but your exact age was still a mystery. From the small light emanating periodically from the door, you know you have long black hair and that you’re very thin. At maybe five foot four, a small woman fighting her way out of this is not going to happen. Still, the thoughts of it gave you the adrenaline you needed to make it until the next day. Eventually, depression crippled you for quite some time. It was day 56 when you tried to drown yourself in the toilet, a task that was actually more difficult than you’d imagined. These toilets have maybe a few inches of standing water and driving your head all the way to the bottom and forcefully taking in breaths of this dank liquid was an almost unimaginable way for you to go, and yet, you did it. The burning in your nostrils and lungs with each inhale still lingers in your mind. After a few minutes, you remember the peaceful nothingness as you lost consciousness, and gained your freedom. Or so you thought. You woke the next morning, with toilet still on your breath, but alive as ever. Fuck. The next few weeks, you tried to get more creative. You tied your bedsheets to the sink and tried to hang yourself with them, only to wake with a sore neck and steady heartbeat. You refused water for nine days. Nine! A torturous attempt that somehow failed. Finally, on day 100, feeling especially hopeless, you began banging your head against the concrete wall until you lost consciousness. The headaches lasted for days after that, but your mind and body were left fully operational. Thoughts don’t even occupy you anymore. Sleep is the most exciting activity and the one that fills most of your days. You are awoken once an hour by the ear-piercing grinding of metal from the door latch, you carve out another notch in the wall next to you to keep track of the time, and then fall back to sleep. You figure you are going to be doing this for the rest of your life, and there’s not a thing you can do to change that. Frustration, depression, anxiety…these are worthless to you. You’ve accepted your fate. You hear the metal of the door again. The latch opens, light shines through, a figure watches you briefly, and it closes again. But more sounds follow it! You can hear a lock disengage, and the door begins to open slowly. Light pours into the room; more light than you can ever remember seeing in your life. You instinctively shut your eyes and shield them with your arms, giving them more time to adjust. As you peak through, you see a man standing in the doorway. He is large, larger than you, but a 280lb, 6ft 3in silhouette is all you can make out. “We need you. Please step this way.” His deep voice bounces through the room. You panic. This is more stimulation than you’re prepared for. The thought of leaving this prison should delight you, but instead you’re crippled by fear. The light is easier on your eyes now, and you begin to see the man more clearly. He is young, maybe late 20s, with dark hair. He wears some sort of uniform you don’t recognize. You definitely notice that he has a gun holstered to his belt. You remain still and silent. He notices you glancing at his gun. “It’s required for our uniform. But it’s not like YOU have to worry about it at all.” He tries to put you at ease, and you can almost make out a chuckle. He’s obviously implying something by saying that, but you have no idea what it could mean. “I’m not here to answer your questions, I’m here to take you to the boss. You’ll find your answers there.”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

I don’t remember much from the room, not that there *was* much to remember. I think that was the point though. A toilet, a bed, a sink, a door. That’s it. About 20 or 30 times a day I would see a dim eyeball peer through the little circular latch in the door. Whoever it was never spoke, they only looked me over and scanned the room for a few seconds before swinging the latch closed. Sometimes the eye would be a different color, or a different shape, but it was always the same circumstance. I don’t remember ever eating, or even getting hungry or thirsty for that matter. I don’t think I even used the toilet once. Did I bathe myself in the sink? I seem to recall, but it’s hazy. It was so long ago. I have absolutely no memory from before the room, if there even was a “before the room”. For all I know, I was born in that room. I do, however, remember the first and only time the door opened. I heard a series of metallic sliding and thunking noises coming from the door. It startled me and I pressed myself against the wall opposite the door. It swung open and on the other side stood a meek, old man in front of a long, dimly lit metal hallway. He hesitated for a moment before blurting out “We need you.” I too hesitated, but managed to force out, “Where am I?” “We’re deep underground… in Antarctica.” The old man answered. “What is this? Am I a prisoner? How long have I—” but the man interrupted my string of questions. “There’s no time, please follow me.” The old man turned and started down the hallway. I followed, tentatively. The hallway was longer than it had looked from the room and it was all exactly the same: bare metal walls and ceiling, concrete floor, the occasional lightbulb strung on the wall. The entire place was as silent as the room, save for the echoing of our steps. After a few minutes, we came to a large vault door. The old man started at turning the huge metal wheel on the door but he was struggling to get it going. I stepped beside him and took hold of the wheel. “Let me try,” I suggested. He took a step back and I managed to turn the heavy wheel, although it was far easier for me than for the old man. He gave me a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before I pulled the vault door open. Behind the door was a large living area of sorts. About a dozen cots lined the walls on either side, empty shelving in between each. At the end of the room were two more rooms, one with a sink and toilet, the other with tall shelving, mostly empty save for a few cans of food scattered about. A closed door was in between those two rooms. The old man led me through the living area to the closed door at the end. He swiftly pushed open the door and about 10 feet in front of him was a tubular elevator. He pulled this sort-of translucent orange card out of his pocket and swiped it in front a panel on the side of the elevator. The doors slid open with a hiss and the old man stepped in. He turned around and quietly beckoned “Come.” I stepped in next to him, the doors hissed shut, he slid his card on another panel, and the elevator took off. It was fast and I nearly lost my balance. “Wait’ll you see what’s next,” the old man chuckled. When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors opened once again, I couldn’t believe what I saw: a chair. It was a chair just sitting in a tiny dark room. It was a comfortable-looking chair, but still just a chair. The old man ushered me over to the chair and coaxed me to sit; so I sat. I looked on, bewildered, as this old man I had just met pulled straps and buckles from the backside of the chair and wrapped them around the front, buckling me in. He reached into his shirt and revealed another translucent orange card that he had strung around his neck. He pulled it over his head and stuck it into a slot in the chair. There was an odd beeping sound, followed by a loud sliding sound, like two huge stones grinding on one another, and the walls around me began receding into the floor. The walls fell away and I saw a gigantic screen illuminated in front of me. I took a quick survey of the rest of the room and there were now four doorways behind me. This new room was not concrete or steel, but something entirely different. I was almost blinded by how bright that room was compared to my previous living area. An enormous sound boomed from outside, shaking the entire facility. I turned back around in fear and met the eyes of the old man. He was looking at me fondly, with tears streaming down his face meeting with an unsure smile. “We tried,” he whimpered, “let them know we *really* tried.” I could see the faint glow of a planet with some random data displayed on the screen behind his head. He met my eyes once again and placed a piece of paper into my hands. I looked down and saw an image of a group of scientists, one of whom was clearly the old man when he was younger. “Godspeed,” the old man continued. He started out the door before I shouted out “WAIT!” He turned. “What’s my name?” I asked. He choked back more tears and finished “We called you Adam,” before hurrying back into the elevator. The elevator closed up, being covered by a new wall. The room began shaking violently before I was being pulled down into my chair by sheer force. At that point, the screen changed and I could see the Earth. I saw the outside of the facility from which I was leaving, a large concrete structure somewhere in the middle of a desert. As more of the Earth became visible, I realized it was mostly desert with few small bodies of water left. I was pulling away from the planet at an incredible speed. Soon I could see it only as a small brown ball in the middle of space. The force was released and I unclipped myself from the chair. Soon after that, I learned to access the files that were contained on that orange card. Video, audio, text, images, everything containing the entire history of the Earth and all of the peoples thereon. All of our triumphs, failures, and entertainment, from the beginning to the end. The whole of human history left in my hands. According to the computer, it will take me about 19 years to reach my destination, and I’m only now about halfway there. At least now I have some entertainment.

The metal clanking of the door latch rattles through the black, cement room once again. The piercing light hits your eyes briefly before disappearing behind the figure looking in on you. You can remember a time when you desperately tried to communicate with this figure, begging for any kind of explanation as to where you are and why, but this was never successful. Questions about the circumstances surrounding all of this used to occupy you obsessively, but after so long, you’ve given into apathy and indifference. The figure makes no sound, watches you for a few seconds, and then slams the latch shut, leaving you alone again in the darkness of your cell. They’ll check on you again in an hour. You know this because, back in the beginning when you first found yourself here, you sat and counted the seconds in between each check. Knowing this is the only way you’ve been able to keep track of how long you’ve been captive – 136 days. The most apparent thing to you upon your first wakening in this hell is the fact that you cannot remember anything – nothing at all! Who are you? What have you done? You still have concepts of language, mathematics, history – everything you’ve learned throughout your life. But nothing exists in your head that is specific to you. No memories of parents or siblings. No friends or spouses or children. No job or hobby. Hollow information makes up your brain and your individuality began only when you opened your eyes in this cell. Fantasies of escaping this place used to fill most of your thoughts. You would dream of taking that figure behind the door down; beating the literal breath out of him. Of course, with your frame, you knew this to be unrealistic. You weren’t old, but your exact age was still a mystery. From the small light emanating periodically from the door, you know you have long black hair and that you’re very thin. At maybe five foot four, a small woman fighting her way out of this is not going to happen. Still, the thoughts of it gave you the adrenaline you needed to make it until the next day. Eventually, depression crippled you for quite some time. It was day 56 when you tried to drown yourself in the toilet, a task that was actually more difficult than you’d imagined. These toilets have maybe a few inches of standing water and driving your head all the way to the bottom and forcefully taking in breaths of this dank liquid was an almost unimaginable way for you to go, and yet, you did it. The burning in your nostrils and lungs with each inhale still lingers in your mind. After a few minutes, you remember the peaceful nothingness as you lost consciousness, and gained your freedom. Or so you thought. You woke the next morning, with toilet still on your breath, but alive as ever. Fuck. The next few weeks, you tried to get more creative. You tied your bedsheets to the sink and tried to hang yourself with them, only to wake with a sore neck and steady heartbeat. You refused water for nine days. Nine! A torturous attempt that somehow failed. Finally, on day 100, feeling especially hopeless, you began banging your head against the concrete wall until you lost consciousness. The headaches lasted for days after that, but your mind and body were left fully operational. Thoughts don’t even occupy you anymore. Sleep is the most exciting activity and the one that fills most of your days. You are awoken once an hour by the ear-piercing grinding of metal from the door latch, you carve out another notch in the wall next to you to keep track of the time, and then fall back to sleep. You figure you are going to be doing this for the rest of your life, and there’s not a thing you can do to change that. Frustration, depression, anxiety…these are worthless to you. You’ve accepted your fate. You hear the metal of the door again. The latch opens, light shines through, a figure watches you briefly, and it closes again. But more sounds follow it! You can hear a lock disengage, and the door begins to open slowly. Light pours into the room; more light than you can ever remember seeing in your life. You instinctively shut your eyes and shield them with your arms, giving them more time to adjust. As you peak through, you see a man standing in the doorway. He is large, larger than you, but a 280lb, 6ft 3in silhouette is all you can make out. “We need you. Please step this way.” His deep voice bounces through the room. You panic. This is more stimulation than you’re prepared for. The thought of leaving this prison should delight you, but instead you’re crippled by fear. The light is easier on your eyes now, and you begin to see the man more clearly. He is young, maybe late 20s, with dark hair. He wears some sort of uniform you don’t recognize. You definitely notice that he has a gun holstered to his belt. You remain still and silent. He notices you glancing at his gun. “It’s required for our uniform. But it’s not like YOU have to worry about it at all.” He tries to put you at ease, and you can almost make out a chuckle. He’s obviously implying something by saying that, but you have no idea what it could mean. “I’m not here to answer your questions, I’m here to take you to the boss. You’ll find your answers there.”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

The metal clanking of the door latch rattles through the black, cement room once again. The piercing light hits your eyes briefly before disappearing behind the figure looking in on you. You can remember a time when you desperately tried to communicate with this figure, begging for any kind of explanation as to where you are and why, but this was never successful. Questions about the circumstances surrounding all of this used to occupy you obsessively, but after so long, you’ve given into apathy and indifference. The figure makes no sound, watches you for a few seconds, and then slams the latch shut, leaving you alone again in the darkness of your cell. They’ll check on you again in an hour. You know this because, back in the beginning when you first found yourself here, you sat and counted the seconds in between each check. Knowing this is the only way you’ve been able to keep track of how long you’ve been captive – 136 days. The most apparent thing to you upon your first wakening in this hell is the fact that you cannot remember anything – nothing at all! Who are you? What have you done? You still have concepts of language, mathematics, history – everything you’ve learned throughout your life. But nothing exists in your head that is specific to you. No memories of parents or siblings. No friends or spouses or children. No job or hobby. Hollow information makes up your brain and your individuality began only when you opened your eyes in this cell. Fantasies of escaping this place used to fill most of your thoughts. You would dream of taking that figure behind the door down; beating the literal breath out of him. Of course, with your frame, you knew this to be unrealistic. You weren’t old, but your exact age was still a mystery. From the small light emanating periodically from the door, you know you have long black hair and that you’re very thin. At maybe five foot four, a small woman fighting her way out of this is not going to happen. Still, the thoughts of it gave you the adrenaline you needed to make it until the next day. Eventually, depression crippled you for quite some time. It was day 56 when you tried to drown yourself in the toilet, a task that was actually more difficult than you’d imagined. These toilets have maybe a few inches of standing water and driving your head all the way to the bottom and forcefully taking in breaths of this dank liquid was an almost unimaginable way for you to go, and yet, you did it. The burning in your nostrils and lungs with each inhale still lingers in your mind. After a few minutes, you remember the peaceful nothingness as you lost consciousness, and gained your freedom. Or so you thought. You woke the next morning, with toilet still on your breath, but alive as ever. Fuck. The next few weeks, you tried to get more creative. You tied your bedsheets to the sink and tried to hang yourself with them, only to wake with a sore neck and steady heartbeat. You refused water for nine days. Nine! A torturous attempt that somehow failed. Finally, on day 100, feeling especially hopeless, you began banging your head against the concrete wall until you lost consciousness. The headaches lasted for days after that, but your mind and body were left fully operational. Thoughts don’t even occupy you anymore. Sleep is the most exciting activity and the one that fills most of your days. You are awoken once an hour by the ear-piercing grinding of metal from the door latch, you carve out another notch in the wall next to you to keep track of the time, and then fall back to sleep. You figure you are going to be doing this for the rest of your life, and there’s not a thing you can do to change that. Frustration, depression, anxiety…these are worthless to you. You’ve accepted your fate. You hear the metal of the door again. The latch opens, light shines through, a figure watches you briefly, and it closes again. But more sounds follow it! You can hear a lock disengage, and the door begins to open slowly. Light pours into the room; more light than you can ever remember seeing in your life. You instinctively shut your eyes and shield them with your arms, giving them more time to adjust. As you peak through, you see a man standing in the doorway. He is large, larger than you, but a 280lb, 6ft 3in silhouette is all you can make out. “We need you. Please step this way.” His deep voice bounces through the room. You panic. This is more stimulation than you’re prepared for. The thought of leaving this prison should delight you, but instead you’re crippled by fear. The light is easier on your eyes now, and you begin to see the man more clearly. He is young, maybe late 20s, with dark hair. He wears some sort of uniform you don’t recognize. You definitely notice that he has a gun holstered to his belt. You remain still and silent. He notices you glancing at his gun. “It’s required for our uniform. But it’s not like YOU have to worry about it at all.” He tries to put you at ease, and you can almost make out a chuckle. He’s obviously implying something by saying that, but you have no idea what it could mean. “I’m not here to answer your questions, I’m here to take you to the boss. You’ll find your answers there.”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

The walls were bare, windowless and had the look of abandoned ruins. The guard, for lack of a better word, would stop by often. Most of the time with food and drink but that stopped not too long ago and ever since, I've gone without. It is unpleasant, but I survive. I always do. My name is Arlen, I was born in a small village, quiet but pleasant. I remember the day I first died. We we're erecting a stone monument for the magi, it was hard work. Quarrying the stones and rolling them on tree trunks stripped of their branches. Hauling them for leagues to the site picked by the magi himself. I was struck by something that crushed my chest in. I couldn't breath. The others rushed me to the apoteka, our healer, but there was nothing they knew to do that could save me. I healed over many days all the while not being able to breath. But I lived. No one trusted me after that, claiming I'd made some pact with evil and I was to do it's bidding on for the extra days it's given me. They chased me out. I don't know why I lived. Or why I survived any other time I should have died. But here I stand, starved to death without dying. I was captured centuries later and I've been here in this prison ever since. Finally the guard was approaching after days without food, I could hear the foot steps. The door creeped open, the hinges howling from the eeffort. But instead of of food, a figure was standing in the wide open doorway. He spoke in a language I hadn't heard since the day I was banished from my home. It was the old words, my ears barely recognized their meaning. It appears that the monument I had helped build for the magi, the place I should have died, had been destroyed. They called it "Stonehenge" now, and they needed me, my help, to repair it. The magic seems to have been the means of protecting humanity from what was beyond, it protected the living from death. My everlasting life itself was given accidently by the magi's conjuring, a spell gone wrong, and had made me into the living antithesis of death, I had died and in that moment gained life itself. My being alive and the henge was preventing death from taking all but the most frail and sick of humanity. Preventing death of pestilence and plague that in the past had brought humanity to the brink of extinction, was once again a threat. They needed the magic in me to repair the monument. The man explained that the magi had tried again to imbue the monument with the power to keep death at bay, but the power had always fallen mostly to me since I was the original vessel. His misfire had spent the magic, the monument had only prevented death from taking my life. He said the magi only realized this after I'd been run off from my village and ever since a fraternity started by the villagers had saught me out. They are the reason I have been imprisoned, a life never ending in this room waiting for death. For the first time since that day I didn't die, I knew what I had to do. I stood and picked up my sparse belongings, among them I found my knife. Finally the magic of the monument was destroyed, and I could die. Death had finally gotten enough power to take the eternal life keeping me alive, he just needed a little help. Without the protection of the spells cast by the magi on me, and the monument destroyed, I could give death the power to once again take life at will. The cool edge of the blade cut my throat and warm blood turned my weathered old tunic a dark red. Humanity would finally get the life they deserve. Edit: I'm still learning how to write. I have an idea for an epic book and the story is dying to get out of me but I need to learn how to improve on this skill in order to give the story the telling it deserves. Please critique and be honest, it will help me. Thanks!

"AHHHH BAHHH DADADADA AHAHAHHA," I scream, whilst wildly whipping fecal matter at the man. "MAAHA FEDDA DARUPPPP!" I ball up in the corner, and rock back and forth with my hands over my head. The room is stained brown and yellow. Along with my concept of time, most of my humanity is long gone. The man looks in, shakes his head. "Okay - maybe this didn't work out so well."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

I don’t remember much from the room, not that there *was* much to remember. I think that was the point though. A toilet, a bed, a sink, a door. That’s it. About 20 or 30 times a day I would see a dim eyeball peer through the little circular latch in the door. Whoever it was never spoke, they only looked me over and scanned the room for a few seconds before swinging the latch closed. Sometimes the eye would be a different color, or a different shape, but it was always the same circumstance. I don’t remember ever eating, or even getting hungry or thirsty for that matter. I don’t think I even used the toilet once. Did I bathe myself in the sink? I seem to recall, but it’s hazy. It was so long ago. I have absolutely no memory from before the room, if there even was a “before the room”. For all I know, I was born in that room. I do, however, remember the first and only time the door opened. I heard a series of metallic sliding and thunking noises coming from the door. It startled me and I pressed myself against the wall opposite the door. It swung open and on the other side stood a meek, old man in front of a long, dimly lit metal hallway. He hesitated for a moment before blurting out “We need you.” I too hesitated, but managed to force out, “Where am I?” “We’re deep underground… in Antarctica.” The old man answered. “What is this? Am I a prisoner? How long have I—” but the man interrupted my string of questions. “There’s no time, please follow me.” The old man turned and started down the hallway. I followed, tentatively. The hallway was longer than it had looked from the room and it was all exactly the same: bare metal walls and ceiling, concrete floor, the occasional lightbulb strung on the wall. The entire place was as silent as the room, save for the echoing of our steps. After a few minutes, we came to a large vault door. The old man started at turning the huge metal wheel on the door but he was struggling to get it going. I stepped beside him and took hold of the wheel. “Let me try,” I suggested. He took a step back and I managed to turn the heavy wheel, although it was far easier for me than for the old man. He gave me a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before I pulled the vault door open. Behind the door was a large living area of sorts. About a dozen cots lined the walls on either side, empty shelving in between each. At the end of the room were two more rooms, one with a sink and toilet, the other with tall shelving, mostly empty save for a few cans of food scattered about. A closed door was in between those two rooms. The old man led me through the living area to the closed door at the end. He swiftly pushed open the door and about 10 feet in front of him was a tubular elevator. He pulled this sort-of translucent orange card out of his pocket and swiped it in front a panel on the side of the elevator. The doors slid open with a hiss and the old man stepped in. He turned around and quietly beckoned “Come.” I stepped in next to him, the doors hissed shut, he slid his card on another panel, and the elevator took off. It was fast and I nearly lost my balance. “Wait’ll you see what’s next,” the old man chuckled. When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors opened once again, I couldn’t believe what I saw: a chair. It was a chair just sitting in a tiny dark room. It was a comfortable-looking chair, but still just a chair. The old man ushered me over to the chair and coaxed me to sit; so I sat. I looked on, bewildered, as this old man I had just met pulled straps and buckles from the backside of the chair and wrapped them around the front, buckling me in. He reached into his shirt and revealed another translucent orange card that he had strung around his neck. He pulled it over his head and stuck it into a slot in the chair. There was an odd beeping sound, followed by a loud sliding sound, like two huge stones grinding on one another, and the walls around me began receding into the floor. The walls fell away and I saw a gigantic screen illuminated in front of me. I took a quick survey of the rest of the room and there were now four doorways behind me. This new room was not concrete or steel, but something entirely different. I was almost blinded by how bright that room was compared to my previous living area. An enormous sound boomed from outside, shaking the entire facility. I turned back around in fear and met the eyes of the old man. He was looking at me fondly, with tears streaming down his face meeting with an unsure smile. “We tried,” he whimpered, “let them know we *really* tried.” I could see the faint glow of a planet with some random data displayed on the screen behind his head. He met my eyes once again and placed a piece of paper into my hands. I looked down and saw an image of a group of scientists, one of whom was clearly the old man when he was younger. “Godspeed,” the old man continued. He started out the door before I shouted out “WAIT!” He turned. “What’s my name?” I asked. He choked back more tears and finished “We called you Adam,” before hurrying back into the elevator. The elevator closed up, being covered by a new wall. The room began shaking violently before I was being pulled down into my chair by sheer force. At that point, the screen changed and I could see the Earth. I saw the outside of the facility from which I was leaving, a large concrete structure somewhere in the middle of a desert. As more of the Earth became visible, I realized it was mostly desert with few small bodies of water left. I was pulling away from the planet at an incredible speed. Soon I could see it only as a small brown ball in the middle of space. The force was released and I unclipped myself from the chair. Soon after that, I learned to access the files that were contained on that orange card. Video, audio, text, images, everything containing the entire history of the Earth and all of the peoples thereon. All of our triumphs, failures, and entertainment, from the beginning to the end. The whole of human history left in my hands. According to the computer, it will take me about 19 years to reach my destination, and I’m only now about halfway there. At least now I have some entertainment.

"AHHHH BAHHH DADADADA AHAHAHHA," I scream, whilst wildly whipping fecal matter at the man. "MAAHA FEDDA DARUPPPP!" I ball up in the corner, and rock back and forth with my hands over my head. The room is stained brown and yellow. Along with my concept of time, most of my humanity is long gone. The man looks in, shakes his head. "Okay - maybe this didn't work out so well."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

"AHHHH BAHHH DADADADA AHAHAHHA," I scream, whilst wildly whipping fecal matter at the man. "MAAHA FEDDA DARUPPPP!" I ball up in the corner, and rock back and forth with my hands over my head. The room is stained brown and yellow. Along with my concept of time, most of my humanity is long gone. The man looks in, shakes his head. "Okay - maybe this didn't work out so well."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

I don’t remember much from the room, not that there *was* much to remember. I think that was the point though. A toilet, a bed, a sink, a door. That’s it. About 20 or 30 times a day I would see a dim eyeball peer through the little circular latch in the door. Whoever it was never spoke, they only looked me over and scanned the room for a few seconds before swinging the latch closed. Sometimes the eye would be a different color, or a different shape, but it was always the same circumstance. I don’t remember ever eating, or even getting hungry or thirsty for that matter. I don’t think I even used the toilet once. Did I bathe myself in the sink? I seem to recall, but it’s hazy. It was so long ago. I have absolutely no memory from before the room, if there even was a “before the room”. For all I know, I was born in that room. I do, however, remember the first and only time the door opened. I heard a series of metallic sliding and thunking noises coming from the door. It startled me and I pressed myself against the wall opposite the door. It swung open and on the other side stood a meek, old man in front of a long, dimly lit metal hallway. He hesitated for a moment before blurting out “We need you.” I too hesitated, but managed to force out, “Where am I?” “We’re deep underground… in Antarctica.” The old man answered. “What is this? Am I a prisoner? How long have I—” but the man interrupted my string of questions. “There’s no time, please follow me.” The old man turned and started down the hallway. I followed, tentatively. The hallway was longer than it had looked from the room and it was all exactly the same: bare metal walls and ceiling, concrete floor, the occasional lightbulb strung on the wall. The entire place was as silent as the room, save for the echoing of our steps. After a few minutes, we came to a large vault door. The old man started at turning the huge metal wheel on the door but he was struggling to get it going. I stepped beside him and took hold of the wheel. “Let me try,” I suggested. He took a step back and I managed to turn the heavy wheel, although it was far easier for me than for the old man. He gave me a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before I pulled the vault door open. Behind the door was a large living area of sorts. About a dozen cots lined the walls on either side, empty shelving in between each. At the end of the room were two more rooms, one with a sink and toilet, the other with tall shelving, mostly empty save for a few cans of food scattered about. A closed door was in between those two rooms. The old man led me through the living area to the closed door at the end. He swiftly pushed open the door and about 10 feet in front of him was a tubular elevator. He pulled this sort-of translucent orange card out of his pocket and swiped it in front a panel on the side of the elevator. The doors slid open with a hiss and the old man stepped in. He turned around and quietly beckoned “Come.” I stepped in next to him, the doors hissed shut, he slid his card on another panel, and the elevator took off. It was fast and I nearly lost my balance. “Wait’ll you see what’s next,” the old man chuckled. When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors opened once again, I couldn’t believe what I saw: a chair. It was a chair just sitting in a tiny dark room. It was a comfortable-looking chair, but still just a chair. The old man ushered me over to the chair and coaxed me to sit; so I sat. I looked on, bewildered, as this old man I had just met pulled straps and buckles from the backside of the chair and wrapped them around the front, buckling me in. He reached into his shirt and revealed another translucent orange card that he had strung around his neck. He pulled it over his head and stuck it into a slot in the chair. There was an odd beeping sound, followed by a loud sliding sound, like two huge stones grinding on one another, and the walls around me began receding into the floor. The walls fell away and I saw a gigantic screen illuminated in front of me. I took a quick survey of the rest of the room and there were now four doorways behind me. This new room was not concrete or steel, but something entirely different. I was almost blinded by how bright that room was compared to my previous living area. An enormous sound boomed from outside, shaking the entire facility. I turned back around in fear and met the eyes of the old man. He was looking at me fondly, with tears streaming down his face meeting with an unsure smile. “We tried,” he whimpered, “let them know we *really* tried.” I could see the faint glow of a planet with some random data displayed on the screen behind his head. He met my eyes once again and placed a piece of paper into my hands. I looked down and saw an image of a group of scientists, one of whom was clearly the old man when he was younger. “Godspeed,” the old man continued. He started out the door before I shouted out “WAIT!” He turned. “What’s my name?” I asked. He choked back more tears and finished “We called you Adam,” before hurrying back into the elevator. The elevator closed up, being covered by a new wall. The room began shaking violently before I was being pulled down into my chair by sheer force. At that point, the screen changed and I could see the Earth. I saw the outside of the facility from which I was leaving, a large concrete structure somewhere in the middle of a desert. As more of the Earth became visible, I realized it was mostly desert with few small bodies of water left. I was pulling away from the planet at an incredible speed. Soon I could see it only as a small brown ball in the middle of space. The force was released and I unclipped myself from the chair. Soon after that, I learned to access the files that were contained on that orange card. Video, audio, text, images, everything containing the entire history of the Earth and all of the peoples thereon. All of our triumphs, failures, and entertainment, from the beginning to the end. The whole of human history left in my hands. According to the computer, it will take me about 19 years to reach my destination, and I’m only now about halfway there. At least now I have some entertainment.

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

It's been long, how long I can't recall, but I know it's been very long. I have no idea what day it is or even if it's day or night. I really do miss the dark, it is always light in here. _SNAP_ "Are you still there?" _SNAP_ _SNAP_ _SNAP_ "Helloooooo." Ugh, that annoying voice, I haven't heard voices for a long time and the first I hear is from this guy. I lift up my hand to stop him from snapping his fingers again. "What is it" I reply begrudged, gritting my teeth at the same time. "We need you, your time has come." "For what? More tests? Oh no wait you never do tests, you just locked me in here for years! Hell, maybe even millenia and yet you need me? Do you have any fucking idea how annoying the sound is of that goddamn latch every single hour!? I lost count after a few thousand!" I take a good look at the person in front of me. Small, thin and weak, the first things that come to mind. "It was absolutely necessary, you would never understand, your primate brain would never comprehend, but rejoice it is the day we need you! Now get dressed in the clothes I gave you and no zoning out once we get there!" That voice, so happy, so full of joy, for what? I deny him any verbal response and look down to check out the clothes he put down in front of me. White shirt, white jacket, white tie, white pants, socks, shoes belt everything white. Except the two cufflinks, one is a dark shade of red, other gold. Weird. The man waits patiently while I get dressed and then gestures to follow him. The clothes feel weird. Going from a simple prison outfit to this. As we're walking away from my cell, I feel terrified, that cell was my home, how maddening it may have been. Now they need me and I'm out, into the unknown. I don't want that, I can flee! Hah, I could probably take this guy, he doesn't even lo- "Don't even try it." "Try what?" "Escape." How the fuck did he kn- "Can't tell you, also we are nearing the door, be on your best!" We are approaching a white door, I just realized everything, everything is white here, clinical white, only the cufflinks stand out. "Carry on, I won't join you." I grab the handle and I feel hope, this could be it, what's on the other side, is it freedom or a nightmare? I step into a dimly lit room, there is a desk in the middle, two chairs jn front of the desk and one behind the desk. There is no one at the desk, well that's weird. "Take a seat please, I will be right with you." I look around, I don't see speakers or a window, no other doors either besides the one I came through. _SNAP_ "I said take a seat." "Well which on-" _SNAP_ _SNAP_ _SNAP_ "Silence, just take a seat." Fine, I walk towards the desk and sit down in one of the chairs. "Look to your left" I look to my left "Now look back at the desk." I look back and I jump from chair. There is a man sitting on the desk, holding a folder. "Nice trick isn't it? All my patients, get spooked, I was hiding behind the desk! Should have seen your face!" He laughs wholeheartedly. I get angry, oh so angry: "You think that's funny? Fuck you, pal, I have been stuck in a cell for years and you're the second person I see after I got out and you pull a fucking prank like that!" "Out?" He responds. "Ye-" _SNAP_ He snaps his fingers, man it sounds loud. "Oh dear, you grossly misunderstand." He lifts his hand, ready to snap. "How do you mean misunderstand!?" He now holds his hand in front of me. "You didn't get out." "Wait wha-?" _SNAP SNAP SNAP_ I wake. The walls white, the bed white, everything white and the latch still softly trembles after being closed once more. I cry, but I doubt anyone will hear me, it's been so very very long. Next to me on my table, lay two marbles, one dark red and one gold, my only mementos to a life long since forgotten.

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

I had been locked inside there for somewhere nearing one thousand years. Well, I didn't know it was nearing one thousand years at the time, and in truth I hadn't been locked up at all. But none the less I thought I had been locked up, and it had been nearing one thousand years when a man opened the door, and it creaked as it opened and dust fell from its edges on to the floor like sand flowing from an hour glass but for only a moment. Once the door was fully open, and I saw the man stand before me, I had no idea who he was. Complete stranger. "We need you," he said. "Smaus boos for weatherman?" I said in return. "What?" he said. "I said smaus boos for weatherman", again I said. And my dear reader I'm sure at this point you're wondering, did you acquire brain damage? Did you lose your mind? Were you fucking with him? Is that some long forgotten language that for some reason seems to incorporate English prepositions and noun compounds? The answer is, no, to all of those questions. Fortunately for you while writing this I have the gift of hindsight to elucidate the matter. It would seem that I am immortal. As immortals do so often do I built so much wealth that it could perpetuate itself into infinity. When one has no financial needs and no health needs one has no real needs. Everything else in life is merely a want. When in such a situation the mind becomes remarkably patient. In fact every day your patience grows. You may even become so patient that you don't even notice as an hour or so slips by while you entertain yourself with your thoughts. And that hour slips in to days, which slips into years, and eventually you might even be able to go whole centuries without paying any mind to anything at all outside your mind. In my case I'd gone into my quarters, where I had all the things one needs should you wish not to pay any mind to the world, during a party of immortals. It seems a party of immortals is what one does when the rest of sentient life on Earth dies out. For whatever reason, no one can recall if I bothered to give one, I had told my guests I'd need a moment and retired there before asking them to please get me if they should need me for anything. In my solitude over the years I had forgotten my whole life, and I'd forgotten which words were words I'd created and which ones were shared by other minds. Over time the visits through the mail slot and my not having left over the centuries had convinced me the door must have been locked. James had been checking on me every so often over the centuries to see if I had any plans to return to the party using the mailbox latch that my servants would use when there were still servants alive to do such things. After our initial confusion James spent some time reacquainting me with shared English words and with the abridged history of immortals and human history. That only took a year or so. And then we continued our conversation. Me: "Oh, so what was it you needed me for by the way?" James: "Oh yes, that, I'd nearly forgotten. Ada noticed that we'll run out of alcohol synth material in a century at our current rate of consumption. She wanted to know if you had any reserve you could bring in from the back down to the party." Me; "Oh, I don't really know."

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Some days, the attendees annoy me with their voices or their bad breath or the stupid things they say. Some days, I enjoy the gruffness or a witty attitude. Most days, I just long for solitude. Real solitude. After thousands of years, I’ve had my fill of people. And yet, it’s the people who come to do check-ins that provide the only variety in my dull, organized life. I hear the quick, clumsy steps of the new girl. Her name is Lola. She has short blue hair and round black eyes. She has a voice like a bird. I don’t really like Lola very much. She’s too young and too restless, like a puppy. But I think I’d like her when she grows up. I lift my head slowly, at a human pace, as she gets closer to the door. Today, instead of opening the slate in the door, the tiny human girl swung the heavy metal door open. It hit the wall with a bang. She was wearing the standard uniform; a sleek black material formed a skin tight jumpsuit around her lithe form. I remembered someone telling me once that they were meant to protect everyone from me. Fire proof, pressure proof, cut proof. Whatever they could think of. The mortals never truly understand our powers. We speak at the same time. “We need you.” “So it is time.” I couldn’t make out her expression. Today she wore the hood that came with the uniform. I wondered whose idea that had been. “Why have they sent you?” Lola did not expect this question. She was quiet for long enough to make me bored. I stepped towards her and in my small space that put me inches from her. I stretched a hand out and let my fingertips brush the fabric covering her shoulder. She winced. I’d forgotten how fragile the humans were. “I-I’m not sure. You’re to come with me. Downstairs.” Oh, how sweet the idea of freedom tastes. “Is my sister there?” I could smell the sweat on Lola’s palms and hear her heartbeat escalating. “So she is!” I said, chipper. “Let’s go, then. It’s been a few centuries.”

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Need me? The words echoed in my head, as if I had desired to hear it a million times before. The cage was my home now, the cage was my entire line of memories. The same walls, the same cold, empty feeling. Loneliness, is a weakness to any social creature, and I was no different. They continued to open the doors, making the bigger and bigger, allowing for my enormous size to fit through. "Your time has come." His voice spoke to me in a different level, parts of me remembered him, but I didn't know why. No matter, I needed out of this hellish prison, and the more the doors opened, the more of me I remembered. Until finally, the gates opened fully, and I roared, met by millions of soldiers at my feet, with one, old man holding a spear, two wolves at his side, His singular eye stated directly into me, with resentment? Pity? I'd forgotten my social skills long ago. "So it has come." He said, His voice grew heavy with regret. "It has." I answered to him, looking down at his soldiers. "Very well. Just know, Fenrir, that Valhalla shall be your final resting place." I chuckled, bitterly. "No, old fool. Ragnarok deems this is yours."

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

They'd taken to giving me paper books a long time ago. Too many painful experiences with what I could do to their networks from even a device as simple as an eReader. Their screams as I turned their own stun turret on them brought a smirk to my face. Or perhaps it was the improvised fragmentation grenade I'd rigged up out of the one they'd removed the wireless card from, the bastards. That had been hysterical too. That had been the highlight of a decade. Perhaps a century ago. Maybe a bit more. Time has long since lost its meaning for me. The port in the wall opens, my daily allotment of food is delivered. Sometimes I think they're changing the times they deliver it to throw my routine off and drive me mad. The Routine is stability. The Routine is life. I yawn lazily and slide the bookmark between the pages. Their most recent selection is rather dull, and I've become quite uninterested in what happens to the characters in it. Perhaps I'll throw it in the library stack and see if they bring me another. Personally, I wish they'd bring me the damn piano back. Playing the piano is a wonderful way to while away the interminable hours. Perhaps some katas and some calisthenics. Yes, that seems like an ideal way to spend a few hours. I felt the presence approaching the doorway long before I heard the knock. If such unnecessary racket can be called a knock. I approach the door slowly. Carefully. Not all that long ago, at least in the span of my existence, they'd brought me my own weapons only to try and turn them on me. I would not suffer that gladly this time. No, this time I would react with the violence and fury they all fear me to be capable of. They imagine me to revel in the death and destruction I cause. I do not. Not any more at least. It is simply a job anymore; my little pranks here and there aside. What brings me joy is the hunting of men. Hemmingway, though many doubt his veracity, put it best. I have hunted armed and dangerous men and women lo these many years and found that it is the most thrilling sport. Never will I be satisfied with mere game or fishing the great deeps across human space. "Are you decent Major Stark?" I couldn't help but to roll my eyes. Did the fool think I spent all day prancing about in my cell naked? There was a time when I did just that, but Thera had been my attendant back then and she did give wonderful massages. "Of course, I am you half-wit?" I snarl, the memories of loves long since passed irritating me. "Ge...General Horton has requested that you report to the command center immediately. A mission has come up that requires your... special skills." A vicious smile crosses my face as the door slides open and the nervous looking private steps through with my weapons case in his arms, a fresh uniform with colors and markings I don't recognize folded neatly atop. "Go and stand outside fool!" I bark. "I’m quite capable of dressing myself and you'll not get a peep show out of me." I tossed the jump-suit and undergarments they preferred I wear while locked up in my cell into the hamper. I dragged on the uniform and examined myself in the mirror. My hair was long, certainly long enough to need cutting to meet whatever uniform requirements this army imposed upon myself. But I cared not. A simple ponytail would do until I could get around to trimming it. I whispered the phrase and pressed my palms against the side of the weapons trunk. Within it were my most trusted companions and most valuable treasures. Caliburn's belt looped around my hips and its scabbard hung comfortingly over my left hip. Many imagined the rapier to be decorative. But in my hands, it had left many corpses scattered across many nameless battlefields. Persuader, modeled after a Colt M1911, I'd taken from the hands of a dying United States Marine on some island so long ago I'd forgotten the exact date years ago fit nicely into its leather holster on the right side of Caliburn's belt. I fastened my jacket, choosing to leave my carbine Reaver nestled safely in the case until the time came. Nobody could keep me from her now that I had been armed. "Come Private, show me where this General Horton of yours is." I said, striding out of my cell, feeling alive for the first time in decades.

Had it been months? Years? Days? My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes. The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it. I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out. As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs. I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes. After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?" "You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help." The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card. "With what? Why am I here?" "You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help." "With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long. "We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due." "So why are you here?" "We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

I don’t remember much from the room, not that there *was* much to remember. I think that was the point though. A toilet, a bed, a sink, a door. That’s it. About 20 or 30 times a day I would see a dim eyeball peer through the little circular latch in the door. Whoever it was never spoke, they only looked me over and scanned the room for a few seconds before swinging the latch closed. Sometimes the eye would be a different color, or a different shape, but it was always the same circumstance. I don’t remember ever eating, or even getting hungry or thirsty for that matter. I don’t think I even used the toilet once. Did I bathe myself in the sink? I seem to recall, but it’s hazy. It was so long ago. I have absolutely no memory from before the room, if there even was a “before the room”. For all I know, I was born in that room. I do, however, remember the first and only time the door opened. I heard a series of metallic sliding and thunking noises coming from the door. It startled me and I pressed myself against the wall opposite the door. It swung open and on the other side stood a meek, old man in front of a long, dimly lit metal hallway. He hesitated for a moment before blurting out “We need you.” I too hesitated, but managed to force out, “Where am I?” “We’re deep underground… in Antarctica.” The old man answered. “What is this? Am I a prisoner? How long have I—” but the man interrupted my string of questions. “There’s no time, please follow me.” The old man turned and started down the hallway. I followed, tentatively. The hallway was longer than it had looked from the room and it was all exactly the same: bare metal walls and ceiling, concrete floor, the occasional lightbulb strung on the wall. The entire place was as silent as the room, save for the echoing of our steps. After a few minutes, we came to a large vault door. The old man started at turning the huge metal wheel on the door but he was struggling to get it going. I stepped beside him and took hold of the wheel. “Let me try,” I suggested. He took a step back and I managed to turn the heavy wheel, although it was far easier for me than for the old man. He gave me a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before I pulled the vault door open. Behind the door was a large living area of sorts. About a dozen cots lined the walls on either side, empty shelving in between each. At the end of the room were two more rooms, one with a sink and toilet, the other with tall shelving, mostly empty save for a few cans of food scattered about. A closed door was in between those two rooms. The old man led me through the living area to the closed door at the end. He swiftly pushed open the door and about 10 feet in front of him was a tubular elevator. He pulled this sort-of translucent orange card out of his pocket and swiped it in front a panel on the side of the elevator. The doors slid open with a hiss and the old man stepped in. He turned around and quietly beckoned “Come.” I stepped in next to him, the doors hissed shut, he slid his card on another panel, and the elevator took off. It was fast and I nearly lost my balance. “Wait’ll you see what’s next,” the old man chuckled. When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors opened once again, I couldn’t believe what I saw: a chair. It was a chair just sitting in a tiny dark room. It was a comfortable-looking chair, but still just a chair. The old man ushered me over to the chair and coaxed me to sit; so I sat. I looked on, bewildered, as this old man I had just met pulled straps and buckles from the backside of the chair and wrapped them around the front, buckling me in. He reached into his shirt and revealed another translucent orange card that he had strung around his neck. He pulled it over his head and stuck it into a slot in the chair. There was an odd beeping sound, followed by a loud sliding sound, like two huge stones grinding on one another, and the walls around me began receding into the floor. The walls fell away and I saw a gigantic screen illuminated in front of me. I took a quick survey of the rest of the room and there were now four doorways behind me. This new room was not concrete or steel, but something entirely different. I was almost blinded by how bright that room was compared to my previous living area. An enormous sound boomed from outside, shaking the entire facility. I turned back around in fear and met the eyes of the old man. He was looking at me fondly, with tears streaming down his face meeting with an unsure smile. “We tried,” he whimpered, “let them know we *really* tried.” I could see the faint glow of a planet with some random data displayed on the screen behind his head. He met my eyes once again and placed a piece of paper into my hands. I looked down and saw an image of a group of scientists, one of whom was clearly the old man when he was younger. “Godspeed,” the old man continued. He started out the door before I shouted out “WAIT!” He turned. “What’s my name?” I asked. He choked back more tears and finished “We called you Adam,” before hurrying back into the elevator. The elevator closed up, being covered by a new wall. The room began shaking violently before I was being pulled down into my chair by sheer force. At that point, the screen changed and I could see the Earth. I saw the outside of the facility from which I was leaving, a large concrete structure somewhere in the middle of a desert. As more of the Earth became visible, I realized it was mostly desert with few small bodies of water left. I was pulling away from the planet at an incredible speed. Soon I could see it only as a small brown ball in the middle of space. The force was released and I unclipped myself from the chair. Soon after that, I learned to access the files that were contained on that orange card. Video, audio, text, images, everything containing the entire history of the Earth and all of the peoples thereon. All of our triumphs, failures, and entertainment, from the beginning to the end. The whole of human history left in my hands. According to the computer, it will take me about 19 years to reach my destination, and I’m only now about halfway there. At least now I have some entertainment.

