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euclaise

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Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

My lungs are burning from having just run what feels like a marathon. The hoard of death behind me snarls, the stench growing closer as I feel my legs giving out. It's been eight months since the outbreak, and only eight days since I was separated from my pack. The sad part is I've probably outlived them. They thought the underground was safe, but that's where the dead have been hiding out. With each passing day the predators become more and more intelligent. Feeding off the living and gradually gaining our intelligence. I feel my heart rate slowing down. I thought the building was abandoned, I thought I'd barricaded myself in well enough that I could take a small nap. I have thought so many things in the last few days I can't even sort them all out. It's a blur, and time has no place in this world. The only time we know is the time of speed. How fast can you run? How quickly can you shoot? My vision is clouding and it reminds me of my first drunk night. Those memories are the only vivid ones. The ones before the outbreak, the ones full of color and happiness. Memories of life and beauty before chaos and corruption; when joy wasn’t fleeting. There is a new memory to corrupt those, a painful memory. I remember the fangs digging deep into my shoulder blade. Sharp from the bones they've broken through over the months. The blood wouldn't stop, the pain excruciating, pulsing through my every nerve ending as I cried out. My head splitting from the agony of knowing my fate and the rush of shut out emotions that broke the floodgates knowing that I was going to die. Knowing that I was going to be, one of them. I collapse my knees hitting the pavement with a crack as I feel my body deteriorating rapidly. Everything is fast. I pulled the gun from my waist band placing the barrel against the rotting corpses skull as I pulled the trigger, the shot rung through the empty complex sending the filthy monster flying from my shoulder. Pieces of my flesh and shirt clung to the daggers in its mouth. My breathing slows, each breath becoming harder and harder to take. I remember... I remember. I can't. I can't remember anymore. My mind is going. I hear them now; they are upon me, surrounding me, bringing me to them, welcoming me to their horde. The stench fills me as I can feel myself becoming one of them, my throat burns as breaths become raspy snarls. My stomach empty, craving the carnage that they too desire. I feel their cold bodies pressed against me, but I remember. I remember one thing. I slip my hand into my pocket, fighting with every ounce of my will to not change. Not yet, I have one last fight in me. My hands shiver form the chill of impending death. I hold the object tightly to my chest, and muster one last word. "Never." I await the burning warmth of the grenade to fill me and expand into the horde as I release the button. That one last chance to feel warm again, one last chance to feel alive.

"Larry, close the fucking door, dude!" I shouted as Mark and I retreated up the staircase. Death was knocking on our door now. It was a split second before the glass in the front door broke, before Larry could latch it shut. One of the Dead lashed out at him, it's sharp, bony claws tore at one of his eyes, he screamed as Mark fired three successive shots at the piling Dead that were clamoring at the door. My ears rang and I tried the radio again. Nothing. I ran down those stairs, knowing I was sacrificing valuable time Mark and I could have spent barricading the upstairs room, I knew it wasn't a good plan, but I did it anyway. I rushed down, emptying my pistol into the awaiting faces of the Dead. I heard their bones crack, I heard their skin tear. Larry was on the ground, crying and shouting out for his mother. He kept complaining that he couldn't see, and I kept complaining that he was moving too slow. I tried dragging him up the staircase, but at that point it was too much for our group to handle. Mark, who had been defending the door diligently, shot a hole through one of the Dead, it simply slid it's body over his shotgun, and ripped out of throat with it's teeth. I was horrified, the staircase was covered in blood as I one-handedly yanked Larry up the stairs. The fucker slowed me down too much, I slipped, he slipped. We all slid down the blood soaked staircase in the dark, and all I remember was the scream he let out as they ate through his abdomen, he kept shouting for me to shoot him as the Dead piled on top of me. I could already feel their teeth ripping through me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't shoot Larry now, and so instead I slept. His heaving breaths and bared insides haunt me. It's a strange feeling. It's like just before an anesthesiologist puts you under. You take a breath, and then a numb feeling crawls out from your mouth, spreads across your skin and eventually to the top of your head. He's counting down. One. You are still capable of telling him that you can make it past-- Two. Two, yeah, make it past-- Three. Three? I thought we were on-- Four. I can't breath. Five. I can't-- "Jesus Christ man, what happened next?" the doctor asked the man. "I can't remember." he said, and he squinted his face. "It's almost like there is no next, it's like you're asleep, y'know? First you're there, in the depths of night, your thoughts are yours and you are in control, and then sleep takes you. And sleep does whatever it wants with you. And then you wake up. There ain't no control. You can't think, you don't remember." "And then I woke up here."