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

I had been locked inside there for somewhere nearing one thousand years. Well, I didn't know it was nearing one thousand years at the time, and in truth I hadn't been locked up at all. But none the less I thought I had been locked up, and it had been nearing one thousand years when a man opened the door, and it creaked as it opened and dust fell from its edges on to the floor like sand flowing from an hour glass but for only a moment. Once the door was fully open, and I saw the man stand before me, I had no idea who he was. Complete stranger. "We need you," he said. "Smaus boos for weatherman?" I said in return. "What?" he said. "I said smaus boos for weatherman", again I said. And my dear reader I'm sure at this point you're wondering, did you acquire brain damage? Did you lose your mind? Were you fucking with him? Is that some long forgotten language that for some reason seems to incorporate English prepositions and noun compounds? The answer is, no, to all of those questions. Fortunately for you while writing this I have the gift of hindsight to elucidate the matter. It would seem that I am immortal. As immortals do so often do I built so much wealth that it could perpetuate itself into infinity. When one has no financial needs and no health needs one has no real needs. Everything else in life is merely a want. When in such a situation the mind becomes remarkably patient. In fact every day your patience grows. You may even become so patient that you don't even notice as an hour or so slips by while you entertain yourself with your thoughts. And that hour slips in to days, which slips into years, and eventually you might even be able to go whole centuries without paying any mind to anything at all outside your mind. In my case I'd gone into my quarters, where I had all the things one needs should you wish not to pay any mind to the world, during a party of immortals. It seems a party of immortals is what one does when the rest of sentient life on Earth dies out. For whatever reason, no one can recall if I bothered to give one, I had told my guests I'd need a moment and retired there before asking them to please get me if they should need me for anything. In my solitude over the years I had forgotten my whole life, and I'd forgotten which words were words I'd created and which ones were shared by other minds. Over time the visits through the mail slot and my not having left over the centuries had convinced me the door must have been locked. James had been checking on me every so often over the centuries to see if I had any plans to return to the party using the mailbox latch that my servants would use when there were still servants alive to do such things. After our initial confusion James spent some time reacquainting me with shared English words and with the abridged history of immortals and human history. That only took a year or so. And then we continued our conversation. Me: "Oh, so what was it you needed me for by the way?" James: "Oh yes, that, I'd nearly forgotten. Ada noticed that we'll run out of alcohol synth material in a century at our current rate of consumption. She wanted to know if you had any reserve you could bring in from the back down to the party." Me; "Oh, I don't really know."

It's been long, how long I can't recall, but I know it's been very long. I have no idea what day it is or even if it's day or night. I really do miss the dark, it is always light in here. _SNAP_ "Are you still there?" _SNAP_ _SNAP_ _SNAP_ "Helloooooo." Ugh, that annoying voice, I haven't heard voices for a long time and the first I hear is from this guy. I lift up my hand to stop him from snapping his fingers again. "What is it" I reply begrudged, gritting my teeth at the same time. "We need you, your time has come." "For what? More tests? Oh no wait you never do tests, you just locked me in here for years! Hell, maybe even millenia and yet you need me? Do you have any fucking idea how annoying the sound is of that goddamn latch every single hour!? I lost count after a few thousand!" I take a good look at the person in front of me. Small, thin and weak, the first things that come to mind. "It was absolutely necessary, you would never understand, your primate brain would never comprehend, but rejoice it is the day we need you! Now get dressed in the clothes I gave you and no zoning out once we get there!" That voice, so happy, so full of joy, for what? I deny him any verbal response and look down to check out the clothes he put down in front of me. White shirt, white jacket, white tie, white pants, socks, shoes belt everything white. Except the two cufflinks, one is a dark shade of red, other gold. Weird. The man waits patiently while I get dressed and then gestures to follow him. The clothes feel weird. Going from a simple prison outfit to this. As we're walking away from my cell, I feel terrified, that cell was my home, how maddening it may have been. Now they need me and I'm out, into the unknown. I don't want that, I can flee! Hah, I could probably take this guy, he doesn't even lo- "Don't even try it." "Try what?" "Escape." How the fuck did he kn- "Can't tell you, also we are nearing the door, be on your best!" We are approaching a white door, I just realized everything, everything is white here, clinical white, only the cufflinks stand out. "Carry on, I won't join you." I grab the handle and I feel hope, this could be it, what's on the other side, is it freedom or a nightmare? I step into a dimly lit room, there is a desk in the middle, two chairs jn front of the desk and one behind the desk. There is no one at the desk, well that's weird. "Take a seat please, I will be right with you." I look around, I don't see speakers or a window, no other doors either besides the one I came through. _SNAP_ "I said take a seat." "Well which on-" _SNAP_ _SNAP_ _SNAP_ "Silence, just take a seat." Fine, I walk towards the desk and sit down in one of the chairs. "Look to your left" I look to my left "Now look back at the desk." I look back and I jump from chair. There is a man sitting on the desk, holding a folder. "Nice trick isn't it? All my patients, get spooked, I was hiding behind the desk! Should have seen your face!" He laughs wholeheartedly. I get angry, oh so angry: "You think that's funny? Fuck you, pal, I have been stuck in a cell for years and you're the second person I see after I got out and you pull a fucking prank like that!" "Out?" He responds. "Ye-" _SNAP_ He snaps his fingers, man it sounds loud. "Oh dear, you grossly misunderstand." He lifts his hand, ready to snap. "How do you mean misunderstand!?" He now holds his hand in front of me. "You didn't get out." "Wait wha-?" _SNAP SNAP SNAP_ I wake. The walls white, the bed white, everything white and the latch still softly trembles after being closed once more. I cry, but I doubt anyone will hear me, it's been so very very long. Next to me on my table, lay two marbles, one dark red and one gold, my only mementos to a life long since forgotten.

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

It's been long, how long I can't recall, but I know it's been very long. I have no idea what day it is or even if it's day or night. I really do miss the dark, it is always light in here. _SNAP_ "Are you still there?" _SNAP_ _SNAP_ _SNAP_ "Helloooooo." Ugh, that annoying voice, I haven't heard voices for a long time and the first I hear is from this guy. I lift up my hand to stop him from snapping his fingers again. "What is it" I reply begrudged, gritting my teeth at the same time. "We need you, your time has come." "For what? More tests? Oh no wait you never do tests, you just locked me in here for years! Hell, maybe even millenia and yet you need me? Do you have any fucking idea how annoying the sound is of that goddamn latch every single hour!? I lost count after a few thousand!" I take a good look at the person in front of me. Small, thin and weak, the first things that come to mind. "It was absolutely necessary, you would never understand, your primate brain would never comprehend, but rejoice it is the day we need you! Now get dressed in the clothes I gave you and no zoning out once we get there!" That voice, so happy, so full of joy, for what? I deny him any verbal response and look down to check out the clothes he put down in front of me. White shirt, white jacket, white tie, white pants, socks, shoes belt everything white. Except the two cufflinks, one is a dark shade of red, other gold. Weird. The man waits patiently while I get dressed and then gestures to follow him. The clothes feel weird. Going from a simple prison outfit to this. As we're walking away from my cell, I feel terrified, that cell was my home, how maddening it may have been. Now they need me and I'm out, into the unknown. I don't want that, I can flee! Hah, I could probably take this guy, he doesn't even lo- "Don't even try it." "Try what?" "Escape." How the fuck did he kn- "Can't tell you, also we are nearing the door, be on your best!" We are approaching a white door, I just realized everything, everything is white here, clinical white, only the cufflinks stand out. "Carry on, I won't join you." I grab the handle and I feel hope, this could be it, what's on the other side, is it freedom or a nightmare? I step into a dimly lit room, there is a desk in the middle, two chairs jn front of the desk and one behind the desk. There is no one at the desk, well that's weird. "Take a seat please, I will be right with you." I look around, I don't see speakers or a window, no other doors either besides the one I came through. _SNAP_ "I said take a seat." "Well which on-" _SNAP_ _SNAP_ _SNAP_ "Silence, just take a seat." Fine, I walk towards the desk and sit down in one of the chairs. "Look to your left" I look to my left "Now look back at the desk." I look back and I jump from chair. There is a man sitting on the desk, holding a folder. "Nice trick isn't it? All my patients, get spooked, I was hiding behind the desk! Should have seen your face!" He laughs wholeheartedly. I get angry, oh so angry: "You think that's funny? Fuck you, pal, I have been stuck in a cell for years and you're the second person I see after I got out and you pull a fucking prank like that!" "Out?" He responds. "Ye-" _SNAP_ He snaps his fingers, man it sounds loud. "Oh dear, you grossly misunderstand." He lifts his hand, ready to snap. "How do you mean misunderstand!?" He now holds his hand in front of me. "You didn't get out." "Wait wha-?" _SNAP SNAP SNAP_ I wake. The walls white, the bed white, everything white and the latch still softly trembles after being closed once more. I cry, but I doubt anyone will hear me, it's been so very very long. Next to me on my table, lay two marbles, one dark red and one gold, my only mementos to a life long since forgotten.

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

I had been locked inside there for somewhere nearing one thousand years. Well, I didn't know it was nearing one thousand years at the time, and in truth I hadn't been locked up at all. But none the less I thought I had been locked up, and it had been nearing one thousand years when a man opened the door, and it creaked as it opened and dust fell from its edges on to the floor like sand flowing from an hour glass but for only a moment. Once the door was fully open, and I saw the man stand before me, I had no idea who he was. Complete stranger. "We need you," he said. "Smaus boos for weatherman?" I said in return. "What?" he said. "I said smaus boos for weatherman", again I said. And my dear reader I'm sure at this point you're wondering, did you acquire brain damage? Did you lose your mind? Were you fucking with him? Is that some long forgotten language that for some reason seems to incorporate English prepositions and noun compounds? The answer is, no, to all of those questions. Fortunately for you while writing this I have the gift of hindsight to elucidate the matter. It would seem that I am immortal. As immortals do so often do I built so much wealth that it could perpetuate itself into infinity. When one has no financial needs and no health needs one has no real needs. Everything else in life is merely a want. When in such a situation the mind becomes remarkably patient. In fact every day your patience grows. You may even become so patient that you don't even notice as an hour or so slips by while you entertain yourself with your thoughts. And that hour slips in to days, which slips into years, and eventually you might even be able to go whole centuries without paying any mind to anything at all outside your mind. In my case I'd gone into my quarters, where I had all the things one needs should you wish not to pay any mind to the world, during a party of immortals. It seems a party of immortals is what one does when the rest of sentient life on Earth dies out. For whatever reason, no one can recall if I bothered to give one, I had told my guests I'd need a moment and retired there before asking them to please get me if they should need me for anything. In my solitude over the years I had forgotten my whole life, and I'd forgotten which words were words I'd created and which ones were shared by other minds. Over time the visits through the mail slot and my not having left over the centuries had convinced me the door must have been locked. James had been checking on me every so often over the centuries to see if I had any plans to return to the party using the mailbox latch that my servants would use when there were still servants alive to do such things. After our initial confusion James spent some time reacquainting me with shared English words and with the abridged history of immortals and human history. That only took a year or so. And then we continued our conversation. Me: "Oh, so what was it you needed me for by the way?" James: "Oh yes, that, I'd nearly forgotten. Ada noticed that we'll run out of alcohol synth material in a century at our current rate of consumption. She wanted to know if you had any reserve you could bring in from the back down to the party." Me; "Oh, I don't really know."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

Some days, the attendees annoy me with their voices or their bad breath or the stupid things they say. Some days, I enjoy the gruffness or a witty attitude. Most days, I just long for solitude. Real solitude. After thousands of years, I’ve had my fill of people. And yet, it’s the people who come to do check-ins that provide the only variety in my dull, organized life. I hear the quick, clumsy steps of the new girl. Her name is Lola. She has short blue hair and round black eyes. She has a voice like a bird. I don’t really like Lola very much. She’s too young and too restless, like a puppy. But I think I’d like her when she grows up. I lift my head slowly, at a human pace, as she gets closer to the door. Today, instead of opening the slate in the door, the tiny human girl swung the heavy metal door open. It hit the wall with a bang. She was wearing the standard uniform; a sleek black material formed a skin tight jumpsuit around her lithe form. I remembered someone telling me once that they were meant to protect everyone from me. Fire proof, pressure proof, cut proof. Whatever they could think of. The mortals never truly understand our powers. We speak at the same time. “We need you.” “So it is time.” I couldn’t make out her expression. Today she wore the hood that came with the uniform. I wondered whose idea that had been. “Why have they sent you?” Lola did not expect this question. She was quiet for long enough to make me bored. I stepped towards her and in my small space that put me inches from her. I stretched a hand out and let my fingertips brush the fabric covering her shoulder. She winced. I’d forgotten how fragile the humans were. “I-I’m not sure. You’re to come with me. Downstairs.” Oh, how sweet the idea of freedom tastes. “Is my sister there?” I could smell the sweat on Lola’s palms and hear her heartbeat escalating. “So she is!” I said, chipper. “Let’s go, then. It’s been a few centuries.”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Light. Sudden white light exploded into my vision. The chains on my wrists and up my arms chaffed the leather strap holding my neck to the wall was sweaty and warm and the specially crafted gag was uncomfortable in my mouth preventing me from swallowing or biting anything. This was a system of chains and straps designed to hold the Last Immortal. I had tried to saw my wrist of with the chains so they simply added more chains along my arms after they discovered one arm free and a bloody hand across the cell. I was the last of my kind, which is ironic for being an Immortal but with enough consistent deaths we eventually run out of the Energy needed to heal us. Most of my kind set themselves on fire or attached weights to their legs and jumped in the sea. Dying thousands of times coming back again. And again. And again. All in the hope that the next time the darkness is permanent. The rest of my Kind were taken by the Organisation. A faceless international group of scientist dedicated to experimenting upon our kind in their words ‘in case one of you goes rouge’ their experiments lead to the discovery that enough deaths in a short space of time is very efficient in ending us. Placing a substance known as perma-Mortos 35-B was developed, injecting it into someone kills them quickly by stopping the heart. It is painful to have your heart stopped no matter how quick. A constant stream of the substance is fed into the blood stream and kept moving therefore keeping the victim in s constant state of revival and pain until one day they don’t wake up again. I know all this because my kind are intensely linked if in close proximity of another we can feel their pain and suffering like our own giving us insentice to rescue each other even in a divide attempt. Imagine the pain of thousands of people all being killed in as many ways as possible all bearing down on you. It drove my mind mad but it quickly recovered day after day of constant endless pain not even stemming from me. And now someone has the audacity to disturb me I look up. All I see is the black silhouette of my captor. “ES-32 class bravo” I panic at the clinical name of been given, often read before experiments or as I like to call them exacution. “We need you” my attention is caught. This isn’t part of the usual death sentence ritual. “We found another”

Anxious to exit the cell, where the endless doldrums have pushed your mind to forgetfulness and the edge of insanity, you follow the man down a long, empty hall. Turning multiple corners, trudging down long passages, passing empty walls, you soon lose track of direction . You couldn't find your way back to the cell much less the way out - not that you've passed any doors or anything else that looked like an exit. Finally, you reach a tall silver door that opens as you approach. Stepping through, you find yourself in a room full of machines. A group of grimy men approach you. One hands you a wrench. "Chief engineer", he says, "we forgot. What is the rhyme to tell us which way to loosen a bolt?"

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Need me? The words echoed in my head, as if I had desired to hear it a million times before. The cage was my home now, the cage was my entire line of memories. The same walls, the same cold, empty feeling. Loneliness, is a weakness to any social creature, and I was no different. They continued to open the doors, making the bigger and bigger, allowing for my enormous size to fit through. "Your time has come." His voice spoke to me in a different level, parts of me remembered him, but I didn't know why. No matter, I needed out of this hellish prison, and the more the doors opened, the more of me I remembered. Until finally, the gates opened fully, and I roared, met by millions of soldiers at my feet, with one, old man holding a spear, two wolves at his side, His singular eye stated directly into me, with resentment? Pity? I'd forgotten my social skills long ago. "So it has come." He said, His voice grew heavy with regret. "It has." I answered to him, looking down at his soldiers. "Very well. Just know, Fenrir, that Valhalla shall be your final resting place." I chuckled, bitterly. "No, old fool. Ragnarok deems this is yours."

Anxious to exit the cell, where the endless doldrums have pushed your mind to forgetfulness and the edge of insanity, you follow the man down a long, empty hall. Turning multiple corners, trudging down long passages, passing empty walls, you soon lose track of direction . You couldn't find your way back to the cell much less the way out - not that you've passed any doors or anything else that looked like an exit. Finally, you reach a tall silver door that opens as you approach. Stepping through, you find yourself in a room full of machines. A group of grimy men approach you. One hands you a wrench. "Chief engineer", he says, "we forgot. What is the rhyme to tell us which way to loosen a bolt?"

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

Anxious to exit the cell, where the endless doldrums have pushed your mind to forgetfulness and the edge of insanity, you follow the man down a long, empty hall. Turning multiple corners, trudging down long passages, passing empty walls, you soon lose track of direction . You couldn't find your way back to the cell much less the way out - not that you've passed any doors or anything else that looked like an exit. Finally, you reach a tall silver door that opens as you approach. Stepping through, you find yourself in a room full of machines. A group of grimy men approach you. One hands you a wrench. "Chief engineer", he says, "we forgot. What is the rhyme to tell us which way to loosen a bolt?"

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

They'd taken to giving me paper books a long time ago. Too many painful experiences with what I could do to their networks from even a device as simple as an eReader. Their screams as I turned their own stun turret on them brought a smirk to my face. Or perhaps it was the improvised fragmentation grenade I'd rigged up out of the one they'd removed the wireless card from, the bastards. That had been hysterical too. That had been the highlight of a decade. Perhaps a century ago. Maybe a bit more. Time has long since lost its meaning for me. The port in the wall opens, my daily allotment of food is delivered. Sometimes I think they're changing the times they deliver it to throw my routine off and drive me mad. The Routine is stability. The Routine is life. I yawn lazily and slide the bookmark between the pages. Their most recent selection is rather dull, and I've become quite uninterested in what happens to the characters in it. Perhaps I'll throw it in the library stack and see if they bring me another. Personally, I wish they'd bring me the damn piano back. Playing the piano is a wonderful way to while away the interminable hours. Perhaps some katas and some calisthenics. Yes, that seems like an ideal way to spend a few hours. I felt the presence approaching the doorway long before I heard the knock. If such unnecessary racket can be called a knock. I approach the door slowly. Carefully. Not all that long ago, at least in the span of my existence, they'd brought me my own weapons only to try and turn them on me. I would not suffer that gladly this time. No, this time I would react with the violence and fury they all fear me to be capable of. They imagine me to revel in the death and destruction I cause. I do not. Not any more at least. It is simply a job anymore; my little pranks here and there aside. What brings me joy is the hunting of men. Hemmingway, though many doubt his veracity, put it best. I have hunted armed and dangerous men and women lo these many years and found that it is the most thrilling sport. Never will I be satisfied with mere game or fishing the great deeps across human space. "Are you decent Major Stark?" I couldn't help but to roll my eyes. Did the fool think I spent all day prancing about in my cell naked? There was a time when I did just that, but Thera had been my attendant back then and she did give wonderful massages. "Of course, I am you half-wit?" I snarl, the memories of loves long since passed irritating me. "Ge...General Horton has requested that you report to the command center immediately. A mission has come up that requires your... special skills." A vicious smile crosses my face as the door slides open and the nervous looking private steps through with my weapons case in his arms, a fresh uniform with colors and markings I don't recognize folded neatly atop. "Go and stand outside fool!" I bark. "I’m quite capable of dressing myself and you'll not get a peep show out of me." I tossed the jump-suit and undergarments they preferred I wear while locked up in my cell into the hamper. I dragged on the uniform and examined myself in the mirror. My hair was long, certainly long enough to need cutting to meet whatever uniform requirements this army imposed upon myself. But I cared not. A simple ponytail would do until I could get around to trimming it. I whispered the phrase and pressed my palms against the side of the weapons trunk. Within it were my most trusted companions and most valuable treasures. Caliburn's belt looped around my hips and its scabbard hung comfortingly over my left hip. Many imagined the rapier to be decorative. But in my hands, it had left many corpses scattered across many nameless battlefields. Persuader, modeled after a Colt M1911, I'd taken from the hands of a dying United States Marine on some island so long ago I'd forgotten the exact date years ago fit nicely into its leather holster on the right side of Caliburn's belt. I fastened my jacket, choosing to leave my carbine Reaver nestled safely in the case until the time came. Nobody could keep me from her now that I had been armed. "Come Private, show me where this General Horton of yours is." I said, striding out of my cell, feeling alive for the first time in decades.

Anxious to exit the cell, where the endless doldrums have pushed your mind to forgetfulness and the edge of insanity, you follow the man down a long, empty hall. Turning multiple corners, trudging down long passages, passing empty walls, you soon lose track of direction . You couldn't find your way back to the cell much less the way out - not that you've passed any doors or anything else that looked like an exit. Finally, you reach a tall silver door that opens as you approach. Stepping through, you find yourself in a room full of machines. A group of grimy men approach you. One hands you a wrench. "Chief engineer", he says, "we forgot. What is the rhyme to tell us which way to loosen a bolt?"

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Need me? The words echoed in my head, as if I had desired to hear it a million times before. The cage was my home now, the cage was my entire line of memories. The same walls, the same cold, empty feeling. Loneliness, is a weakness to any social creature, and I was no different. They continued to open the doors, making the bigger and bigger, allowing for my enormous size to fit through. "Your time has come." His voice spoke to me in a different level, parts of me remembered him, but I didn't know why. No matter, I needed out of this hellish prison, and the more the doors opened, the more of me I remembered. Until finally, the gates opened fully, and I roared, met by millions of soldiers at my feet, with one, old man holding a spear, two wolves at his side, His singular eye stated directly into me, with resentment? Pity? I'd forgotten my social skills long ago. "So it has come." He said, His voice grew heavy with regret. "It has." I answered to him, looking down at his soldiers. "Very well. Just know, Fenrir, that Valhalla shall be your final resting place." I chuckled, bitterly. "No, old fool. Ragnarok deems this is yours."

Light. Sudden white light exploded into my vision. The chains on my wrists and up my arms chaffed the leather strap holding my neck to the wall was sweaty and warm and the specially crafted gag was uncomfortable in my mouth preventing me from swallowing or biting anything. This was a system of chains and straps designed to hold the Last Immortal. I had tried to saw my wrist of with the chains so they simply added more chains along my arms after they discovered one arm free and a bloody hand across the cell. I was the last of my kind, which is ironic for being an Immortal but with enough consistent deaths we eventually run out of the Energy needed to heal us. Most of my kind set themselves on fire or attached weights to their legs and jumped in the sea. Dying thousands of times coming back again. And again. And again. All in the hope that the next time the darkness is permanent. The rest of my Kind were taken by the Organisation. A faceless international group of scientist dedicated to experimenting upon our kind in their words ‘in case one of you goes rouge’ their experiments lead to the discovery that enough deaths in a short space of time is very efficient in ending us. Placing a substance known as perma-Mortos 35-B was developed, injecting it into someone kills them quickly by stopping the heart. It is painful to have your heart stopped no matter how quick. A constant stream of the substance is fed into the blood stream and kept moving therefore keeping the victim in s constant state of revival and pain until one day they don’t wake up again. I know all this because my kind are intensely linked if in close proximity of another we can feel their pain and suffering like our own giving us insentice to rescue each other even in a divide attempt. Imagine the pain of thousands of people all being killed in as many ways as possible all bearing down on you. It drove my mind mad but it quickly recovered day after day of constant endless pain not even stemming from me. And now someone has the audacity to disturb me I look up. All I see is the black silhouette of my captor. “ES-32 class bravo” I panic at the clinical name of been given, often read before experiments or as I like to call them exacution. “We need you” my attention is caught. This isn’t part of the usual death sentence ritual. “We found another”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

Light. Sudden white light exploded into my vision. The chains on my wrists and up my arms chaffed the leather strap holding my neck to the wall was sweaty and warm and the specially crafted gag was uncomfortable in my mouth preventing me from swallowing or biting anything. This was a system of chains and straps designed to hold the Last Immortal. I had tried to saw my wrist of with the chains so they simply added more chains along my arms after they discovered one arm free and a bloody hand across the cell. I was the last of my kind, which is ironic for being an Immortal but with enough consistent deaths we eventually run out of the Energy needed to heal us. Most of my kind set themselves on fire or attached weights to their legs and jumped in the sea. Dying thousands of times coming back again. And again. And again. All in the hope that the next time the darkness is permanent. The rest of my Kind were taken by the Organisation. A faceless international group of scientist dedicated to experimenting upon our kind in their words ‘in case one of you goes rouge’ their experiments lead to the discovery that enough deaths in a short space of time is very efficient in ending us. Placing a substance known as perma-Mortos 35-B was developed, injecting it into someone kills them quickly by stopping the heart. It is painful to have your heart stopped no matter how quick. A constant stream of the substance is fed into the blood stream and kept moving therefore keeping the victim in s constant state of revival and pain until one day they don’t wake up again. I know all this because my kind are intensely linked if in close proximity of another we can feel their pain and suffering like our own giving us insentice to rescue each other even in a divide attempt. Imagine the pain of thousands of people all being killed in as many ways as possible all bearing down on you. It drove my mind mad but it quickly recovered day after day of constant endless pain not even stemming from me. And now someone has the audacity to disturb me I look up. All I see is the black silhouette of my captor. “ES-32 class bravo” I panic at the clinical name of been given, often read before experiments or as I like to call them exacution. “We need you” my attention is caught. This isn’t part of the usual death sentence ritual. “We found another”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

They'd taken to giving me paper books a long time ago. Too many painful experiences with what I could do to their networks from even a device as simple as an eReader. Their screams as I turned their own stun turret on them brought a smirk to my face. Or perhaps it was the improvised fragmentation grenade I'd rigged up out of the one they'd removed the wireless card from, the bastards. That had been hysterical too. That had been the highlight of a decade. Perhaps a century ago. Maybe a bit more. Time has long since lost its meaning for me. The port in the wall opens, my daily allotment of food is delivered. Sometimes I think they're changing the times they deliver it to throw my routine off and drive me mad. The Routine is stability. The Routine is life. I yawn lazily and slide the bookmark between the pages. Their most recent selection is rather dull, and I've become quite uninterested in what happens to the characters in it. Perhaps I'll throw it in the library stack and see if they bring me another. Personally, I wish they'd bring me the damn piano back. Playing the piano is a wonderful way to while away the interminable hours. Perhaps some katas and some calisthenics. Yes, that seems like an ideal way to spend a few hours. I felt the presence approaching the doorway long before I heard the knock. If such unnecessary racket can be called a knock. I approach the door slowly. Carefully. Not all that long ago, at least in the span of my existence, they'd brought me my own weapons only to try and turn them on me. I would not suffer that gladly this time. No, this time I would react with the violence and fury they all fear me to be capable of. They imagine me to revel in the death and destruction I cause. I do not. Not any more at least. It is simply a job anymore; my little pranks here and there aside. What brings me joy is the hunting of men. Hemmingway, though many doubt his veracity, put it best. I have hunted armed and dangerous men and women lo these many years and found that it is the most thrilling sport. Never will I be satisfied with mere game or fishing the great deeps across human space. "Are you decent Major Stark?" I couldn't help but to roll my eyes. Did the fool think I spent all day prancing about in my cell naked? There was a time when I did just that, but Thera had been my attendant back then and she did give wonderful massages. "Of course, I am you half-wit?" I snarl, the memories of loves long since passed irritating me. "Ge...General Horton has requested that you report to the command center immediately. A mission has come up that requires your... special skills." A vicious smile crosses my face as the door slides open and the nervous looking private steps through with my weapons case in his arms, a fresh uniform with colors and markings I don't recognize folded neatly atop. "Go and stand outside fool!" I bark. "I’m quite capable of dressing myself and you'll not get a peep show out of me." I tossed the jump-suit and undergarments they preferred I wear while locked up in my cell into the hamper. I dragged on the uniform and examined myself in the mirror. My hair was long, certainly long enough to need cutting to meet whatever uniform requirements this army imposed upon myself. But I cared not. A simple ponytail would do until I could get around to trimming it. I whispered the phrase and pressed my palms against the side of the weapons trunk. Within it were my most trusted companions and most valuable treasures. Caliburn's belt looped around my hips and its scabbard hung comfortingly over my left hip. Many imagined the rapier to be decorative. But in my hands, it had left many corpses scattered across many nameless battlefields. Persuader, modeled after a Colt M1911, I'd taken from the hands of a dying United States Marine on some island so long ago I'd forgotten the exact date years ago fit nicely into its leather holster on the right side of Caliburn's belt. I fastened my jacket, choosing to leave my carbine Reaver nestled safely in the case until the time came. Nobody could keep me from her now that I had been armed. "Come Private, show me where this General Horton of yours is." I said, striding out of my cell, feeling alive for the first time in decades.

Light. Sudden white light exploded into my vision. The chains on my wrists and up my arms chaffed the leather strap holding my neck to the wall was sweaty and warm and the specially crafted gag was uncomfortable in my mouth preventing me from swallowing or biting anything. This was a system of chains and straps designed to hold the Last Immortal. I had tried to saw my wrist of with the chains so they simply added more chains along my arms after they discovered one arm free and a bloody hand across the cell. I was the last of my kind, which is ironic for being an Immortal but with enough consistent deaths we eventually run out of the Energy needed to heal us. Most of my kind set themselves on fire or attached weights to their legs and jumped in the sea. Dying thousands of times coming back again. And again. And again. All in the hope that the next time the darkness is permanent. The rest of my Kind were taken by the Organisation. A faceless international group of scientist dedicated to experimenting upon our kind in their words ‘in case one of you goes rouge’ their experiments lead to the discovery that enough deaths in a short space of time is very efficient in ending us. Placing a substance known as perma-Mortos 35-B was developed, injecting it into someone kills them quickly by stopping the heart. It is painful to have your heart stopped no matter how quick. A constant stream of the substance is fed into the blood stream and kept moving therefore keeping the victim in s constant state of revival and pain until one day they don’t wake up again. I know all this because my kind are intensely linked if in close proximity of another we can feel their pain and suffering like our own giving us insentice to rescue each other even in a divide attempt. Imagine the pain of thousands of people all being killed in as many ways as possible all bearing down on you. It drove my mind mad but it quickly recovered day after day of constant endless pain not even stemming from me. And now someone has the audacity to disturb me I look up. All I see is the black silhouette of my captor. “ES-32 class bravo” I panic at the clinical name of been given, often read before experiments or as I like to call them exacution. “We need you” my attention is caught. This isn’t part of the usual death sentence ritual. “We found another”

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

Memory is relative. The circumstances, the person, the neurological chemicals, the existence of trauma. There are so many variables that determine how someone’s memory works. Me? For people like me memory is complicated. See the “condition” I have coupled with my human brain makes my long term memory... incomplete, I guess you would say. Don’t get me wrong I remember the last few decades pretty well. There’s not much to forget anyway, but I’ll get to that. No, for me it isn’t a matter of gaps or lapses so much as it’s a vague line at an indistinguishable point in the past where things just sort of... drop off. I do, however, remember dying once. Very vividly. It wasn’t long enough ago to have fallen over the intangible water fall that is my memory. If I had to guess it was probably 12 years ago. Sarah came in through the hatch at the end of her shift with a tray, like always, and sitting on it were some chicken wings, mashed potatoes and a glass of lemonade. It was definitely a dinner meal, so it had to be close to the end of the day but I couldn’t tell you what time it was. She put the tray on the floor, looked up at me in silence, and winked like she always did. Sometimes I wink back. Sometimes I like to play hard to get. That day I winked. I was feeling pretty good all things considered. And I like Sarah. She’s definitely cute. If I could remember what my type was I’d bet she was it. She’s also the only female that comes through that door so my point of comparison is pretty shoddy. To be honest that’s actually all I know about her. She’s attractive (relatively speaking) and her name is Sarah. That’s as far as we’ve ever gotten. I watched her walk away, lock the door behind her and then got up off the bed and started eating. I hate eating meat off the bone. It reminds me too much that something had to die so I could eat it, deep fried and delicious. I hate it now even more so because not halfway through my food, a piece of cartilage got wedged in the back of my throat and I stopped breathing. No one comes to check in on me between my hourly visits and since Sarah had closed the door not 4 minutes ago, I knew I was on my own. I never learned what to do in these situations and even if I had and have since forgotten, it would be antiquated information anyway. So after a few unpleasant minutes, I died. The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor, short of breath, a little cold and still alone. I must have been out for a while because shortly after I caught my breath and was no longer part icicle, I heard the latch click as the new guy walked in the door to my room. This was apparently not the first time I had discovered I was immortal. Like I said, I tend to forget things. I have no idea how long I’ve been alive. Or how many times I’ve died. No I don’t know anything about the afterlife so don’t ask. I can’t even tell you my name. Every day is pretty much the same (except for the almost dying slash not dying part of course). I wake up, take a piss, do some pushups, wash my face and wait for the first visitor. No one really talks to me except Sarah. I’ve learned not to speak much myself. It’s tough to talk at people for hundreds of years. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m honestly not even sure where I am. But it’s gotten too embarrassing to admit that to myself. So I just call it home. Four grey, stone walls with some poorly etched drawings scattered throughout. I have to assume I drew them and apparently I’m not a great artist. My bed sheets get changed regularly but they are always a set of green. One pillow. The frame is some type of rustable metal to match the sink knobs. Hey at least the pit toilet is well ventilated. And the temperature is fairly consistent. Comfortable at least. And there you have it, the tour of my home! I live a humble life. I’m mostly just glad I don’t get bored easily. No one will answer me when I ask but I have to assume I was a Buddhist monk in a past life. Well, you know what I mean. Figures of speech and all. I have an uncanny ability to zone out for hours at a time. Sometimes I miss the hourly visitors entirely. I’ll come out of it and I have two cold meals on the floor. Thank the universe for that or I’m sure I’d have lost my mind longer ago than I can remember. So I lied to you. I’m sorry about that. I really am. MOST days are the same. But today something happened. “125, 126, 127...” I can do a lot of pushups - I’ve had some time to practice. Before I could get through my first set of 150 I hear an untimely clicking sound behind me. New guy had just left before I started my set. The hinges on the door creek and before I can turn around I hear a deep familiar voice. “We need you.” Up until this point I have only ever heard that voice say “good morning” but I’ve heard it so many times I knew it immediately. The only other person in my life whose name I do know. “Gee Carl, I think that’s the longest conversation we’ve ever had! What’s the occasion.” “Oh for fucks sake. The handbook says you’re a wise ass with recall issues but I was really hoping, given the circumstances, that it wasn’t so literal.” Carl was a big guy. I haven’t a clue how tall I am but he towers over me by at least half a foot. He has me on width as well by almost as much. I’ve never gotten a good look at his face until now, because he never fully steps into the room. Shadows from the steel door usually cover a portion of his features. His jawline matches his frame. Covered in black stubble over his dark skin. “Quit being rude. I don’t see you as often as some of the others and I was starting to think you didn’t like me. I’m glad we were able to make amends.” “For someone who doesn’t get out much you sure don’t seem to want to hear anyone else’s voice but your own.” He was crossing his arms and scowling at me. I think he might be mad. “You are what you’re used to, amirite?” Yup I was right. He’s mad. “Come with me, and shut up.” “Wait, seriously?” The prospect of leaving my home had crossed my mind a few thousand times over the years but when immediately presented with the possibility I wasn’t sure how to feel. I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. Well, I do, I just can’t remember. “Yes seriously. I’d tell you who gave the orders but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. Just know it’s important. Now come on.” Carl walked out of the room and I peered down the hallway. I had lost interest in the space beyond my walls over time so I began to re-notice things about the hallway. Lights dangled from ceiling every two feet or so. After about 30 feet the hallway ended at another steel door. His door is nicer than my door. Figures. Apprehensively I followed. There was a whirring sound I’d never noticed before. My walls must be pretty thick to drown out that noise. When Carl opened the second door a very unfamiliar sound perked up my ears. A group of people talking. From the direction of this foreign sound came a blue light. As my eyes adjusted I began to make out all sorts of lights. Oranges. Reds. Greens. Some Flickering some static. Beeps and clicks could be heard beneath the chatter. When I entered the room they were the only sounds left unsilenced. Every pair of eyes met mine. Every left foot lifted and took a small step away from me. Apparently I had a reputation I was unaware of. “Hey there. I was told there would be cake.” “Calm down everyone,” Carl was the kind of guy who demanded attention even with the most passive of phrases. Slowly the gazes redirected themselves towards him and away from me. “It’s time to save the world. And He is here to help.” A scrawny looking man in what appeared to be camouflage from head to toe stepped forward. He saluted which I found weird. As he lowered his hand his voice boomed and echoed in the tall stone room. “It’s an honor to be able to serve under you Adam. I’ve read your file front to back a few times now and I must say sir, if it’s all true it’s a damned shame we haven’t been able to use you before.” Adam. Must be my name. Well that’s good to know. I don’t feel like an Adam. “Based in what little I know, I’m sure my file says that I will have no idea what you’re talking about. But thanks nonetheless.” He stepped forwards a few feet and stood at attention again. This was going to get old. “Sir, yes sir. And it’s my job to brief you on the situation at hand, and your history, sir.” “Well then, I think I’ll need a cup of coffee for this little chat.” Still saluting the scrawny soldier nods his head. “Yes sir, anything for Adam, the first man, and savior of the universe, sir.” Say what now?

Need me? The words echoed in my head, as if I had desired to hear it a million times before. The cage was my home now, the cage was my entire line of memories. The same walls, the same cold, empty feeling. Loneliness, is a weakness to any social creature, and I was no different. They continued to open the doors, making the bigger and bigger, allowing for my enormous size to fit through. "Your time has come." His voice spoke to me in a different level, parts of me remembered him, but I didn't know why. No matter, I needed out of this hellish prison, and the more the doors opened, the more of me I remembered. Until finally, the gates opened fully, and I roared, met by millions of soldiers at my feet, with one, old man holding a spear, two wolves at his side, His singular eye stated directly into me, with resentment? Pity? I'd forgotten my social skills long ago. "So it has come." He said, His voice grew heavy with regret. "It has." I answered to him, looking down at his soldiers. "Very well. Just know, Fenrir, that Valhalla shall be your final resting place." I chuckled, bitterly. "No, old fool. Ragnarok deems this is yours."

[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".

“That’s cute.” I glanced past the nervous man in the white coat, down a silent hallway of identical steel doors. “You might need me, but I can’t see much use for you.” Strong disinfectant wafting from the hall makes my head spin. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been in this cell, but now that the door is open, there’s no way I’m letting them close it again. I pull back my fist but the man holds up his hand and against my will, I hesitate. “Wait.” He raises the clipboard a little and reads, “Pumpkin. Sheepskin. Crunch.” Like the proverbial switch, my brain transforms. I remember. Dust on an endless horizon. So many tangled limbs. Muted screams. Victory, but at a terrible cost. The enemy beaten back, only to rise again and again - waiting for their foe to forget their weaknesses, their flaws, before raging once again through our world. My shoulders fall, then are rolled back by force of will. I look at the doctor, so very young and frightened. I don’t recall his face, so it’s been at least a generation. “Okay,” I nod. “How long has it been this time?”

Someone rapped at the door. A slot near eye level slid open and a pair of blue-tinted goggles peered into the crisp, white room. Toilet, unoccupied. Good. Sink, dripping slowly. Less good. Bed, empty. Problematic. The man cocked his head and caught a shadow hovering on the other side, near the door frame. He peered around through the slit for a better angle. “We need you.” Simple and to the point, if lacking creativity. “No,” I replied, equally inventive. He barely skipped a beat, “This isn’t a suggestion. Get up.” I didn’t need to see the man at the door, himself dressed in white from head to toe, to sense his stance shift as he toggled the safety on his stun gun. He craned his head around to get a better view, but could only catch the lurking shadow by the door jamb. He slowly unlatched the door from the outside, curling around the frame as he advanced with the humming device in his hands. “This is your last cha-” he broke off as he lunged into the room, the stunner leading and passing harmlessly against a white frock, dangling limply from the ceiling and secured by a sharpened toothbrush My clothes hung loosely from the ceiling, and I pounced from my hiding spot behind the door. I kicked out, shattering a toe against the handle of the stun gun as it went flying and clattering, bouncing off the wall and out of immediate sight. We struggled for a moment, the crook of my elbow wrapped around his carotid artery, until he slumped against the wall in a senseless heap. Breathing heavily, I scanned the room – the stun gun was missing. Water had splashed from the toilet bowl and onto the floor, and I sighed. Gross, but acceptable. I immediately limped over, favoring my broken toe as I reached in, grabbed the stunner, and eyed it suspiciously. Using the goggle-man’s white shirt, I wiped the stun-gun down and dangled it experimentally from one hand. I held my breath, and… ...*CLICK!* My body froze as every muscle contracted. I could barely scream as I collapsed to the floor, writhing. The stunner fell from my hand and clattered to the floor, hissing and sputtering as the safeties attempted to kick in. *THUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMP.* You’re rarely conscious of your nose, or your tongue, until someone tells you *not* to think about it. *THUMP.* My ears started ringing as I felt the sudden, uncomfortable void in my chest. *Thump.* Silence Ah, a miscalculation. An unfortunate start to my first escape attempt in three years. Dying is usually a prompt, messy experience from my point of view. Consciousness comes and goes. And then a shock, like lightning, as I bolt upright from whatever unfortunate circumstance had torn me apart, poisoned my breakfast, or decapitated me by French guillotine. I had to admire the last one. Relaying the experience of looking up at someone as your head falls into a basket was something I had never considered as valuable research data, but my captors were often looking for any possible avenue to exploit my unique predicament. Sudden adrenaline. I bolted upright from the floor and sucked in a lungful of air. My toes wiggled experimentally. Healed! As all injuries should be after the recovery. I reached over to the goggled man, grabbed his arm, and manipulated it into shutting off the stun gun. He jerked for a moment as some residual charge ran through his system, but he was probably fine. Acceptable. His medical frock seemed to be sufficiently insulating to spare me the worst of it. I collected the stun gun, and moved into the hall. I had two-hundred and thirty-nine more cells to unlock.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

"Hey buddy, you're dead." I said to the bag. A hand came out of the hole in the top and started flopping around, obviously searching for the zipper. "I'm not dead, I was just drunk! Can't a guy sleep on the street anymore without people thinking he's dead!" Grabbing a frying pan I kept by my computer I walked over and banged down on the top of the bag. "Ow! Fuck! What the fuck!" The bag screamed as the hand protruding started waving around in the air. "I'm not falling for this shit again you goddamned zombie!" I said as I bonged it on the head again. This time the bag went limp, allowing me to stuff the hand back inside. Luckily it was the one I was already getting ready to cremate in the incinerator, so I wouldn't have to deal with this shit for much longer. As I walked back to put away my frying pan I gave an extra bonk to an already limp bag that had tried to pull the same trick not fifteen minutes earlier. The last one started blurting out something about paying me back but I'm sure it was just some empty threat. I have no idea what he wanted to pay me back for, it's not like I'm the one who killed them in the first place. I fuckin' hate zombies, they never make any sense. It's always the same shit every night I come here. Sometimes I regret not getting a regular job or even working at a regular morgue with no zombies, but the mafia's private morgue was the best pay I could find as an English major.

I've seen a lot of shit working in the morgue over the years - so much so that it takes a lot to get a reaction out of me these days. Seeing a body bag sit up and mutter something like "Christ, not again!" as it's trying to get out will do it, though. As I practically jumped out of my chair, the bag finally opened and a young woman with jet-black hair climbed out. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a bun, revealing her tattered and bloodstained dress barely covering a fit and shockingly scar-riddled body. She turned and caught me staring at her in shock and confusion. "Can I help you?" she snidely asked. It took me way too much effort to squeeze a response out of my mouth: "I have...**several** questions!" "Well, you better make it quick," she replied as she climbed out of the bag. "I have to get out of here." "You can start by explaining how you wound up in a body bag." "Let's just say I got into a fight." "And this happens often?" "More than I'd like to admit," she said while peeking out the door. "Now I have more questions!" She turned around and looked me dead in the eyes. "Look," she muttered in a serious tone, "I've lived a long time and done a lot of regrettable things, so believe me when I say this: There are some questions that are better left unanswered. That said..." She walked up to my desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing something on a report form. Once she finished, she ripped the paper off the clipboard and shoved it into my chest. "If someone starts hassling you about me," she continued, "just follow the instructions on this." With that, she walked out the door and stormed off down the hallway. All I could do was stare in disbelief.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

Maybe if it was a heart attack, or some disease it wouldn't have been that shocking. Louis could have detached himself enough to say they could have mistakenly called the young man dead. But he'd seen the body, even before opening up the bag. No way he hadn't, with all the news reports and talk online. The guy had apparently jumped off a 20 story building during the morning rush hour. That doesn't exactly create a clean body. And yet the man seemed fine, despite the dried blood on his head. No way. *No fucking way.* This dude was splattered on the pavement, nothing more than a damn *stain* 5 minutes ago. Now he's just sitting on the counter like nothing happened. "So uh... Can I go now, or..." Louis can't bring himself to respond to the guys question. Can he go now...? He's f*cking dead. Dead people can't walk out of morgues. What the hell is- ***Slam.*** Both Louis and the man jump, one notably higher, as the door slams open, and two men walk in, one detached younger man in a black suit and the other an older overweight man in a blue pinstripe suit looking infuriated. Louis doesn't even get a word in before the older man's voice booms across the room. "God's sake, Rich we can't keep doing this!" "I know, you told me last time. And the time before that. And th-" "And you think you'd learn!" The 'corpse', who's name is apparently Rich, simply rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, OK? I don't even remember- I guess I got drunk, and thought it'd be fun." "In what world is jumping off a hotel patio from the 17th floor *fun*?!" Louis was so focused on the argument, he didn't notice the man in the black suit stick a small mechanical card onto the doorframe, before loudly clearing his throat. As if on cue the pinstripe man grabbed Rich's arm and dragged him off the table. "We can talk about this in the car. Let's go." The man in the black suit stayed for a moment after the other two had left, befoe giving Rich a silent nod and leaving. The second the man went through the doorframe, a bright blue flash encased the room, leaving Louis bewildered. He looked at the clock. Damn nearly 9:30? No wonder he was so hungry. He grabbed his bag, and made sure he had everything before noticing a clipboard on the ground. He picked it up and browsed though it, frowning at the contents. Richard Thomas, death from falling? He didn't have a falling victim here. He pulled the papers loose, and tossed them in the garbage. He must be working too hard. Could use some constructive criticism, since I'm not exactly a writer. Edit- I realize that some of the paragraphs are off, but I'm on mobile so there's not much I can do :/. Sorry.

I've seen a lot of shit working in the morgue over the years - so much so that it takes a lot to get a reaction out of me these days. Seeing a body bag sit up and mutter something like "Christ, not again!" as it's trying to get out will do it, though. As I practically jumped out of my chair, the bag finally opened and a young woman with jet-black hair climbed out. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a bun, revealing her tattered and bloodstained dress barely covering a fit and shockingly scar-riddled body. She turned and caught me staring at her in shock and confusion. "Can I help you?" she snidely asked. It took me way too much effort to squeeze a response out of my mouth: "I have...**several** questions!" "Well, you better make it quick," she replied as she climbed out of the bag. "I have to get out of here." "You can start by explaining how you wound up in a body bag." "Let's just say I got into a fight." "And this happens often?" "More than I'd like to admit," she said while peeking out the door. "Now I have more questions!" She turned around and looked me dead in the eyes. "Look," she muttered in a serious tone, "I've lived a long time and done a lot of regrettable things, so believe me when I say this: There are some questions that are better left unanswered. That said..." She walked up to my desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing something on a report form. Once she finished, she ripped the paper off the clipboard and shoved it into my chest. "If someone starts hassling you about me," she continued, "just follow the instructions on this." With that, she walked out the door and stormed off down the hallway. All I could do was stare in disbelief.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

Seeing the body bag sit up was really more exciting than anything else. "Finally," I thought. "Something is happening to me." I was breaking the hospital bed down and getting ready to move it out when the body bag got up and started thrashing around. "I swear to God," said the body bag. "THREE TIMES! If they do this to me one more time..." I heard the zipper undo itself. The body bag birthed a regular looking guy dressed in a dapper button-up and dress pants and very nice-looking dress shoes. I'd never seen him before. "Oh, shit," he said upon seeing me, startled. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here?" "I'm picking up the bed," I told him. "I'm from Novacare." "Bahhh," said the guy. He got off the gurney and briskly walked out of the room like nothing had happened. "Hey, wait!" I called. I caught him in the hallway. "What?" He turned around, looking impatient. He was big, bald, older. He kind of reminded me of Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince. "I just... is everything all right?" He shook his head. "Yeah, don't worry about it, young man. The nurses in this facility are just grossly incompetent. I'm going to complain again this instant." I followed the guy down the hall even though I hadn't been invited. "I don't understand how you could possibly screw this up three times," he said upon reaching the front desk where a notoriously grumpy nurse named Gail was doing paperwork. She looked at him like he was her dad and she was a teenager trying to be on her phone. "Once, I can understand," said the guy. "Twice? Maybe. Three fucking times, after I specifically had Harbineaux call down here and explain for what I believe is the TENTH fucking time what is going on? From the superintendent on down? And you people still fuck it up?" "Whaddya mean, 'you people'?" Gail snapped. "I mean, 'you people', as in, 'the staff of this facility'," said the former corpse, narrowing his eyes and not backing down. "I was told this is the most efficient facility in the area. I insist on a controlled environment that nonetheless has real-world implications. But apparently, I need to go shopping again." Another nurse named Rhonda stuck her head out of the office. "Mr. Brekski, did they bag you again?" "For the THIRD time," said the former corpse, who was apparently named Brekski. He held up his hand with his thumb, pointer finger and middle finger out, all of them vibrating with anger. He pointed at me. I was standing awkwardly off to the side, hoping they'd let me stay long enough to hear what was going on. "I scared the crap outta your Novacare guy," said Brekski. "He screamed like a cheerleader when I sat up." "No, I didn't," I tried to say but now the nurses and Brekski were talking over each other. Gail was being combative, Rhonda was trying to keep the peace and Brekski was about how this is the most imperative data collection and how is he supposed to do his job if he can't even get 24 hours of what I think he calls "flat-lining" without someone cutting his line and ruining the experiment. "It was our new nurse," said Rhonda apologetically. "Nancy. She's brand new. We told her what was up but she probably just put in the paperwork out of habit. Once the morgue--" "You think I didn't clear this with the morgue, too?" thundered Breski. "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" "Nigga, you can't even *spell* incompetent," said Gail, not intimidated by Brekski, who, when living, had the air of someone very important and very smart and very used to being catered to. "I'll have your job for this, you bloated hag!" Brekski bellowed, and his voice echoed down the hall. I could see patients and staff sticking their heads out of doorways to see what the commotion was. "Once the morgue gets their orders it's out of our control," said poor Rhonda, trying to explain. She had a phone in one hand. "You know they'll send whoever's available to collect the body. Nancy probably called it in, she was trying to be efficient, this is such a big place, we have at least three patients expire a day--" "I'm simply going to find someone else to help with this groundbreaking experiment," said Brekski, still glowering at Gail who glowered right back. "It would appear that Waltonwood on Main is not up to the task. THREE TIMES! Three times I wake up in total darkness and that awful plastic sterilized garbage bag smell, only to discover that not only has another round of flatlining gone bad, but I've been tagged and nearly disposed of like a common peasant!" "We're so sorry, Mr. Brekski," pleaded Rhonda. "Please let me call Director Harbineaux and he'll set this right for good." "I am doing God's work," yelled Brekski. "I'm Sebastian Brekski! I am one of the foremost researchers on consciousness and the afterlife, and at this rate I'll never prove my theory of infinite conscious energy! I'm sorry, but three times is just too much for me to bear. Good *day* to you, ma'am." He turned to me. "You're free to pick up the hospice bed," he snapped. "I certainly won't be needing it now." With that, the former corpse named Brekski turned on his expensive-looking heels and stomped out the front door. Rhonda turned to Gail. "It was you again, wasn't it?" she hissed at Gail. "You called the county once he was hooked in this morning. All because he yelled at you that one time for not getting him coffee." "That man's head is so big I'm surprised they were able to fit it in the damn bag," Gail said. "Shit, I don't care if he brings back the Almighty Himself, I ain't no one's errand girl. Just cause he's got like twenty degrees don't put him above Gail Robinson." Rhonda was still holding the phone. She slammed it down on the cradle and walked back into the office. Gail went back to her paperwork. All the curious heads and onlookers from down the hall disappeared back into their doorways like prairie dogs into their holes. I turned and walked back down the hall. I couldn't wait to tell the guys back at the shop about this.

I've seen a lot of shit working in the morgue over the years - so much so that it takes a lot to get a reaction out of me these days. Seeing a body bag sit up and mutter something like "Christ, not again!" as it's trying to get out will do it, though. As I practically jumped out of my chair, the bag finally opened and a young woman with jet-black hair climbed out. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a bun, revealing her tattered and bloodstained dress barely covering a fit and shockingly scar-riddled body. She turned and caught me staring at her in shock and confusion. "Can I help you?" she snidely asked. It took me way too much effort to squeeze a response out of my mouth: "I have...**several** questions!" "Well, you better make it quick," she replied as she climbed out of the bag. "I have to get out of here." "You can start by explaining how you wound up in a body bag." "Let's just say I got into a fight." "And this happens often?" "More than I'd like to admit," she said while peeking out the door. "Now I have more questions!" She turned around and looked me dead in the eyes. "Look," she muttered in a serious tone, "I've lived a long time and done a lot of regrettable things, so believe me when I say this: There are some questions that are better left unanswered. That said..." She walked up to my desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing something on a report form. Once she finished, she ripped the paper off the clipboard and shoved it into my chest. "If someone starts hassling you about me," she continued, "just follow the instructions on this." With that, she walked out the door and stormed off down the hallway. All I could do was stare in disbelief.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

"Hey buddy, you're dead." I said to the bag. A hand came out of the hole in the top and started flopping around, obviously searching for the zipper. "I'm not dead, I was just drunk! Can't a guy sleep on the street anymore without people thinking he's dead!" Grabbing a frying pan I kept by my computer I walked over and banged down on the top of the bag. "Ow! Fuck! What the fuck!" The bag screamed as the hand protruding started waving around in the air. "I'm not falling for this shit again you goddamned zombie!" I said as I bonged it on the head again. This time the bag went limp, allowing me to stuff the hand back inside. Luckily it was the one I was already getting ready to cremate in the incinerator, so I wouldn't have to deal with this shit for much longer. As I walked back to put away my frying pan I gave an extra bonk to an already limp bag that had tried to pull the same trick not fifteen minutes earlier. The last one started blurting out something about paying me back but I'm sure it was just some empty threat. I have no idea what he wanted to pay me back for, it's not like I'm the one who killed them in the first place. I fuckin' hate zombies, they never make any sense. It's always the same shit every night I come here. Sometimes I regret not getting a regular job or even working at a regular morgue with no zombies, but the mafia's private morgue was the best pay I could find as an English major.

The wide-eyed rookie froze, a breath caught on his lips, this is the stuff of nightmares. He dropped his gaze to his reports. “Oh god! Oh God! Oh god!”, his head whipped around to the veteran cop that was his partner, a solidly build black man thrice his size. The pint-sized officer’s gaze softened from panic to confusion as he realized officer’s grimace wasn’t of horror but annoyance. “Aw for fucks sake, I thought we had a meeting to keep Jeffery off the death reports” he presented a large hand to the rookie, who took the cue to drop his work phone onto the officer’s hand. The officer proceeded to mark the victim’s description off of the list: 4′11, white male, about 19, shoulder-length scraggly black hair, beady dark eyes, wiry-thin, large protruding nose”. The young man cried out “O-Officer Jone’s what’s going on, w-why is this dead man alive??? What did we do wrong, is he a zombie, are we bagging living people? As they were speaking two other officers and authority figures rushed towards the upright zombie bag while stepping over the ashen rubble and debris of the building, undoing the zipper and gathering information from the undead victim.  Officer Jones sighed and limply dropped the phone back into his shaking hands, “This is just another repeated fluke, newbie, this is the third time this happened! Jefferey here happens to hang around the scene of these terrorist events, he’s a trash collector, the man is. Figurative trash from drama, literal garbage from the type of shit these people at the clubs and underground leave behind. The man’s a lunatic! “Wha...why?..., the sweaty red-haired cadet flusteredly got cut off “Our new squad hasn’t had proper training and protocol, honestly our task force has lost most of it’s organization. We should have known this by now, that man shouldn’t be one of the victims.  “WHY IS HE NOT DEAD?” “He’s a opossum man, Roy! These dang hybrids are not humans! Look at him!” The rookie turned his head to see the other officers have stood the young man to his feet, eye twitching as he seemed to steadily return movement to his joints and limbs. The woman officer cuffed his arms behind his back. The man was covered in scruffy white fur had beady black eyes, frazzled whiskers, and a fleshy snout. He was covered in soot. He let out a whiny high voice, “Aw c’mon maaan, you can’t do this do me, let me go I gatter get home and sort my goods!” he snuffled “I found a bent spoon used for heroine that was ALSO used in a jar of mayo, score!”  Officer Jone’s crossed his arms and stepped forward, “As part of the crime scene you are under arrest until we clear you of any involvement with the crime committed tonight. We will confiscate the evidence and make sure it isn’t illegal. After that you’re free to go, and for the love of Siphonos, stay out of these criminal places, go get your trash somewhere else” He grunted, pointing a thick finger at the opossum’s direction “We don’t want your stinking body with the others anymore!” Jeffery screeched and went limp in the officer’s arms, they caught him quickly as he again went unconscious, tongue lolling on their uniform. Officer Jone’s grimaced “Take him away, he’s already starting to smell like the vile shit he collects”, he waves them off and Roy watches dumbfounded as the two police toss his ragdoll body into the back seat of a blue police car and get ready to drive off. Roy blinks twice holding his breath, jumping suddenly as a large hand caps him on the shoulder and feeling as if he was going to be driven into the ground, “Welcome to Harriston City, this is only the beginning” He lets out what sounds between a snort and a laugh, amused by the new guy’s plight. With unblinking eyes and a stony face Roy runs his fingers through his clumped hair  “Ohhhhhh...Okay. I get it now”.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

Seeing the body bag sit up was really more exciting than anything else. "Finally," I thought. "Something is happening to me." I was breaking the hospital bed down and getting ready to move it out when the body bag got up and started thrashing around. "I swear to God," said the body bag. "THREE TIMES! If they do this to me one more time..." I heard the zipper undo itself. The body bag birthed a regular looking guy dressed in a dapper button-up and dress pants and very nice-looking dress shoes. I'd never seen him before. "Oh, shit," he said upon seeing me, startled. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here?" "I'm picking up the bed," I told him. "I'm from Novacare." "Bahhh," said the guy. He got off the gurney and briskly walked out of the room like nothing had happened. "Hey, wait!" I called. I caught him in the hallway. "What?" He turned around, looking impatient. He was big, bald, older. He kind of reminded me of Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince. "I just... is everything all right?" He shook his head. "Yeah, don't worry about it, young man. The nurses in this facility are just grossly incompetent. I'm going to complain again this instant." I followed the guy down the hall even though I hadn't been invited. "I don't understand how you could possibly screw this up three times," he said upon reaching the front desk where a notoriously grumpy nurse named Gail was doing paperwork. She looked at him like he was her dad and she was a teenager trying to be on her phone. "Once, I can understand," said the guy. "Twice? Maybe. Three fucking times, after I specifically had Harbineaux call down here and explain for what I believe is the TENTH fucking time what is going on? From the superintendent on down? And you people still fuck it up?" "Whaddya mean, 'you people'?" Gail snapped. "I mean, 'you people', as in, 'the staff of this facility'," said the former corpse, narrowing his eyes and not backing down. "I was told this is the most efficient facility in the area. I insist on a controlled environment that nonetheless has real-world implications. But apparently, I need to go shopping again." Another nurse named Rhonda stuck her head out of the office. "Mr. Brekski, did they bag you again?" "For the THIRD time," said the former corpse, who was apparently named Brekski. He held up his hand with his thumb, pointer finger and middle finger out, all of them vibrating with anger. He pointed at me. I was standing awkwardly off to the side, hoping they'd let me stay long enough to hear what was going on. "I scared the crap outta your Novacare guy," said Brekski. "He screamed like a cheerleader when I sat up." "No, I didn't," I tried to say but now the nurses and Brekski were talking over each other. Gail was being combative, Rhonda was trying to keep the peace and Brekski was about how this is the most imperative data collection and how is he supposed to do his job if he can't even get 24 hours of what I think he calls "flat-lining" without someone cutting his line and ruining the experiment. "It was our new nurse," said Rhonda apologetically. "Nancy. She's brand new. We told her what was up but she probably just put in the paperwork out of habit. Once the morgue--" "You think I didn't clear this with the morgue, too?" thundered Breski. "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" "Nigga, you can't even *spell* incompetent," said Gail, not intimidated by Brekski, who, when living, had the air of someone very important and very smart and very used to being catered to. "I'll have your job for this, you bloated hag!" Brekski bellowed, and his voice echoed down the hall. I could see patients and staff sticking their heads out of doorways to see what the commotion was. "Once the morgue gets their orders it's out of our control," said poor Rhonda, trying to explain. She had a phone in one hand. "You know they'll send whoever's available to collect the body. Nancy probably called it in, she was trying to be efficient, this is such a big place, we have at least three patients expire a day--" "I'm simply going to find someone else to help with this groundbreaking experiment," said Brekski, still glowering at Gail who glowered right back. "It would appear that Waltonwood on Main is not up to the task. THREE TIMES! Three times I wake up in total darkness and that awful plastic sterilized garbage bag smell, only to discover that not only has another round of flatlining gone bad, but I've been tagged and nearly disposed of like a common peasant!" "We're so sorry, Mr. Brekski," pleaded Rhonda. "Please let me call Director Harbineaux and he'll set this right for good." "I am doing God's work," yelled Brekski. "I'm Sebastian Brekski! I am one of the foremost researchers on consciousness and the afterlife, and at this rate I'll never prove my theory of infinite conscious energy! I'm sorry, but three times is just too much for me to bear. Good *day* to you, ma'am." He turned to me. "You're free to pick up the hospice bed," he snapped. "I certainly won't be needing it now." With that, the former corpse named Brekski turned on his expensive-looking heels and stomped out the front door. Rhonda turned to Gail. "It was you again, wasn't it?" she hissed at Gail. "You called the county once he was hooked in this morning. All because he yelled at you that one time for not getting him coffee." "That man's head is so big I'm surprised they were able to fit it in the damn bag," Gail said. "Shit, I don't care if he brings back the Almighty Himself, I ain't no one's errand girl. Just cause he's got like twenty degrees don't put him above Gail Robinson." Rhonda was still holding the phone. She slammed it down on the cradle and walked back into the office. Gail went back to her paperwork. All the curious heads and onlookers from down the hall disappeared back into their doorways like prairie dogs into their holes. I turned and walked back down the hall. I couldn't wait to tell the guys back at the shop about this.

The wide-eyed rookie froze, a breath caught on his lips, this is the stuff of nightmares. He dropped his gaze to his reports. “Oh god! Oh God! Oh god!”, his head whipped around to the veteran cop that was his partner, a solidly build black man thrice his size. The pint-sized officer’s gaze softened from panic to confusion as he realized officer’s grimace wasn’t of horror but annoyance. “Aw for fucks sake, I thought we had a meeting to keep Jeffery off the death reports” he presented a large hand to the rookie, who took the cue to drop his work phone onto the officer’s hand. The officer proceeded to mark the victim’s description off of the list: 4′11, white male, about 19, shoulder-length scraggly black hair, beady dark eyes, wiry-thin, large protruding nose”. The young man cried out “O-Officer Jone’s what’s going on, w-why is this dead man alive??? What did we do wrong, is he a zombie, are we bagging living people? As they were speaking two other officers and authority figures rushed towards the upright zombie bag while stepping over the ashen rubble and debris of the building, undoing the zipper and gathering information from the undead victim.  Officer Jones sighed and limply dropped the phone back into his shaking hands, “This is just another repeated fluke, newbie, this is the third time this happened! Jefferey here happens to hang around the scene of these terrorist events, he’s a trash collector, the man is. Figurative trash from drama, literal garbage from the type of shit these people at the clubs and underground leave behind. The man’s a lunatic! “Wha...why?..., the sweaty red-haired cadet flusteredly got cut off “Our new squad hasn’t had proper training and protocol, honestly our task force has lost most of it’s organization. We should have known this by now, that man shouldn’t be one of the victims.  “WHY IS HE NOT DEAD?” “He’s a opossum man, Roy! These dang hybrids are not humans! Look at him!” The rookie turned his head to see the other officers have stood the young man to his feet, eye twitching as he seemed to steadily return movement to his joints and limbs. The woman officer cuffed his arms behind his back. The man was covered in scruffy white fur had beady black eyes, frazzled whiskers, and a fleshy snout. He was covered in soot. He let out a whiny high voice, “Aw c’mon maaan, you can’t do this do me, let me go I gatter get home and sort my goods!” he snuffled “I found a bent spoon used for heroine that was ALSO used in a jar of mayo, score!”  Officer Jone’s crossed his arms and stepped forward, “As part of the crime scene you are under arrest until we clear you of any involvement with the crime committed tonight. We will confiscate the evidence and make sure it isn’t illegal. After that you’re free to go, and for the love of Siphonos, stay out of these criminal places, go get your trash somewhere else” He grunted, pointing a thick finger at the opossum’s direction “We don’t want your stinking body with the others anymore!” Jeffery screeched and went limp in the officer’s arms, they caught him quickly as he again went unconscious, tongue lolling on their uniform. Officer Jone’s grimaced “Take him away, he’s already starting to smell like the vile shit he collects”, he waves them off and Roy watches dumbfounded as the two police toss his ragdoll body into the back seat of a blue police car and get ready to drive off. Roy blinks twice holding his breath, jumping suddenly as a large hand caps him on the shoulder and feeling as if he was going to be driven into the ground, “Welcome to Harriston City, this is only the beginning” He lets out what sounds between a snort and a laugh, amused by the new guy’s plight. With unblinking eyes and a stony face Roy runs his fingers through his clumped hair  “Ohhhhhh...Okay. I get it now”.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

Seeing the body bag sit up was really more exciting than anything else. "Finally," I thought. "Something is happening to me." I was breaking the hospital bed down and getting ready to move it out when the body bag got up and started thrashing around. "I swear to God," said the body bag. "THREE TIMES! If they do this to me one more time..." I heard the zipper undo itself. The body bag birthed a regular looking guy dressed in a dapper button-up and dress pants and very nice-looking dress shoes. I'd never seen him before. "Oh, shit," he said upon seeing me, startled. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here?" "I'm picking up the bed," I told him. "I'm from Novacare." "Bahhh," said the guy. He got off the gurney and briskly walked out of the room like nothing had happened. "Hey, wait!" I called. I caught him in the hallway. "What?" He turned around, looking impatient. He was big, bald, older. He kind of reminded me of Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince. "I just... is everything all right?" He shook his head. "Yeah, don't worry about it, young man. The nurses in this facility are just grossly incompetent. I'm going to complain again this instant." I followed the guy down the hall even though I hadn't been invited. "I don't understand how you could possibly screw this up three times," he said upon reaching the front desk where a notoriously grumpy nurse named Gail was doing paperwork. She looked at him like he was her dad and she was a teenager trying to be on her phone. "Once, I can understand," said the guy. "Twice? Maybe. Three fucking times, after I specifically had Harbineaux call down here and explain for what I believe is the TENTH fucking time what is going on? From the superintendent on down? And you people still fuck it up?" "Whaddya mean, 'you people'?" Gail snapped. "I mean, 'you people', as in, 'the staff of this facility'," said the former corpse, narrowing his eyes and not backing down. "I was told this is the most efficient facility in the area. I insist on a controlled environment that nonetheless has real-world implications. But apparently, I need to go shopping again." Another nurse named Rhonda stuck her head out of the office. "Mr. Brekski, did they bag you again?" "For the THIRD time," said the former corpse, who was apparently named Brekski. He held up his hand with his thumb, pointer finger and middle finger out, all of them vibrating with anger. He pointed at me. I was standing awkwardly off to the side, hoping they'd let me stay long enough to hear what was going on. "I scared the crap outta your Novacare guy," said Brekski. "He screamed like a cheerleader when I sat up." "No, I didn't," I tried to say but now the nurses and Brekski were talking over each other. Gail was being combative, Rhonda was trying to keep the peace and Brekski was about how this is the most imperative data collection and how is he supposed to do his job if he can't even get 24 hours of what I think he calls "flat-lining" without someone cutting his line and ruining the experiment. "It was our new nurse," said Rhonda apologetically. "Nancy. She's brand new. We told her what was up but she probably just put in the paperwork out of habit. Once the morgue--" "You think I didn't clear this with the morgue, too?" thundered Breski. "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" "Nigga, you can't even *spell* incompetent," said Gail, not intimidated by Brekski, who, when living, had the air of someone very important and very smart and very used to being catered to. "I'll have your job for this, you bloated hag!" Brekski bellowed, and his voice echoed down the hall. I could see patients and staff sticking their heads out of doorways to see what the commotion was. "Once the morgue gets their orders it's out of our control," said poor Rhonda, trying to explain. She had a phone in one hand. "You know they'll send whoever's available to collect the body. Nancy probably called it in, she was trying to be efficient, this is such a big place, we have at least three patients expire a day--" "I'm simply going to find someone else to help with this groundbreaking experiment," said Brekski, still glowering at Gail who glowered right back. "It would appear that Waltonwood on Main is not up to the task. THREE TIMES! Three times I wake up in total darkness and that awful plastic sterilized garbage bag smell, only to discover that not only has another round of flatlining gone bad, but I've been tagged and nearly disposed of like a common peasant!" "We're so sorry, Mr. Brekski," pleaded Rhonda. "Please let me call Director Harbineaux and he'll set this right for good." "I am doing God's work," yelled Brekski. "I'm Sebastian Brekski! I am one of the foremost researchers on consciousness and the afterlife, and at this rate I'll never prove my theory of infinite conscious energy! I'm sorry, but three times is just too much for me to bear. Good *day* to you, ma'am." He turned to me. "You're free to pick up the hospice bed," he snapped. "I certainly won't be needing it now." With that, the former corpse named Brekski turned on his expensive-looking heels and stomped out the front door. Rhonda turned to Gail. "It was you again, wasn't it?" she hissed at Gail. "You called the county once he was hooked in this morning. All because he yelled at you that one time for not getting him coffee." "That man's head is so big I'm surprised they were able to fit it in the damn bag," Gail said. "Shit, I don't care if he brings back the Almighty Himself, I ain't no one's errand girl. Just cause he's got like twenty degrees don't put him above Gail Robinson." Rhonda was still holding the phone. She slammed it down on the cradle and walked back into the office. Gail went back to her paperwork. All the curious heads and onlookers from down the hall disappeared back into their doorways like prairie dogs into their holes. I turned and walked back down the hall. I couldn't wait to tell the guys back at the shop about this.

« Every fucking time, « oh, it’s just business », stabbed in the fucking throat !» The guy in the body bag started rummaging around in search of the zipper while I witnessed, pressed against the wall terrified. This guy was definitely dead, brutally slaughtered, I closed the body bag myself, this guy was definitely dead. « God damnit ! where is this cancerous zipper ! » He paused for a second. « Hello ?! Could somebody please help me out » Fear does a lot of things, I was trying to somehow traverse the wall and get away from the problem as fast as I could but my legs wouldn’t move, at all actually. « Every time, every time, « I have to kill you » « No ! You don’t » « It’s for the union ! » « Fuck you ! » « And then badibam, stabs me in the throat ! argh, fucking zipper ! » Then he finally found the zipper but my legs were still dead frozen, like this guy should be. « Hello morgue ! » He said in a oddly enthusiastic voice « Back again ! » Then he looked at me « You ! Why didn’t you help me ? » « Well dkes.. » « I’m sorry mate, I can’t hear you speak up ! » « You were dead ! I fought a zombie was coming out of that bag » « Do zombies ask for help ? » « Well,.. I don’t know » « They don’t, I know from experience, actually, if one was in a body bag it Ould just stay stucked there essentially going « aaarrgh » » « You were dead » « Do I look dead to you ? » « No but your throat and belly wer.. » « Ssshhhhhh, now, I would very much enjoy it if you fetched me some proper clothes » « Well, there were yours that are still on the counter » I said while pointing towards the counter » « Aren’t they destroyed ? » « Oddly enough you’re killer took the time to unbutton your shirt before stabbing you in the gut » « Aah, classic jim, always trying to avoid wasting things » He said looking dreamy That is not how I would react I think if I was brutally killed. « There is just blood on them » « I doubt it » « No there was a lot of blood, I packed the clothes myself » « Yeah, but no » Surprisingly enough, there was no blood on them. « I’m sorry, but I’m freaking out, I don’t know why this is happening and how » « You are reacting quite calmly actually, one guy tried to start the incinerator once because he got scared shitless when I bashed against the door » He shuckled What’s funny ? And why can’t I move my legs, still !? « I would gladly get some help but I can’t move » « Oh yeah, that’s normal, you can’t leave the room like that » « Why ? » For some reason, he looked surprised. « oooooh, you don’t know, first time that ever happened, but okay, first time for everything right ? » I nodded, more out of sheer confusion than anything, I have no clue what he’s talking about. « Now, I need to find Linda, did you see her ? » « I shake my head” « Brunette ? » horizontal nod  « Very short, very angry » Sideways shake of the head « Speaks awfully loudly ? » « What a flattering portrait of me you are making » A doctor appeared at the door « Mike, you know I always wake up first » « You do » « So why are you pretending to speak to someone else ? To lure me in ? » I was standing right next to her and yet she said that « Helloooo madam, I exist ? » and then a voice in my head said « No, you don’t, you just appear every time I die and this time, you seem useless »

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

After working in a morgue for a while, you start to consider yourself unflappable. Sure, every once in a while something really nasty comes in, but you can keep yourself professionally detached while the greenhorns turn green and look around for the trashcan. So when one of the body bags I was examining sat up, I didn’t scream like a little girl. I merely screamed like a full-grown woman, dropping my clipboard with a clatter. “Oh, not again. Terribly sorry about this,” a muffled voice said from the bag. My scream cut off, mostly through lack of air, and I stared at the bag as the shifting plastic indicated the movement of hands inside. I backed away, trembling, my heart pounding painfully. “Someone barges in on you having a nap…” it grumbled. “I seem to have lost my knife. I hope it wasn’t confiscated as evidence. I don’t suppose you would be so good as to unzip me?” I had to admit it wasn’t a very scary voice. It sounded vaguely British, definitely male. I tried to make an intelligible response and managed, “Gnh.” “Ah. Sorry if I surprised you. If you could just open me up a little…?” I hesitated, thinking. Those bags were almost airtight. If he was stuck in there, I should probably help him, whoever he was. Cautiously, I stepped forward, reaching out with a shaking hand to pull the zipper. As soon as the gap was wide enough, a pale hand pushed out and made me start backwards, falling with a yelp. The man inside extended his arm, fumbling blindly until he found the zipper. He pulled it open with a little effort as I scrambled backwards. “Thank you,” he said, swinging his legs off the table and standing up, giving me a slight bow. He was pale, handsome, and well-dressed, his short black hair mussed by the confines of the bag. I stood up quickly, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Obviously there had been some mistake, or this was a prank, or- something. I tried to find my voice, still unbalanced, but he spoke first. “Where am I?” “T-Tolgen City morgue.” “And what time is it?” he said, giving me a perfectly charming smile. Something poked at my brain, trying to get me to pay attention, but I was too flustered to do anything but answer his strange questions. I glanced at my watch. “Around ten. PM. Five minutes after.” “Thank you, my dear. Mmm, I’m a little hungry. If you could just look here…” I looked up and met his piercing gaze. His eyes were strange, shifting, and I stared deeply, unable to look away. *“Sleep, and forget about me.”* His voice seemed to reverberate in my head, strange harmonics making my muscles fall slack even as I struggled against them. He grabbed my shoulders and gently set me down as a sudden exhaustion fell over me, making my eyelids flutter. The last thing I felt before unconsciousness rolled over me was a slight pinch against my neck. I woke up on the cold floor of the morgue. I sat up too quickly, and the room spun around me, a wave of dizziness making me nauseous. I groaned, clutching my head. *I really shouldn’t work late if I’m going to be fainting. I wonder when the last time I ate was.* I stood up carefully, supporting myself on the edge of a table, and noticed an empty body bag on one of the tables. Huh. Later, I found out that a John Doe had disappeared, but the investigation into the matter was dropped suddenly. The bite mark on my neck healed before I noticed it. ------------------------- All comments and criticisms are appreciated.

« Every fucking time, « oh, it’s just business », stabbed in the fucking throat !» The guy in the body bag started rummaging around in search of the zipper while I witnessed, pressed against the wall terrified. This guy was definitely dead, brutally slaughtered, I closed the body bag myself, this guy was definitely dead. « God damnit ! where is this cancerous zipper ! » He paused for a second. « Hello ?! Could somebody please help me out » Fear does a lot of things, I was trying to somehow traverse the wall and get away from the problem as fast as I could but my legs wouldn’t move, at all actually. « Every time, every time, « I have to kill you » « No ! You don’t » « It’s for the union ! » « Fuck you ! » « And then badibam, stabs me in the throat ! argh, fucking zipper ! » Then he finally found the zipper but my legs were still dead frozen, like this guy should be. « Hello morgue ! » He said in a oddly enthusiastic voice « Back again ! » Then he looked at me « You ! Why didn’t you help me ? » « Well dkes.. » « I’m sorry mate, I can’t hear you speak up ! » « You were dead ! I fought a zombie was coming out of that bag » « Do zombies ask for help ? » « Well,.. I don’t know » « They don’t, I know from experience, actually, if one was in a body bag it Ould just stay stucked there essentially going « aaarrgh » » « You were dead » « Do I look dead to you ? » « No but your throat and belly wer.. » « Ssshhhhhh, now, I would very much enjoy it if you fetched me some proper clothes » « Well, there were yours that are still on the counter » I said while pointing towards the counter » « Aren’t they destroyed ? » « Oddly enough you’re killer took the time to unbutton your shirt before stabbing you in the gut » « Aah, classic jim, always trying to avoid wasting things » He said looking dreamy That is not how I would react I think if I was brutally killed. « There is just blood on them » « I doubt it » « No there was a lot of blood, I packed the clothes myself » « Yeah, but no » Surprisingly enough, there was no blood on them. « I’m sorry, but I’m freaking out, I don’t know why this is happening and how » « You are reacting quite calmly actually, one guy tried to start the incinerator once because he got scared shitless when I bashed against the door » He shuckled What’s funny ? And why can’t I move my legs, still !? « I would gladly get some help but I can’t move » « Oh yeah, that’s normal, you can’t leave the room like that » « Why ? » For some reason, he looked surprised. « oooooh, you don’t know, first time that ever happened, but okay, first time for everything right ? » I nodded, more out of sheer confusion than anything, I have no clue what he’s talking about. « Now, I need to find Linda, did you see her ? » « I shake my head” « Brunette ? » horizontal nod  « Very short, very angry » Sideways shake of the head « Speaks awfully loudly ? » « What a flattering portrait of me you are making » A doctor appeared at the door « Mike, you know I always wake up first » « You do » « So why are you pretending to speak to someone else ? To lure me in ? » I was standing right next to her and yet she said that « Helloooo madam, I exist ? » and then a voice in my head said « No, you don’t, you just appear every time I die and this time, you seem useless »

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

Seeing the body bag sit up was really more exciting than anything else. "Finally," I thought. "Something is happening to me." I was breaking the hospital bed down and getting ready to move it out when the body bag got up and started thrashing around. "I swear to God," said the body bag. "THREE TIMES! If they do this to me one more time..." I heard the zipper undo itself. The body bag birthed a regular looking guy dressed in a dapper button-up and dress pants and very nice-looking dress shoes. I'd never seen him before. "Oh, shit," he said upon seeing me, startled. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here?" "I'm picking up the bed," I told him. "I'm from Novacare." "Bahhh," said the guy. He got off the gurney and briskly walked out of the room like nothing had happened. "Hey, wait!" I called. I caught him in the hallway. "What?" He turned around, looking impatient. He was big, bald, older. He kind of reminded me of Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince. "I just... is everything all right?" He shook his head. "Yeah, don't worry about it, young man. The nurses in this facility are just grossly incompetent. I'm going to complain again this instant." I followed the guy down the hall even though I hadn't been invited. "I don't understand how you could possibly screw this up three times," he said upon reaching the front desk where a notoriously grumpy nurse named Gail was doing paperwork. She looked at him like he was her dad and she was a teenager trying to be on her phone. "Once, I can understand," said the guy. "Twice? Maybe. Three fucking times, after I specifically had Harbineaux call down here and explain for what I believe is the TENTH fucking time what is going on? From the superintendent on down? And you people still fuck it up?" "Whaddya mean, 'you people'?" Gail snapped. "I mean, 'you people', as in, 'the staff of this facility'," said the former corpse, narrowing his eyes and not backing down. "I was told this is the most efficient facility in the area. I insist on a controlled environment that nonetheless has real-world implications. But apparently, I need to go shopping again." Another nurse named Rhonda stuck her head out of the office. "Mr. Brekski, did they bag you again?" "For the THIRD time," said the former corpse, who was apparently named Brekski. He held up his hand with his thumb, pointer finger and middle finger out, all of them vibrating with anger. He pointed at me. I was standing awkwardly off to the side, hoping they'd let me stay long enough to hear what was going on. "I scared the crap outta your Novacare guy," said Brekski. "He screamed like a cheerleader when I sat up." "No, I didn't," I tried to say but now the nurses and Brekski were talking over each other. Gail was being combative, Rhonda was trying to keep the peace and Brekski was about how this is the most imperative data collection and how is he supposed to do his job if he can't even get 24 hours of what I think he calls "flat-lining" without someone cutting his line and ruining the experiment. "It was our new nurse," said Rhonda apologetically. "Nancy. She's brand new. We told her what was up but she probably just put in the paperwork out of habit. Once the morgue--" "You think I didn't clear this with the morgue, too?" thundered Breski. "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" "Nigga, you can't even *spell* incompetent," said Gail, not intimidated by Brekski, who, when living, had the air of someone very important and very smart and very used to being catered to. "I'll have your job for this, you bloated hag!" Brekski bellowed, and his voice echoed down the hall. I could see patients and staff sticking their heads out of doorways to see what the commotion was. "Once the morgue gets their orders it's out of our control," said poor Rhonda, trying to explain. She had a phone in one hand. "You know they'll send whoever's available to collect the body. Nancy probably called it in, she was trying to be efficient, this is such a big place, we have at least three patients expire a day--" "I'm simply going to find someone else to help with this groundbreaking experiment," said Brekski, still glowering at Gail who glowered right back. "It would appear that Waltonwood on Main is not up to the task. THREE TIMES! Three times I wake up in total darkness and that awful plastic sterilized garbage bag smell, only to discover that not only has another round of flatlining gone bad, but I've been tagged and nearly disposed of like a common peasant!" "We're so sorry, Mr. Brekski," pleaded Rhonda. "Please let me call Director Harbineaux and he'll set this right for good." "I am doing God's work," yelled Brekski. "I'm Sebastian Brekski! I am one of the foremost researchers on consciousness and the afterlife, and at this rate I'll never prove my theory of infinite conscious energy! I'm sorry, but three times is just too much for me to bear. Good *day* to you, ma'am." He turned to me. "You're free to pick up the hospice bed," he snapped. "I certainly won't be needing it now." With that, the former corpse named Brekski turned on his expensive-looking heels and stomped out the front door. Rhonda turned to Gail. "It was you again, wasn't it?" she hissed at Gail. "You called the county once he was hooked in this morning. All because he yelled at you that one time for not getting him coffee." "That man's head is so big I'm surprised they were able to fit it in the damn bag," Gail said. "Shit, I don't care if he brings back the Almighty Himself, I ain't no one's errand girl. Just cause he's got like twenty degrees don't put him above Gail Robinson." Rhonda was still holding the phone. She slammed it down on the cradle and walked back into the office. Gail went back to her paperwork. All the curious heads and onlookers from down the hall disappeared back into their doorways like prairie dogs into their holes. I turned and walked back down the hall. I couldn't wait to tell the guys back at the shop about this.