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

God Damnit. Fucking Damnit. I looked at the wound and saw the blood soaking into the fabric around it. Everyone in our small group looked at me with a look of despair. There were murmurs of "It will be ok." and " We will figure something out." but I knew it was too late. I handed my rifle off to my good buddy, and turned to walk away. They started to come toward me, to stop me, so I pulled my little .38 from my belt. "Stay the fuck back, all of you." They looked sad, they looked angry. They were confused but I had explained this a thousand times. Once bitten, your done, game over, and you should never ever try to help someone bitten. " You wouldn't shoot us would you?" One of the girls said. I looked at her and with the most sincerity I could muster I replied as calmly as I could. "Yes, because if you somehow stop me, I will only do things to you that are far worse than a bullet though your fucking head. Do you understand that? If I'm going to kill you, I'm going to do it as quickly as possible." They stood down. I backed away, and when I was a bit off from them I turned and ran. There were others who where infected shambling about. They would turn toward me, but they would then become disinterested. I can only assume that they know my fate is sealed. I found a little blue beetle, torn up, but still able to run. The keys still in the ignition. I drove the trusty little beetle to outside of town. I was dying, the pain was talking over, but I was focused and determined to make it where i wanted to go. It wasn't far. The roads were cluttered but there was no traffic. I got to the little pier by the little lake just outside of town. I used to fish here. I left the little beetle where its doe like headlights could see the lake too. It wasn't alive but it felt like the right thing to do. I sat down on the pier. The .38 in hand. The skin around the wound was now black, and i could see that my body was loosing its color. I had to hurry. My thoughts were starting to become cloudy. I was so hungry. I held my arms around my abdomen. I knew it was time. The lake was nice i thought. The taste of the Nickel plating was refreshing almost. I thumbed the hammer back. I wasn't going to hurt anyone, and that was good. Oblivion.

I grabbed at my neck and fell back into the corner. I could feel the blood pulsing out of the bite wound quickly, my heart rate accelerating as I realized what it meant. I was dead. The idea gave me a sort of tingling feeling, like I was feeling everything in a new way, almost for the first time. Soon it would be the last time I realized. I looked at my gun, hoping I could go out quickly, but the clip was empty. I fired my last shot into the head of the zombie that bit me. After I'd already shot it twice in terror. *Stupid,* I thought. Now I'd come back as a Z. I noticed that the tingling feeling had intensified. I couldn't feel my left leg. I figured the blood loss must have cut off circulation to the limbs, or something like that. My breath grew more faint, and I knew death was close. I reach into my pocket, with every movement now taking great effort, and pulled out of a photo of my daughter. Sarah had been bitten 3 weeks ago, when the outbreak had just been starting. I had put down her corpse myself. My only hope is that I would see her soon. The picture dropped to the floor as the last breath I would ever take escaped my lips. My body went numb, and I lost control of everything. I closed my eyes and waited to slip away. But I didn't After a minute of nothing but darkness, I felt my arm, still holding Sarah's photo in it's hand, twitch. Then the legs pulled in and my body pulled itself up. My body opened its eyes and I could see again. But I could no longer control what I did. I felt my mouth open and let out a terrible moan, the same moan that had been haunting my nightmares for the past few weeks. I realized with horror that I had turned, that I was a zombie, and no one would ever realize that I was still in here. I then thought of Sarah, and how I had shot her body when it had reanimated. And suddenly I didn't care what happened anymore. My body took a few shuffling steps, and went out in search of food.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