"Seriously? Again? Oh, hey, it's you. I remember you. Dan, right? Or was it, Don? Oh god, it's blurring together." Dan stammered out an answer that his brain decided for him in that moment was appropriate to the situation, "Uh- wha-?" The girl got free of the body bag and leapt to her feet, looking dazed but spirited. "You don't remember, do you? I showed up here a few weeks ago. It was you, right?" She stuck out a hand. "I, uh," Dan tried to gather his thoughts. On the list of things that he had expected to have happen to him this week, this one was not even in the top one hundred. Other unlikely items took its place, such as *the odds that Emily will take me back after I cheated on her with my ex-wife, Debra, and then asked for a divorce*. Or, *the odds that a zombie apocalypse will take out half of the countryside and I will have to retreat into my bunker for a few years while they sort things outside above ground*. Never in his sometimes vivid imagination did Dan even begin to envision a body coming out of a bag, alive, and leaping to its feet with the ignorant confidence and energy of youth. Dan tried to wrap his head around what was happening and silently concluded: *I'm getting too old for this*. He was, after all, in his sixties and there were plenty of young people who could do the job without hallucinating a person coming out of a body bag. *Perhaps it is time to retire*, he thought, and tried very hard not to see the naked girl standing in front of him with her hand stuck out in welcome. It was disturbing for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that she looked young enough to be his daughter, which had all sorts of strange connotations in his mind. Like the fact that he didn't want to imagine his daughter, if he had had one, being in a body bag in the first place, much less popping out of one. Though, he mused, if he did have a daughter and she was in a body bag, he'd prefer that she be alive and outside of it rather than dead and inside of it. Before he could begin wondering about whose daughter this was, the girl pulled away her hand, looking bored, and grabbed a lab coat off of a hanger to cover herself. "Alright, no hand shake, it's cool," she said. "You know what, maybe you aren't the guy I saw last time. Or you're a different guy. Anyway, toodles!" She waltzed toward the door. "Wait!" said Dan. He wasn't sure why he said wait. He wasn't sure he had anything further to add, but some part of him felt like he would go insane if the interaction ended so abruptly with no explanation. She blew out a loud sigh and turned. "What's up?" "Who are you?" said Dan. Then a million questions came bubbling out. "What's your name? Where do you come from? How did you get here and more importantly, how were you dead and then not dead? For heaven's sakes, we don't go around burying people alive anymore. It's simply not possible. And I tell you, I read your vital signs very carefully and I did everything in my power exactly as I have been trained to do for decades-" "Hey, hey, calm down, Dan. Or whatever your name is. Look, it's no big deal." She took a step forward and locked eyes with him. "Really, it's nothing. My name is Alyssa. I'm immortal. How? Why? Who knows. You wouldn't remember if I told you and if you could remember and you told someone else, they'd never believe you. In about five minutes, you'll probably forget this ever happened." She paused a moment and a hint of sadness and concern showed in her expression. "Or you might remember it for the rest of your life and be traumatized until you die. I'm honestly not sure which one sometimes. Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it. I didn't get a handbook for this shit, ok? Now you take care of yourself." "But," said Dan, who found himself floundering more than he ever had before in memory. "But you can't just-" "Take care of your daughter, ok?" said Alyssa. Dan frowned. "I don't have a daughter..." "Your phone is blowing up," said Alyssa. "I took a peek at it while I was on my way out. Here." She lifted it out of a lab coat pocket and handed it to him. "She named her Lucy, look's like. Your ex-ex-wife, or at least, that's what you have her as in your contacts." "Uh, thank you," said Dan, taking the phone deftly and flushing bright red. "Yes, thank you very much, I'll be needing to respond to these messages then..." "Of course," said Alyssa, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She turned to go and as she went out, Dan heard her voice trailing behind her: "I doubt she'll take you back, but you can still be there for the daughter. Toodles, Danny boy!" Dan found a chair and sat down with a heavy weight on his shoulders. He cradled the phone in his hands like it was a newborn babe and smiled quietly at the messages.

[WP] Though you usually consider yourself strong-willed, you are nonetheless horrified to see one of the body bags suddenly sit upright with a muffled voice saying: "Oh for Christ's sake not again!"

Seeing the body bag sit up was really more exciting than anything else. "Finally," I thought. "Something is happening to me." I was breaking the hospital bed down and getting ready to move it out when the body bag got up and started thrashing around. "I swear to God," said the body bag. "THREE TIMES! If they do this to me one more time..." I heard the zipper undo itself. The body bag birthed a regular looking guy dressed in a dapper button-up and dress pants and very nice-looking dress shoes. I'd never seen him before. "Oh, shit," he said upon seeing me, startled. "I'm sorry. What are you doing here?" "I'm picking up the bed," I told him. "I'm from Novacare." "Bahhh," said the guy. He got off the gurney and briskly walked out of the room like nothing had happened. "Hey, wait!" I called. I caught him in the hallway. "What?" He turned around, looking impatient. He was big, bald, older. He kind of reminded me of Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince. "I just... is everything all right?" He shook his head. "Yeah, don't worry about it, young man. The nurses in this facility are just grossly incompetent. I'm going to complain again this instant." I followed the guy down the hall even though I hadn't been invited. "I don't understand how you could possibly screw this up three times," he said upon reaching the front desk where a notoriously grumpy nurse named Gail was doing paperwork. She looked at him like he was her dad and she was a teenager trying to be on her phone. "Once, I can understand," said the guy. "Twice? Maybe. Three fucking times, after I specifically had Harbineaux call down here and explain for what I believe is the TENTH fucking time what is going on? From the superintendent on down? And you people still fuck it up?" "Whaddya mean, 'you people'?" Gail snapped. "I mean, 'you people', as in, 'the staff of this facility'," said the former corpse, narrowing his eyes and not backing down. "I was told this is the most efficient facility in the area. I insist on a controlled environment that nonetheless has real-world implications. But apparently, I need to go shopping again." Another nurse named Rhonda stuck her head out of the office. "Mr. Brekski, did they bag you again?" "For the THIRD time," said the former corpse, who was apparently named Brekski. He held up his hand with his thumb, pointer finger and middle finger out, all of them vibrating with anger. He pointed at me. I was standing awkwardly off to the side, hoping they'd let me stay long enough to hear what was going on. "I scared the crap outta your Novacare guy," said Brekski. "He screamed like a cheerleader when I sat up." "No, I didn't," I tried to say but now the nurses and Brekski were talking over each other. Gail was being combative, Rhonda was trying to keep the peace and Brekski was about how this is the most imperative data collection and how is he supposed to do his job if he can't even get 24 hours of what I think he calls "flat-lining" without someone cutting his line and ruining the experiment. "It was our new nurse," said Rhonda apologetically. "Nancy. She's brand new. We told her what was up but she probably just put in the paperwork out of habit. Once the morgue--" "You think I didn't clear this with the morgue, too?" thundered Breski. "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" "Nigga, you can't even *spell* incompetent," said Gail, not intimidated by Brekski, who, when living, had the air of someone very important and very smart and very used to being catered to. "I'll have your job for this, you bloated hag!" Brekski bellowed, and his voice echoed down the hall. I could see patients and staff sticking their heads out of doorways to see what the commotion was. "Once the morgue gets their orders it's out of our control," said poor Rhonda, trying to explain. She had a phone in one hand. "You know they'll send whoever's available to collect the body. Nancy probably called it in, she was trying to be efficient, this is such a big place, we have at least three patients expire a day--" "I'm simply going to find someone else to help with this groundbreaking experiment," said Brekski, still glowering at Gail who glowered right back. "It would appear that Waltonwood on Main is not up to the task. THREE TIMES! Three times I wake up in total darkness and that awful plastic sterilized garbage bag smell, only to discover that not only has another round of flatlining gone bad, but I've been tagged and nearly disposed of like a common peasant!" "We're so sorry, Mr. Brekski," pleaded Rhonda. "Please let me call Director Harbineaux and he'll set this right for good." "I am doing God's work," yelled Brekski. "I'm Sebastian Brekski! I am one of the foremost researchers on consciousness and the afterlife, and at this rate I'll never prove my theory of infinite conscious energy! I'm sorry, but three times is just too much for me to bear. Good *day* to you, ma'am." He turned to me. "You're free to pick up the hospice bed," he snapped. "I certainly won't be needing it now." With that, the former corpse named Brekski turned on his expensive-looking heels and stomped out the front door. Rhonda turned to Gail. "It was you again, wasn't it?" she hissed at Gail. "You called the county once he was hooked in this morning. All because he yelled at you that one time for not getting him coffee." "That man's head is so big I'm surprised they were able to fit it in the damn bag," Gail said. "Shit, I don't care if he brings back the Almighty Himself, I ain't no one's errand girl. Just cause he's got like twenty degrees don't put him above Gail Robinson." Rhonda was still holding the phone. She slammed it down on the cradle and walked back into the office. Gail went back to her paperwork. All the curious heads and onlookers from down the hall disappeared back into their doorways like prairie dogs into their holes. I turned and walked back down the hall. I couldn't wait to tell the guys back at the shop about this.

Maybe if it was a heart attack, or some disease it wouldn't have been that shocking. Louis could have detached himself enough to say they could have mistakenly called the young man dead. But he'd seen the body, even before opening up the bag. No way he hadn't, with all the news reports and talk online. The guy had apparently jumped off a 20 story building during the morning rush hour. That doesn't exactly create a clean body. And yet the man seemed fine, despite the dried blood on his head. No way. *No fucking way.* This dude was splattered on the pavement, nothing more than a damn *stain* 5 minutes ago. Now he's just sitting on the counter like nothing happened. "So uh... Can I go now, or..." Louis can't bring himself to respond to the guys question. Can he go now...? He's f*cking dead. Dead people can't walk out of morgues. What the hell is- ***Slam.*** Both Louis and the man jump, one notably higher, as the door slams open, and two men walk in, one detached younger man in a black suit and the other an older overweight man in a blue pinstripe suit looking infuriated. Louis doesn't even get a word in before the older man's voice booms across the room. "God's sake, Rich we can't keep doing this!" "I know, you told me last time. And the time before that. And th-" "And you think you'd learn!" The 'corpse', who's name is apparently Rich, simply rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, OK? I don't even remember- I guess I got drunk, and thought it'd be fun." "In what world is jumping off a hotel patio from the 17th floor *fun*?!" Louis was so focused on the argument, he didn't notice the man in the black suit stick a small mechanical card onto the doorframe, before loudly clearing his throat. As if on cue the pinstripe man grabbed Rich's arm and dragged him off the table. "We can talk about this in the car. Let's go." The man in the black suit stayed for a moment after the other two had left, befoe giving Rich a silent nod and leaving. The second the man went through the doorframe, a bright blue flash encased the room, leaving Louis bewildered. He looked at the clock. Damn nearly 9:30? No wonder he was so hungry. He grabbed his bag, and made sure he had everything before noticing a clipboard on the ground. He picked it up and browsed though it, frowning at the contents. Richard Thomas, death from falling? He didn't have a falling victim here. He pulled the papers loose, and tossed them in the garbage. He must be working too hard. Could use some constructive criticism, since I'm not exactly a writer. Edit- I realize that some of the paragraphs are off, but I'm on mobile so there's not much I can do :/. Sorry.

[WP] Being the grim reaper you’re used to the elderly screaming and kicking after their death, meanwhile, you are starting to become concerned at the amount of high fives from the younger generations.

Death shook his head mournfully as he approached his latest appointment. He'd read the case file, and already knew what to expect. The confused ones were always hard, the young and confused the worst. So shocked at the realization of their own demise that processing them properly almost always necessitated half a therapy session on top of the usual dues. This one, he knew, was going to be a dozy. Poor girl slipped on a banana peel of all things, and was an atheist to boot. Probably never even conceived of having a conversation quite like the one she was about to have. Death stopped just up the road from the lonely park bench where he was to meet his latest victim, and readied himself for another round of a little game he liked to call: "I'm dead? Oh no!" He sat down next to the girl. As most humans did upon seeing him, she started. Death, on the other hand, was far more composed. He already knew all of his lines. "You're the grim reaper." she said. "Yes." he answered, in a voice as solemn and still as the deepest night. "I'm dead?" she asked. "Yes." he replied, with all the finality of the grave. "Fuck yeah!" she cried. "I know it's very upsetting-" Death began, and then stopped. His brow wrinkled; an expression he hadn't made since Socrates told him to hurry the fuck up, and turned to where the human had been sitting. The keyword, of course, being "had". The girl was on her feet, running in circles across the grass, screaming her heart out in what, to Death's experienced ears, seemed like a curious mixture of joy, exasperation, and... relief. He blinked (he'd forgotten he could do that). "You are not... upset?" he asked. The girl paused her victory lap to stare at him incredulously. "Upset?" she repeated, as if what he'd asked was somehow ridiculous. "Upset? I'm dead. My heats stopped beating, my body is cold; by now my brain has probably turned to mush!!" There was a brief silence, as whatever idea she was trying to get across crashed, and burned against the sheer weight of his bewilderment. Then: "Yes?" Death said, more out of obligation than any actual ability to follow the conversation. That was usually his line, and this was usually when they started crying. He reached for the packet of Kleenex he kept in his pocket, only for her to slap them away. "Don't you get it?" she cried. "Don't you see? All that stuff has happened, and yet I'm still here!" "...Yes?" "I still exist!" she grabbed his shoulders, and shook them; the first time one of the deceased had laid a hand on his person in decades. "All those years (20, to be exact, if Death's files were right) fearing oblivion, all of that was pointless. Death isn't the end, it's the Beginning!" And then she resumed her sprint around the silent, night-time park, racing between the trees as if it was her last day on Earth (which, Death knew, it was). But even recently disembodied souls get tired, and eventually she wandered back to collapse at his feet, staring at the starry sky above and panting in exhaustion. "So," she said eventually. "What happens now?" Her face was solemn, and her voice low. She was starring into the depths of space, no doubt reflecting on what she had learned that night, and wondering just how much more she had to learn about a universe that was so much stranger than she'd thought. "Now," Death told the infidel. "You burn in hell." And so began an eternity of torment.

Reaper:"You are dead. Do you understand the consequences? Laura:"OMG! This is the afterlife !? Am I a freakin Ghost !? I've got to tweat about that ! Reaper:"You understand that you will never see your family and friends again?" Laura"Yeah yeah just get me to heaven or hell or something. I don't even mind." Reaper:"Its always the same... You understand that, the place that I will take you to....does not have Wi-Fi. ........ Laura:"HEEEEEEEEL NO. NO. NO. NO. EH-UH. NO. NO. NO. PLEASE! I BEG YOU! TAKE MY LIFE! BUT NOT MY WIIFIIIIIIII!!!!! -END-

[WP] Being the grim reaper you’re used to the elderly screaming and kicking after their death, meanwhile, you are starting to become concerned at the amount of high fives from the younger generations.

As the plush leather couch sinks beneath me, my hip bone gives a click and a general feeling of discomfort settles in. These old bones just aren't used to such a comfortable chair and it does nothing to help put me at ease. Looking at the doctor, he doesn't fit the image I had of him in my mind. He's short, balding and has a burgeoning sack of a double chin resting beneath his face. For some reason, I'm always surprised to see fat doctors. These are the people that should know best how unhealthy habits can kill you, yet there he sits, belly hanging down over his belt like Saint Nic, heavy breaths escaping him as if he had just come in from a brisk afternoon jog. He hadn't. Then again, he isn't *that* kind of doctor. He's a psychologist, not a *doctor,* doctor. Hell, even if he was, its not like most people are unaware that the things they are doing will end up killing them. Somehow, being a lung specialist doesn't make you any less likely to smoke your life away. I know that better than most, trust me. He glances up at me from my chart and I wiggle nervously in my seat. The simple act of sitting down here was unsettling, as if I'm opening up the robes for any curious onlookers to see. In all my life, no living person has ever seen through me like those eyes do right now... My mind races toward panic at the idea of being here - the idea that *I* could be sitting here in this office is... well, it's ridiculous. Trust me, I recognize that. Really, I do. The idea that this could all be caused by some dumb ass kids is, well, I dont know, ... compounding the panic with embarrassment? The click of a pen pulls my racing mind back into the confines of reality. The smiling face staring at me from across the room feels alien. "Lets start by getting the easy stuff out of the way first, shall we? Why did you decided to come here today?" The tone of his voice is comforting in a way that I can only describe as discomforting. Its soft, reassuring - I'm not used to that. "Honestly, I'm not really sure what to say. This all seems a little... unnecessary." A gentle, knowing smile reaches his eyes as he stares at me over his dark rimmed glasses. It's fucking infuriating. I roll my shoulder and the bones give a pop. He can see how I'm feeling, clearly. "I think we both know your not used to opening up like this," he says as he lays his pad of paper down in his lap, recognizing my discomfort as if it were written across my skull, "folks in your line of work rarely are. But, the big guy made it pretty clear that we need to do this thing if you want to get back to work... You do want to get back to work, dont you?" The question took me aback, even if I *had* been expecting it. If you had asked me that question a few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to answer. I fucking *loved* this job. The travel was amazing, I got to choose my own hours, and the benefits -oh my God, the benefits- they are out of this fucking world! Now though? I'm really not sure I want to go back. I'm really not sure I can. But I *can* talk. Who knows, maybe this stuff might help. The words come spilling out of me all at once... "I guess I'm here because I don't know where else to turn. I cant keep doing this job, but it's far too late for me to start over fresh. I used to love what I do. It was hard work, I know, but it was rewarding, it really was. I always thought this job was to die for, but I know now that the fight was what made the whole thing work. Without it, what's the point? Without it, I honestly don't know if I want to go back." The scratching of his pen outpaces my words and I wait for him to finish and respond. I look down at my bonewhite hands, resting in my lap, and I wait, embarrassed at how open I had been with this total stranger. The scratching stops and he looks up at me, concern spilling across his face. "So you feel like the fight is gone in you, like things have gotten too easy, maybe?" I meet his gaze and hold it for a moment, sure he won't understand as I proceed. "No," I whisper, looking back down into my hands, as if they might hold the answers, "it's not the fight in *me* that's gone out, it's the fight in *these kids*... I've seen a lot of different things in this job, I've seen people laugh, cry, cheer, clam up - you name it, I've seen it. But these kids - it's like they enjoy this whole thing, like they've been wanting this thing their entire life, and it's not just a few of them." He looks up at me, his brows scrunched together, leaning back, a question forming in his head. "When you say they 'enjoy this whole thing,' what exactly do you mean," he asks with a flourish of his hand. "*What do I mean?*" My exasperation is plain. "I mean they *enjoy it.* The whole thing, the entire process. It's like it's the end of a fucking joke to them." I lean forward and rest my chin in my hands, my backbone cracking as I shift in the couch. "In all the years I've been at this, do you know how many people I've been *high fived* by?" Placing his finger on his cheek and thumb on his chin, he rests his head and waits for me to finish my plainly rhetorical question. "None. Zero. Zilch... *No one* high fived me! They fought me, they begged me, they tried to strike deals with me... until now." *to be continued?*

Reaper:"You are dead. Do you understand the consequences? Laura:"OMG! This is the afterlife !? Am I a freakin Ghost !? I've got to tweat about that ! Reaper:"You understand that you will never see your family and friends again?" Laura"Yeah yeah just get me to heaven or hell or something. I don't even mind." Reaper:"Its always the same... You understand that, the place that I will take you to....does not have Wi-Fi. ........ Laura:"HEEEEEEEEL NO. NO. NO. NO. EH-UH. NO. NO. NO. PLEASE! I BEG YOU! TAKE MY LIFE! BUT NOT MY WIIFIIIIIIII!!!!! -END-

[WP] Being the grim reaper you’re used to the elderly screaming and kicking after their death, meanwhile, you are starting to become concerned at the amount of high fives from the younger generations.

08-2016 [H.A.D.] I have discovered a new reaction among those humans below the age of seventeen that I can no longer ignore. While in previous centuries, their forlorn cries would have torn my heart asunder had I still retained possession of one, this new reaction scares me. Death should not be afraid. For every one screaming that it is too early and that they still have someone that they love, I find one who throws their arms around my scythe and two who point at me with "finger guns" and offer their hand for what they call a "high five." Having been born with four fingers, I cannot offer them what they wish, but I do my best. It is, after all, my duty to collect the souls of those whose bodies can no longer support life. But this duty is becoming burdensome. James Rigney understood. When he greeted me with, "Death is lighter than a feather. Duty, heavier than a mountain," I hoped he could be one of those who would eventually take my place. That is the attitude that encompasses the whole of a reaper's existence. And yet, this duty becomes more than I can bear. Who are these new humans who desire to leave before their time? How can a boy or a girl with so much life to live and love to give greet me with enthusiasm while their elders can barely be hauled away from a broken husk? What is it that they long for? 7-2017 [H.A.D.] Almost another human year has passed. Too busy to write before now. The horror continues. I must collect too many who are too eager. 10-2017 [H.A.D.] They long for a release, not knowing that I do not bring them to it. They abandon so much for a nothingness more vast than even I can fathom. I have seen the world void and without form, I have seen mountains shake, I have seen it all end and begin again. This. Is. Not. Right. Who has taken away their hope? 3-2018 [H.A.D.] I have followed them. I have watched them before they take the plunge through the veil. I have broken every covenant of my existence and passed through the living, chilling them to their bones with my breath, in order to see this dark truth: they take their hope from themselves. Before, it was only the dreamers who suffered from an unreal reality, but now everyone experiences it. They break themselves off from each other, from their partners, from their close ones, and live in a false world. A loud world, but a world so empty that death has more in it for them than life. Here, into the world of death they come skipping, while I quiver in my rags over those who would choose to cross the veil into my domain without the luxury of my calling. They have no duty. They have no purpose. They drift, and yet the emptiness here is better for them because it is quiet. Better to be empty and at peace than full of nothing, they must think. But they are wrong. Their lives were not nothing: they could breathe and move and touch and cry and feel agony and trouble and the whisper of a wind. I would trade my entire existence for just a moment as one of them, but I can't. For my life is truly nothing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- PostScriptum: The second reaper was removed from service in 05-2018 [H.A.D.]. His last entry has been expunged from this record.

Reaper:"You are dead. Do you understand the consequences? Laura:"OMG! This is the afterlife !? Am I a freakin Ghost !? I've got to tweat about that ! Reaper:"You understand that you will never see your family and friends again?" Laura"Yeah yeah just get me to heaven or hell or something. I don't even mind." Reaper:"Its always the same... You understand that, the place that I will take you to....does not have Wi-Fi. ........ Laura:"HEEEEEEEEL NO. NO. NO. NO. EH-UH. NO. NO. NO. PLEASE! I BEG YOU! TAKE MY LIFE! BUT NOT MY WIIFIIIIIIII!!!!! -END-

[WP] Being the grim reaper you’re used to the elderly screaming and kicking after their death, meanwhile, you are starting to become concerned at the amount of high fives from the younger generations.

As I awoke from my afternoon slumber, my soul clock begins ticking down from 60 seconds. I get out of my bed and take a look at the death notice; "Hunter Jones, 24 would you like to go there now?" I ignore the message and do a few stretches, in a few moments I'll be sucked away to where ever Hunter is currently dying, regardless of my response to the notice...so is the life of the Reaper. I put on an underwhelming hoody and pull to hood up over my head and then, *POOF!* I arrive just in time to see bullets and pellets flying through the air penetrating Hunter all over. He holds a BB gun that looks remarkably a lot like a real handgun, seems to be suicide by cop. I know how this plays out from here. His heart will stop as as remove his soul, he'll stand before me and like clockwork he'll instantly be full of regret. He'll cry and wish he didn't do what he did. I reach down to grab Hunter from his body when a tap on my shoulder displaces my focus. I slowly turn my head and, no this can't be...how?! "Are you him? Are you...are you death?" This question sends a chill down my spine, I became a reaper some twelve hundred years ago, and never has a soul been waiting for me. How can this be? "I am not death, but one of many reapers...This isn't exactly protocol though, souls don't leave the body, they are removed...how are you here?" I had heard from other reapers that younger humans have been becoming more and more eager to meet us, but non have had stories and a soul meeting them. I watched this young man die, yet here he was behind me...waiting. Hunter looks over the puzzled omnipotent being, before speaking. "Look, you're supposed to be the pro at this man, can we just get out of here...take me to where ever you take us, they're all waiting for me..." Note: Sorry for making this short, but I'm on a time limit at the moment!

Reaper:"You are dead. Do you understand the consequences? Laura:"OMG! This is the afterlife !? Am I a freakin Ghost !? I've got to tweat about that ! Reaper:"You understand that you will never see your family and friends again?" Laura"Yeah yeah just get me to heaven or hell or something. I don't even mind." Reaper:"Its always the same... You understand that, the place that I will take you to....does not have Wi-Fi. ........ Laura:"HEEEEEEEEL NO. NO. NO. NO. EH-UH. NO. NO. NO. PLEASE! I BEG YOU! TAKE MY LIFE! BUT NOT MY WIIFIIIIIIII!!!!! -END-

[WP] Being the grim reaper you’re used to the elderly screaming and kicking after their death, meanwhile, you are starting to become concerned at the amount of high fives from the younger generations.

Felix, he was the first. He overdosed on crystal meth, lsd and coke. Kind of an overkill if you ask me. He was only 27 and he didnt go without so much a kick or a scream. He just high fived me and called me fam. I just assumed he was drugged of his mind and followed protocol, judged him and brought him to the line for processing. Next was hellen, 22 years old. She used the old bleeding out in the tub. Very unoriginal but then again she looked a tad boring untill she too gave me a high five when i went to extract her soul. I saw into her past, her feelings and her temptations but high fiving dead is not something she would do! Highly irregular, upper management will hear about this. Is today some kind of new age halloween or something? I knew i should have checked my email at the start of my shift. I went to the park where someone alledgly drowned but i have a feeling that this too will be a suicide. From the available files i find out she's just turned 24 and she has a history with schizophrenia. Nothing out of the ordinary, she could have heard voices in the water or maybe got sick of the voices and jumped in willing to die. But as i get out of my cab and slowly walk to the inner ring of the park something or rather someone catches my eye. Underneath a broken flickering street light some hooded figure is smoking a pipe of what i assume to be crack. "hey fam, how are you on this fine evening?" he says with a smirk. Felix? But i already reaped him? "fam!?, what is this trick? Explain!" "none of your business fam". "i'll overlook this if you tell me right now how you got back. If you don't, well. Lets say ill visit your little brother next. A life for a life is a fair trade is it not? I may not sell crack but this business pays a lot better. " okay okay, i made a deal that's all. Just leave my little brother alone. I knocked someone up and when 'he' came to me he said he would all make it go away and i would even get something out of, become immortal. He said that once you're off the list you never get added back and you will never get reaped." " who is this he? " " i don't know he called himself craig from middle management but he had red eyes and showed me shit man. i knew it wasn't the crack,that's not how that shit works. "Goddammit" they should fire that guy, i told them that those missing souls were sketchy but they totally bought his bullshit about "still figuring out excell". As i reap felix's soul and make sure to check up on the forms later tonight i call HQ and tell them about craig.

Reaper:"You are dead. Do you understand the consequences? Laura:"OMG! This is the afterlife !? Am I a freakin Ghost !? I've got to tweat about that ! Reaper:"You understand that you will never see your family and friends again?" Laura"Yeah yeah just get me to heaven or hell or something. I don't even mind." Reaper:"Its always the same... You understand that, the place that I will take you to....does not have Wi-Fi. ........ Laura:"HEEEEEEEEL NO. NO. NO. NO. EH-UH. NO. NO. NO. PLEASE! I BEG YOU! TAKE MY LIFE! BUT NOT MY WIIFIIIIIIII!!!!! -END-

[WP] Being the grim reaper you’re used to the elderly screaming and kicking after their death, meanwhile, you are starting to become concerned at the amount of high fives from the younger generations.

As the plush leather couch sinks beneath me, my hip bone gives a click and a general feeling of discomfort settles in. These old bones just aren't used to such a comfortable chair and it does nothing to help put me at ease. Looking at the doctor, he doesn't fit the image I had of him in my mind. He's short, balding and has a burgeoning sack of a double chin resting beneath his face. For some reason, I'm always surprised to see fat doctors. These are the people that should know best how unhealthy habits can kill you, yet there he sits, belly hanging down over his belt like Saint Nic, heavy breaths escaping him as if he had just come in from a brisk afternoon jog. He hadn't. Then again, he isn't *that* kind of doctor. He's a psychologist, not a *doctor,* doctor. Hell, even if he was, its not like most people are unaware that the things they are doing will end up killing them. Somehow, being a lung specialist doesn't make you any less likely to smoke your life away. I know that better than most, trust me. He glances up at me from my chart and I wiggle nervously in my seat. The simple act of sitting down here was unsettling, as if I'm opening up the robes for any curious onlookers to see. In all my life, no living person has ever seen through me like those eyes do right now... My mind races toward panic at the idea of being here - the idea that *I* could be sitting here in this office is... well, it's ridiculous. Trust me, I recognize that. Really, I do. The idea that this could all be caused by some dumb ass kids is, well, I dont know, ... compounding the panic with embarrassment? The click of a pen pulls my racing mind back into the confines of reality. The smiling face staring at me from across the room feels alien. "Lets start by getting the easy stuff out of the way first, shall we? Why did you decided to come here today?" The tone of his voice is comforting in a way that I can only describe as discomforting. Its soft, reassuring - I'm not used to that. "Honestly, I'm not really sure what to say. This all seems a little... unnecessary." A gentle, knowing smile reaches his eyes as he stares at me over his dark rimmed glasses. It's fucking infuriating. I roll my shoulder and the bones give a pop. He can see how I'm feeling, clearly. "I think we both know your not used to opening up like this," he says as he lays his pad of paper down in his lap, recognizing my discomfort as if it were written across my skull, "folks in your line of work rarely are. But, the big guy made it pretty clear that we need to do this thing if you want to get back to work... You do want to get back to work, dont you?" The question took me aback, even if I *had* been expecting it. If you had asked me that question a few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to answer. I fucking *loved* this job. The travel was amazing, I got to choose my own hours, and the benefits -oh my God, the benefits- they are out of this fucking world! Now though? I'm really not sure I want to go back. I'm really not sure I can. But I *can* talk. Who knows, maybe this stuff might help. The words come spilling out of me all at once... "I guess I'm here because I don't know where else to turn. I cant keep doing this job, but it's far too late for me to start over fresh. I used to love what I do. It was hard work, I know, but it was rewarding, it really was. I always thought this job was to die for, but I know now that the fight was what made the whole thing work. Without it, what's the point? Without it, I honestly don't know if I want to go back." The scratching of his pen outpaces my words and I wait for him to finish and respond. I look down at my bonewhite hands, resting in my lap, and I wait, embarrassed at how open I had been with this total stranger. The scratching stops and he looks up at me, concern spilling across his face. "So you feel like the fight is gone in you, like things have gotten too easy, maybe?" I meet his gaze and hold it for a moment, sure he won't understand as I proceed. "No," I whisper, looking back down into my hands, as if they might hold the answers, "it's not the fight in *me* that's gone out, it's the fight in *these kids*... I've seen a lot of different things in this job, I've seen people laugh, cry, cheer, clam up - you name it, I've seen it. But these kids - it's like they enjoy this whole thing, like they've been wanting this thing their entire life, and it's not just a few of them." He looks up at me, his brows scrunched together, leaning back, a question forming in his head. "When you say they 'enjoy this whole thing,' what exactly do you mean," he asks with a flourish of his hand. "*What do I mean?*" My exasperation is plain. "I mean they *enjoy it.* The whole thing, the entire process. It's like it's the end of a fucking joke to them." I lean forward and rest my chin in my hands, my backbone cracking as I shift in the couch. "In all the years I've been at this, do you know how many people I've been *high fived* by?" Placing his finger on his cheek and thumb on his chin, he rests his head and waits for me to finish my plainly rhetorical question. "None. Zero. Zilch... *No one* high fived me! They fought me, they begged me, they tried to strike deals with me... until now." *to be continued?*

Death shook his head mournfully as he approached his latest appointment. He'd read the case file, and already knew what to expect. The confused ones were always hard, the young and confused the worst. So shocked at the realization of their own demise that processing them properly almost always necessitated half a therapy session on top of the usual dues. This one, he knew, was going to be a dozy. Poor girl slipped on a banana peel of all things, and was an atheist to boot. Probably never even conceived of having a conversation quite like the one she was about to have. Death stopped just up the road from the lonely park bench where he was to meet his latest victim, and readied himself for another round of a little game he liked to call: "I'm dead? Oh no!" He sat down next to the girl. As most humans did upon seeing him, she started. Death, on the other hand, was far more composed. He already knew all of his lines. "You're the grim reaper." she said. "Yes." he answered, in a voice as solemn and still as the deepest night. "I'm dead?" she asked. "Yes." he replied, with all the finality of the grave. "Fuck yeah!" she cried. "I know it's very upsetting-" Death began, and then stopped. His brow wrinkled; an expression he hadn't made since Socrates told him to hurry the fuck up, and turned to where the human had been sitting. The keyword, of course, being "had". The girl was on her feet, running in circles across the grass, screaming her heart out in what, to Death's experienced ears, seemed like a curious mixture of joy, exasperation, and... relief. He blinked (he'd forgotten he could do that). "You are not... upset?" he asked. The girl paused her victory lap to stare at him incredulously. "Upset?" she repeated, as if what he'd asked was somehow ridiculous. "Upset? I'm dead. My heats stopped beating, my body is cold; by now my brain has probably turned to mush!!" There was a brief silence, as whatever idea she was trying to get across crashed, and burned against the sheer weight of his bewilderment. Then: "Yes?" Death said, more out of obligation than any actual ability to follow the conversation. That was usually his line, and this was usually when they started crying. He reached for the packet of Kleenex he kept in his pocket, only for her to slap them away. "Don't you get it?" she cried. "Don't you see? All that stuff has happened, and yet I'm still here!" "...Yes?" "I still exist!" she grabbed his shoulders, and shook them; the first time one of the deceased had laid a hand on his person in decades. "All those years (20, to be exact, if Death's files were right) fearing oblivion, all of that was pointless. Death isn't the end, it's the Beginning!" And then she resumed her sprint around the silent, night-time park, racing between the trees as if it was her last day on Earth (which, Death knew, it was). But even recently disembodied souls get tired, and eventually she wandered back to collapse at his feet, staring at the starry sky above and panting in exhaustion. "So," she said eventually. "What happens now?" Her face was solemn, and her voice low. She was starring into the depths of space, no doubt reflecting on what she had learned that night, and wondering just how much more she had to learn about a universe that was so much stranger than she'd thought. "Now," Death told the infidel. "You burn in hell." And so began an eternity of torment.

[WP] A dark anti-hero and an upbeat hero meet in a tavern, and form a strange friendship.

The Second Post was one of those inns. You know the kind. The ones set on a crossroads where three out of four paths lead nowhere. The only people here were wanderers and adventurers, fugitives from the city, and the unfortunate folk who actually had to live around these parts. The only thing for miles around was a couple of sad little farmsteads, so there was no such thing as regulars at the Second Post. Mostly, it was filled with people like me. There's two good reasons to be wearing armour at the bar. One, I can't be bothered to take it off. And two, it means I don't have time for a fight. I've been in plenty of bar fights, and I was sick of them after the third one. That was nearly ten years ago now. But I guess I don't have anybody but myself to blame for starting them. "Another, barkeep." I say, motioning at my mug. A minute later, he comes with a mostly clean tankard brimming with ale. The drink is a bit shit here, but at least they don't half-fill the mugs. I pick out some coins and pass them over the bar. Behind me, I hear the strumming of a lute. This place doesn't do bands, must be a visitor. Just some random notes, like somebody is tuning their instrument. I ignore the noise and turn my attention back to my drink. It takes up my gaze, and when I put it down, there's a figure at the edge of my vision, holding a lute. He leans back against the bar, and let his fingers dance across his instrument. I stop for a moment and take in the erratic yet pleasing melody. "Just to be clear, I'm not going to give you any money." "That's alright, brother." he replies with a deep, silky voice. "I just figured you could do with a song." "Huh. Thanks." I mutter. I'm not pleasant company, I like being by myself, but even I couldn't think of a good reason to be rude to this guy. He was a good player, and he'd probably move on in a moment. "What was that tune?" "I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that out." he said with a chuckle. "So, soldier man, which path out of here are you taking? I haven't decided yet." "Me neither. And what makes you think I'm a soldier?" "Hm, I don't know. Plenty of mercenaries and bounty hunter types have chainmail and axes." he gazed up at the ceiling and plucked thoughtfully at the strings of his lute. "I'd say its your eyes. You haven't been a soldier in a while, you don't stand like one, but those eyes... hm, yeah. That's got to be it. Do you play?" "No. Not in a while." I say. Wasn't sure I liked this guy thinking he knew me. "I'm a drummer, I guess." "War drums, hell of an instrument. You ever play outside of battle? Just take a few whacks and see what rhythm you come up with?" "No. That's not the point of a war drum." "Ah, who cares about the point. I was a soldier too you know. I was damn proud to be marching in perfect time, but I was just a boy, and after the battle, I had eyes like yours. And sometimes when I close them, I still hear those drums, and I bet you do too. Want to know how I beat it?" "Sure, why not." I said tiredly. He wasn't the first idiot to think there was one simple trick to scrubbing your mind clean. I'd heard every quick fix from nutters blessed with poor memory enough to forget what they saw, and what they did. "Pick up a drum, and make your own beat. Find the groove. And the most important part, is to never stop." to demonstrate, he played another quick few notes. "That's great and all, but do you actually play for real?" I asked. "Anybody can play random notes." "I know, that's the best part! But since you doubt me, sir, I shall play for you." he closed his eyes and gently ran his finger down the neck of his lute. "This is one I call "I can't think of a name". Enjoy." The guy could play for real. I didn't take a single swig of my drink in case the sound of liquid sloshing down my throat drowned out a even one note. I wasn't the only one who took notice. Several patrons unconsciously started tapping their feet to the tune, or stopped talking to take it in. He kept the song up for a few minutes, fading into different styles and rhythms as it went on, until he finally finished with a few slow notes. "Alright, I take it back." I admitted. "First time in a long time I've done that, so savour it." "The highest compliment, I'm sure." He knocked back half of his own drink, and continued playing, a more upbeat song this time. "So, since neither of us know where we're going once the sun rises, how about a suggestion. We make the trek together." "I could do with some entertainment," I admitted. "But the kind of thing I tend to do is probably not the same kind of thing you do." "You might be surprised, soldier man. You seem to me like a guy who's not following the beat of law and order. Sounds a bit like this." He strummed a few deep, sharp chords. "Seems to me that your beat is more like this." He played a quicker tune this time, subdued, simple, but rising in intensity. "Your groove is angry, going somewhere, yet to see where." "Um, yeah, I don't think our "grooves" align." I insisted. "Oh yeah? Here's me right now." he started a fast yet smooth and melodic, at a higher pitch. "Want to hear something cool?" Before I could reply, he changed the tune, adding another layer, making it much more complex. I had no idea how he could play it with only two hands. Then it struck me. He was playing "my" tune and his at the same time. "That's... actually pretty good. Did you just make that up on the spot?" "Half of it, yeah. See, you're not in an army right now, but you're wearing chainmail and you have an axe at your hip. And that tells me you're out to kill. Now, I don't do that. But it could be we want the same thing. Justice." "Revenge." I corrected. "There's a small, but very important distinction." "You're not wrong. Now, I've guessed as much about you as I think I can, so I'm not going to make any presumptions. But you're looking for somebody. So am I." "And what are you going to do when you find the person you're looking for?" I challenged. "Play them a song?" "I'm going to make sure they don't do to anybody else what they did to me." "And what did they do to you?" "Hm. Long story. I'll save it for the road." "Alright then. You've got me hooked." I said, giving in. I like my space, but I was also starting to like this musician too. Being alone hadn't helped me much so far. He smiled, and started playing our combined song. "Alright, I'm liking this beat." he said, nodding along to it. "Don't know what I'll call it." "Revenge? Or Justice, if that's more your thing." I suggested. "Good ideas. Maybe I won't name it just yet. Think I'll see how it ends first." *** If you liked this, visit r/Keytfu for more stuff I've written along with Scifiase.

"Yeah, another beer." "Isn't that your third?" "Who the fuck are you?" "Oh, sorry, very rude of me. Name's Richard. Don't take this badly but you seem lonely and currently, I'm completely by myself and I wanted to talk to you. Mostly because I'm a bit drunk." "Good on you." "Can I ask your name?" "Sure." "Oh. Right. You're funny. Can I guess it?" "Go for it." "You look like an Elise? No? Emma? Ella?" "All wrong. And my name doesn't start with an E." "Well that puts my possibilities down by a very insignificant bit but it's something. I'll have a beer too, thanks." "It's Anna." "Anna. Nice. You know, Anna, I've only had two cocktails and I'm already feeling it. And you're here with your third can and you're fine." "Tolerance takes time." "For sure, for sure. You're absolutely right." ...ok I ran out of steam and life just got in way lmao

[WP] A new surgery puts a chip into your brain that makes you superhuman. It gives you strength, speed, etc. But only the rich and middle class can afford it. One day, everyone with a chip in their head goes rabid and begins killing each other.

The silence is deafening and there's no natural light but at least I'm safe. For now anyway. They don't know about the shelter. The only other who does know built it and he's as good as dead. It started about 2 years ago. I'd been micro-chipping animals for a few years and was bored. I experimented with the chip and changed it's software somehow. My brother is like me, loves anything out of the ordinary. It took a while but he convinced me to implant to chip in him. He was the first. Before long I couldn't hide his new found speed and strength, not that he wanted me to - he loved it. Soon I was getting requests. People wanted to pay me obscene amounts of money to have the chip implanted. Call it greed call it curiosity I couldn't turn them down. Curiosity killed the cat. The chip became a fad. The rich had to have it, the poor couldn't afford it. I was like a god, a creator of a new super race. Most people got super speed or strength. A rare few got invisibility or x-ray vision. These would turn out to be the dangerous ones. Too much radiation or something I guess. Initially the change was subtle. I didn't notice it or maybe I didn't care. The first sign of something wrong was the rise in deaths in the posh neighbourhoods, cause: rabies. All bodies had teeth marks so the authorities put it down to some kind of rabid animal. It wasn't till I saw the marks on my brother and an increase in his aggression that I had to accept something had gone wrong. I wasn't the only one that suspected it was the chips. Soon I was getting death threats from families of my 'victims'. I was scared. I asked my brother to build this shelter and it took him all of one minute. That's the last I saw of him. The outside world is chaos. The rich are killing the rich and now even those without the chip are in danger. The man hunt, that sent me death threats, are killing anyone who they think is infected. Even the working class aren't safe. I have some in this shelter with me. A final act of kindness if you will before I try finish what I started. I just hope it's not Too late to save myself.

In 2025 they came up with a new device. It's called The Chip . It gives you superhuman strength. Only rich people or the middle class could afford to have it implanted. See it's literally just a small computer chip that's implanted in a certain area of the brain. When it's activated you all of a sudden have this power to be more. Only problem was the company DataRite never released the problems they saw during tests. They only looked at it as how much money they could make. Since only a few people turned after they had been chipped for a year the company figured it was just something they needed to tweak. Never fully understanding just how bad of a problem they had created. Six months later .... Trevor carefully opens the door opening it only inches to peek into the allyway. "Joe I don't see anyone" Trevor whispers. " Are you sure? Open the door wider and look out towards the road." Joe quietly says into Trevor's ear. " It's clear let's get the hell out of here."Trevor says as he slowly inches his way out the door into the alley. Moving down the alley on total alert. Both scanning the alley from left to right. Stopping to listen every couple of feet. " We need to get the fuck out of town . I knew those chips were a bad idea. When I saw that dude come out of his office wearing his suit covered in blood ,and foaming at the mouth it was gonna be a fucked up day!" Joe complains as he's steadily observing the street ahead."You! What about Reggie ? He saved for 6 months ! He saved every cent he made ,moved to the streets,gave up everything just to get one of those chips! He never had a chance to even realize his dreams .I don't get what people wanted with it. You know I totally get the superhuman aspect of it but the whole messing with your brain thing Nah,not fer me!" Trevor says disgruntled. As the two are trying to get down the road without being seen they walk upon two men coming out of an apartment building. One is foaming at the mouth screaming at the other guy " COME HERE YOU LITTLE BITCH Randy YOU KNOW I WOULD NEVER HURT YOU" "Jim look at yourself if you were me you'd run too!" The Randy says as he's backing away from Jim. Both men look at each other . They know to much attention drawn their way could potentially be like screaming into a bullhorn ( come get me). They grab Randy and all three take off running around the corner when Randy says "I have an Old Ford Bronco parked over in that parking garage. It's full of supplies. After that news broadcast two days ago about some messed up side affect of people who've been chipped ,I started getting supplies around and stashing them in my Bronco. That guy was Jim my old high school buddy. This morning I opened my door and he was just standing in the hall with shit coming out of his mouth like a rabid dog." They get to the garage hoping not to be seen as they sneak around in the shadows until they happen upon the Bronco. Oddly enough it's dam near empty and no one seems to be around. " Where the hell we gonna go? This city is full of Chipped assholes. " Joe states as he scans around the garage. "Out of the city towards more rural areas" Randy says as he fumbles with his keys trying to unlock the door. " " Yeah I agree! Only rich fucks n dumbasses got chipped. Only thing is they have lost their minds and are like fucking Superman on crack! Oh and they fucking bite on top of it!" Trevor half yells! "Look we just gotta get out of the city. I used to work for the city planner . This town has a tunnel system we can drive through. It's from when they were gonna put in a Subway system but there's too much water and the tunnels under half the city kept caving in so they scrapped it we can use part of those tunnels to get most of the way out of here without being seen. " Randy says as he pulls out a bag containing a few assualt riffles. "Plus with these bad boys we might be able to knock down any Chipped ones who try to get at us." " Hell Yeah! The news briefing said they were strong but not bulletproof! Fuck yeah dude ! Great thinking! By the way I'm Joe and he's Trevor" . "Oh Shit! Your buddy Jim is coming this way! Joe says as he grabs a riffle from Randy. "Is this loaded? " Joe says as he points the riffle at Jim. " Yeah just flip the safety." Randy says as him and Trevor climb in the Bronco. Joe pulls the trigger and Jim stumbles but doesn't fall. " Hit him in the heart dude! There dam near Superman but a bullet through the heart should drop him". Randy excitedly yells as he starts the truck. Joe pulls the trigger again taking careful aim and drops Jim where he was about to lunge. Joe gets into the Bronco and the three burn the tires out of the parking garage. Edit: added some. missing words wrong names.

[WP] You found a hatch in floor of your decrepit, dark cellar, that led to an even lower, darker and weirder cellar. And that to another. And that to another... Armed with a powerful flash-light and a backpack full of food and water, you went to find the bottom. That was 3 weeks ago.

Day 22, floor… 58. I had to check which floor was the last one I marked. Honestly, part of me wants to go back up to my house and forget this ever happened, but I’d be lying if I said that I’d always be curious about what’s underneath all these floors. I swear to God, I’m leading myself to my own death. I guess in all my previous logs, I’ve never actually explained what started all this, so if I die down here, and someone finds this journal, at least they’ll know what compelled me to do exactly what everyone tells horror movie characters not to do: go into the basement. I moved into this house… 6 months ago? 7? Not sure, but I know it was after John’s baby was born because that’s what caused me to move out in the first place. Who knew a baby that wasn’t yours could throw you so off kilter? Anyway, I’m getting off topic. I moved into this house some number of months ago, and it was this old house. You know those old parts of the cities and you can visibly tell the difference between which houses were built in the last decade and which houses were built in the last century? Yeah, mine was built in the last century. So, I’m just minding my own business and going down into the basement to do some laundry, and you know how there’s those cold rooms where you can store other stuff? There was one at the end of this “hallway” (it’s not really a hallway, but there’s some storage shelves that narrow the path so it feels like a hallway). Before, I always just saw it and went, “Yeah, it exists. Cool, bye,” but this time I actually got curious and opened it. There was your usual boxes and rolls and dust and more boxes, but what was really interesting was the trap door on the floor. Now, I know what you (I’m going to assume someone’s going to read this) might be thinking: “DID YOU LEARN NOTHING FROM THE HORROR MOVIES? EVERYTHING BAD COMES FROM GOING INTO THE BASEMENT AND LOOKING AT THINGS YOU SHOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT!” Damn, writing in caps is hard. I would’ve brought a laptop or something, but where I’m going I need all the resources I can carry. ...That sounded a lot more badass than I am. Anyway, so I’m obviously a dumb character in a horror movie, because I opened that trap door, and hey look! I’m alive! Or maybe I’m not. Here’s hoping I’m not dead. And below door number one lay…… another basement! Oh my God, it’s the discovery of the century! It basically looked like the basement above it with stairs leading up to mine; it had a bunch of boxed up stuff in it, and the stuff that wasn’t in boxes had a literal blanket of dust on it. It’s like these things haven’t seen the light of day (or just fluorescent bulbs) in a long, long time. I’m surprised I didn’t end up sneezing up my lungs. There was an empty space and lo and behold, another trap door! Again, lots of boxes, lots of dust, and lots of darkness. This time, I was an actual human being who wanted to survive, so I booked it out of there. Curiosity killed the cat, though, and I ended up descending into the basement with food, water, a good flashlight, a bunch of batteries, and this journal. So, here I am in this dark basement. I should go back up, really. John and the others would be worried for me. I’ve probably been reported as missing. Thinking about it, I should’ve left a note. Maybe I’ll make this my note. I should go back.

Few had been to this stage. No rotting corpses. No leftovers. The stench wasn't nearly as bad. Whatever lurked in these depths had not been fed in a long time. There is a sense that overcomes you at times of great pressure. You're no longer walking. You're being walked. Freud called these 'oceanic feelings'. The momentary dissolution of the self. At times, this thought kept me walking. Or should I say: kept me being walked. I shone my flash light before me. A quick flash. That was all I could afford. As it were, rationing light had become more useful than rationing food. I half-expected a creature to pop up, lunging towards me. All stairs. Always more stairs. Decrepit and isolated, I ventured on. They say in three weeks habits become automatic. My habit was now walking. Descent. \* "Check a-and ... mate!" Marcus threw his hands in the air. He'd been on a winning streak. His defense had become sloppy. He took unnecessary risks. "Do you know what happened to the Mongols every time they managed to take over a city?" I said. He scoffed, staring at the board as if enough concentration would alter the outcome. He looked up. "The Mongols? They sacked Baghdad," he said. "They did. But that's not what I asked." "What, Jeremy? What happened to the bloody Mongols?" I smiled. He could sense that I was about to insult him somehow. Good friends have a sixth sense for this kind of thing. "They became weak and lazy. They lost their way of life. They got what they wanted, and they withered apart." "So you're saying I'm Genghis Kahn?" "I'm saying," I said, "that when you get what you want, you lose what you need." "Why are we friends again?" said Marcus. I flipped over his king. "Marcus," I said. "We're *mates*." \* I hated Thoreau. To me, *Walden* was about as inspiring as all those Instagram posts by girls who are 'helping out' by spending a couple of weeks in Sudan to gain experience points on their resumes. He lived right outside a village, not out in the middle of nowhere. Those god damn transcendalists. Tolstoy was no better. At the end of his life, he decided that what he really wanted to be was a wise, wandering monk. So he left his family and got walking. And died after a couple of days. Because he had no idea what he was doing. He was *passionate*^(TM), so what could have gone wrong? Even worse were the British explorers. The less prepared, the more heroic. Dying a fool's death on Greenland made you a legend. Of course, I was no better. I was isolated. I was walking. My feet were bloody stumps. The darkness had somehow become more total. A snake had been painted on every level so far. A hissing, green snake. I had no idea what it meant. Did the snake kill them all? Was it a metaphor? Or just something to do? I doubted the last possibility. You'd need light, and that was scarce. It was an investment, somehow. A warning, maybe. A message, definitely. I made another flash. Another door. Which meant another cellar. Which meant another snake, I supposed. I went in. I flashed. The room seemed smaller than the others. And I couldn't see any paintings on the wall. What I could see, was another body. I had been a long time since the last. It made me curious. I felt my way towards it. My curiosity was worth it. I flashed. "No." My own words scared me. I hadn't heard words in a long time. But there was no doubt. I knew this person. That jacket. The shirt. This was Marcus. \* "What's going on with your sister?" Marcus said. "What do you mean?" "I mean, she usually hangs out with us. I haven't seen her in a while. Is there something going on?" As if he was the right person to say that. I shrugged. "I guess she's got better things to do." Marcus nodded. For a long time, he was silent. "Let's go," I said. "We're going to be late." We walked over to the convenience store. My guy said he'd meet us there. He was a couple of years older. Had never been quite right in the head. Then again, neither were we. Otherwise, we wouldn't need him. "Jer-Jer and Mar-Mar." He was eating a Twizzler outside the store. Marcus looked over at me, as if to say 'do we really want anything to do with this guy?'. "You know, you guys are cool. I got this thing and I wasn't supposed to be telling anyone, but you know, you guys are chill so I figured, what's the harm?" "What?" said Marcus. "I'm saying, I know you guys are looking for the usual deal, but this is a sweet deal, the kind that doesn't come around very often. You know? It's the stuff you'd really want if you knew about it so in a way it's what you guys want, right?" He looked fairly proud of himself for having strung together that logical sequence. "He doesn't have it," I said, looking at Marcus. "Let's just leave." "Wait," said the guy. "Come on guys. I'm telling you. This thing is .... You know, it's not even supposed to be on the *streets*." "As opposed to what we're really here for?" said Marcus. "No," said the guy, almost in a whisper. He looked around. "You won't get this anywhere else. It's a one-time thing. Alright. Since you guys are my favorite customers, I'll make you a deal. You get the Jer-Mar discount. It doesn't get better than that. What do you say?" Marcus looked over at me. "Well, if it's kind of the same thing ..." The guy slapped Marcus' shoulder. "My man!" He then quickly looked around again. Then repeated it, in a whisper: "*my man.*" "Fine," I said. The guy hastily put a bag in my pocket. I slipped him the money. "Alright lads," he said and started walking about. "Wait," I said. He turned. "What's it called?" "Snake," he said, with a big, fat grin. ​ \---TBC---

And don't just say "Megamind"!

[WP] A handful of Villains appear at a fallen Hero's funeral to show their respects.

With his fist toward the sky and his knees shaky beneath him Crusader drew his last breath and faded from this life. There she found him, still standing, fist still raised, as if death itself couldn't topple him. The audacity of the man stunned Alistair, even now, even with the color drained from his face and the blood thickening in his veins, that man still stood. His stubborn refusal to fall had been what she hated most about him. Oddly enough, anyone who could have seen her at that moment would have said she looked as if she were in mourning. She took a moment to take in the scene. The entire planet had been devastated. This world could not have been called lush but it was certainly not lifeless, at least it had been hours ago. The mountains lay broken some 50 miles to the South, the entire plate upon which they rested had been torn from the crust of this world. The seas still boiled somewhere off to the east, the steam clouded the sky and threatened rain. Alistair held the rain back with a word and felt power go out from her. Her will made real. She squated carefully and inspected the corpse of the Adversary. No other name suited him and while Alistair despised melodrama she could not think of a name more apt. Gingerly she reached out towards his corpse and, with another muttered word, felt to see if there was any residual energy in the corpse of the beast. There was none. With a gesture the corpse became ash and the ash drifter away on the breeze. Grinning she looked to the corpse of Crusader and began to speak. "I remember the child you were back in the early days. Even then I felt your fate. I felt the current of the world bend to you and around you. It annoyed me terribly. A mere child so easily and instinctually using the powers as you did" She gestured her hand toward the ground at her side and with a thought a hole six and half feet tall and six feet deep opened up. "I remember I watched you grow into a man. Most who wield the powers do become petty tyrants. Money, women, excess. Bah. The simpletons never know what to do with it. But not you. No you were different. I won't pretend to understand you, but for whatever reason you took your power and made things right with it. You never ceased to do right" With a short chop, Alistair calmed the rumblings of the Earth for a few miles. It would never move again. His peace would be undisturbed. "And when you first challenged me, I knew that your fate was not mine to deliver. It was always his. You were always to be here. You were always to win here. You were always to die here." A muttered word and the ground grew soft with cool green grass. A single tree with sable leaves sprouted and grew tall and strong. These things would never die she could give him that much. A tombstone never suited him after all. "Thank you." With unexpected reverence she gently laid him upon the now green ground and set to work repairing his costume. A ridiculous silver suit with black accents. His face was uncovered for a hero never hides his face. She cleaned his wounds and closed the more visible ones. His body would never rot, his lustre would never fade, he would remain the untarnished hero. "You were never arrogant. You were never self righteous. You only ever did what you thought to be right. And for that I thank you" At last she let the rain fall. Even still it was obvious she had tears in her eyes. At this she stood up and walked 20 or so paces to the edge of the small patch of life and laid he hand upon the crystalized earth. Rendered into dirty diamond from the struggle. Slowly a simple coffin, black as night, rose from the ground. "I sought to rule. You sought to free. I sought to destroy. You sought to preserve. And so we fought on for years. I do not regret this and I will not say I have come around to your silly ideals but perhaps there is something of them, humanity, worth preserving. Worth cherishing. If you would go to these lengths to protect them then perhaps there may still be some hope" Carefully, slowly, she took his body into her arms and gently placed him into the coffin. Surprising herself with the sentimentality of the gesture, she placed a hand on his cheek before closing the lid and sealing him inside forever. She then lowered him into his grave and let soft earth cover him. "Be at rest old friend and know that you have done well". A eulogy for a god. A funeral with one attendant. Finally, upon a simple stone miraculously still upright at the edge of the field she'd made, she inscribes "Here lies a hero, may his rest be long and peaceful" With a murmured word, Alistair vanished from the desolate world. Leaving behind the only man she'd ever respected. She hoped that her words had been enough of a send off and for the first time in a long time she looked towards the future not with malice but with a sliver of hope.

They all stood around the open casket. Some wept, but all had a dark look that was complimented by the overcast sky. The first to speak was dressed in an jet-black leather suit. “I-I-I can’t believe he’s gone... H-H-He was always in such good h-h-health... Did I do this?” The next speaker was dressed in green and blue. “Don’t blame your self, Pestila. It was... my fault... I went to far with that last trap... I shouldn’t have used the boiling acid...” It was to much for the blue-green villain to handle. He burst in to tears, falling to his knees as he covered his eyes. Everyone came and put there hand on his back. “It’s not your fault either, Acid-Man. You couldn’t have know that boiling acid was his weakness. Don’t cry, he would want you to carry on.” Acid-Man wiped away his tears and shook his head. “Who’s going to oppose us now? We... we need a new hero to thwart us!” A villain in a red suit, the leader of the group, spoke next. “Do what villains do. Evil. The heroes will come like moths to a flame.” Everyone nodded in agreement. It began to rain, causing everyone to throw a trinket into the casket - a final way of honoring the hero they all loved to hate. As the hero was lowered into the ground, the villains turned their backs and walked away. They must carry on. They must honor the worst enemy they had ever had, and carrying on was the only way.

[WP] There is a fortress, in a time and dimension apart, where people of a bygone era research magic. They've already mastered the basics, Elemental magic, Necromancy, Illusions, what have you. But now they are bringing beings from outside dimensions to learn magic and discover new forms of magic.

A blinding light filled her vision and for a moment she felt completely weightless.   A voice in the light spoke to her. "Please proceed through the portal and watch your step upon exit."   Taking a step forward she halted. *What if this was the end for her?* *Had she died?* The last thing she could recall was turning the oven off.   "Ma'am you are holding up the line." The voice said impatiently.   Taking a deep breath she began to step forward toward the source of the light. Stumbling slightly on a bump in the floor a steady hand reached out and helped her.   "Careful there, please follow the arrows on the floor and check in with each assistant under the numbers. Do you have any liquids or flammable materials on you?" The voice belonged to a short man with a long beard wearing an orange safety vest and hard hat.   She blinked attempting to clear the spots from her eyes.   "Ma'am, do you have any liquids or flammable items on you?" The small bearded man asked irritably.   "No.. nothing on me.. Wha.. Where am I?" Confused she looked around.   There were men and women in safety vests and hard hats bustling throughout the room. It seemed like some sort of extremely sterile warehouse. On the floor was a path of arrows that led to a table marked one, after the first table there were half a dozen more along a bright green arrowed path. Hundreds of people stood in line to the tables.   Glancing behind her she saw a glowing archway she had just stepped through. Four other arches filled the room to her right.   "Please proceed forward and all your questions will be answered." The bearded short man said, marking something on his clipboard.   Cautiously stepping onto the path she made her way to the table marked with a "1" over it. A short female sat with her head buried in paperwork furiously writing.   "Name, weight and percieved magical ability?" The girl said, not lifting her eyes from the documents in front of her.   "I..I think I am in the wrong place." She said backing up slowly from the table.   The girl at the table looked up irritably, "Fine I can do this the long way."   Reaching behind her to a stack of binders she pulled one out. Dropping it on the desk she opened it and began scanning through it.   "October third... fourth... ah fifth at ten fifteen in the morning... here we are. Arrival to Gate four at ten fifteen percieved magical ability unknown." She hummed shaking her head slightly and skipping down the page.   "Here we are, potential ability to create magical pastries." She looked up from the binder at her, "well that's an interesting one." The woman standing in front of the table looked shocked and at a loss for words. "I believe there must be some kind of mistake," she stuttered, "I am just an ordinary person."   The girl at the table shut the binder and picked up a clipboard beside her. "If there has been an error don't worry about it, we will fiind out during processing. Let's first start with your name."   Taking in a shaky breath the woman answered, "Paula.. it's Paula Deen."   Edit spelling

"Sign here, here, and here." A gnarled finger pointed at each blank in the stacks of paper, then handed me a quill dipped in ink. It belonged to a very short (and fairly old) man, who was sitting on a stack of books to even see over the table. I took it, then looked at askance. "Never used one of these," I muttered, but managed to scratch what looked kind of like my name into the blanks one by one. I pushed aside the giant stack of papers when I was finished. "Can we go now?" "My, aren't we in a hurry to get somewhere we've never been," the old man cackled, nearly climbing on the table to retrieve the papers I'd signed. "I do hope you found the terms... satisfactory?" "Uh, yeah," I said, looking away. "Looks great. Most of that is just because I'm the first person to get to see the new wing, right? I'm just not supposed to talk about it until it's open to the public?" The little man hopped down from his chair and disappeared until he came around the corner of the table. He gazed up at me with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. "There is certainly a non-disclosure chapter in there, but i didn't think that's what you'd get hung up on. Either way, without further ado, let us head to the new expansion of Dr. Ivy's Mighty Lyceum." He stopped, then looked me up and down. "Unless you have any important phone calls to make?" I shook my head. I'd been waiting five years for the Lyceum to open up a new Wing of Wonders, and I was finally going to get to see it. As the number one patron for half-a-decade, I'd been picked to get a sneak peek at it! "Whew. Not even your mother?" I frowned at the accusatory glance the little old man was giving me. My mother didn't care about this place. Stop wasting your time in a fantasy world, William, she'd say. The wands and dragons and other awful things there aren't even real, and if they were, well, who would want to live in a world like that? I shook my head again, examining the short man as he turned and strode off again. Who was he, anyway? I should have met everyone who worked here by now. The owner, Bob Crane, would routinely smile and ask me how my season tickets were going. This little fellow, though, with his little tufts of gray hair poking from under a flattened leather beret, was unknown to me. If anything, he looked far more like one of the little wizards in the challenges of the Cotter Academy wings than a human. My thoughts slipped back to the excitement at hand as I was led up to a huge set of double doors. I was grinning like a mad man, and I'm pretty sure I was making a few excited noises, judging by the way the little fellow looked at me as he put his hands on the doors and began to pull. The scene that erupted past the doors was greater than anything I'd experienced in my wildest dreams. The interior of a dome stretched out before us, filled with station after station of wonder. Some people were actually flying from space to space, some on brooms, some on carpets. I marveled at how smoothly is was all done. Dr. Ivy, or Bob, I should say, had really went all out on te technology for this. It was unbelievable! I barely noticed the little fellow excuse himself. A large figure replaced him, carrying three scrolls. "Hurry, hurry. Take your spells. We don't have all day." I snatched them out of the big man's hands, still grinning. "You don't have to tell me twice. Where's station one?" He pointed a big meaty hand at a small arena just ahead. "Better read your spells first. You need a practice round?" I shook my head and let out a small laugh. I'd been playing upstairs for five years. There was nothing new this game could throw at me that I couldn't handle on the fly. Another figure appeared next to me, this one slim, also in a lab coat, with long hair tied back from her face. She was scribbling something on a pad, and talking along as she did so. "Subject shows extreme confidence, most likely stemming from long-term success in simulated runs." I smirked, then stepped towards the gate to the arena. As I walked, I glanced over the scrolls. Ice, fire, and protection. I went to tuck them into my belt, but they disappeared and I felt a sudden warmth wash over me. What the hell was that? I looked around, thinking I'd dropped them, but they were no where to be found. "Are you prepared?" The large man was at the gate, his massive hand on the latch. "I see you learned your spells, at least." "Always." I winked at the girl, who proceeded to write something else down and completely ignore me. As soon as I stepped into the arena, the gate on the far end rattled. I looked across the mud and sawdust floor of the simulated arena, trying to see what was about to burst in from the other side. A few seconds later I saw it. A Minotaur. How cliche'. But as far as first round opponents, it was kind a step up. At least it wasn't a swarm of rats. I stepped forward, my hand raised in the general direction of the guy in the suit for flair. "Ice!" To his credit, the dude snorted a really realistic snort and started flat-out running at me. They'd even stepped their game up with the actors and costumes, it seemed. "Ice!" I shouted again, letting the idiot know I'd cast on him and he had to slow down. There were rules, you know. You couldn't just ignore someone when... Icicles stabbed my palm as a huge ball of frost whipped around and formed in my hand. My jaw dropped about as fast as the ball of ice did. It shattered on the ground in front of me, chilling my feet with a deep, numbing cold. The Minotaur kept sprinting and snorting. I tried to run, but my feet refused to cooperate. right before he hit me, I crossed my arms over my chest and whined, "Protection!" A thin white barrier flashed between the Minotaur and my poor, stick-thin body. He hit the barrier with the full head of steam, but since it was attached to me, I went flying off into the fence I'd just stepped through. I heard the sound of the beams crunching as I hit them. "Subject shows lack of understanding of how to utilize offensive spells, yet shows promise with instinctual casting." I struggled to get back to my feet, trying to see if anything was broken. I couldn't really tell. I was hurting all over. I shot a worried look over to the people in lab coats. "Hey, uh, can we pause the station?" The girl looked up. "No, that would skew the data." The big man shrugged. "Better get that fireball ready." I whirled back around to see the Minotaur making another run at me. Nope. I jumped the fence and headed back towards the double doors. "Good luck with your new wing!" I shouted, nearly falling in my haste. ​ /r/intotheslushpile ​ ​ ​ ​

[WP] There is a fortress, in a time and dimension apart, where people of a bygone era research magic. They've already mastered the basics, Elemental magic, Necromancy, Illusions, what have you. But now they are bringing beings from outside dimensions to learn magic and discover new forms of magic.

Alonso Bruja, renowned stage magician, prepared himself for his final act. He, unfortunately, did not realize it was his last, so instead he treated it like any other; which was to say, some warm-ups, a glass of water, getting a read on the audience, and taking a moment to focus himself. Alonso opened his eyes as a series of bells rang throughout the building. The clock had struck 8: it was time for his show. He strode upon the stage, greeted by enthusiastic cheers, and bowed and waved gratefully to his audience. Enthusiastic crowd tonight. With a breath and a moment’s pause, Alonso began his last act to grace the stage. He proceeded to dazzle them with feats of dexterity, mystify them with misdirection, and, his personal favorite, confound them with cards. The audience was eating up; both the one he could see, and the one far beyond any mortal’s perception. Eventually, the show had ran its course, and it was time for the last act. “You’ve been a lovely audience, but unfortunately, our time together is almost up.” Cue a round of “aww”s from the viewers around the stage, and a flurry of conversation in the audience unseen and unheard. “That being said, I have one last feat of magic to perform for you! It has never been seen on the stage before, and, if it doesn’t work, it shall never be seen again! So, we’ll find out together, shall we?” In that moment, the audience unseen reached their conclusion: this human knew of yet unknown mystical arts, and he would teach them. The began chanting in sync. Alonso looked to his left and right to make sure everything was ready behind the scene, and began to count down. “Uno, dos, …” And was gone without a tres. In that moment, Alonso’s scenery shifted suddenly; no more was he on a worn wooden stage, framed by velvet curtains, overlooking a sea of people to watch him perform, he was instead in a stone fortress, with utilitarian windows looking out into the infinite void of space. This wasn’t right: where were the poodles for the trick? Where was *he*? And then he looked around a bit more to notice he was being stared at by unfathomable being chittering in some eldritch tongue. The last thing Alonso saw was a rapid panning up to the ceiling as he collapsed backwards, smacking his head on the cold stone floor and fading into unconsciousness. “Well, that didn’t go well, now did it?” Chittered the aforementioned eldritch beings. Another replied, “Should we take a form that he’ll find more comfortable?” A round of agreements, and some Illusion magic later, a circle of willowy, blue-skinned humanoids stood around the comatose stage magician. “Should we fix that?” “Let’s just… give him a moment.” Hours later (not that he would know how long it had been, seeing as 1.) there were no clocks in sight, and Alonso didn’t wear a watch on stage, 2.) the windows only showed the star-filled vacuum of space, rather than anything convenient to time-telling such as a single sun in the sky, and 3.) time didn’t exactly exist in the Fortress anyway, so it was kind of a moot point), Alonso woke to the aforementioned circle of azure humanoids, who were eagerly awaiting his awakening. Before he could even ask one of his many, many questions, one of the figures blurted out, “Teach us!” “...huh?” Alonso was hopelessly lost at this point. The concussion probably didn’t help matters much, either. One of the older-looking figures sighed, pinching the bridge of their not-nose. “Some explanation is in order, yes? We are the Valatia, and you are in the Citadel Arcana, a bastion of magical knowledge beyond time and space, where we discover and perfect any and all things arcane, mystical, or even mildly befuddling. We have continued on for countless cycles, but we’ve… hit something of a snag. So, we decided to start outsourcing. Congratulations, you got the job.” The figure then snapped their not-fingers, and the sound of rustling could be heard in another room. Alonso, finally finding some of his cognitive ability, replied, “That’s great and all, but uh… I actually liked my old life and would be pretty happy if you could send me ba-” In that moment, a scroll had finished its journey throughout the Citadel, flying into the hands of the lead Valatian. The figure proffered the scroll, interrupting Alonso’s request. Surprisingly, it was in his native Spanish, and looking through it, it was a contract for a teaching position in the Citadel Arcana, for… an amount of time that technically didn’t exist, so he skipped over that. Glossing over the rest of it, he found the salary at the bottom. He swallowed audibly. “...that’s… a lot of zeroes…” Alonso mumbled to himself. He shook himself back to lucidity, rolled up the scroll, and proffered a hand to the figure in front of him. “I’d be honored to have the job, sir.” Some time(?) later, Alonso stood before a crowd of figures in all shapes, sizes, and dimensional counts, holding a deck of cards in one hand as he reached behind the closest thing to an ear of the figure in front of him. “Is this your card?” The sounds of applause and frantic note-taking were heard, echoing throughout the hall.

"Sign here, here, and here." A gnarled finger pointed at each blank in the stacks of paper, then handed me a quill dipped in ink. It belonged to a very short (and fairly old) man, who was sitting on a stack of books to even see over the table. I took it, then looked at askance. "Never used one of these," I muttered, but managed to scratch what looked kind of like my name into the blanks one by one. I pushed aside the giant stack of papers when I was finished. "Can we go now?" "My, aren't we in a hurry to get somewhere we've never been," the old man cackled, nearly climbing on the table to retrieve the papers I'd signed. "I do hope you found the terms... satisfactory?" "Uh, yeah," I said, looking away. "Looks great. Most of that is just because I'm the first person to get to see the new wing, right? I'm just not supposed to talk about it until it's open to the public?" The little man hopped down from his chair and disappeared until he came around the corner of the table. He gazed up at me with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. "There is certainly a non-disclosure chapter in there, but i didn't think that's what you'd get hung up on. Either way, without further ado, let us head to the new expansion of Dr. Ivy's Mighty Lyceum." He stopped, then looked me up and down. "Unless you have any important phone calls to make?" I shook my head. I'd been waiting five years for the Lyceum to open up a new Wing of Wonders, and I was finally going to get to see it. As the number one patron for half-a-decade, I'd been picked to get a sneak peek at it! "Whew. Not even your mother?" I frowned at the accusatory glance the little old man was giving me. My mother didn't care about this place. Stop wasting your time in a fantasy world, William, she'd say. The wands and dragons and other awful things there aren't even real, and if they were, well, who would want to live in a world like that? I shook my head again, examining the short man as he turned and strode off again. Who was he, anyway? I should have met everyone who worked here by now. The owner, Bob Crane, would routinely smile and ask me how my season tickets were going. This little fellow, though, with his little tufts of gray hair poking from under a flattened leather beret, was unknown to me. If anything, he looked far more like one of the little wizards in the challenges of the Cotter Academy wings than a human. My thoughts slipped back to the excitement at hand as I was led up to a huge set of double doors. I was grinning like a mad man, and I'm pretty sure I was making a few excited noises, judging by the way the little fellow looked at me as he put his hands on the doors and began to pull. The scene that erupted past the doors was greater than anything I'd experienced in my wildest dreams. The interior of a dome stretched out before us, filled with station after station of wonder. Some people were actually flying from space to space, some on brooms, some on carpets. I marveled at how smoothly is was all done. Dr. Ivy, or Bob, I should say, had really went all out on te technology for this. It was unbelievable! I barely noticed the little fellow excuse himself. A large figure replaced him, carrying three scrolls. "Hurry, hurry. Take your spells. We don't have all day." I snatched them out of the big man's hands, still grinning. "You don't have to tell me twice. Where's station one?" He pointed a big meaty hand at a small arena just ahead. "Better read your spells first. You need a practice round?" I shook my head and let out a small laugh. I'd been playing upstairs for five years. There was nothing new this game could throw at me that I couldn't handle on the fly. Another figure appeared next to me, this one slim, also in a lab coat, with long hair tied back from her face. She was scribbling something on a pad, and talking along as she did so. "Subject shows extreme confidence, most likely stemming from long-term success in simulated runs." I smirked, then stepped towards the gate to the arena. As I walked, I glanced over the scrolls. Ice, fire, and protection. I went to tuck them into my belt, but they disappeared and I felt a sudden warmth wash over me. What the hell was that? I looked around, thinking I'd dropped them, but they were no where to be found. "Are you prepared?" The large man was at the gate, his massive hand on the latch. "I see you learned your spells, at least." "Always." I winked at the girl, who proceeded to write something else down and completely ignore me. As soon as I stepped into the arena, the gate on the far end rattled. I looked across the mud and sawdust floor of the simulated arena, trying to see what was about to burst in from the other side. A few seconds later I saw it. A Minotaur. How cliche'. But as far as first round opponents, it was kind a step up. At least it wasn't a swarm of rats. I stepped forward, my hand raised in the general direction of the guy in the suit for flair. "Ice!" To his credit, the dude snorted a really realistic snort and started flat-out running at me. They'd even stepped their game up with the actors and costumes, it seemed. "Ice!" I shouted again, letting the idiot know I'd cast on him and he had to slow down. There were rules, you know. You couldn't just ignore someone when... Icicles stabbed my palm as a huge ball of frost whipped around and formed in my hand. My jaw dropped about as fast as the ball of ice did. It shattered on the ground in front of me, chilling my feet with a deep, numbing cold. The Minotaur kept sprinting and snorting. I tried to run, but my feet refused to cooperate. right before he hit me, I crossed my arms over my chest and whined, "Protection!" A thin white barrier flashed between the Minotaur and my poor, stick-thin body. He hit the barrier with the full head of steam, but since it was attached to me, I went flying off into the fence I'd just stepped through. I heard the sound of the beams crunching as I hit them. "Subject shows lack of understanding of how to utilize offensive spells, yet shows promise with instinctual casting." I struggled to get back to my feet, trying to see if anything was broken. I couldn't really tell. I was hurting all over. I shot a worried look over to the people in lab coats. "Hey, uh, can we pause the station?" The girl looked up. "No, that would skew the data." The big man shrugged. "Better get that fireball ready." I whirled back around to see the Minotaur making another run at me. Nope. I jumped the fence and headed back towards the double doors. "Good luck with your new wing!" I shouted, nearly falling in my haste. ​ /r/intotheslushpile ​ ​ ​ ​

[WP] There is a fortress, in a time and dimension apart, where people of a bygone era research magic. They've already mastered the basics, Elemental magic, Necromancy, Illusions, what have you. But now they are bringing beings from outside dimensions to learn magic and discover new forms of magic.

Alonso Bruja, renowned stage magician, prepared himself for his final act. He, unfortunately, did not realize it was his last, so instead he treated it like any other; which was to say, some warm-ups, a glass of water, getting a read on the audience, and taking a moment to focus himself. Alonso opened his eyes as a series of bells rang throughout the building. The clock had struck 8: it was time for his show. He strode upon the stage, greeted by enthusiastic cheers, and bowed and waved gratefully to his audience. Enthusiastic crowd tonight. With a breath and a moment’s pause, Alonso began his last act to grace the stage. He proceeded to dazzle them with feats of dexterity, mystify them with misdirection, and, his personal favorite, confound them with cards. The audience was eating up; both the one he could see, and the one far beyond any mortal’s perception. Eventually, the show had ran its course, and it was time for the last act. “You’ve been a lovely audience, but unfortunately, our time together is almost up.” Cue a round of “aww”s from the viewers around the stage, and a flurry of conversation in the audience unseen and unheard. “That being said, I have one last feat of magic to perform for you! It has never been seen on the stage before, and, if it doesn’t work, it shall never be seen again! So, we’ll find out together, shall we?” In that moment, the audience unseen reached their conclusion: this human knew of yet unknown mystical arts, and he would teach them. The began chanting in sync. Alonso looked to his left and right to make sure everything was ready behind the scene, and began to count down. “Uno, dos, …” And was gone without a tres. In that moment, Alonso’s scenery shifted suddenly; no more was he on a worn wooden stage, framed by velvet curtains, overlooking a sea of people to watch him perform, he was instead in a stone fortress, with utilitarian windows looking out into the infinite void of space. This wasn’t right: where were the poodles for the trick? Where was *he*? And then he looked around a bit more to notice he was being stared at by unfathomable being chittering in some eldritch tongue. The last thing Alonso saw was a rapid panning up to the ceiling as he collapsed backwards, smacking his head on the cold stone floor and fading into unconsciousness. “Well, that didn’t go well, now did it?” Chittered the aforementioned eldritch beings. Another replied, “Should we take a form that he’ll find more comfortable?” A round of agreements, and some Illusion magic later, a circle of willowy, blue-skinned humanoids stood around the comatose stage magician. “Should we fix that?” “Let’s just… give him a moment.” Hours later (not that he would know how long it had been, seeing as 1.) there were no clocks in sight, and Alonso didn’t wear a watch on stage, 2.) the windows only showed the star-filled vacuum of space, rather than anything convenient to time-telling such as a single sun in the sky, and 3.) time didn’t exactly exist in the Fortress anyway, so it was kind of a moot point), Alonso woke to the aforementioned circle of azure humanoids, who were eagerly awaiting his awakening. Before he could even ask one of his many, many questions, one of the figures blurted out, “Teach us!” “...huh?” Alonso was hopelessly lost at this point. The concussion probably didn’t help matters much, either. One of the older-looking figures sighed, pinching the bridge of their not-nose. “Some explanation is in order, yes? We are the Valatia, and you are in the Citadel Arcana, a bastion of magical knowledge beyond time and space, where we discover and perfect any and all things arcane, mystical, or even mildly befuddling. We have continued on for countless cycles, but we’ve… hit something of a snag. So, we decided to start outsourcing. Congratulations, you got the job.” The figure then snapped their not-fingers, and the sound of rustling could be heard in another room. Alonso, finally finding some of his cognitive ability, replied, “That’s great and all, but uh… I actually liked my old life and would be pretty happy if you could send me ba-” In that moment, a scroll had finished its journey throughout the Citadel, flying into the hands of the lead Valatian. The figure proffered the scroll, interrupting Alonso’s request. Surprisingly, it was in his native Spanish, and looking through it, it was a contract for a teaching position in the Citadel Arcana, for… an amount of time that technically didn’t exist, so he skipped over that. Glossing over the rest of it, he found the salary at the bottom. He swallowed audibly. “...that’s… a lot of zeroes…” Alonso mumbled to himself. He shook himself back to lucidity, rolled up the scroll, and proffered a hand to the figure in front of him. “I’d be honored to have the job, sir.” Some time(?) later, Alonso stood before a crowd of figures in all shapes, sizes, and dimensional counts, holding a deck of cards in one hand as he reached behind the closest thing to an ear of the figure in front of him. “Is this your card?” The sounds of applause and frantic note-taking were heard, echoing throughout the hall.

A blinding light filled her vision and for a moment she felt completely weightless.   A voice in the light spoke to her. "Please proceed through the portal and watch your step upon exit."   Taking a step forward she halted. *What if this was the end for her?* *Had she died?* The last thing she could recall was turning the oven off.   "Ma'am you are holding up the line." The voice said impatiently.   Taking a deep breath she began to step forward toward the source of the light. Stumbling slightly on a bump in the floor a steady hand reached out and helped her.   "Careful there, please follow the arrows on the floor and check in with each assistant under the numbers. Do you have any liquids or flammable materials on you?" The voice belonged to a short man with a long beard wearing an orange safety vest and hard hat.   She blinked attempting to clear the spots from her eyes.   "Ma'am, do you have any liquids or flammable items on you?" The small bearded man asked irritably.   "No.. nothing on me.. Wha.. Where am I?" Confused she looked around.   There were men and women in safety vests and hard hats bustling throughout the room. It seemed like some sort of extremely sterile warehouse. On the floor was a path of arrows that led to a table marked one, after the first table there were half a dozen more along a bright green arrowed path. Hundreds of people stood in line to the tables.   Glancing behind her she saw a glowing archway she had just stepped through. Four other arches filled the room to her right.   "Please proceed forward and all your questions will be answered." The bearded short man said, marking something on his clipboard.   Cautiously stepping onto the path she made her way to the table marked with a "1" over it. A short female sat with her head buried in paperwork furiously writing.   "Name, weight and percieved magical ability?" The girl said, not lifting her eyes from the documents in front of her.   "I..I think I am in the wrong place." She said backing up slowly from the table.   The girl at the table looked up irritably, "Fine I can do this the long way."   Reaching behind her to a stack of binders she pulled one out. Dropping it on the desk she opened it and began scanning through it.   "October third... fourth... ah fifth at ten fifteen in the morning... here we are. Arrival to Gate four at ten fifteen percieved magical ability unknown." She hummed shaking her head slightly and skipping down the page.   "Here we are, potential ability to create magical pastries." She looked up from the binder at her, "well that's an interesting one." The woman standing in front of the table looked shocked and at a loss for words. "I believe there must be some kind of mistake," she stuttered, "I am just an ordinary person."   The girl at the table shut the binder and picked up a clipboard beside her. "If there has been an error don't worry about it, we will fiind out during processing. Let's first start with your name."   Taking in a shaky breath the woman answered, "Paula.. it's Paula Deen."   Edit spelling

[WP] You have died. Much to your surprise, you don't find yourself in heaven or hell. Instead, you are driving along a dark desert highway, cool wind in your hair.