The sharp pain in my shoulder releases, and the mob of rotten flesh surrounding me seems to lose interest. For the first few moments afterwards, I'm not entirely sure what has changed. Did something scare them away? Did they find a new victim? It's only as I grasp my shoulder that the liquid truth begins to drip onto me, over my hand and down my wrist. I feel the rough imperfections of the gash underneath my fingers and know it was caused by no knife. I feel the tickle of warm fluid running down my arm and realize this gentleness of blood is deceptive. I squeeze my shoulder, wanting to strangle the truth cut into my shoulder until it leaves forever. But, of course, it doesn't. Already, I begin to experience the effects the bite mark is pumping into me. My hands jitter, subtly at first. Random muscles contract and release. Soon, I'm standing on my feet, and I don't know how I got there. My eyes well with tears, and I'm comforted to know that at least they are still my own. However, this doesn't prevent me from releasing a scream. An angry scream. This unexpected anger causes me to flinch, but I don't push the emotion away. How *DARE* this bite mark take over *MY* body! I scream louder, beginning to understand that my own voice will soon belong to a wound on my shoulder. I want my vocal chords to tear apart so they can never be used against me. I want to shred my entire body, limb from limb, so it can never be taken from my control. I begin gnawing at my shaking fingers, prepared to consume myself before I am consumed. ~~~ It has turned to nighttime somehow. I'm not sure when the sun left my presence, or when the moon took its place. I stare at my raw, bloody hands. They have stopped shaking. Did I win? Has the wound's effects been scared away? I take several steps forward and know it is true. I am ecstatic. Adrenaline fills my body and I begin running and jumping in joy, feeling my legs, *MY* legs, pumping underneath my body. My miserable hands feel like the trophies of my victory. Suddenly, I hear a jarring noise, like a trash can being knocked over. I look around. Off in the distance, I see a moving shadow. Is it another human? Somebody to share my own excitement with?! Yes! I can tell by the way they walk, carefully, quietly, that I am not alone in this environment. I begin running towards the silhouette, hopeful for safety and company. Something changes inside of me. My bloody hands turn to fists. I am suddenly reminded of the rage I felt after the bite mark appeared on my shoulder. What if my new companion is attacked, too? I can't let them experience the pain I felt during my battle for consciousness. The thought of this causes the pain in my destroyed hands to pound furiously. No, I will never allow another human to be stolen their body, their identity, like I almost had. I know what I must do. As I finally reach the figure, I take them by the shoulders and sink my teeth deep into their neck.

Must go to Wal-Mart.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

I can't believe it. That chump-nugget bit me. What kind of person bites a man just for a cheap tv? Well at least I won. I just saved a cool hundred bucks. I'm the man. Whoa... my body's feeling kind of strange. My heart feels like it's slowing down. Damn it's hot in here! Hmm, my left foot seems to have stopped working. Well I'll just limp over to the electronics salesman here, ask where I can find the cheap ipads, and be on my way. "Excuse me, sir! Do you work here? Do you know where I can find the braaaaaiiiinnss?"

Must go to Wal-Mart.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! No...why me? I had a plan. Everything was going great. We had food, we had a place to sleep without fear. No, no, Christie...what about her? Oh God, she's waiting for me to come back with food. The door is unlocked. Anyone could get in. NO! ***eat*** What? What was that? ***eat*** No, I can feel it. It's ***eat*** happening. I'm getting hungry. ***eat*** My head ***eat*** feels like it's on ***eat*** fire! My stomach ***eat*** is burning! ***eat*** OH GOD, IT HURTS SO MUCH!!! ***eat***

Must go to Wal-Mart.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

Oh God oh shit oh NO!! Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it. "Charlotte?!" "Bill? Where are you?!" "I'm in the pharmacy, Char!" Shit it HURTS! "Bill? OH MY GOD!" "Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--" "It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can." "Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?" "N-no...I can't...I won't..." "Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me." "No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!" Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!" "But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it." "Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey." "That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--" "No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!" Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. "Come over here, Char." "There's got to--" "There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold." "This isn't right." "You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready." "I'm...sorry." "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte." "I love you too, Bill."

Must go to Wal-Mart.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

Must go to Wal-Mart.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

The sharp pain in my shoulder releases, and the mob of rotten flesh surrounding me seems to lose interest. For the first few moments afterwards, I'm not entirely sure what has changed. Did something scare them away? Did they find a new victim? It's only as I grasp my shoulder that the liquid truth begins to drip onto me, over my hand and down my wrist. I feel the rough imperfections of the gash underneath my fingers and know it was caused by no knife. I feel the tickle of warm fluid running down my arm and realize this gentleness of blood is deceptive. I squeeze my shoulder, wanting to strangle the truth cut into my shoulder until it leaves forever. But, of course, it doesn't. Already, I begin to experience the effects the bite mark is pumping into me. My hands jitter, subtly at first. Random muscles contract and release. Soon, I'm standing on my feet, and I don't know how I got there. My eyes well with tears, and I'm comforted to know that at least they are still my own. However, this doesn't prevent me from releasing a scream. An angry scream. This unexpected anger causes me to flinch, but I don't push the emotion away. How *DARE* this bite mark take over *MY* body! I scream louder, beginning to understand that my own voice will soon belong to a wound on my shoulder. I want my vocal chords to tear apart so they can never be used against me. I want to shred my entire body, limb from limb, so it can never be taken from my control. I begin gnawing at my shaking fingers, prepared to consume myself before I am consumed. ~~~ It has turned to nighttime somehow. I'm not sure when the sun left my presence, or when the moon took its place. I stare at my raw, bloody hands. They have stopped shaking. Did I win? Has the wound's effects been scared away? I take several steps forward and know it is true. I am ecstatic. Adrenaline fills my body and I begin running and jumping in joy, feeling my legs, *MY* legs, pumping underneath my body. My miserable hands feel like the trophies of my victory. Suddenly, I hear a jarring noise, like a trash can being knocked over. I look around. Off in the distance, I see a moving shadow. Is it another human? Somebody to share my own excitement with?! Yes! I can tell by the way they walk, carefully, quietly, that I am not alone in this environment. I begin running towards the silhouette, hopeful for safety and company. Something changes inside of me. My bloody hands turn to fists. I am suddenly reminded of the rage I felt after the bite mark appeared on my shoulder. What if my new companion is attacked, too? I can't let them experience the pain I felt during my battle for consciousness. The thought of this causes the pain in my destroyed hands to pound furiously. No, I will never allow another human to be stolen their body, their identity, like I almost had. I know what I must do. As I finally reach the figure, I take them by the shoulders and sink my teeth deep into their neck.

>What's happening? They’re here! >Are those… People? Around the street corner? I can hear screaming… Is it really them? >What are they doing? There aren’t any parades today. Maybe it’s a protest. Everyone, run! >Run? Are we in danger? Oh my god, the dead are here! >The… dead? You mean, zombies?! It’s true! We have to go! >Everyone’s sprinting away… Are they really here?! Don’t look back! Just go! >No… They really are here… I have to get Chloe out of here… They’re coming fast! >Oh god, where's Chloe?! She couldn't have gotten far! Chloe! *You have to get out of here!* >Oh god, oh god, I can't lose her now! Where did all these people come from? Chloe! *What are you doing?! You have to leave!* >Where are we running? Where’s my little sister?! *Go! Run for your lives!* >”CHLOE!” *Don’t go that way!* >I have to find her! *You’ll die!* >**”CHLOE!”** *You can’t save anyone! Just go!* >No! I have to, she’s all I have! *Oh no… You’re on your own, girl!* >What? Oh shit. No, no, no, no, the zombies are here! *Gnuuuuuuug…* >Fuck, where is she? I have to turn around… **Melissa!** >Chloe?! *Melissa, you have to come back!* >Oh thank god, you’re safe… *Come on!* >I’m coming! >“Run! I’ll catch up!” *Lil’ girl! You can’t stand there!* >What? Who is that? A man? That man… He grabbed Chloe by the arm… *Come on! You gotta go!* >Wait! Wait for me! *Anyone back there is a dead man, lil’ girl, come on, you have to leave!* *My sister!* >Dead… man? *Go!* >He just left… With my sister… *Melisa!!* >Chloe! *Uuuuuuugghheeerrrr* >Oh my god, I can’t run any faster… They’re going to get me… I need to hide… *Aaaaaaaah…. Huuugh!* >Holy shit! My… leg! Aagh... What happened? No… No, no, no, no! He got me… It burns… It hurts… Oh god! I can’t move! At least I’m off to the side, the zombies can’t see me... and rip me to shreds right in front of Chloe… AGH! My body! It’s so hot! I’m losing so much blood though, it’s getting everywhere… zombies can’t smell, can’t they? How long does it take to turn? Do I die first? Do I just turn on the spot? It hurts so much... Oh fuck what will Chloe do without me? What will I do without her?! >Ugh... My head... It's spinning... This is it, isn't it? All I wanted to do was go shopping with my little sister... Why out of every other day, today?! It's a special day today... Oh FUCK! I can't... I can't control my legs! I need to tell Chloe... I haven't said it.. Just grab my phone... Yes! Just call her... She never leaves home without her phone, and listens to every voicemail when she can't pick up the phone.. Call her... Call her! *Ring... ring... ring...* *beep* "Heya! It's Chloe!" >This... this could be the last time I hear her voice... AH! My head! "I'm out at the moment, leave me a message! Hugs and cuddles!" >*Hugs and cuddles...* >"Chloe... Today was supposed to be the greatest day of your life... I'm sorry I couldn't make it... AGH! I'm sorry, *sob* I-I can't be there." >*FUCK! My body is spazzing out! Just last a little longer!* >"Ugh! Be-before I leave you, I have to say... I love you... URRGH! A-and! Hugh! I-I want to wish you... "Happy Sweet Sixteen... Rrraaaaaaagghhh!' *beep*