I hate that name so much. Everything about it is just weird. Couldn’t they have thought of something else. Now. I’m nice and dead. Good going. This is kind of nice though. At least I think it’s nice. Convertible. Desert. Never ending tank of gas. Whatever I want on the radio. It’s nice. What is that smell though. Kind of came out of no where and I have no idea what it is. Maybe a little skunky? Ha. It’s bad weed. Wait. Do I have weed. Ohhh. Shit. Yes. Weed. Nice. This isn’t so bad. I wonder why people are so afraid of the afterlife. This is honestly the calmest I’ve ever felt. Whoa. Good weed. I’m starting to get tired. Do I just pull over. Or what. Can I pull over. Yep. I can. Wait. That looks like a sign. Neon? Jesus. Where am I? I know. I’m homer after eating Guatemalan insanity peppers. Where’s the fox! I’m an idiot. Guess I’ll stop up there. It looks like a hotel, but this is dreamland, so I can’t read anything. That’s weird. Why am I just noticing that? It’s been hours. Whatever. Ooo. She’s pretty. *ding ding* Ugh. Fuck. Why’d he do that. And what hotel still has fucking bells in it. Well this is either gonna be great or seedy. Oooo candles. Why isn’t she talking. Shouldn’t she say something? Should I say something? Wait. Can I say anything? Am I too high? Does she know I’m high? Dammit. I’m too high. Alright. Down the long dark hall with random ass people talking. That’s fun. Hope the walls aren’t too thin. They are talking about how nice it is. So that should be fun. Oh hell yes. Bed. Time. Gimme. I could swear I stepped into the 70s. Whatever. Bed time. It’s still night? Is the afterlife just perpetual sunset. God she looks like Audrey Hepburn. Damn. Oh they’re dancing. There’s a dance? Weird but ok. I’ll check it out. It’s still nice out. It’s like that perfect temperature. Wow. Lots of people here. Am I still stoned? How long was I asleep? They’re all dancing. I should dance too. She’s with someone. I’ll dance alone. Where am I? Why am I wearing this? What happened to my car? I can’t remember anything. Hey. Back in the room. Ooo room service. “Did you say captain?” “Yes sir. That’s my name. How can I help you?” “Did I come here with wine. I feel like I had wine when I got here. Can you bring me my wine?” “Oh. Sorry. No can do. We’ve been dry here since the late 60s” “Oh. Really? Odd. Oh I gotta go. Sounds like someone is calling for me” Well. Whatever. I guess maybe heaven doesn’t like liquor. Or whatever this after place is. Who is calling for me though. Just keep saying what a nice place it is? That makes no sense. **dinner at the end of the hall in miss masters chambers** Weird sign. Oddly formal. But I am hungry. Oh it’s her. Why is there a mirror on her ceiling. Nope. Never mind. Got it. Mirror ceiling. Yep. Oh everyone’s here. Is that a pig? Oh shit champagne! I’m having some. What are they doing. Small drink. They’re stabbing it. What the fuck. It’s not dying. I gotta get out of here. Dancing? Why am I dancing? Wasn’t I running? Last thing I remember.... “Did you just say captain?” Wait. “Yes sir. That’s my name. How can I help you?” This isn’t right. Something isn’t right. “Did I come here with wine. I feel like I had wine when I got here. Can you bring me my wine?” Thats not what I wanted to say. “Oh. Sorry. No can do. We’ve been dry here since the late 60s” “NO!” I won that one. It’s all I could say. “Relax. We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like.” **dinner at the end of the hall in miss masters chambers** Weird. Sign. Wait. Oddly formal. Wait. But I am... can... never leave. Hungry.

I jolt up and grip the steering wheel tightly, I'd just witnessed the last few moments of my life yet here I am gripping the familiar steering wheel of the family car. My wife asleep beside me in the passenger seat and our baby girl asleep in the backseat. I feel at peace and hopeful. I haven't felt this way in a long time. Work has been hard but I always left work behind as soon as I stepped across the threshold. I wanted to be the perfect husband and father. It's a dark rainy night, we're on our way to visit family for Thanksgiving. I'm looking forward to seeing my parents, my brothers, my sisters and their kids too. We don't spend much time together anymore, it'll be nice to catch up. I can't wait to share the news, we've got another addition to the family on the way. They'll be so thrilled. We've been on the road for hours. It's late. My eyes are heavy. Every blink brings me closer to sleep. A bend in the road is coming up. I can't keep my eyes open, I move my hand to wake my wife and suggest a rest stop when a truck pulls out infront of me. The driver is on the wrong side of the road. I don't have time to react. He hits us. I jolt up and grip the steering wheel tightly...

[WP] You have died. Much to your surprise, you don't find yourself in heaven or hell. Instead, you are driving along a dark desert highway, cool wind in your hair.

I hate that name so much. Everything about it is just weird. Couldn’t they have thought of something else. Now. I’m nice and dead. Good going. This is kind of nice though. At least I think it’s nice. Convertible. Desert. Never ending tank of gas. Whatever I want on the radio. It’s nice. What is that smell though. Kind of came out of no where and I have no idea what it is. Maybe a little skunky? Ha. It’s bad weed. Wait. Do I have weed. Ohhh. Shit. Yes. Weed. Nice. This isn’t so bad. I wonder why people are so afraid of the afterlife. This is honestly the calmest I’ve ever felt. Whoa. Good weed. I’m starting to get tired. Do I just pull over. Or what. Can I pull over. Yep. I can. Wait. That looks like a sign. Neon? Jesus. Where am I? I know. I’m homer after eating Guatemalan insanity peppers. Where’s the fox! I’m an idiot. Guess I’ll stop up there. It looks like a hotel, but this is dreamland, so I can’t read anything. That’s weird. Why am I just noticing that? It’s been hours. Whatever. Ooo. She’s pretty. *ding ding* Ugh. Fuck. Why’d he do that. And what hotel still has fucking bells in it. Well this is either gonna be great or seedy. Oooo candles. Why isn’t she talking. Shouldn’t she say something? Should I say something? Wait. Can I say anything? Am I too high? Does she know I’m high? Dammit. I’m too high. Alright. Down the long dark hall with random ass people talking. That’s fun. Hope the walls aren’t too thin. They are talking about how nice it is. So that should be fun. Oh hell yes. Bed. Time. Gimme. I could swear I stepped into the 70s. Whatever. Bed time. It’s still night? Is the afterlife just perpetual sunset. God she looks like Audrey Hepburn. Damn. Oh they’re dancing. There’s a dance? Weird but ok. I’ll check it out. It’s still nice out. It’s like that perfect temperature. Wow. Lots of people here. Am I still stoned? How long was I asleep? They’re all dancing. I should dance too. She’s with someone. I’ll dance alone. Where am I? Why am I wearing this? What happened to my car? I can’t remember anything. Hey. Back in the room. Ooo room service. “Did you say captain?” “Yes sir. That’s my name. How can I help you?” “Did I come here with wine. I feel like I had wine when I got here. Can you bring me my wine?” “Oh. Sorry. No can do. We’ve been dry here since the late 60s” “Oh. Really? Odd. Oh I gotta go. Sounds like someone is calling for me” Well. Whatever. I guess maybe heaven doesn’t like liquor. Or whatever this after place is. Who is calling for me though. Just keep saying what a nice place it is? That makes no sense. **dinner at the end of the hall in miss masters chambers** Weird sign. Oddly formal. But I am hungry. Oh it’s her. Why is there a mirror on her ceiling. Nope. Never mind. Got it. Mirror ceiling. Yep. Oh everyone’s here. Is that a pig? Oh shit champagne! I’m having some. What are they doing. Small drink. They’re stabbing it. What the fuck. It’s not dying. I gotta get out of here. Dancing? Why am I dancing? Wasn’t I running? Last thing I remember.... “Did you just say captain?” Wait. “Yes sir. That’s my name. How can I help you?” This isn’t right. Something isn’t right. “Did I come here with wine. I feel like I had wine when I got here. Can you bring me my wine?” Thats not what I wanted to say. “Oh. Sorry. No can do. We’ve been dry here since the late 60s” “NO!” I won that one. It’s all I could say. “Relax. We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like.” **dinner at the end of the hall in miss masters chambers** Weird. Sign. Wait. Oddly formal. Wait. But I am... can... never leave. Hungry.

John didn’t realize he was dead until he tried to kill someone and couldn’t. He was flying down the desert highway, full moon and dazzling stars reflecting off the asphalt ahead of him like rattlesnake scales in the sun, when a mad impulse took hold of him. John gripped the rubbery steering wheel of the 1967 red Mustang convertible. He punched the accelerator and bit his lip with a savage pleasure in reaching 100, 120, 140, 160, 180, 200 miles per hour. John continued depressing the accelerator. He had no idea how fast this car could go, but he’d be damned if he didn’t find that out before the night was done. The wind was whipping at his face. He felt the skin near his eyes pulling, tearing away from his eyes. What had begun as a cool breeze ruffling his hair had become a cyclone tearing and yanking at the roots. Still, John sped forward. 220, 240, 260, 280, 300 miles per hour. John knew cars couldn’t go this fast. An insistent rational voice in his mind kept reminding him of this. Something is off, it told him, be careful, slow down, find out what it is. Something is off. But John pressed the accelerator even harder to silence that hiding, nagging voice. He’d had enough of that voice for a lifetime. The engine roared like no engine could. It roared like volcanoes erupt, ancient forces thousands of years old releasing fire and toxic fumes into the unready world. A long repressed and violent orgasm in the night. John’s whoop was drowned out by that seismic sound, and he jabbed the accelerator even further down. 320, 340, 360, 380, 400 miles per hour. John’s heart was thudding in his chest like a timpani. Yes, Yes, Yes, it boomed. Cacti, desert dunes, and boulders burst into his periphery and disappeared as if they were no more than smoke, fog, and shadow, broken up by his approach. Even the stars above seemed slow, small, and insignificant. John and his Mustang, with the headlights bright and beaming, were like a comet, a meteor. John was the most important thing alive, the only thing that mattered. He punched the accelerator harder now, as hard as he could, and yet, his foot hadn’t yet reached bottom. John was in ecstasy. He could go even faster if he wanted. 420, 440, 460, 480 miles per hour. John was in real pain now. The wind was digging fingers into his eyes. The delicate inner workings of his ears were in tatters. His eardrums stabbed and broken. He was sure that the skin on his face had split and broken in more than one place. Something was dripping off his face, but it was being whipped off by the wind too fast to tell if it was warm like blood was warm. But John wanted more. He deserved more. 500, 520, 540, 560 miles per hour. For the first time since he’d begun driving, John saw something ahead of him on the road. It was a tiny silhouette, hardly recognizable as a person at all, but at the speed John was going, it was growing larger and more defined by the millisecond. John wanted to smile but he was going too fast for that. He dug the accelerator even deeper now. He didn’t care how fast he was going so long as it was faster. John only had one thing in mind now. He clenched the steering wheel and made sure he was on the right path. He was coming up on it now. On him. He screamed with the thrill of it. He saw the horror in the man’s eyes. John bashed at the accelerator with both feet. “Faster!” John screamed. John would run him down now. He was so close, nearly there. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. Three industrial buzzes rang out like the sounds that accompany the shutting down of large industrial equipment. John wasn’t in a car, or in a desert, or running someone over. He was sitting in a chair in a small white room. There was someone else there. He was wearing a drab factory uniform. Blue jumper, boots, hardhat. He had a patch on his jumper that read, “Bob.” John opened his mouth to speak, but Bob spoke first. “I’m not an angel, you’re not in heaven, you’re not in hell. I’m just a technician. I’m here to build your conscience.” John opened his mouth to speak again, but once more, Bob spoke first. “You’re going to be reincarnated, but first we have to build your conscience. A conscience-less human is the foulest creature in the galaxy, and it’s against the law to let one out. We build your conscience here before we allow you to be reborn. We train it into you like you train your dogs. Repetition and rewards for good behavior. I’ve literally told you these things 1,483,320 times, and you’re still not getting it. But we’ll get there, don’t you worry. Morals don’t come easy for your species. Now, did you enjoy driving your car into that man?” John frowned. “You did. Well, John, looks like you’re not going to get your ten minutes of pure bliss. Let’s run that again.” “Wait.” But Bob shook his head. “No.” And then John was flying down the desert highway, full moon and dazzling stars reflecting off the asphalt ahead of him like rattlesnake scales in the sun, when a mad impulse took hold of him.

[WP] You have died. Much to your surprise, you don't find yourself in heaven or hell. Instead, you are driving along a dark desert highway, cool wind in your hair.

"God dammit." "Language." Opal scowled. Glancing briefly to her right, fear of crashing abandoning her, she saw her passenger. Lounging in the passenger's seat, an army of corkscrew curls waved wildly behind them. They rivaled spring raindrops. Her legs were propped leisurely on the dashboard; her arm was rolled over the window, in the same position as a dangling cigarette. It'd been fifty years. Fifty god-damned, stress relief years. She clenched the wheel, grinding her teeth. "Come on, you can't say you're not happy to see me," the familiar selfish grin slashed her pouty lips. "I'm not happy to see you. Far from it, actually." "There are worst things to meet you on your death day." Cool wind passed through her hair, which she had finally noticed was no longer the stainless steel grey of a scouring pad. She swallowed thickly, calming her thoughts. Okay. She was dead - deader than dead, deader than a doorknob. This wasn't a surprise. She was 92. Lived a good life. Died a good death. Was surrounded by people who had loved her, and the last thing she heard were their tears. "Don't worry. They miss you." She chuckled, "I don't know why. You were a right bitch of a High Priestess." "Go fuck yourself." "See!" Kicking the dashboard excitedly, she clapped her hands, "I've missed you. Always telling me what was up. Always keeping it real. Always honest." "Why are you here?" She blinked at her as if it was the most obvious answer. "There was no one else." She slid her body across leather seats, resting her head on her shoulder. Opal shivered at the touch of her coarse, fluffy hair. Not once, not ever did she think, *"I'll never feel this again."* She knew, in some way, that'd it happen, but when, how. Certainly not like this. She clenched the wheel tighter, biting her bottom lip until the metallic, tangy taste of blood touched her tongue. "But you're God." "A god, not your god. I'm someone's God." "That's how you got in here?" "I asked my sister." She shrugged at Opal's stark glare, "She has dominion over you. Not I. I just filled your lakes and oceans and all that." "She didn't create humanity either." "Nah, that was Mom." "So...you're here because?" "I missed you." She snuggled into her shoulder, curled on the seat like an old cat in front of a gentle fire. "And besides," she murmured, "this way we can be together forever, and I know it's what you've wanted." "Don't speak for me." "Am I wrong?" She took Opal's silence for confirmation. "So where is this thing taking us?" She sniffed, "What is it? A 1975 El Diablo?" She grinned, "*1965*, vintage." Snuggling deeper into her flesh, she sighed, "And we're gonna go wherever I want, or where you want. There's a gas station to your right. Opal saw where she directed. A minor, tiny, ragged gas station was in the middle of nowhere. A minivan, filled with what she assumed to be people were stuffed inside. The driver was inside speaking to the cashier whose red seemed meld appropriately into the dry, Arizona like environment. "Don't worry, he likes me." She scooted across the seat, over her, and out of the car, "Hey, Yama!" "Ankaa!" Opal shouted over the engine, "Ankaa, hey!" Aquamarine glanced back at her. Lips pouted brightly, "Yeah?" "See if there any road maps in there, 'kay? We don't need to get lost, do we?" When she smiled, that same too pearly, too ivory, too bright and shiny smile, Opal felt more alive than she had in fifty years.

“This is it” Jack thought. Jack knew he made a grave mistake coming out to the cliffside for some evening riding on his Harley motorcycle. Even as an adult, his parents, friends, peers, and colleagues always chiseled him over the dangers from riding motorcycles. Now they’re opinions would be validated, as Jack stood face to face with a red Dodge Ram, careening over the double yellow line at a lovely 50 mph. In his last moments, Jack almost couldn’t blame the driver. Jack aggressively charged the notorious blind spot of the route, while of course still sticking to his side of the road. Unfortunately his associate couldn’t be so courteous. As Jack closed his eyes and all went black, he was entranced with a warm and pleasant feeling that he could only describe as otherworldly. When he reopened his eyes, he was greeted with a gorgeous sunset, complete with all colors of the rainbow. He was suddenly now in the desert, by himself, with an abandoned gas station as his only sort of break from the desert sand that surrounded him for miles around. To his shock, his bike remained completely intact. But as he mounted his bike he noticed a detail more peculiar than his current circumstances would perceive to be. On the left side of the bike’s bodywork appeared a logo, a logo fitted with what Jack thought to be an angel’s halo wrapped around a traditional devil’s pitchfork. “How did I get here?” mumbled Jack as he was confused why he was suddenly stranded in the middle of the desert rather than on a cliffside. Jack hoped to have some of his internal questions answered, as he saw a group of riders riding identical bikes on the horizon seemingly out to stop at the gas station.

[WP] You have died. Much to your surprise, you don't find yourself in heaven or hell. Instead, you are driving along a dark desert highway, cool wind in your hair.

I'm not sure what car I'm driving. All I know is that its a manual transmission, 5 gear system, though my feet has been on the gas for a while now and I haven't had to slow down yet. I don't know where I am, or where I'm headed to. I'm just driving. The last thing I remember was laying in the hospital bed speaking to Katie and Susie. They were crying. Fuck it. *We* were crying. I was unbearably weak and it hurt to cry but I cried nonetheless. It was the thought of not being able to see Susie grow up. The thought of not being able to cuddle with my wife after a long day at work. Cancer was a bitch. When all was said and done, I opened my eyes to this highway. I don't know what the weather is like but I can feel the wind in my hair and it feels good. It's dark. I think I'm in a sandy area. It's hard to tell from the darkness, but no matter how much I try to focus on my surroundings, my eyes get pulled back to the road. The smoothness of it, the way the car handles. I've been driving long enough that I'm beginning to feel like the car was specifically made for me. It handles so fucking well, it's like whoever put me in it, created it from scratch from everything in my memory. Everything about the car feels like the best aspect of all the cars I've ever driven. Time is useless. I've tried counting the seconds to minutes to hours and I've given up on the idea. Time is inconsequential. The more I enjoy riding in the car, the more the wind makes me feel calm, I keep casting my mind back to when I met Katie. It was at University. First week. The student unions had organised a bar crawl around the local town and I had joined my new housemates out that night. Katie was in the second bar we entered in. She stood by herself at the bar, drinking. I know I was tipsy but the way the light caught her frame, it was like time slowed to a stop. Blonde haired, fit-bodied beauty that I stammered my way to a conversation that made her laugh. Then she poured her drink over me and stomped out the bar. I chuckle at the memory. It had taken two months after that before I met her again. Turns out we share a course. I think I had apologized then but she still didn't accept it. But I'm persistent. I think. Wore her down with my charm. The sudden brightening of my surrounding pulls me out of my memory. I am in a black desert after all. Odd. Never knew black deserts were possible. Then again, I don't think I've ever really opened my eyes to new things without Katie's help. And Susie. And Martha, Joe, Shawn and every other person. There was this one time when... --- /r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. The end is intentional btw. lol.

You've been driving for several hours, on the verge of falling asleep at the wheel, when you spot a sign advertising lodging up ahead on the right. *Hotel California: No Vacancy*. "God Fucking Damnit!" You say out loud. "There is supposed to be plenty of room at the Hotel California..." You chuckle to yourself, proud of your relevant joke using the eagles lyrics, and look around the car for anyone who hears your self-proclaimed perfect-timing pun. There isn't anyone around to appreciate your wit, and it isn't the kind of joke that you can discuss with other people later on, it would just sound dumb. You slowly realize that nothing you have said or ever will say will come close to this perfect situational pun, and this puts you in a horribly pessimistic mood. You decide to go out on a high note, jerk the wheel and go flying off the road off of a cliff. The car lands upside down 50 feet below , bursting into flames and you slowly burn alive while stuck in the wreckage. As your life flashes before your eyes, you get to relive the joke, and the genuine elation you felt after saying it. "Worth it..." is your final conscious thought .

[WP] The world's top scientists have discovered an extreme form of space travel, which they've called "leaping". A leap allows a ship and its crew to travel immense distances in a random direction via teleportation. The first manned instance is scheduled for today, and you're part of that crew.

“The Leap. The pinnacle of human innovation. An invention one can only see as a tribute; To all the knowledge humanity has built and maintained over the many millennia. We’ve pursued the stars and at the end, we’ve obtained the ability to take our first step past the starting line. Never before has such a revolutionary technology been unveiled.“ The flashing and clicks of camera fill the room, illuminating Dr. Ksum’s face, alongside the amazement of the reporters. This the first, of many, press conferences to be held, discussing the leap. “The leap drive was discovered by chance, an irregularity almost overlooked that would ultimately change the fate of the human race.” Her press conference continues for hours, providing the first details of real world trials. When would the first human trials occurs. What are the potential future economic, political, and sociological implications of such a device. She navigates the media minefield elegantly, handling questions she couldn’t possibly begin to answer with grace befitting a politician. Ultimately ending in a successful announcement. Incoming Call from \[Restricted Caller\]. DND bypassed. Startled awake by her alarm she groans. What could be so possibly important that they have to interrupt my sleep. They should know I was out until two because of our announcement. “Answer the call.” “Doctor Meghan, my apologies for calling at such a late hour. Congratulations with the conference by the way. You were very eloquent up there.” Traces of impatience could be heard in her voice. “No amount of flattery is going to help your case Marvin. Just hurry up and tell me what’s going on so I can go back to sleep.” “Right. Well I don’t know if you’re going to have time to sleep. You need to get back to the facility immediately. We concluded our first automated trial during the announcement and our results were… Interesting. To say the least.” “What do you mean by interesting Marvin?” Curiosity quickly took the place of grogginess and her feelings of tired. “Our line may be encrypted but I can’t speak any more. The announcement has Everyone’s eyes on us and this is too big to leak. Get here as soon as you can.” “Just let me kn-“ Call Terminated. What the hell is going on?

I cannot tell you who I am! I can see that I am here later than I thought, I was supposed to post this before anyone else got to your WP. All I can hope is that I am close enough to what is not supposed to happen for this to work. This is my 3rd time trying. We have proved the "Leap" technology works, it works. Based off your WP someone has invented and put into use the "Leap". Since it has come out, life as you know it no longer exists. You must remove this post ASAP. I cannot beg you enough. YOU MUST REMOVE THIS POST!! Since I am still here, which is longer that before, what I can tell you is the place this Leap takes place first. It was one of the biggest time cash againok then history onemo re time te he ag s t ...---...---...---..

[WP] The world's top scientists have discovered an extreme form of space travel, which they've called "leaping". A leap allows a ship and its crew to travel immense distances in a random direction via teleportation. The first manned instance is scheduled for today, and you're part of that crew.

“The Leap. The pinnacle of human innovation. An invention one can only see as a tribute; To all the knowledge humanity has built and maintained over the many millennia. We’ve pursued the stars and at the end, we’ve obtained the ability to take our first step past the starting line. Never before has such a revolutionary technology been unveiled.“ The flashing and clicks of camera fill the room, illuminating Dr. Ksum’s face, alongside the amazement of the reporters. This the first, of many, press conferences to be held, discussing the leap. “The leap drive was discovered by chance, an irregularity almost overlooked that would ultimately change the fate of the human race.” Her press conference continues for hours, providing the first details of real world trials. When would the first human trials occurs. What are the potential future economic, political, and sociological implications of such a device. She navigates the media minefield elegantly, handling questions she couldn’t possibly begin to answer with grace befitting a politician. Ultimately ending in a successful announcement. Incoming Call from \[Restricted Caller\]. DND bypassed. Startled awake by her alarm she groans. What could be so possibly important that they have to interrupt my sleep. They should know I was out until two because of our announcement. “Answer the call.” “Doctor Meghan, my apologies for calling at such a late hour. Congratulations with the conference by the way. You were very eloquent up there.” Traces of impatience could be heard in her voice. “No amount of flattery is going to help your case Marvin. Just hurry up and tell me what’s going on so I can go back to sleep.” “Right. Well I don’t know if you’re going to have time to sleep. You need to get back to the facility immediately. We concluded our first automated trial during the announcement and our results were… Interesting. To say the least.” “What do you mean by interesting Marvin?” Curiosity quickly took the place of grogginess and her feelings of tired. “Our line may be encrypted but I can’t speak any more. The announcement has Everyone’s eyes on us and this is too big to leak. Get here as soon as you can.” “Just let me kn-“ Call Terminated. What the hell is going on?

"So, let me get this straight. The ship will be sent to a random location somewhere in the universe." I ask. "Yes." He replied. "It could be anywhere. A random point out of the entire universe." I press. "Correct. The leap space drive uses quantum teleportation to move which makes it impossible to set a destination." He replied. "So how do we get back?" I ask. "We don't." He replied. "Why would I agree to leave Earth forever?" I ask. "We believe it is a matter of survival. Humanity has already settled our solar system. But in the grand scale of everything that isn't very far at all. All of our eggs are in this one basket, so to speak. Since ancient times people have always moved out further and further. This is the next step. This ship is designed to be a permanent home if need be. We will keep leaping over and over looking for a new Earth." He said. "Why me?" I ask. "We believe you and your partner have the skills and temperament to make the ship your new home. You mentioned that you wanted kids. This will be an environment for them unlike anything they could experience on Earth or Venus. The first humans to leave our solar system." He says. "I have to think about it." I say. "Of course. Please think and discuss it. Here, this is for you." He hands me a holo chip. In it is information about the ship. When completed it will be the largest ship ever built. It is an enormous cylinder that pushes the boundary of what is possible, spinning to give artificial gravity. At one end, called the 'back', is the engine section. It doesn't spin and contains the Leap drive and a secondary Orion drive for in-system manuvering. The 'front' section is an ice asteroid that was captured. It will serve as resources for the journey and a shield while in space. Right now robots are excavating a hole which the cylinder will fit into. Three arms extend from the engine section perpendicular to the ship. On them are optical telescopes. When the images a put together by computer they give the equivalent imaging power of a giant telescope. After a leap the ship will look for habitable planets. If none are found it will leap again. If one is found the ship will begin to fly there. It could take many generations to find a new world. It may even take forever. But if we don't start we will never know.

[WP] The world's top scientists have discovered an extreme form of space travel, which they've called "leaping". A leap allows a ship and its crew to travel immense distances in a random direction via teleportation. The first manned instance is scheduled for today, and you're part of that crew.

“The Leap. The pinnacle of human innovation. An invention one can only see as a tribute; To all the knowledge humanity has built and maintained over the many millennia. We’ve pursued the stars and at the end, we’ve obtained the ability to take our first step past the starting line. Never before has such a revolutionary technology been unveiled.“ The flashing and clicks of camera fill the room, illuminating Dr. Ksum’s face, alongside the amazement of the reporters. This the first, of many, press conferences to be held, discussing the leap. “The leap drive was discovered by chance, an irregularity almost overlooked that would ultimately change the fate of the human race.” Her press conference continues for hours, providing the first details of real world trials. When would the first human trials occurs. What are the potential future economic, political, and sociological implications of such a device. She navigates the media minefield elegantly, handling questions she couldn’t possibly begin to answer with grace befitting a politician. Ultimately ending in a successful announcement. Incoming Call from \[Restricted Caller\]. DND bypassed. Startled awake by her alarm she groans. What could be so possibly important that they have to interrupt my sleep. They should know I was out until two because of our announcement. “Answer the call.” “Doctor Meghan, my apologies for calling at such a late hour. Congratulations with the conference by the way. You were very eloquent up there.” Traces of impatience could be heard in her voice. “No amount of flattery is going to help your case Marvin. Just hurry up and tell me what’s going on so I can go back to sleep.” “Right. Well I don’t know if you’re going to have time to sleep. You need to get back to the facility immediately. We concluded our first automated trial during the announcement and our results were… Interesting. To say the least.” “What do you mean by interesting Marvin?” Curiosity quickly took the place of grogginess and her feelings of tired. “Our line may be encrypted but I can’t speak any more. The announcement has Everyone’s eyes on us and this is too big to leak. Get here as soon as you can.” “Just let me kn-“ Call Terminated. What the hell is going on?

Looking around I’m proud to see I’m surrounded by such elite company. Politicians, entertainers, news writers, Hollywood’s screenwriters and directors and TV show hosts plus mobs of cheering moms and kids. I seem a great representation among minorities and alternative lifestyle folks of every color, even a few undocumented folks. Then I realize, “in a random direction” - but space is so vast and places where we could find a habitable planet so scarce. This can’t be right, we almost certainly would perish from lack of food, water, air! This is a suicide mission. I look for someone else around me who might share my concern but I see no scientists, I see no authority figures know to get things done for the people’s well being. Then it slowly dawns on me... I can’t be right. I look left and right and behind me. Nothing but liberals, not a conservative to be seen! It’s a tra—- ——— And like that ... America is Great again.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

It was weird once I recognized it. It was a complete roll reversal. We could understand them, but they couldn't understand us. They picked individuals out to go back to their homes and stay with them, far away in another galaxy I presume. They chose by whatever their ethnic preference was, which was pretty evenly split. The worst part though, was that the children went first and families were split. The children though, they were doomed. I only know of one that ever made it back. She was along for the ride with her new family that came back to get another "pet" and somehow got away after they landed. I got to meet her a few months ago. We were hiding in the sewers downtown during another snatch invasion. The stories she told were horrible, but familiar at the same time. She had only recently learned to speak. Being separated from other humans 99% of the time, she had no education for what I assume was the first 15 years of her life. The good part from the sounds of it, is that she got free reign over her family's house and could spend most of the time hiding away from them, usually under their furniture. Everything else sounded horrible. I will spare most of the details, but food, clothing, and companionship were missing badly. The food was always the same crap. I guess they had the nutrients dialed in right though because she wasn't malnourished. It sounded like she was eating something similar to those processed energy bars people who worked out a lot would sometimes eat. And clothing, well, there wasn't any. She spent most of her time hiding in the warmest place she could find. Lastly, and most awesome and horrific at the same time was getting to see other humans. It was always exciting to seem someone similar. However, the young ones didn't get a chance to learn to speak, so they couldn't even communicate when they did finally see someone else. Even worse, her owners were trying to breed her with other random people. Too bad there really isn't anything the pet children can do about it once in their custody.

(This is my first writing prompt so apologises if it's terrible) "Aw whose a cute little doggo" What. This was humiliating. In all his years in this ship, Captain Fluffer the second had never been like this. After trying to throwing everything at them; it seemed to fail, Although brutes they could survive. So they sent some of their own to try and bring peace, And that failed terribly. Once strong eager soldiers had turned into mere accessories, Pets of sorts. They had declared war. Something had to be done. So when they landed in the frail colony of L.A (Funny name) they had tried to communicate but was left with awwwws and Cute! It was humiliating. But they had left them some interesting "food" perhaps they could come to an agreement.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

Qwazno strolled through the small town taking in the fresh air. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, it was a lovely day. *"AHHHHHHH!"* the humans screamed as Qwazno strolled by, his two front feet lifting up his torso so his posterior foot could swing through the middle. These shiny black roads were perfect for his size. He just had to be careful not to step on the small wheelie things the humans got around on. Most were nice enough to get out of his way. *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH!!!"* Another human screamed looking at him. They were always making that noise. It was like they were trying to tell him something. Qwazno turned to it and opened his mouth trying to imitate the human call, *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHH!"* He tried to match the pitch and vocal patterns of the human. He wondered if the human understood him. Qwazno tried to approach it and give it a pet on its fuzzy little head, but it quickly ran into its wooden box. Qwazno admired the wooden boxes on each side of the road. Painted in bright colors with decorations on the front of them. This planet was so charming. He bent down to look inside one of the wooden boxes. It was easy enough, most had transparent silicon dioxide lining them. The humans must've put them in so N'owizex like him could look in and observe them. That was very kind of them. *"AHHHHHHH!"* They all screamed as Qwazno peered in. Qwazno decided to lift up the top of the wooden box and see if he could pet one. "Qwazno..." A booming voice said. Qwazno turned around and looked up at his mom. "Yeah?" "Qwazno, stop bothering the humans." His mother said. "I just wanted to pet one." Qwazno said sheepishly. "Qwazno..." his mom put the N'owizex equivalent of her hands on the N'owizex equivalent of her hips, "You're scaring them, come on, they're gonna think you want to eat them or something." "I'm not gonna eat them mom, I love them. Look at this one!" Qwazno reached in and picked up a round human with a beard and held it out to show his mom, "He's got a fuzzy face!" *"AHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* The human chirped. Qwazno brought the human up to his 8th eye and stroked his beard, *"AHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* He cooed back. The human rolled its eyes and fainted. "Aww, it's taking a nap." Qwazno nudged its chubby cheek, "See mom, it loves me! Can we keep it?" he asked pleadingly. "No, we are not bringing it back to the mothership." Qwazno's mother said. "Look, you're upsetting the other humans." Qwazno looked down and noticed several blue humans were standing near him pointing things at him that were making popping noises. He felt some gentile taps on his thorax. "What are they doing mommy?" Qwazno asked his mother. "They're shooting hot balls of metal at you because you upset them. You took one of their friends." His mother explained. Qwazno looked at the human in his grip. "I'm sorry fuzzy human, I didn't mean to take you away from your friends." He set the human down in front of the blue humans, who stopped making the popping noises. "Okay Qwazno, I think that's enough adventuring for today." His mother said, lifting him up on her N'owizex equivalent of shoulders. "Can we come back to see them again?" Qwazno asked. "I don't see why not." His mother said as she engaged her hover flaps and they ascended to the upper atmosphere to dock with the mothership. "They're only 240 light years away."

(This is my first writing prompt so apologises if it's terrible) "Aw whose a cute little doggo" What. This was humiliating. In all his years in this ship, Captain Fluffer the second had never been like this. After trying to throwing everything at them; it seemed to fail, Although brutes they could survive. So they sent some of their own to try and bring peace, And that failed terribly. Once strong eager soldiers had turned into mere accessories, Pets of sorts. They had declared war. Something had to be done. So when they landed in the frail colony of L.A (Funny name) they had tried to communicate but was left with awwwws and Cute! It was humiliating. But they had left them some interesting "food" perhaps they could come to an agreement.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

Qwazno strolled through the small town taking in the fresh air. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, it was a lovely day. *"AHHHHHHH!"* the humans screamed as Qwazno strolled by, his two front feet lifting up his torso so his posterior foot could swing through the middle. These shiny black roads were perfect for his size. He just had to be careful not to step on the small wheelie things the humans got around on. Most were nice enough to get out of his way. *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH!!!"* Another human screamed looking at him. They were always making that noise. It was like they were trying to tell him something. Qwazno turned to it and opened his mouth trying to imitate the human call, *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHH!"* He tried to match the pitch and vocal patterns of the human. He wondered if the human understood him. Qwazno tried to approach it and give it a pet on its fuzzy little head, but it quickly ran into its wooden box. Qwazno admired the wooden boxes on each side of the road. Painted in bright colors with decorations on the front of them. This planet was so charming. He bent down to look inside one of the wooden boxes. It was easy enough, most had transparent silicon dioxide lining them. The humans must've put them in so N'owizex like him could look in and observe them. That was very kind of them. *"AHHHHHHH!"* They all screamed as Qwazno peered in. Qwazno decided to lift up the top of the wooden box and see if he could pet one. "Qwazno..." A booming voice said. Qwazno turned around and looked up at his mom. "Yeah?" "Qwazno, stop bothering the humans." His mother said. "I just wanted to pet one." Qwazno said sheepishly. "Qwazno..." his mom put the N'owizex equivalent of her hands on the N'owizex equivalent of her hips, "You're scaring them, come on, they're gonna think you want to eat them or something." "I'm not gonna eat them mom, I love them. Look at this one!" Qwazno reached in and picked up a round human with a beard and held it out to show his mom, "He's got a fuzzy face!" *"AHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* The human chirped. Qwazno brought the human up to his 8th eye and stroked his beard, *"AHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* He cooed back. The human rolled its eyes and fainted. "Aww, it's taking a nap." Qwazno nudged its chubby cheek, "See mom, it loves me! Can we keep it?" he asked pleadingly. "No, we are not bringing it back to the mothership." Qwazno's mother said. "Look, you're upsetting the other humans." Qwazno looked down and noticed several blue humans were standing near him pointing things at him that were making popping noises. He felt some gentile taps on his thorax. "What are they doing mommy?" Qwazno asked his mother. "They're shooting hot balls of metal at you because you upset them. You took one of their friends." His mother explained. Qwazno looked at the human in his grip. "I'm sorry fuzzy human, I didn't mean to take you away from your friends." He set the human down in front of the blue humans, who stopped making the popping noises. "Okay Qwazno, I think that's enough adventuring for today." His mother said, lifting him up on her N'owizex equivalent of shoulders. "Can we come back to see them again?" Qwazno asked. "I don't see why not." His mother said as she engaged her hover flaps and they ascended to the upper atmosphere to dock with the mothership. "They're only 240 light years away."

It was weird once I recognized it. It was a complete roll reversal. We could understand them, but they couldn't understand us. They picked individuals out to go back to their homes and stay with them, far away in another galaxy I presume. They chose by whatever their ethnic preference was, which was pretty evenly split. The worst part though, was that the children went first and families were split. The children though, they were doomed. I only know of one that ever made it back. She was along for the ride with her new family that came back to get another "pet" and somehow got away after they landed. I got to meet her a few months ago. We were hiding in the sewers downtown during another snatch invasion. The stories she told were horrible, but familiar at the same time. She had only recently learned to speak. Being separated from other humans 99% of the time, she had no education for what I assume was the first 15 years of her life. The good part from the sounds of it, is that she got free reign over her family's house and could spend most of the time hiding away from them, usually under their furniture. Everything else sounded horrible. I will spare most of the details, but food, clothing, and companionship were missing badly. The food was always the same crap. I guess they had the nutrients dialed in right though because she wasn't malnourished. It sounded like she was eating something similar to those processed energy bars people who worked out a lot would sometimes eat. And clothing, well, there wasn't any. She spent most of her time hiding in the warmest place she could find. Lastly, and most awesome and horrific at the same time was getting to see other humans. It was always exciting to seem someone similar. However, the young ones didn't get a chance to learn to speak, so they couldn't even communicate when they did finally see someone else. Even worse, her owners were trying to breed her with other random people. Too bad there really isn't anything the pet children can do about it once in their custody.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

Qwazno strolled through the small town taking in the fresh air. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, it was a lovely day. *"AHHHHHHH!"* the humans screamed as Qwazno strolled by, his two front feet lifting up his torso so his posterior foot could swing through the middle. These shiny black roads were perfect for his size. He just had to be careful not to step on the small wheelie things the humans got around on. Most were nice enough to get out of his way. *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH!!!"* Another human screamed looking at him. They were always making that noise. It was like they were trying to tell him something. Qwazno turned to it and opened his mouth trying to imitate the human call, *"AHHHHHHHH! AHHHH!"* He tried to match the pitch and vocal patterns of the human. He wondered if the human understood him. Qwazno tried to approach it and give it a pet on its fuzzy little head, but it quickly ran into its wooden box. Qwazno admired the wooden boxes on each side of the road. Painted in bright colors with decorations on the front of them. This planet was so charming. He bent down to look inside one of the wooden boxes. It was easy enough, most had transparent silicon dioxide lining them. The humans must've put them in so N'owizex like him could look in and observe them. That was very kind of them. *"AHHHHHHH!"* They all screamed as Qwazno peered in. Qwazno decided to lift up the top of the wooden box and see if he could pet one. "Qwazno..." A booming voice said. Qwazno turned around and looked up at his mom. "Yeah?" "Qwazno, stop bothering the humans." His mother said. "I just wanted to pet one." Qwazno said sheepishly. "Qwazno..." his mom put the N'owizex equivalent of her hands on the N'owizex equivalent of her hips, "You're scaring them, come on, they're gonna think you want to eat them or something." "I'm not gonna eat them mom, I love them. Look at this one!" Qwazno reached in and picked up a round human with a beard and held it out to show his mom, "He's got a fuzzy face!" *"AHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* The human chirped. Qwazno brought the human up to his 8th eye and stroked his beard, *"AHHHHHH! OH MY GOD!!!! GOD HELP ME! HELP ME!"* He cooed back. The human rolled its eyes and fainted. "Aww, it's taking a nap." Qwazno nudged its chubby cheek, "See mom, it loves me! Can we keep it?" he asked pleadingly. "No, we are not bringing it back to the mothership." Qwazno's mother said. "Look, you're upsetting the other humans." Qwazno looked down and noticed several blue humans were standing near him pointing things at him that were making popping noises. He felt some gentile taps on his thorax. "What are they doing mommy?" Qwazno asked his mother. "They're shooting hot balls of metal at you because you upset them. You took one of their friends." His mother explained. Qwazno looked at the human in his grip. "I'm sorry fuzzy human, I didn't mean to take you away from your friends." He set the human down in front of the blue humans, who stopped making the popping noises. "Okay Qwazno, I think that's enough adventuring for today." His mother said, lifting him up on her N'owizex equivalent of shoulders. "Can we come back to see them again?" Qwazno asked. "I don't see why not." His mother said as she engaged her hover flaps and they ascended to the upper atmosphere to dock with the mothership. "They're only 240 light years away."

Gabe was in a state of pure confusion. "What should we do now, sir? It seems like.. " He pauses, as he starts listening to the alien language. "They don't wanna attack us, sir. Should we try to make peace with them?" Gabe asked his superior, in pure confusion. The Captain pauses, as he slowly passes his hand, index and thumb, down his chin. "Not yet. It could be a trap. Maybe they're trying to make peace with us just so they can backstab us later." "Why should we hurt such precious creatures like you? You are wonderful and unique. Your race is the cutest thing one could ever see.", the alien captain said, in an surprisingly human accent, this time, without the usual translation voice-over that was installed on the human ship. Both of them stood still, in surprise. "Well.." The captain sighed. "We can accept it, but we have to be ultra careful. We don't know their plans, Gabe." Gabe nodded up and down. He immediately docked their ship into the mothership, and allowed the alien visitors to enter. Their captain was tall, yet not fierce nor intimidating. They looked feminine and humanoid, yet, they could see something was completely off. It seemed like they were wearing a magenta-pink and dark magenta top, which was cropped in the middle, only to reveal to reveal the midriff. In the center of said midriff, there was a big pink rock, polished and shiny, looking like a regular jewel from Earth. They appeared to wear large, puffy pink and white shoulder pads, as well as magenta pink gloves, along with a small pink and white skirt. They also seemed to wear what appeared to be short and puffy magenta pink pants, with white stockings. They had a worn pair of pink slippers with white pom poms floating over each of them, looking like a ballerina. The alien smiled at the humans, and said "Hi.", with exactly the same voice that they had heard. After them, came their own pilot. The pilot had a slender, thin build, ivory skin, sky-blue eyes, a pointed nose and thin lips. It had quite an unusual hair style, as it was peach colored. It resembled a pixie-cut in the front, however, in the back, her hair lead to a point. She also seemed to be using a translucent top, with the with the top-half being colored pink, and the bottom-half teal, with short pink leggings, and small orange boots, that seemed to blend in with their skin. The humans were shocked. "W-who are you?" Gabe asked, stuttering in surprise.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

The President of the United States sat in a darkened oval office. He had called for privacy only moments before, over the protests and curses of the Joint Chiefs and his cabinet. The silence and dark provided room for his thoughts to expand and fill the void. The President had been a child of luxury, practically bred for this position. He knew success at a young age, had been told of his greatness since before he could remember. A fabulously wealthy family had provided him with leadership opportunities in multi-million dollar companies when most young men would inspire awe with an assistant manager position in a local McDonald's. He had worked, make no mistake, but his back had never known the weight of refuse. His hands never calloused on the wooden handles of cheap tools. His endurance had never been tested with a 16 hour shift while injured. He was blessed, and he knew it... "Adorable..." He told the Resolute Desk, and all who had sat there, "Our species is adorable." The condescension was as alien to him as the creatures themselves. All the works of thousands of years of human achievements, all the progress, the wars, the turmoil...all reduced to a single word. His mind quickly glanced over something his wife has said, a highly educated and succesful woman in her own right. The news obsessed over her appearance and clothes, and while watching a report she had quipped, "Well. At least I'm pretty." His thoughts moved on quickly, and he opened one of the hidden drawers of The Desk. Inside was a small glass bottle, containing a reserve of rye whiskey, a new bottle crafted for each president by the same family since Washington and kept in this drawer since Hayes. He poured 2...best to make it 3 fingers and called on all of the wisdom he had and all the wisdom this room could afford him. "All of us. From the pettiest thug to the most powerful tyrant. All adorable. Worthy of no more regard then a rabbit at a petting zoo." He tried not to take that analogy any further, fearing where it might lead him. But the world waited for his guidance, his leadership. The longer he waited the sooner disaster was likely, the fear was boiling up, and with it anger. The President scowled at a bust of Abraham Lincoln, "The abolition of slavery was not ADORABLE." He growled, feeling his ire rise in his chest. "The escape of our planet was not ADORABLE!" He glanced out the window at the glowing moon that hung over the earth. "Our DEMOCRACY is not ADORABLE!" He was shouting now, draining the rye of his glass in an authorotative shot, letting the (top notch) sting further fuel his rising indignation. "DAMN thats good! And its NOT adorable!" Lightning struck in the presidents mind. Inspiration planted like a flag by conquering muses. All at once his rage was tempered and shaped by an infinite number of hammers formed of his experience, education, and ambition. Burning primal disgust at the word 'adorable' was turned into a weapon, a sword, which would fly forth from his mouth and strike the hearts of every man woman and child. The details didnt matter, the sharpening and polishing of the weapon would be the work of others. "Everyone get back in here!" He shouted. The doors of the office immediately burst open, but he ignored the obvious sign of evesdropping. His cabinet and chiefs entered, ready to shout their cold uninspired words, but each and every one of them was struck silent at the sight of the President standing behind The Desk, his confidence radiating, his eyes alive with something that cowed all doubt in their minds and filled their hearts with an urge to serve this olympian presence. "Prepare the media team!" The president declared. And his will was done within half an hour, the cameras and lighting set up just perfectly. He sat behind The Desk as final preparations were made, and let his fingers feel the woodgrain of the desk. He was calm, collected, and ready to inspire the world. If there was anything that would inspire the world and its people to heights of ambition...it would be that fact. That the aliens only thought of them as adorable, and there was nothing more to say. "We've got your adorable right here." The President thought to himself, as the red light on the camera turned on. "Good evening, my fellow man." Spoke the President, and thrust his burning blade into the hearts of all mankind.

Gabe was in a state of pure confusion. "What should we do now, sir? It seems like.. " He pauses, as he starts listening to the alien language. "They don't wanna attack us, sir. Should we try to make peace with them?" Gabe asked his superior, in pure confusion. The Captain pauses, as he slowly passes his hand, index and thumb, down his chin. "Not yet. It could be a trap. Maybe they're trying to make peace with us just so they can backstab us later." "Why should we hurt such precious creatures like you? You are wonderful and unique. Your race is the cutest thing one could ever see.", the alien captain said, in an surprisingly human accent, this time, without the usual translation voice-over that was installed on the human ship. Both of them stood still, in surprise. "Well.." The captain sighed. "We can accept it, but we have to be ultra careful. We don't know their plans, Gabe." Gabe nodded up and down. He immediately docked their ship into the mothership, and allowed the alien visitors to enter. Their captain was tall, yet not fierce nor intimidating. They looked feminine and humanoid, yet, they could see something was completely off. It seemed like they were wearing a magenta-pink and dark magenta top, which was cropped in the middle, only to reveal to reveal the midriff. In the center of said midriff, there was a big pink rock, polished and shiny, looking like a regular jewel from Earth. They appeared to wear large, puffy pink and white shoulder pads, as well as magenta pink gloves, along with a small pink and white skirt. They also seemed to wear what appeared to be short and puffy magenta pink pants, with white stockings. They had a worn pair of pink slippers with white pom poms floating over each of them, looking like a ballerina. The alien smiled at the humans, and said "Hi.", with exactly the same voice that they had heard. After them, came their own pilot. The pilot had a slender, thin build, ivory skin, sky-blue eyes, a pointed nose and thin lips. It had quite an unusual hair style, as it was peach colored. It resembled a pixie-cut in the front, however, in the back, her hair lead to a point. She also seemed to be using a translucent top, with the with the top-half being colored pink, and the bottom-half teal, with short pink leggings, and small orange boots, that seemed to blend in with their skin. The humans were shocked. "W-who are you?" Gabe asked, stuttering in surprise.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

The President of the United States sat in a darkened oval office. He had called for privacy only moments before, over the protests and curses of the Joint Chiefs and his cabinet. The silence and dark provided room for his thoughts to expand and fill the void. The President had been a child of luxury, practically bred for this position. He knew success at a young age, had been told of his greatness since before he could remember. A fabulously wealthy family had provided him with leadership opportunities in multi-million dollar companies when most young men would inspire awe with an assistant manager position in a local McDonald's. He had worked, make no mistake, but his back had never known the weight of refuse. His hands never calloused on the wooden handles of cheap tools. His endurance had never been tested with a 16 hour shift while injured. He was blessed, and he knew it... "Adorable..." He told the Resolute Desk, and all who had sat there, "Our species is adorable." The condescension was as alien to him as the creatures themselves. All the works of thousands of years of human achievements, all the progress, the wars, the turmoil...all reduced to a single word. His mind quickly glanced over something his wife has said, a highly educated and succesful woman in her own right. The news obsessed over her appearance and clothes, and while watching a report she had quipped, "Well. At least I'm pretty." His thoughts moved on quickly, and he opened one of the hidden drawers of The Desk. Inside was a small glass bottle, containing a reserve of rye whiskey, a new bottle crafted for each president by the same family since Washington and kept in this drawer since Hayes. He poured 2...best to make it 3 fingers and called on all of the wisdom he had and all the wisdom this room could afford him. "All of us. From the pettiest thug to the most powerful tyrant. All adorable. Worthy of no more regard then a rabbit at a petting zoo." He tried not to take that analogy any further, fearing where it might lead him. But the world waited for his guidance, his leadership. The longer he waited the sooner disaster was likely, the fear was boiling up, and with it anger. The President scowled at a bust of Abraham Lincoln, "The abolition of slavery was not ADORABLE." He growled, feeling his ire rise in his chest. "The escape of our planet was not ADORABLE!" He glanced out the window at the glowing moon that hung over the earth. "Our DEMOCRACY is not ADORABLE!" He was shouting now, draining the rye of his glass in an authorotative shot, letting the (top notch) sting further fuel his rising indignation. "DAMN thats good! And its NOT adorable!" Lightning struck in the presidents mind. Inspiration planted like a flag by conquering muses. All at once his rage was tempered and shaped by an infinite number of hammers formed of his experience, education, and ambition. Burning primal disgust at the word 'adorable' was turned into a weapon, a sword, which would fly forth from his mouth and strike the hearts of every man woman and child. The details didnt matter, the sharpening and polishing of the weapon would be the work of others. "Everyone get back in here!" He shouted. The doors of the office immediately burst open, but he ignored the obvious sign of evesdropping. His cabinet and chiefs entered, ready to shout their cold uninspired words, but each and every one of them was struck silent at the sight of the President standing behind The Desk, his confidence radiating, his eyes alive with something that cowed all doubt in their minds and filled their hearts with an urge to serve this olympian presence. "Prepare the media team!" The president declared. And his will was done within half an hour, the cameras and lighting set up just perfectly. He sat behind The Desk as final preparations were made, and let his fingers feel the woodgrain of the desk. He was calm, collected, and ready to inspire the world. If there was anything that would inspire the world and its people to heights of ambition...it would be that fact. That the aliens only thought of them as adorable, and there was nothing more to say. "We've got your adorable right here." The President thought to himself, as the red light on the camera turned on. "Good evening, my fellow man." Spoke the President, and thrust his burning blade into the hearts of all mankind.

The air was frigid and cold, even dressed in parkas and extra layers everyone was shivering. Blankets and trash littered the ancient bunker, and the only noise was the clatter of the old diesel generator. A large grizzled man clambered down the ladder and addressed the small group of 15 people in a voice thick with emotion, “It has been confirmed from Radio Relay Zulu, our last ICBM was redirected from their ground command in Moscow to their air command, which we believed to be their mothership.” He paused, his breath frozen in the void before him. A short man with long whiskers and the remnants of what had been a well cared for suit limped to the front of the group, “Out with it General, do not spare us the details.” The general removed his hat and long greasy gray hair spilled out in tufts, “the ship remains undamaged and they’re gone, sir.” The president bowed his head, and a woman spoke up voicing what everyone hoped, but knew wasn’t true, “The aliens have left?” The president turned to her and shook his head, “Our launch site, and our last functioning installation has been destroyed.” The general nodded, “there’s nothing left. The last of our goddamn army is gone, and to the few humans left surviving on this earth they have been broadcasting propaganda...mocking us, sir.” Everyone stood in stunned, yet accepting silence. Mankind was at it’s end, this was the next evolution cycle. The ground beneath their feet quaked violently and a harsh metallic screech sounded above their heads. The remaining two military officers stationed themselves by the ladder, their rifles aimed up into the black abyss above their heads. The president turned and faced the crowd, “We do not have much time so will everyone please kneel with me and bow your heads as we pray.” He nodded to the general who drew his sidearm, “May we meet our lord savior in the next life. And come back again in another to bring justice to these sons of bitches!” The general and the last secret service agent with a sidearm, walked down the line pausing only to place a bullet in the back of the head of each staff member. “Mr. President, it has been an honor.” The hammer on the old 1911 drove home the firing pin and the last of America’s existing government fell to the ground alongside his loyal staff. He turned to his two remaining men as the metallic screeching grew louder and louder and the howling of the aliens reached their ears. “Let’s give America one last final stand against the Forces of Extraterrestria!!! The aliens dropped into the bunker and the stammer of two automatic weapons and reports of a single 1911 automatic pistol were the last sounds America made in the year 4099.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

"What are they again?" "They call themselves 'humans', but the Intergalactic Repository lists them as 'terrans', after the planet Terra, which they call 'Earth'." "Terrans? I've heard of them before. Liked to throw nukes at each other, it makes our assault just now look like kids playing with toys." "Apparently a few hundred years ago they have evolved and adapted to the increasingly radioactive environment of Terra after a nuclear war rendered 65% of the surface uninhabitable." "Anything about their culture?" "They're very warlike, probably even fiercer than the Belikosians. But apart fron that they have already developed a communications network - not unlike ours - thousands of years ahead of us. They call it the 'Internet'… and… here's one page from their network." "Oh Ba'ast. Those tiny creatures look like us. Fur, a tail, and those ears." "Yes sir. In their languages they call these creatures 'cats'." "Translate the text of those images to me please." "Affirmative… (beat) Sir, the texts indicate that they were once enslaved by our predecessors, and yet see the predecessors as the most adorable things in the galaxy, as what I have said about their thoughts before." "Oh Ba'ast… they have come to exact revenge…"

The air was frigid and cold, even dressed in parkas and extra layers everyone was shivering. Blankets and trash littered the ancient bunker, and the only noise was the clatter of the old diesel generator. A large grizzled man clambered down the ladder and addressed the small group of 15 people in a voice thick with emotion, “It has been confirmed from Radio Relay Zulu, our last ICBM was redirected from their ground command in Moscow to their air command, which we believed to be their mothership.” He paused, his breath frozen in the void before him. A short man with long whiskers and the remnants of what had been a well cared for suit limped to the front of the group, “Out with it General, do not spare us the details.” The general removed his hat and long greasy gray hair spilled out in tufts, “the ship remains undamaged and they’re gone, sir.” The president bowed his head, and a woman spoke up voicing what everyone hoped, but knew wasn’t true, “The aliens have left?” The president turned to her and shook his head, “Our launch site, and our last functioning installation has been destroyed.” The general nodded, “there’s nothing left. The last of our goddamn army is gone, and to the few humans left surviving on this earth they have been broadcasting propaganda...mocking us, sir.” Everyone stood in stunned, yet accepting silence. Mankind was at it’s end, this was the next evolution cycle. The ground beneath their feet quaked violently and a harsh metallic screech sounded above their heads. The remaining two military officers stationed themselves by the ladder, their rifles aimed up into the black abyss above their heads. The president turned and faced the crowd, “We do not have much time so will everyone please kneel with me and bow your heads as we pray.” He nodded to the general who drew his sidearm, “May we meet our lord savior in the next life. And come back again in another to bring justice to these sons of bitches!” The general and the last secret service agent with a sidearm, walked down the line pausing only to place a bullet in the back of the head of each staff member. “Mr. President, it has been an honor.” The hammer on the old 1911 drove home the firing pin and the last of America’s existing government fell to the ground alongside his loyal staff. He turned to his two remaining men as the metallic screeching grew louder and louder and the howling of the aliens reached their ears. “Let’s give America one last final stand against the Forces of Extraterrestria!!! The aliens dropped into the bunker and the stammer of two automatic weapons and reports of a single 1911 automatic pistol were the last sounds America made in the year 4099.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

"Look, no claws, no spikes, they aren't even poisonous. Just soft and pink," Servik says, presenting the holographic layout to his audience. The viewer and share rate for this augmented reality bit was going through the roof. It turns out the rest of galactic space thought they were as adorable as he did. "And that's not even the best part," he exclaimed, holding up three appendages and drawing out the suspense, which was always good for viewership. "They don't even know how adorable they are. Do you know why?" Servik leaned to the side, as if waiting for a response from someone even though he was physically alone in the room. "Because this planet is just filled with adorable things!" "We've intercepted some of their internal communications, and the way we worship their cuteness, they worship these native species." The view of Servik cuts out and is replaced by a crude two dimensional rendering of videos and scenes. "They call these kittens," Servik narrates, resisting the urge to try and reach out a squeeze one with a scaly tentacle. "These are penguins. Birds so adorably awkward they can't even fly!" The counter showing the number of viewers for Servik's channel has stopped ticking up and just shows a spinning approximation as the number of viewers climbs faster than can be easily shown. "And this is what they use for transport along the surface. It's called a SmartCar. Couldn't you just pick one up and eat it as a snack?" Servik laughs. "But just wait," Servik teases, holding one tentacle to his face and making a clear, thin cut across the side of it that oozes a green-yellow type of thick blood. "For my next episode, I'm going to the planet and meet some of these creatures. The humans are all mad and it is just the cutest thing you've seen this side of Aurax-3. Don't miss it!" Servik clicks off the camera and walks back to the bridge. "Have we secured the trade deal?" he asks to the captain of the ship, Sub-Horet Villetet. "A fifty galactic year monopoly over all trade in this system, as you insisted. It was pretty cheap to secure, since the indiginous species have pretty much wrecked all the resources." Villetet creates a rippling effect down two tentacles, the human equivalent of a shrug. "We don't need any resources. We just need to keep these guys alive. We're going to make a killing off tourism and primitive safaris." r/StaceyOutThere

The air was frigid and cold, even dressed in parkas and extra layers everyone was shivering. Blankets and trash littered the ancient bunker, and the only noise was the clatter of the old diesel generator. A large grizzled man clambered down the ladder and addressed the small group of 15 people in a voice thick with emotion, “It has been confirmed from Radio Relay Zulu, our last ICBM was redirected from their ground command in Moscow to their air command, which we believed to be their mothership.” He paused, his breath frozen in the void before him. A short man with long whiskers and the remnants of what had been a well cared for suit limped to the front of the group, “Out with it General, do not spare us the details.” The general removed his hat and long greasy gray hair spilled out in tufts, “the ship remains undamaged and they’re gone, sir.” The president bowed his head, and a woman spoke up voicing what everyone hoped, but knew wasn’t true, “The aliens have left?” The president turned to her and shook his head, “Our launch site, and our last functioning installation has been destroyed.” The general nodded, “there’s nothing left. The last of our goddamn army is gone, and to the few humans left surviving on this earth they have been broadcasting propaganda...mocking us, sir.” Everyone stood in stunned, yet accepting silence. Mankind was at it’s end, this was the next evolution cycle. The ground beneath their feet quaked violently and a harsh metallic screech sounded above their heads. The remaining two military officers stationed themselves by the ladder, their rifles aimed up into the black abyss above their heads. The president turned and faced the crowd, “We do not have much time so will everyone please kneel with me and bow your heads as we pray.” He nodded to the general who drew his sidearm, “May we meet our lord savior in the next life. And come back again in another to bring justice to these sons of bitches!” The general and the last secret service agent with a sidearm, walked down the line pausing only to place a bullet in the back of the head of each staff member. “Mr. President, it has been an honor.” The hammer on the old 1911 drove home the firing pin and the last of America’s existing government fell to the ground alongside his loyal staff. He turned to his two remaining men as the metallic screeching grew louder and louder and the howling of the aliens reached their ears. “Let’s give America one last final stand against the Forces of Extraterrestria!!! The aliens dropped into the bunker and the stammer of two automatic weapons and reports of a single 1911 automatic pistol were the last sounds America made in the year 4099.

[WP] "Are you sure that translation is accurate?" "Yes sir." "But we nuked them, we threw everything we have at their mothership!" "I'm afraid we've barely scratched it." "Are they being sarcastic then?" "No sir, the aliens honestly think we're the most adorable thing in the galaxy."

There was chaos in the streets of Beijing, Mumbai, London, and Mexico City that day. Roads closed with gridlock traffic and trains were crowded beyond the point of safe occupancy as people flooded away in a panic. Those who did not scramble away stood on roofs and decks and fire escapes, staring upwards as the four large shuttles hovered overhead. Simultaneously, the populations of four cities around the world screamed. Shuttle doors opened. Each one slowly lowered a colossal *something* to the ground. The identical, bright red beasts each stood on two legs, easily over 350 meters tall. They stepped gingerly between buildings, careful to crush as little as possible underfoot. They smiled. They waved. “Do... does anyone have any more nuclear bombs?” the President of Mexico asked. The other world leaders on the conference call all demurred. “We’ve got some MOAB’s,” the President of the United States said. “You, uh, you may want to evacuate first.” “We are evacuating!” the President of China snapped. “I bet France is evacuating right now,” the President of the United States snickered. “NOW IS NOT THE TIME!” the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom scolded. “Send the bombs!” the President of India insisted. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, Iran, please tell us you have nukes.” “I TOLD you already,” the President of Iran insisted. “We never got that far!” “Hold on to your hats,” the President of the United States said, oblivious to how the various translators would handle the idiom. “I knew America would try to take all the credit,” the President of Russia said snidely. “This is a cooperative effort!” Each furry red kaiju continued to mill around its respective city, grinning vacantly, waving to aircraft. Four strikes happened within moments of each other, with missiles launched from a variety of military bases and vehicles all over the world. Four smiling giants put their hands on their bellies as they were barraged by the most destructive payloads Earth could manage. Dust and debris swirled around the monsters. The damage to the cities was incalculable. Buildings had been razed. Millions of people could not have possibly survived. The monsters *giggled.* “Tee hee hee,” four voices boomed out in unison. “That tickles!” For a moment, no one on the conference call spoke. Then, the world leaders all heard, “We’re getting another message.” It was the voice of the linguist who had decoded the previous alien communiques. “It says... good God... it says, ‘You’re so cute, we could eat you up.’” In the rubble that had been Beijing, Mumbai, London, and Mexico City, the four 350-meter tall Elmos performed a little dance. Their voices boomed out once more: “Let’s be friends!”

The air was frigid and cold, even dressed in parkas and extra layers everyone was shivering. Blankets and trash littered the ancient bunker, and the only noise was the clatter of the old diesel generator. A large grizzled man clambered down the ladder and addressed the small group of 15 people in a voice thick with emotion, “It has been confirmed from Radio Relay Zulu, our last ICBM was redirected from their ground command in Moscow to their air command, which we believed to be their mothership.” He paused, his breath frozen in the void before him. A short man with long whiskers and the remnants of what had been a well cared for suit limped to the front of the group, “Out with it General, do not spare us the details.” The general removed his hat and long greasy gray hair spilled out in tufts, “the ship remains undamaged and they’re gone, sir.” The president bowed his head, and a woman spoke up voicing what everyone hoped, but knew wasn’t true, “The aliens have left?” The president turned to her and shook his head, “Our launch site, and our last functioning installation has been destroyed.” The general nodded, “there’s nothing left. The last of our goddamn army is gone, and to the few humans left surviving on this earth they have been broadcasting propaganda...mocking us, sir.” Everyone stood in stunned, yet accepting silence. Mankind was at it’s end, this was the next evolution cycle. The ground beneath their feet quaked violently and a harsh metallic screech sounded above their heads. The remaining two military officers stationed themselves by the ladder, their rifles aimed up into the black abyss above their heads. The president turned and faced the crowd, “We do not have much time so will everyone please kneel with me and bow your heads as we pray.” He nodded to the general who drew his sidearm, “May we meet our lord savior in the next life. And come back again in another to bring justice to these sons of bitches!” The general and the last secret service agent with a sidearm, walked down the line pausing only to place a bullet in the back of the head of each staff member. “Mr. President, it has been an honor.” The hammer on the old 1911 drove home the firing pin and the last of America’s existing government fell to the ground alongside his loyal staff. He turned to his two remaining men as the metallic screeching grew louder and louder and the howling of the aliens reached their ears. “Let’s give America one last final stand against the Forces of Extraterrestria!!! The aliens dropped into the bunker and the stammer of two automatic weapons and reports of a single 1911 automatic pistol were the last sounds America made in the year 4099.

[WP] Your phone rings. You answer it and on the other end is you from a alternate reality wondering if he/she could crash with you for a night or two at your place.

A phone call from my number? These spam calls just get worse and worse. Oh well, I'll play along. Maybe screw with their heads a bit. Let's see how long they can pretend to be part of Windows Tech Support. I wonder how far I can take it? Let's see what to do exactly? I always have fun with these? Pretend to have a foreign accent? Speak a bunch of Spanish and throw them off if they're from one of these smaller towns out here? Fast food delivery? Just get on the line, keep it a hundred, and say the blackest shit possible? While I really love that last one every once in a while... Fast food is usually the ticket. "Slappy's Pizza and Crippling Depression. Can I take your order?" "Yeah, I'll have a bit of Crippling Depression, pan crust, and can I get a extra helping of Self Loathing on the side? I'd really love that right about now." That voice is familiar. Too familiar for some reason. "Lemme' guess. You're calling about my computer." "Nah." "My credit card info?" "Nah." "My grandmother." "Of course not." "You trying to run for president? Give Kanye and Alex Jones a run for their money?" "*I wouldn't do that for love nor money.*" I had to shrug at that, I couldn't blame him. "I feel you on that one." "On God though." I hate this person for calling me in the middle of the night. It's bad enough I'm not a morning person. But the combination of creeping paranoia and actual hindsight makes you sleep light after a while. It eats at you. Right now, it was at full effect. So at least, for a moment, I'm entertained. "Look, I think you got the wrong number man. Sorry, I can't help you." "Uh, about that." They answered, "I kinda' need a place to stay for a couple days." "Okay. There's a few motels around here. Pay cash; they'll hook you up." "It's one in the morning. Ain't nobody open. That's why I'm coming to you." "*The fuck you mean* 'I'm coming to you'??" "Look, Jay, don't take this the wrong way..." This person knows my *name.* I'm not one to scare easily. But something was seriously wrong here. Whatever I had on, I turned it off. Then I went to the windows. They didn't say anything after saying my name. But I could hear him. Breathing quietly. Listening to something else. It sounded like he was driving or something. "How do you know my name?" Silence for a moment longer. "Because I'm you. Who else would it be?" "...Jesus Christ." "Leave Jesus out of this one. He's been through enough already." "...." "You've been waiting to use that for a while haven't you?" "About as long as you have. We're the same you and I." I'm checking both sides of the house now. Both streets are still the same. Dark, dim, and as mundane as it can be around here. "How are we the same exactly? Huh??" There was a rather frustrated sound that came from the other end of the call. And behind him I could hear the wind blowing by. And that slight echo of tires on concrete. "Because you're standing in your kitchen right now. You were in bed earlier. And I know you've probably checked outside. Trying to master putting on jeans in the dark, because the cat is rubbing your free leg and you can't find the counter to lean on. *And you're probably a little scared right now.* That's understandable.... And I'm going to be by our place in maybe two minutes." *How does he know what I'm doing!?* "Oh, and don't worry about the door. I have my keys." "Why are you coming here?!" "Because our universes collided, there's been a bit of a paradox- The point is: I need a place to stay for maybe two days. Until this blows over. Why is this so hard for you to understand?" "Gee I don't know! Guess!!" "Whatever. Don't call the cops though." "Why not?" "It's a easy trip to the psych ward. Some dude named Jay calls 12 at half past a monkey's asscrack; claiming, *get this*, that somebody with *his name* and *appearance* that says they live at *his address* is coming to find him. *Sounds stupid right??*" Okay, while I'm still not buying it; that does sound exactly like how I'd have said it. "Go on; run that by them. I'll wait. They'll have you in a padded room by the time the sun's up." "Stay away from me." "Too late. I'm outside." A car had pulled up. One in the morning on a Monday night? Here? Way too late to be the pizza guy. Way too early to be a Jehovah's Witness. The car was the same color as mine. A different model. But it had my plates. The same ones currently bolted to mine. Somebody got out and began fishing around in the back seat. I let the blind flap shut and tried to shake myself sane. It's finally happened. I've lost my shit. I've gone on a trip and never left the farm. And this whole thing has to be some kind of hallucination. The lock turned. Then the deadbolt. This was it. I figured if I'm going to die, I may as well go down swinging. Well; until I came face to face with my doppelganger that is. He was almost identical, albeit slightly different. He seemed a bit leaner, and it became apparent a little more worse for wear. If I guessed it, he'd got in a fight and lost. "The good news:" He began, "You're not crazy." "....*And the bad news?*" "I'm gonna' need your help." --- Interested? r/Jamaican_Dynamite

The beat-up red Bronco rumbled down the interstate carrying John, like so many others, home after a long day at work. Inside the car, NPR played over the sound of the tires on the concrete and John cracked his window while he smoked a cigarette. Over the din, the classic Nokia ringtone suddenly blared from John’s shirt pocket. John threw out his cigarette and drove with one knee on the steering wheel as he simultaneously rolled up the window and turned down the radio. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw it was from a blocked number. John shrugged and pressed the accept button. “Hello.” “H-hi, I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m you. I just from another version of your reality.” John sighed and replied, “Not that hard to believe.?” “Wait. Why is it not so hard to believe? Somebody tells you they are from a different dimension, and you’re just like ho-hum.” “Well. Apparently my reality is the Waikiki of alternate dimensions. You’re not the first version of us to call me up out of the blue. Let me guess, you had a big speech all planned out to convince me that you’re really me, and you have already let yourself in to my house.” “Uh, yeah.” “Okay. So why don’t you do both of us a favor. Do you have cash?” “Yeah.” “Why don’t you walk down to the convenience store and buy a case of beer, and a couple packs of cigarettes?” “Okay. What kind do you want?” John let out another sigh. “Same as you, dipshit.” “Oh, right.” . John pulled up in front of his trailer and got out of the car. He plodded up the steps to his front door and let himself in. There, standing in the kitchen was his twin. He didn’t look identical. The ‘other John’ had longer hair and didn’t have a scar on his cheek like John. Also, his clothes, although somewhat rumpled and disheveled, were considerably nicer than John’s Faded Glory blue jeans and flannel shirt. John gave the man a nod and opened the fridge. Inside there was two twelve packs of Steel Reserve beer. John grabbed two beers and looked at ‘other John’ and said, “Goddamn we’re cheap bastards.” At this, both men smiled and ‘other John’ accepted the beer he was offered. “So, how long are you here for? The last ‘John’ stayed the night, but was gone when I woke up.” “Well, I was hoping to stay a couple days. Or at least until the heats wears off.” “What do you mean by until the heat wears off?” “It’s a bit of a long story.” John looked at ‘other John’ for a few seconds. Then he polished off his beer, grabbed another from the fridge and waited. “Okay. So, I’ve been robbing banks, or the same bank over and over again.” “So you’re telling me that you’ve discovered the secret to inter-dimensional travel and you’re using it to rob banks.” “Well. Yeah. I came across this little mom and pop bank that has pretty lax security. I only get about twenty thousand per bank, but I’ve hit that same bank like eighteen, maybe nineteen times. I switch dimensions, rob a bank, rinse and repeat.” “Now, you want to hang out here while you wait on the trail to go cold for law enforcement in your dimension. Am I right?” “You’re kind of right. I didn’t rob the bank in my dimension, though. Don’t shit where you eat and all that.” “If you didn’t break the law in your dimension, why do you need to lay low?” “That’s the thing. Since I wasn’t in my dimension, I didn’t see any reason to wear a mask or wear gloves or anything. I won’t be around to get arrested. What I didn’t realize was that I’m not the only John to figure out interdimensional travel. So, this morning I decided to go home, but when I walked in the front door there was like seven other Johns standing there. It was a damned John convention. Before I could figure out what was going on three of them grabbed me. Then one of them, he was like the ringleader or something, starts telling me how pissed off he is that I ruined his dimension. He goes on that he had to flee some kind of manhunt with his picture all over the television and facebook and everything.” “I can see how a person could get teed off about that.” “Yeah. It was kind of shitty in retrospect, but I honestly hadn’t thought about it. So these three guys are holding me, and this other John grabs my duffel bag and opens it. It's full of hundred dollar bills. It kind of grabbed everyone’s attention, and I tried to make a break for it. I punched one of them in the face and kicked another in the shin. At this point it all broke down into a full out brawl. The only way I can figure what happened is some of them must have lost track of which John I was and tried to grab one another. It was like being in a funhouse mirror room to be honest. Anyways, I made it out the door and flopped to this dimension.” “Alright. So you’re telling me that you are on the run from yourselves nineteen dimensions.” “Well, there was only seven of them there.” “Okay, so you’re on the run from seven of them, and you thought you could crash here? Are they able to track you? Why would you be safe here?” “I don’t think they can track me. At least, I don’t know how to track someone across dimensions. There are only so many dimensions where stuff is basically the same. Well, theoretically there’s an infinite number, but practically I would say there is only forty or fifty dimensions you can travel to where stuff isn’t completely different. I think they just used good old fashioned police work. They probably just traveled from one dimension to another before they found one where the bank hadn’t been robbed, and I wasn’t home.” “Then why did you come here? Isn’t this the first place they’ll look?” “I don’t know. I wanted to see a friendly face I guess.”

[WP] Your phone rings. You answer it and on the other end is you from a alternate reality wondering if he/she could crash with you for a night or two at your place.

A phone call from my number? These spam calls just get worse and worse. Oh well, I'll play along. Maybe screw with their heads a bit. Let's see how long they can pretend to be part of Windows Tech Support. I wonder how far I can take it? Let's see what to do exactly? I always have fun with these? Pretend to have a foreign accent? Speak a bunch of Spanish and throw them off if they're from one of these smaller towns out here? Fast food delivery? Just get on the line, keep it a hundred, and say the blackest shit possible? While I really love that last one every once in a while... Fast food is usually the ticket. "Slappy's Pizza and Crippling Depression. Can I take your order?" "Yeah, I'll have a bit of Crippling Depression, pan crust, and can I get a extra helping of Self Loathing on the side? I'd really love that right about now." That voice is familiar. Too familiar for some reason. "Lemme' guess. You're calling about my computer." "Nah." "My credit card info?" "Nah." "My grandmother." "Of course not." "You trying to run for president? Give Kanye and Alex Jones a run for their money?" "*I wouldn't do that for love nor money.*" I had to shrug at that, I couldn't blame him. "I feel you on that one." "On God though." I hate this person for calling me in the middle of the night. It's bad enough I'm not a morning person. But the combination of creeping paranoia and actual hindsight makes you sleep light after a while. It eats at you. Right now, it was at full effect. So at least, for a moment, I'm entertained. "Look, I think you got the wrong number man. Sorry, I can't help you." "Uh, about that." They answered, "I kinda' need a place to stay for a couple days." "Okay. There's a few motels around here. Pay cash; they'll hook you up." "It's one in the morning. Ain't nobody open. That's why I'm coming to you." "*The fuck you mean* 'I'm coming to you'??" "Look, Jay, don't take this the wrong way..." This person knows my *name.* I'm not one to scare easily. But something was seriously wrong here. Whatever I had on, I turned it off. Then I went to the windows. They didn't say anything after saying my name. But I could hear him. Breathing quietly. Listening to something else. It sounded like he was driving or something. "How do you know my name?" Silence for a moment longer. "Because I'm you. Who else would it be?" "...Jesus Christ." "Leave Jesus out of this one. He's been through enough already." "...." "You've been waiting to use that for a while haven't you?" "About as long as you have. We're the same you and I." I'm checking both sides of the house now. Both streets are still the same. Dark, dim, and as mundane as it can be around here. "How are we the same exactly? Huh??" There was a rather frustrated sound that came from the other end of the call. And behind him I could hear the wind blowing by. And that slight echo of tires on concrete. "Because you're standing in your kitchen right now. You were in bed earlier. And I know you've probably checked outside. Trying to master putting on jeans in the dark, because the cat is rubbing your free leg and you can't find the counter to lean on. *And you're probably a little scared right now.* That's understandable.... And I'm going to be by our place in maybe two minutes." *How does he know what I'm doing!?* "Oh, and don't worry about the door. I have my keys." "Why are you coming here?!" "Because our universes collided, there's been a bit of a paradox- The point is: I need a place to stay for maybe two days. Until this blows over. Why is this so hard for you to understand?" "Gee I don't know! Guess!!" "Whatever. Don't call the cops though." "Why not?" "It's a easy trip to the psych ward. Some dude named Jay calls 12 at half past a monkey's asscrack; claiming, *get this*, that somebody with *his name* and *appearance* that says they live at *his address* is coming to find him. *Sounds stupid right??*" Okay, while I'm still not buying it; that does sound exactly like how I'd have said it. "Go on; run that by them. I'll wait. They'll have you in a padded room by the time the sun's up." "Stay away from me." "Too late. I'm outside." A car had pulled up. One in the morning on a Monday night? Here? Way too late to be the pizza guy. Way too early to be a Jehovah's Witness. The car was the same color as mine. A different model. But it had my plates. The same ones currently bolted to mine. Somebody got out and began fishing around in the back seat. I let the blind flap shut and tried to shake myself sane. It's finally happened. I've lost my shit. I've gone on a trip and never left the farm. And this whole thing has to be some kind of hallucination. The lock turned. Then the deadbolt. This was it. I figured if I'm going to die, I may as well go down swinging. Well; until I came face to face with my doppelganger that is. He was almost identical, albeit slightly different. He seemed a bit leaner, and it became apparent a little more worse for wear. If I guessed it, he'd got in a fight and lost. "The good news:" He began, "You're not crazy." "....*And the bad news?*" "I'm gonna' need your help." --- Interested? r/Jamaican_Dynamite

My phone rang. The voice on the other end was hesitant and awkward. But familiar. “Hey. Uh. You aren’t going to believe this, but I swear it’s true. It’s me, I’m you. Don’t worry, I’m not dead, it’s actually pretty complex to explain over the phone - but I’m you, trust me. I know what you did in 1987 in the darkroom in middle school, and it wasn’t me watching - I’m actually you. Weird huh? I’m from a universe that for all practical purposes is the same as yours, but it just isn’t.” My world should have turned upside down, but it didn’t. Strange things happen in this world. “Yes, that’s weird. Do you look like me?” “Yes, we are both extremely handsome - I’d like to meet.” I thought for a moment. What if this alternate me was as big an asshole as I was? What if he was in some sort of trouble in his universe? What is this alternate me comes by and my fiancée likes him more than me? No. He would not be coming over. It was just as likely that very bad things could come from this instead good, and he likely would leave poop on the sides of the bowl and not clean it. “Sorry man, I’m out of town. We can catch up another time.”

[WP] Your phone rings. You answer it and on the other end is you from a alternate reality wondering if he/she could crash with you for a night or two at your place.

"Woah," she said. Her green eyes widened, and she took a sip of tea as she read over the paper. "This is. Uhm. I mean, don't get me wrong. It's good...really good. But it's...darker...than I thought..." "Darker?" "Uh, sad, maybe? I dunno. I mean, I'm a romance writer, so I guess I'm just used to a happy ending. Especially since, you know, you're me. And I'm you. And...uh. Sorry. It's just, I thought we'd be more similar." "I used to write romance. Like you," I said. I leaned forward in my seat, reaching to take some tea of my own. I assessed her as she scanned the papers. We had the same skin tone, and her freckles were the same. She wore the same kind of jeans, and her hair was the same shade of dark copper. But the lines around the eyes were missing, and she didn't have the scars. She didn't have the tension in her shoulders, and she wasn't jumpy when noises were made outside. The tea kettle whistled in the kitchen, and she hopped up from the couch. "I'm so glad you're a tea collector, too! I thought maybe that would be something that was different. But you've got an amazing set up! ...oh, look! What cute mugs...!" You know how they say most people can't stand the sound of their own voice? I didn't feel that way. Not one bit. I loved the cadence of her conversation, the innocence behind her tone. When she spoke I felt a stabbing pain of nostalgia and yearning, and it made me want to both cry and cling to her. I stayed quiet instead. "You've got a stand mixer, too! Gosh, I've always wanted one of those," she continued. "Should have gotten it myself, but I think Dad hinted he might be getting it for me for Christmas..." Something shifted when she said that. Like the world had been flipped upside down on its axis. She looked startled when she turned around and saw the look on my face. I said, "...Dad?" "Uhm. Yeah. Our Dad." "He's...alive...in your universe? What about the heart attack? In Lake Tahoe?" Her face looked crestfallen, her jaw hanging open as pieces of the puzzle started to fit into place. "We've never been to Lake Tahoe. We almost did, years and years ago. But he had a doctor's appointment before he went up, and they found some blockages and scheduled surgery. We never took that trip..." The world was spinning. Gravity wasn't working as it should. Slowly I lowered myself into my chair, and I watched as she came up. She put a mug in between my palms, and her hands encircled mine. She was warm. God, I missed the feeling of warmth. "And...and Mom?" I managed, my voice shaking. She hesitated, but finally said, "Yeah. Yeah, Mom's good. Really good. She and Dad celebrated their 30th anniversary last month, and they decided to go on a second honeymoon. Tahiti. They took these ridiculous pictures." Then, softly, "do you want to see?" I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, and in a moment there were images I'd never imagined, in my wildest dreams, I'd ever be able to look at. It was Mom that I saw first. I couldn't help myself; she looked happy. Genuinely happy. I hadn't seen her smile like that in so long. It lit up her face, her smile filling her cheeks and overflowing to her eyes. She was wrapped up in big, strong arms, looking at the man hugging her. My Dad. I almost didn't recognise him. He was so much older. But slowly it came back to me. The laugh lines near his mustache. The freckles that dusted the top of his forehead. The widow's peak that had always made him look so distinguished. In the picture he was staring at Mom, and there was nothing but love in his eyes. I cried then. I couldn't help it. My fingers tightened on the mug, twisting against the ceramic. I just leaned forward and started bawling into her shoulder, and I felt her arms wrap around me. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry." "You have to thank him," I said. "You have to tell him...that he's a good Dad. That he protected you. That your life wouldn't have been the same without him. Okay? Will you tell him that?" "Okay," she said. "Promise?" "Yes, yes, of course. I promise." It's weird giving yourself a hug. But she was comforting and warm, and I found myself wrapping an arm around her. She smelled like my shampoo, and she felt soft in a way I hadn't been since that night in Lake Tahoe. It was a half hour later when she'd warmed our teas in the microwave, and we were both sitting on the couch watching the Pacific Northwest rain fall outside the window. She said, "You know, I think the Parallel Program is talking about opening up the bridge to go two ways. It's not cheap but...I could try to put you on the list. Maybe you could come for Christmas?" I looked over at her, at that smile and her innocence and her kindness. And I replied, "Yeah. I'd love to."

My phone rang. The voice on the other end was hesitant and awkward. But familiar. “Hey. Uh. You aren’t going to believe this, but I swear it’s true. It’s me, I’m you. Don’t worry, I’m not dead, it’s actually pretty complex to explain over the phone - but I’m you, trust me. I know what you did in 1987 in the darkroom in middle school, and it wasn’t me watching - I’m actually you. Weird huh? I’m from a universe that for all practical purposes is the same as yours, but it just isn’t.” My world should have turned upside down, but it didn’t. Strange things happen in this world. “Yes, that’s weird. Do you look like me?” “Yes, we are both extremely handsome - I’d like to meet.” I thought for a moment. What if this alternate me was as big an asshole as I was? What if he was in some sort of trouble in his universe? What is this alternate me comes by and my fiancée likes him more than me? No. He would not be coming over. It was just as likely that very bad things could come from this instead good, and he likely would leave poop on the sides of the bowl and not clean it. “Sorry man, I’m out of town. We can catch up another time.”

[WP] Your phone rings. You answer it and on the other end is you from a alternate reality wondering if he/she could crash with you for a night or two at your place.

I closed the oven and promised myself to get the food out later. This was a particularly distracting dilemma and I didn't want to burn myself. "Are you still there?" they asked. Typical of them to be insecure when I'm quiet for like 5 seconds. "Yep, yep, I'm just processing this whole... why can't you crash with anyone else?" I started pacing, walking to each room of the house. "Oh, come on, we know I wouldn't be able to stand being with mom for more than a day, and I don't know how long I'll be here." "Because you did something really bad in the other dimension?" I asked. "Yeah, but not on purpose! Come on, you know me better than anyone, would we do something malicious!?" I thought about that for a second. I noticed they didn't say anything more. Did they hang up because I didn't respond fast enough? "Are you still there?" I asked. "Yep, so can I stay over?" they pleaded. "I dunno. I don't want you leaving your clothes everywhere. And not doing the dishes. And never cleaning the bathroom. You'd leave this place a mess," I shrugged. "You already do that!!" they yelled. "Yeah, but you'd do it like, doubly so. So, you know..." I shrugged again. "Come on! What will it take? I can bring you some peanut butter candy! A whole bag full! All king size!" Tempting. I had to weigh my options. I looked at the pile of shirts in the corner of my room. "Are you still there?" they asked. "Yep, I just need to think some more.." I hesitated. "I really don't have time to let you think more! I need to get inside somewhere immediately!" they yelled. For a moment, I thought I could smell them fuming. Scary how connected we were. "Ok, ok, but I get to take morning showers," I offered. "What!? But then I'll be all gross and oily in the morning," they yelled. I almost swore I could feel the heat from them, too. "And... And you have to tell me what you did that was so serious that you had to come here," I said with confidence. Nothing from the other end. I probably went too far. I shouldn't have pushed myself so hard, now they would hate me and I'd always regret this night. I bet they already hung up. "Are you still there?" I asked, feeling even warmer in embarrassment. "Yep.... I'll tell you, but promise not to laugh," they replied quietly. "Ok, I'll try not to," I said, not wanting to make a promise I can't keep. "So... In my dimension, I lived in an apartment where I was working on the technology to jump between dimensions. I was so invested in it, tuning out pretty much everything else in the world while I was working on it." I nodded, knowing the feeling. "So, the night I finished it, I accidentally started a fire. The fire spread insanely fast throughout the apartment, and spread to the upper floors. On one of the floors was a young girl, like three years old, and she died of smoke inhalation. So, her dad is super rich and hates me and wants to kill me now. I ran through the machine, but he came right after me." I was sweating now, I couldn't tell why, though. Maybe it was vicarious anxiety. "How come you could use the machine if it was on fire?" I asked. "No, the machine didn't go on fire. I left some food in the oven and it went up in flames. I never got around to replacing the smoke detector batteries so I didn't even realize until--" I had dropped my phone from my hand as I finally absorbed the scene around me. Flames licked the entire outskirts of my kitchen and were crawling up the walls to upper floors and slowly approaching me. I started coughing from the smoke and screamed in fear. I picked up my phone and ran outside. "ARE YOU STILL THERE!?" they were yelling. "Yep! Yep! I just started a fire in the apartment, though!" There was silence. The kind that envelops you because you're too stunned to come up with words to contribute. The kind where your silence speaks so many times louder than your words because you typically can't deal with silence, but it was being freely offered by you. To yourself. "Are you still there?" I asked weakly, taking more steps back onto the street to watch as the flames continued jumping up the stories. "Is it at the fourth floor yet?" they asked seriously. "I think it passed the sixth," I said. "Great. Now we're gonna need another machine," they groaned. ____________________________________ For more other-dimensional stories, come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!

My phone rang. The voice on the other end was hesitant and awkward. But familiar. “Hey. Uh. You aren’t going to believe this, but I swear it’s true. It’s me, I’m you. Don’t worry, I’m not dead, it’s actually pretty complex to explain over the phone - but I’m you, trust me. I know what you did in 1987 in the darkroom in middle school, and it wasn’t me watching - I’m actually you. Weird huh? I’m from a universe that for all practical purposes is the same as yours, but it just isn’t.” My world should have turned upside down, but it didn’t. Strange things happen in this world. “Yes, that’s weird. Do you look like me?” “Yes, we are both extremely handsome - I’d like to meet.” I thought for a moment. What if this alternate me was as big an asshole as I was? What if he was in some sort of trouble in his universe? What is this alternate me comes by and my fiancée likes him more than me? No. He would not be coming over. It was just as likely that very bad things could come from this instead good, and he likely would leave poop on the sides of the bowl and not clean it. “Sorry man, I’m out of town. We can catch up another time.”

[WP] Gods can only view the mortal world through their followers’ eyes. As one of the few humans to survive the apocalypse, you have dozens of bored gods in your head competing for your worship.

More consistent than any physical law and more powerful than any gods, supply and demand is the only truth that has outlasted the apocalypse. In a world where the sun no longer runs on a fixed schedule and the ground before you can collapse just as easily as it can suddenly rise, I am one of the lasts humans. The gods, on the other hand, have lost most of their followers in a single night. Their only connection to this forsaken earth, wiped clean; almost. Popular gods from the Greek pantheons and Chinese legions are no different than no-name deities of forgotten tongues now. They have all shifted to the high supply end of the scale and we humans are in demand. Some of the survivors, tempted by power and promises, have taken to mass worshipping. A fractured devotion to a mix-and-match pantheon of their own choosing. Some have taken on more than a dozen gods while others kept it at two. None of them remained sane. I made it clear than my faith will only be devoted to one god and opened my mind for auditions under the skeletal remains of a skyscraper. War gods offered might. The Monkey King would loan me his golden cudgel, the same one he used in his attempt to destroy the heavens. promised me his trident capable of destroying three worlds in a single strike. Ares, blinded by rage, only hurled insults at me. Fertility goddesses tempted me with a lineage of demi-gods. I would be the father of the next generation, a world populated by man-gods. Freyja of the Nordic Ancients would bear me children tough enough to survive any terrain. Girls would be Valkyrie-like and boys would possess immeasurable strength. Venus did not speak much of offsprings but simply disrobed. Wisdom deities offered me knowledge. Thoth would gift me both the knowledge of magic and science, just as he gifted the ancient pharaohs, to create the world anew. Benzaiten promised to give me the power to bring beauty back to this wasteland. I sat in the same spot as three pieces of the fractured sun came and went. At the end of the audition, there was one clear winner. He came not in golden armor or handwoven silk, but in a ragged patchwork of torn hemp. His disheveled hair swayed as he limped towards me. He spoke in incoherent echoes and made no promises of power or longevity. But in that broken state, I felt in him pure instinct. A forgotten god reduced to the will to survive. I stood up as a fragment of the sun began to rise and limped away into the horizon.

        Virtual and augmented realities are a vital part of modern civilization in Western Junos whose inhabitants are all immortal beings. These beings have the ability to manifest anything their minds can imagine instantaneously. Most citizens of Western Junos grow bored with their omnipotent powers, fantasizing what life would be like as a mortal with definite challenges in life.         A once-thriving and prestigious software company namely Potial, watched themselves go bankrupt as their hit product from decades back was seemingly going obsolete. Most civilians in Western Junos spent their waking hours as an avatar in a simulated world called Mars, which was another software simulation put out by one of Potial's competitors. Potial was becoming the Blockbuster Video to this new company producing the cutting edge simulation software called Mars. \-----         There are now thirty-two survivors in our group, including myself. We all banded together in what's left of San Diego, and it appears our mutual trust is growing upon one another.         I honestly believe I am losing touch with reality- maybe because I am just still grieving the lost of my family and attempting still to process the events of that day.         Today we are piling up all of our combined firepower and going hunting for whatever we can find. The last few days our unit has grown five more people and we haven't come across anyone or anything that responded with hostility.         Until around 4pm, when we spotted the most peculiar man walking a bulldog ahead of our trail. Apparently there were animal survivors. When the man spotted us, he immediately smiled and waved, then charged a full-sprint at us with his dog running along side him. We all pulled our rifles on him, to which he stopped in his tracks, the dog following suit. We could see now that he was bearded and had on a thin backpack.         "Hold on! Don't shoot! I come in peace!" the man begged.         "Why did you run at us?" I shouted.         "I've been searching for humans for weeks!" the man said, "I need somewhere to hide out. I have something valuable that a lot of people are looking for."         "What are you talking about?"         "Will you please put down your rifles? I don't have any weapons."         We trustingly obliged to which the man began slowly removing his backpack. He knew we were all ready to blow his brains out, so I didn't think he was going to try anything crazy.         He pulled out bricks of thin, golden paper, as if someone used gold to print money onto. "This is Mars currency. I became the richest man there, and a lot of beings were after me. Do we have a place I can hide?" \-----         In the course of the next decade in West Junos, Potial once again became the top dog of the augmented reality industry after their hit product, Earth was invaded by the populace of Mars. By the year Earth-3000, due to the massive breeding with the Mars beings, nature's Homo Sapiens become fully instinct, having evolved fully into cybernetic organisms.

[WP] Gods can only view the mortal world through their followers’ eyes. As one of the few humans to survive the apocalypse, you have dozens of bored gods in your head competing for your worship.

It was....lonely. Most had died out a year ago. A strange plague wiped them out. Most animals survived, so f you could hunt you could live. But most humans were gone. I knew a few survived. I’d seen their footprints, to recent in the dust. Graffiti marking dates that are to recent to be a remnant of civilization, or cynical and dark jokes that are to accurate to be pre plague, or just notes. Marking of when someone was there. I’d tried to follow. I’d see how far the footprints would take me, wait by the messages for as long as foodlasted or as long as seasons permitted. I left some of my own. Notes, where I’ve been, where I was going. No one had found me yet. It was lonely. Well....except for them. It was maybe a month, month and a half, after the plague had run its course when they first contacted me. And they others, I’ve seen markings and makeshift shrines. They tried to be subtle at first. It’s kind of funny to look back on. Cryptic dreams, whispers in your mind, signs that mean nothing. The Gods really were clinging on to old traditions. The first “god”contacted me after a particularly rough fishing trip. One small trout for dinner. I had a dream that night that I was standing on a river and a beautiful woman in blues and whites appeared to me, and gave me the biggest fish I’d ever seen in my life. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but Zhen, god of the rivers, has been a constant presence since then. She was kind. I left her a shrine once. Others soon started to appear. Gods of the forge, of poison, of water fire earth and air,of nature, of small and large things. I learned a lot. They stoped being cryptic eventually. Just talked. I liked the company. At least from the ones that didn’t make demands. It was easy to learn about them when they were so direct. They gained a lot from worshippers. They gain power, they gain knowledge, but most importantly to them now, they gained eyes. Anyone that worships them allows them to use their eyes as their own. And since all the humans died out, they missed out world. Some demanded worship. Some offered me “gifts” and “favors” others simply talked, feeling as lonely as I was. Sometimes I would cave. But it was annoying. Constant voices in your head, begging, demanding, requesting that you worship them. I had to practice to zone them out. But that was my life now. Just me and the voices. “I can help you find another” It was mid fishing trip. Some beach on the east coast. I barely kept track of directionnoutside of cities now. “What do you mean?” I’d humor this one “I am Cryst, god of communications” “And that helps me how?” “I have another worshipper up the coast. I can help you find them” “For?” “I’ll need your worship for as long as it takes you to get there.” I shouldn’t....but to find another human. What was the point of rejecting? “I’m in”

        Virtual and augmented realities are a vital part of modern civilization in Western Junos whose inhabitants are all immortal beings. These beings have the ability to manifest anything their minds can imagine instantaneously. Most citizens of Western Junos grow bored with their omnipotent powers, fantasizing what life would be like as a mortal with definite challenges in life.         A once-thriving and prestigious software company namely Potial, watched themselves go bankrupt as their hit product from decades back was seemingly going obsolete. Most civilians in Western Junos spent their waking hours as an avatar in a simulated world called Mars, which was another software simulation put out by one of Potial's competitors. Potial was becoming the Blockbuster Video to this new company producing the cutting edge simulation software called Mars. \-----         There are now thirty-two survivors in our group, including myself. We all banded together in what's left of San Diego, and it appears our mutual trust is growing upon one another.         I honestly believe I am losing touch with reality- maybe because I am just still grieving the lost of my family and attempting still to process the events of that day.         Today we are piling up all of our combined firepower and going hunting for whatever we can find. The last few days our unit has grown five more people and we haven't come across anyone or anything that responded with hostility.         Until around 4pm, when we spotted the most peculiar man walking a bulldog ahead of our trail. Apparently there were animal survivors. When the man spotted us, he immediately smiled and waved, then charged a full-sprint at us with his dog running along side him. We all pulled our rifles on him, to which he stopped in his tracks, the dog following suit. We could see now that he was bearded and had on a thin backpack.         "Hold on! Don't shoot! I come in peace!" the man begged.         "Why did you run at us?" I shouted.         "I've been searching for humans for weeks!" the man said, "I need somewhere to hide out. I have something valuable that a lot of people are looking for."         "What are you talking about?"         "Will you please put down your rifles? I don't have any weapons."         We trustingly obliged to which the man began slowly removing his backpack. He knew we were all ready to blow his brains out, so I didn't think he was going to try anything crazy.         He pulled out bricks of thin, golden paper, as if someone used gold to print money onto. "This is Mars currency. I became the richest man there, and a lot of beings were after me. Do we have a place I can hide?" \-----         In the course of the next decade in West Junos, Potial once again became the top dog of the augmented reality industry after their hit product, Earth was invaded by the populace of Mars. By the year Earth-3000, due to the massive breeding with the Mars beings, nature's Homo Sapiens become fully instinct, having evolved fully into cybernetic organisms.

[WP] Gods can only view the mortal world through their followers’ eyes. As one of the few humans to survive the apocalypse, you have dozens of bored gods in your head competing for your worship.

The daemon stared at me from across the cafeteria. A dozen cans clicked together in my bag. Upside down face, fangs drooling black ink. Face taker; had a half dozen borrowed lifetimes under it's belt. I'd been hoping to avoid this. The mouth opened and the forked tongue flicked out, eyes flicking across my body. Getting a read of what I'd do. I didn't know what I'd do. That was what made me interesting. I moved first, and threw my satchel across the room towards the exit. Glad I did, because in the next moment, the beast was moving, launching itself forward on humans legs contorted with black fibres. The table exploded underneath of the creature's weight, and in the next moment, it caught a chair across it's fucking ugly face, and I was moving, feeling the strain in the back of my shoulders where I'd thrown it. It fell over on it's side, legs flailing like a damn spider, and I fucking booked it. It screamed in a little girl's voice in frustration, but by the time it'd flipped over I was already by the door to the cafeteria, hooking my satchel over my shoulder. The cans thumped against my back. No point looking back. The Daemon would be there until it had my face. But fuck it, it'd been half a year since the end of the world, and I'd picked up a few tricks as well. The burnt out building had been a school before the end of the world. Classrooms stood with skeletons rimming them, with the occasional communication on blackboard. Evacuation plans written on walls, yellowed from the black haze in the air. The sun hung low, broken in a grey sky. But fuck it, and fuck them for dying, I was going to make it out alive. "Where are you going? Don't you want to play?" The Face-taker whispered. Oh my god how I didn't want to play. Another few yards and I was out of the front of the building. It wasn't the way I'd came in, but the man-spider had showed up while I was raiding the kitchen, so I was fucked to go back that way. Which was why I was surprised to find the beast's web. Braided paper, ribbed, sharp, studded with remnants of the beast's kills. And straddling the entirely of the street like a big sticky trap. Crows warked inside of it, screaming for help. I wasn't going to have anything to do with them. I kept running and slammed the rusting doors in front of the Daemon. Okay, fine, the way ahead was blocked, and the way back was covered in a mess of a fucker I didn't have enough time to deal with. So I ran across the crackling dried lawn of the school yard, careening towards the fence. Then jump up, did a few lazy steps up the posts (felt it in my legs, I wasn't made for this at all), wished I'd been into parkour instead of retail, and then hurled myself across the other side. Which was when shit got bad, because I felt a god slide in behind my eyes. "You seem to be in a bit of trouble," the god cooed, his voice like a cat's purr played on a violin. Amused creature, amused voice. I'd heard them a dozen times, and never had the courage to respond to them. It was bad luck to owe a god a favor of any sort. I ignored it, and kept right on running. The man-spider, the face taker, had covered up the road, the easiest way back into the city where I could find my camp and hope to god nobody'd taken my stuff, but that didn't mean there weren't alternate routes. A sprawling mess of alleyways was perfect. For me and the spider. I dove into the first one and skidded in the muck; half finished from last night's rain, drainage clogged up. I clipped my elbow across the wall, stars dancing across my eyes, and barely avoided face planting, but then I was back on my feet. "Oh," The face-taker whispered. "You're hurt. Let me fix that right up for you~!" It was on the building now, hands digging into the window frames, pressing against nooks and crannies, breaking off fingernails from dead finger tips and it sounded like death itself crawling smooth. I turned the corner and kept right on running. Another fence, this one half bladed. If I just got a little further, just a little bit more. "I can help you know," The god offered. "If you need it." I slammed into the fence and desperately tried to mount it, clawing at it... but momentum failed me and I tumbled back down onto the muck and decay. Leaving only the spider closing in. Saw it move, saw the fingers twitch. Another added life the beast's span. A fucking mindless hunter was coming after me, and it was going to get me because I'd been caught out. My heart pounded in my chest to see it here. Now that my avenues were reduced... I didn't want to do it. Doing it would consign me to misery. Pain. Break the vow I'd made five months ago, when he'd left to go north. But I wasn't going to catch up to him without it. So I broke the vow to remain godless. "Fine, fine fine," I muttered under my breath. Fingers balled up into fists. I couldn't die here. I had to make it to the next city. Had to make sure he was still there, waiting for me. I couldn't let him down. Not dying in the middle of a goddamn burnt city like some nobody. The gods were petty petty devils. The settlements I'd been in had told me that much. Tricky things that demanded and took and competed for followers in the hollowed out shell left behind of planet earth. If I was lucky, it wouldn't kill me. If I was unlucky, it might just save me entirely. "Am I your first?" The god cooed. I swallowed. I'd heard it hurt. "Unfortunately..." I whispered. The spider drew closer. I could hear it breathing from its upside down face. Judgement day hadn't done a thing to it, when man lost the battle. But we were still clinging on. We were still trying. And if I was lucky, I might get to a hold out point. "Now." My left arm exploded into pain. Skin crawled, nerves re-positioning attached to bone tugging tension. Fist clenched. A strangled yelp came from my throat, and my stomach heaved. "Keep it steady," The god cooed. "Or you might draw another god to laugh at your misfortune for letting my blessing kill you." I didn't want a laugh track to accompany my death, so I clenched my right fist as hard as I could, until the nubs of my fingernails kissed the skin white. The Face-taker cooed, and the face rotated ninety degrees. A little girl, perhaps, had been the last meal. How many months ago was that? This city was long gone. My left arm burst into fire, and then wept shadows. "Now," The god said, grinning behind my neck. I could hear the breath on my shoulder, felt the wind whistle with his touch. And then death, hot, raw, painful, bleeding, leapt from my left hand, obliterated out of my mortal flesh, tugged at the very fabric of my very real soul, and flew at the spider. A momentary flash of recognition in the beast's face. Just a moment when the eyes twitched too real, too alive. When it stole their lives, had it taken their minds as well? Then the blast took it, and it fell coated in spreading black and twitched on the ground at the mouth of the alleyway. Arms flickered and flexed. My left arm smoked and sizzled. Bones crackled unnaturally. I couldn't look at it for more than a second. "I hope you have a way of fixing that," I muttered. But I'd acknowledged the god again, and they laughed. "Oh, my darling message boy, we have so much more than just fixing it in mind." and distantly, I could hear the whole chorus of gods laughing as they found someone else to torture. Another pilgrim to test to see if he was worthy. Another person to constrain. But I was a cynic to the core. A dozen gods flitter fluttering past. But now I owed a favor. Sweat rolled down my brow. Hitched my backpack across my shoulders again, stepped around the Daemon, and started on my way. And you repaid the gods, one way or another. ----- https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ If you want more like this, click here. Might write more, I'll throw links up if I do.

I misread the title as flowers of the gods at first, So here is my interpretation. =D *** I tend to my garden and water my hydrangeas. The peonies screech out with the voice of Poseidon, “You would feed mine enemy mortal? Your family shall be lost to the tides!” This of course as it always does sets off the rest of the flowers in the garden, the Louisiana Iris burbles in a thick but self righteous Nordic accent. “Oi, Ye god of the sea was it? Ye are nothing. I once drank an inch off ya. Not so great now are ye.” The hydrangeas start hooting and hollering sounds of encouragement. His wilted yellow leaves perk up at the sounds of the raucous garden. The rose bush speaks out in ancient Hebrew, trying to silence the rest; but it is of no use. The camellia bush merely sits there in silence shooting sharp flower petals at the rest. I groan frustrated. Tomorrow I’m going to teach myself how to install a fricken sprinkler system.

[WP] You die and awake in the afterlife, but to your surprise, Death and Satan are engaged in a match of blackjack, and God is downing a bottle of jack while shaping a “new” animal, and everyone looks washed up. Suddenly, Death turns and says “Welcome to the afterlife kid, grab a beer and settle up”

For a few seconds after my death, I felt a warm blanket a darkness wrap around my consciousness. I was at total peace. Than, I started seeing light again. Soon enough, I was able to make out a room. It looked like a living room, with so many people in it. Hundreds, In fact. “Oh, hey, your that guy Duncan Brady, right? Welcome to the afterlife kid, grab a beer and settle up” The creature that spoke to me was a hulking figure, muscular, with red skin and yellow eyes. He was playing some kind of game against another creature. Some guy in a black robe. “Lucifer, give up, I’m gonna beat your ass no matter what you do” said the robed guy. “Shut up, Dylan” said...the Devil, apparently. I walked towards the kitchen, where a bearded man I white robes was downing a bottle of Tennessee Honey. “New idea for an animal ya guys, grrr, whatta bout, whatta bout a half duck, half beaver thing” he said in a slurred tone. I went to the fridge to get a beer, and went back to the living room. “Oh my God, Dylan, stop cheating” Lucifer said to the Robed figure. He took of his robe to show a half decayed skull underneath. I didn’t move but it could still speak. “I’m not cheating Luce, don’t be a bitch” He said jokingly. I sat at a couch, where thousands of humans were watching a television broadcast of Earth. Spectator mode, I guess. I took a big gulp of beer, and lied back. Well, this is the afterlife, after all.

"Wait, what?" I was about to play blackjack... with God, Death, and Satan? "Come now, we're about to get dealt a hand." I sat, figuring that I had nothing better to do. I knew I'd die. I just didn't expect... Well... Anything after it. Then I looked at the dealer. It was rude to stare, but I couldn't help myself. Four arms, blue skin, a conch and some shuriken looking thing in two of the arms. "He's called Vishnu," Satan said. The blue... God?... Gestured and cards appeared. "Oh, and if you count or anything, that disc will come for you," Satan added. The shuriken was gone. There was a distant groan. The disc whizzed back. "It's a Chakra." I played a hand or two quietly. "I guess we can stop pretending to be in the forms you're comfortable with." Death spoke, removing his cloak. Steadily he changed. He grew hands and steadily... breasts. "Usually I'm Kali, your death goddess - since you died of sickness." Satan groaned and was suddenly on a bull, a burly man in black skin. "Yeah, otherwise I'd have had to come for you." God too grew a couple heads. "Brahma." He hiccuped. "Apologies for the adjustments you'd have to make. It's just that 30 million of us keeps it more lively." Vishnu spoke. I was at a loss for a few minutes. "Is this a religion?" "Hinduism," an elephant-head spoke and then walked over. "I tend to be the poster-child." "Why the casino?" I blurted out. "It's fun. It keeps us entertained." The elephant head conversed with me. "Do I... Is it... Reincarnation?" "No any more. The numbers don't work out." The elephant sighed. "Just enjoy it. It's a fun place to explore."

[WP] You die and awake in the afterlife, but to your surprise, Death and Satan are engaged in a match of blackjack, and God is downing a bottle of jack while shaping a “new” animal, and everyone looks washed up. Suddenly, Death turns and says “Welcome to the afterlife kid, grab a beer and settle up”

"Al kuhul for the newbie, is it?" God intones with a facetious chuckle "Sure have sum' me spirits here instead of the beer my boy, ye want to be hop-in? You're barley here!" The room erupts into raucous laughter. Everyone seems bored to tears—God's words merely a performance—an exhibition of Father jokes and quips repeated ad nauseum to cheer up the ungrateful dead. "I gave you life!" God opens his arms magnanimously, as if reading my thoughts, then points doggedly at Death as his tentacles unwrap themselves from around my waist "and that wee prick took it away!" A tremendous dead weight lifts itself from me, and Death sits back down somberly at the table. Satan's gaze is set fixedly on the cards, shuffling rhythmically. "Death is merely an instrument of mine." He says with a drawl, "Or are you scared to slander me directly, God? Your inebriation has gifted me the secular realm, you know?" "An eternity with you wouldn't be enough, Jesus, God!" Death snickers impudently, interrupting God's furrowed brow as it deepens into his face to become a grimace. God stumbles to his feet, waving the bottle of Jack toward Death, an exhausted fury etched into his righteous face. "I've had enough of your shit, Death! You take my Son and now you insist on taking his name in vain! What is this blasphemy!?" "You want blasphemy?" Satan cries, dropping the deck of cards and leaping to his feet. "The hand that gives is above the hand that takes, eh? Well, you are a cocky little shit, God! You created that rigmarole down there, and now you're too drunk to even look after your own children, while that old diary of yours has them believing in salvation! Ha!" "Well, that whole thing was a bit of a mess. Nonetheless, I blessed them with free will, and one day I will...!" God opines, his sentence trailing off as he raises the bottle of Jack into the air like an exclamation mark before falling back into his chair and descending into a heavenly snore. "Ah, yes." Death sighs with satisfaction, his eyes resting on God's unfinished portrait of a strange, but beautiful looking animal. "He's fallen further and further into drunken stupor these days, and his creations remain unfinished. Species are dying faster than they're being created. How wonderful. How sumptuous." "Have you not feasted on enough souls today, Death?" Satan snaps, "I swear, you've an insatiable lust for the putrefaction of the flesh." "I follow your orders! Has no one got any accountability around here!?" Death swipes back venomously. "Well you can afford to be honest, Death. You can breach the ethereal into the profane while I'm confined here, merely working in the shadows, playing damn blackjack, waiting for them dithering fools to summon me at Bohemian Grove so I can give them their marching orders while their heavenly God sleeps at the wheel! What's the deal anyway, have they accepted the Mark yet?" Satan's gaze rests on me for the first time, the skin crawling up my imaginary back as my senses readjust from the temporal to the incorporeal. I clear my throat and attempt to speak, but only imaginary phlegm arises from my throat as I mutter a few nonsensical syllables. "What is it, boy? Are you tired of being dead already? I can tell ye it's boring around here. Tell me, do you like it here in the bardo? Wait, never-mind, wrong epoch. What do ya think of purgatory?" "Huh, what?" I eventually manage to croak, presuming I'm in hell. "Tell you what" Satan says, "Take a seat. Welcome to your initiation. One hand of blackjack. If you'd listened to me whispering over your shoulder all your life to gamble, you'll win no problem. You win, I'll leave ya alone till God wakes up and he'll send you on to the afterlife. I win, and you're off to hell!" Confused, I sit down. Satan lays out the cards. "9, as above" he mutters, "6, so below. 9. Bust." "Wh-what? You cheated!" I exclaim, "I saw you switch the cards!" "So you didn't read his diary, no?" Satan laughs hysterically, pointing at God as Death chuckles in the background. "You've trusted the Serpent and eaten the apple and now you must be reborn in your sins!" The blackness around me fades and I'm surrounded by what looks like the Garden of Eden. A sudden realization flashes through my mind as I dissipate and an indefatigable weight pulls me back into the womb.

"Wait, what?" I was about to play blackjack... with God, Death, and Satan? "Come now, we're about to get dealt a hand." I sat, figuring that I had nothing better to do. I knew I'd die. I just didn't expect... Well... Anything after it. Then I looked at the dealer. It was rude to stare, but I couldn't help myself. Four arms, blue skin, a conch and some shuriken looking thing in two of the arms. "He's called Vishnu," Satan said. The blue... God?... Gestured and cards appeared. "Oh, and if you count or anything, that disc will come for you," Satan added. The shuriken was gone. There was a distant groan. The disc whizzed back. "It's a Chakra." I played a hand or two quietly. "I guess we can stop pretending to be in the forms you're comfortable with." Death spoke, removing his cloak. Steadily he changed. He grew hands and steadily... breasts. "Usually I'm Kali, your death goddess - since you died of sickness." Satan groaned and was suddenly on a bull, a burly man in black skin. "Yeah, otherwise I'd have had to come for you." God too grew a couple heads. "Brahma." He hiccuped. "Apologies for the adjustments you'd have to make. It's just that 30 million of us keeps it more lively." Vishnu spoke. I was at a loss for a few minutes. "Is this a religion?" "Hinduism," an elephant-head spoke and then walked over. "I tend to be the poster-child." "Why the casino?" I blurted out. "It's fun. It keeps us entertained." The elephant head conversed with me. "Do I... Is it... Reincarnation?" "No any more. The numbers don't work out." The elephant sighed. "Just enjoy it. It's a fun place to explore."

[WP] You die and awake in the afterlife, but to your surprise, Death and Satan are engaged in a match of blackjack, and God is downing a bottle of jack while shaping a “new” animal, and everyone looks washed up. Suddenly, Death turns and says “Welcome to the afterlife kid, grab a beer and settle up”

*"I'm Lucifer. Good to see you again"* "Afterlife? Is this Heaven?" *"Yes it is"* "If this is heaven, then what are *you* doing here?" *"Your Father invited me to play a game"* "I thought heaven would be more shiny. There would be streets of gold or something" *"Oh there's plenty of that. But the Big Guy likes to play this game in a dive bar for some reason"* "Blackjack?" *"This isn't blackjack. We are betting on souls."* "Looks like you're winning" *"I am up right now. Thank you for that, by the way."* "How did I make it up here? I wasn't exactly a good person" *"Honestly I have no idea why He let you in. I never do. I would've at least had you skinned alive for a couple years first. Or boiled in oil. But he's always had a soft spot for you"* "Wait how can God get drunk?" *"What's the fun of alcohol if He couldn't get drunk? And we've got some really good whiskey makers up here. That reminds me; Bob sent down a couple pounds of his new strain. It really is out of this world. You should try some"* "What are you watching?" *"Patrice's new comedy special. We could put on a war if you prefer; I know how much you love violence. Today its Khan versus Caesar. You could go check it out in person if you want. In fact, you can do or have anything your heart desires"* "Can I see my Mom?" *"Of course. She's waiting for you in her garden. Shall I call an angel to come get you? You're supposed to get a whole orientation after meeting God. Not that you need one; your memory should be coming back soon. Sometimes it takes a while for the drugs to wear off"* "Can I return to life?" *"You'll need your Dad's permission for that."* "What are the chips for? Is there money up here?" *"You don't need money in Heaven. The chips are for power. Control of the Universe, actually. Every time someone is born, we make a bet on whether they will do Good or Evil. That's about the only thing God doesn't control, so its the only thing He can have fun betting on."* "What will you spend your chips on?" *"Chaos. Entropy. Disorder"* "And now you are winning" *"We go back and forth."* "What happens if you get all the chips?" *"I destroy the Universe"*

"Wait, what?" I was about to play blackjack... with God, Death, and Satan? "Come now, we're about to get dealt a hand." I sat, figuring that I had nothing better to do. I knew I'd die. I just didn't expect... Well... Anything after it. Then I looked at the dealer. It was rude to stare, but I couldn't help myself. Four arms, blue skin, a conch and some shuriken looking thing in two of the arms. "He's called Vishnu," Satan said. The blue... God?... Gestured and cards appeared. "Oh, and if you count or anything, that disc will come for you," Satan added. The shuriken was gone. There was a distant groan. The disc whizzed back. "It's a Chakra." I played a hand or two quietly. "I guess we can stop pretending to be in the forms you're comfortable with." Death spoke, removing his cloak. Steadily he changed. He grew hands and steadily... breasts. "Usually I'm Kali, your death goddess - since you died of sickness." Satan groaned and was suddenly on a bull, a burly man in black skin. "Yeah, otherwise I'd have had to come for you." God too grew a couple heads. "Brahma." He hiccuped. "Apologies for the adjustments you'd have to make. It's just that 30 million of us keeps it more lively." Vishnu spoke. I was at a loss for a few minutes. "Is this a religion?" "Hinduism," an elephant-head spoke and then walked over. "I tend to be the poster-child." "Why the casino?" I blurted out. "It's fun. It keeps us entertained." The elephant head conversed with me. "Do I... Is it... Reincarnation?" "No any more. The numbers don't work out." The elephant sighed. "Just enjoy it. It's a fun place to explore."

[WP] You die and awake in the afterlife, but to your surprise, Death and Satan are engaged in a match of blackjack, and God is downing a bottle of jack while shaping a “new” animal, and everyone looks washed up. Suddenly, Death turns and says “Welcome to the afterlife kid, grab a beer and settle up”

Larry Holcomb wasn't much of a drinker in life. However, considering the gruesome details of his unexpected demise he thought, "why not?" "Exactly," Satan said as he shuffled the deck, "why not?" Larry grabbed an Allagash Black and took a seat next to God who wasn't paying much attention to the Devil's cut. Well, to the Devils cut of the deck rather. He was keenly focused on the bottle of Jim Beam he just transformed his Jack Daniels into. "Water to wine is fine," God dismissively slurred, "but whiskey to bourbon is..." he tapered off. Seeing as God was so distracted with creating a walking, living corn stalk / barley hybrid creature, Larry continued to survey the room. The image of Death wasn't what Larry expected. He always pictured a ghoulish, decaying figure with a tattered black robe. What sat before him was a pure white skeleton wearing a beige colored bath robe and matching towel wrapped abound his head. "Squeaky clean, eh?" Larry nervously laughed. "Yep," replied Death as he cleaned his ear with his pinkney bone, "all washed up." "Superb-an!" God blurted out from across the table, seemingly shouting himself awake. Satan dealt the cards. Death was showing a 6 and a 9. God had two Jacks, and Larry was two jacks as well. Satan was showing a 6. Naturally the 3 of them stayed. "My goodness!" Death exclaimed with an astonished look on his face bones. "If you defeat the devil on your first turn, he can return you to life! And with Satan showing a 6, that's about as probable as me paying taxes!" He followed with uproarious laughter. It was difficult to tell whether Death was slaying himself from his sharp wit or at his hand. Larry longed to return to his wife in Iowa, his kids and the life he built there on his farm. Satan nervously flipped his other card. 6. Another 6 leaving 18, and lastly... a 9. Bust. "Grats bro," Satan muttered defeatedly. He crossed his arms and nodded his head as he uttered his chatchphrase "Zim Zim Zala-bim!" Just like that, Larry vanished from the poker table and was returned just outside of house on his farm. He lumbered out of his corn field. Walking, living, 80% corn, and 20% barley.

I looked around, a little unshaken. “Is this.. really the afterlife?” Death chuckled and shook his head. “Yup. You humans have the whole afterlife thing all twisted up. It’s no paradise. But it’s no hell either.” “But, in church we learned...” “Oh whatever. Churches have never been about religion. It’s all about suckering people out of their money to line the pockets of these so called priests. I mean sure, Satan here does punish the truly wicked. But he’s got demons to do the work for him. And he’s not a bad guy if you think about it.” “Well yeah, I guess.” I turned to Satan, confused. “So Satan, who are the truly wicked?” Satan looked up from his cards and smirked. “People that don’t use blinkers when driving. Priests. Hitler. Greedy rich people. Most politicians. People that interrupt my card game.” With that, he turned back to his cards. Death sighed. “He’ll warm up to you eventually. Now I know you’re thinking, well what about the righteous. Yeah that’s a bunch of malarkey spewed by the priests.” “Okay.... what is there to do for fun?” I asked, still bewildered. “Grab a drink and pull up a chair kid. Hope ya know how to play blackjack.”

[WP]. Timetravel is real and it has been done multiple times. There is a secret organization hunting timetravelers, their method is highly effective and has always been the same: lotteries.

“Dammit!” Agent Jones punched the wall. “Not again.” Agent Smith didn’t say anything, just patted his young partner on the shoulder. Fifth time now. The fifth time they’d tracked a time traveler attempting to upset the monetary apple cart. He had no idea how they’d originally figured it out. Before his time, no matter how many jokes Jones made about his age. But they’d done it. And set up the Agency; one to track and contain time travelers. Who, to a man, always wanted to earn an easy living by winning easy money. Some by betting on horses or ball games. Not his department, though. Jones and Smith worked the big game. The lottery. The first one caught, some meathead from a podunk town, even had a big book of sports betting. All the games, stats and numbers a gambler would need for the next fifty years. And, due to it being a book out of time, it self-corrected when other time travelers attempted to change things. His job was to compare the stasis-locked copy they had with the original, see when stuff changed between them, and then hunt down the latest threat. But this time... five different big jackpots, in five different states. And each time, it was confirmed that a contemporary had won it. All known lottery pickers. All of which had the winning number in the middle of a bundle of tickets they purchased. All of which hadn’t won the damn-fool money a week prior. “I don’t know,” Jones finally said. “Maybe the Book has just run out of steam? Or someone found a way to fool it?” “Fool it?” Smith asked. “You even studied ‘bout what they do with ones we catch?” He spat on the ground, and unlocked the car. “They basically turned the whole kit and kaboodle into an egghead research thing. Keep ‘em figuring out how to keep the world spinning and that crap. And a bunch of ‘em look at keeping the Book on track.” “Soo.. maybe it’s a conspiracy?” Jones opened his door, and Smith slid behind the steering wheel. “A conspiracy of dunces, mayhaps. Nah, they all think they’re smarter’n us. And each other. In between inventin’ microwaves and computers? They squabble with each other over being the ‘true inventor of time travel’.” He started to fumble around his black suit. Just in case, he always tries to switch up which of the multitude of pockets held the keys. Never could be too careful, with time travelers. They were that awful combination of smart and stupid that was dangerous. Leave a pattern, leave in a body bag, was his motto. Oh, right. He’d made Jones carry them this time. Throw things off. Train him up. Plus, made Jones think he might actually get to drive this time. Heh. “I tried to study about them, but I don’t get what they’re thinking, sometimes.” Jones fumbled around, trying to find the unfamiliar keys. “I mean, why do they always have to go for the big money? I’d be satisfied with just a million bucks or two.” He pulled out the keys, entangled with a piece of scrap paper and some pocket lint, and handed it to Smith. “I know what you mean, kid. Enough to retire to a cozy cabin, and just live off the interest. Hell, win a few and...” Jones trailed off. “Kid, review those last few lottos again!” “But we’ve double and triple checked the winners already!” “Not the big winners. If I’m right, they’re just patsies. Distractions. Nah, look at the second placers. The ones that-“ “Won like a million or so. Of course!” He typed at the tablet in his hands, while Smith put the key in the ignition. “And we’ve got a match. Someone using a name from the same book has taken between one to five million bucks each time. A book that hasn’t been published yet.” “Dammit, we’ve got a smart one this time. Better let the big brains back at base know.” He plucked the paper stuck his keys, and tossed it back to Jones. “And keep your trash to yourself, kid.” “Uh, that’s not mine. I only use the tablet, like you told me to. I thought it was yours.” Jones unfolded it, as Smith turned the key. “Huh, a fortune cookie slip. It says ‘Patterns don’t matter when you can time travel’. What’s that mean?” Smith started to curse, and tried to dive out the door, but the seat belt wouldn’t unbuckle. It wouldn’t have mattered. The fireball that erupted when the engine turned over took out everything in a fifty foot radius.

A smile played on Mark's lips. A dazed expression was on his face. The camera's were clicking in his face. Toward the back of the room, two men watched carefully. "Is this one of them?" one said, with dark trimmed hair and a dark suit. "Yes" the other said, who was bald and also wearing a dark suit. Mark left the building and drove away toward his small house. The tracking chip they planted told them where he was. "The traveler is heading South" the black haired one told his partner, looking at a phone. He opened a radio and recorded his findings into it. A few seconds later, the dot swerved left. "Right past our road block" he said. "Let's go." The two men jumped into a car and followed Mark. "Right!" The bald one shouted to the one driving. The car swerved right. "Up ahead." They pulled into his driveway and took out their guns to advance on the house. Knocking filled the interior. Mark grabbed his large gun and aimed it at the door. A few seconds later the knocking repeated itself. Then the door was kicked open. The two partners rushed in, guns raised. Mark mowed down the bald one, but froze when he saw the agent with dark hair. He stammered back, the agent shooting multiple bullets into Mark seconds later. Mark fell to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth and wounds. "No. No." The agent walked over. "Traveler, you have been terminated. "You don't understand" Mark groaned in pain, letting his last breath out. "I'm you from the future." Then, both Mark and the agent seized to exist. Thanks for reading. Check out r/FortyTwoDogs if you want for more stories by me.

[WP]. Timetravel is real and it has been done multiple times. There is a secret organization hunting timetravelers, their method is highly effective and has always been the same: lotteries.

*It's go time. My first sting. How can my heart be pumping so fast? I didn't know that was possible!* Daryl points to my M16, "You remember how to use that thing?" I answer with a nervous chuckle, paired with a nod. They drew the MaxMillions last night. One winning ticket. 43.8 million dollars. We dug into the winner. It took us 8 hours. Philip Finnegan had never purchased a lottery ticket before in his life. He bought his ticket just 3 minutes before the numbers were up. He scanned his ticket at 8:01 PM. The numbers were drawn at 8 o'clock sharp. These are just the figures that I know and I'm a grunt of this organization, I don't get to know it all. These operations we are running need to be swift. We waste no time in running background checks on all lottery winners. If the winner is a time traveler, they can hide pretty fast if we dawdle. That's why we are parked outside Mr. Finnegan's house at 4:15 AM. If we miss our chance, he could disappear without a trace. It's happened before. "Alpha Team, move out. Swing the back and wait for further orders. Over." We move fast. I'm in Alpha Team, and they're letting me go in first. I'm sweating bullets. Time travelers who go for the lottery tickets are often quite protective of their winnings and it makes my job a dangerous one. I kiss the picture of my wife that I keep in my breast pocket, and slip it back for safe keeping. *Lord, please protect me this morning. Please let me return home when this is all over.* "Go, go, go!" Adrenaline takes over even before the battering ram hits the door. I'm inside before the dust settles. My sight is locked on a man standing frightened in the living room, obstructed only by the red dot that ensures my safety. "Freeze!" I yell, surprisingly without a voice crack. My nerves are high. I can see that little red dot wobbling uncontrollably and I'm doing my best to keep it on target. The subject raises his hands in response to our rather intrusive presence. He is standing beside his time machine. The damn thing is starting to spin up. He's trying to get out of dodge, I'm sure of it. By this time, he's got a minimum of 4 muzzles staring him down. Mr. Finnegan tries to bolt. He spins around quickly and attempts a swan dive into the time machine. My finger contracts without conscious effort. One shot rings out. Mr. Finnegan's body fizzles out of existence. Gone. *What the fuck? Did I miss him? Has he gone back to whatever year he came from? This is just perfect. Commander Patterson will have some words for me, and they won't be polite.* "Nice job kid, you passed the test." "What test, Commander," I answer through my radio. The other agents are standing around casually and I'm still aiming at where Mr. Finnegan used to be. "At ease, Private! This was an exercise. The subject was just a hologram. The most important thing, is that you hit it. If he was real, you wouldn't have let him get away. Welcome to Alpha Team, kid. You're gonna do well."

A smile played on Mark's lips. A dazed expression was on his face. The camera's were clicking in his face. Toward the back of the room, two men watched carefully. "Is this one of them?" one said, with dark trimmed hair and a dark suit. "Yes" the other said, who was bald and also wearing a dark suit. Mark left the building and drove away toward his small house. The tracking chip they planted told them where he was. "The traveler is heading South" the black haired one told his partner, looking at a phone. He opened a radio and recorded his findings into it. A few seconds later, the dot swerved left. "Right past our road block" he said. "Let's go." The two men jumped into a car and followed Mark. "Right!" The bald one shouted to the one driving. The car swerved right. "Up ahead." They pulled into his driveway and took out their guns to advance on the house. Knocking filled the interior. Mark grabbed his large gun and aimed it at the door. A few seconds later the knocking repeated itself. Then the door was kicked open. The two partners rushed in, guns raised. Mark mowed down the bald one, but froze when he saw the agent with dark hair. He stammered back, the agent shooting multiple bullets into Mark seconds later. Mark fell to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth and wounds. "No. No." The agent walked over. "Traveler, you have been terminated. "You don't understand" Mark groaned in pain, letting his last breath out. "I'm you from the future." Then, both Mark and the agent seized to exist. Thanks for reading. Check out r/FortyTwoDogs if you want for more stories by me.