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

Oh God oh shit oh NO!! Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it. "Charlotte?!" "Bill? Where are you?!" "I'm in the pharmacy, Char!" Shit it HURTS! "Bill? OH MY GOD!" "Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--" "It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can." "Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?" "N-no...I can't...I won't..." "Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me." "No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!" Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!" "But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it." "Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey." "That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--" "No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!" Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. "Come over here, Char." "There's got to--" "There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold." "This isn't right." "You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready." "I'm...sorry." "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte." "I love you too, Bill."

>What's happening? They’re here! >Are those… People? Around the street corner? I can hear screaming… Is it really them? >What are they doing? There aren’t any parades today. Maybe it’s a protest. Everyone, run! >Run? Are we in danger? Oh my god, the dead are here! >The… dead? You mean, zombies?! It’s true! We have to go! >Everyone’s sprinting away… Are they really here?! Don’t look back! Just go! >No… They really are here… I have to get Chloe out of here… They’re coming fast! >Oh god, where's Chloe?! She couldn't have gotten far! Chloe! *You have to get out of here!* >Oh god, oh god, I can't lose her now! Where did all these people come from? Chloe! *What are you doing?! You have to leave!* >Where are we running? Where’s my little sister?! *Go! Run for your lives!* >”CHLOE!” *Don’t go that way!* >I have to find her! *You’ll die!* >**”CHLOE!”** *You can’t save anyone! Just go!* >No! I have to, she’s all I have! *Oh no… You’re on your own, girl!* >What? Oh shit. No, no, no, no, the zombies are here! *Gnuuuuuuug…* >Fuck, where is she? I have to turn around… **Melissa!** >Chloe?! *Melissa, you have to come back!* >Oh thank god, you’re safe… *Come on!* >I’m coming! >“Run! I’ll catch up!” *Lil’ girl! You can’t stand there!* >What? Who is that? A man? That man… He grabbed Chloe by the arm… *Come on! You gotta go!* >Wait! Wait for me! *Anyone back there is a dead man, lil’ girl, come on, you have to leave!* *My sister!* >Dead… man? *Go!* >He just left… With my sister… *Melisa!!* >Chloe! *Uuuuuuugghheeerrrr* >Oh my god, I can’t run any faster… They’re going to get me… I need to hide… *Aaaaaaaah…. Huuugh!* >Holy shit! My… leg! Aagh... What happened? No… No, no, no, no! He got me… It burns… It hurts… Oh god! I can’t move! At least I’m off to the side, the zombies can’t see me... and rip me to shreds right in front of Chloe… AGH! My body! It’s so hot! I’m losing so much blood though, it’s getting everywhere… zombies can’t smell, can’t they? How long does it take to turn? Do I die first? Do I just turn on the spot? It hurts so much... Oh fuck what will Chloe do without me? What will I do without her?! >Ugh... My head... It's spinning... This is it, isn't it? All I wanted to do was go shopping with my little sister... Why out of every other day, today?! It's a special day today... Oh FUCK! I can't... I can't control my legs! I need to tell Chloe... I haven't said it.. Just grab my phone... Yes! Just call her... She never leaves home without her phone, and listens to every voicemail when she can't pick up the phone.. Call her... Call her! *Ring... ring... ring...* *beep* "Heya! It's Chloe!" >This... this could be the last time I hear her voice... AH! My head! "I'm out at the moment, leave me a message! Hugs and cuddles!" >*Hugs and cuddles...* >"Chloe... Today was supposed to be the greatest day of your life... I'm sorry I couldn't make it... AGH! I'm sorry, *sob* I-I can't be there." >*FUCK! My body is spazzing out! Just last a little longer!* >"Ugh! Be-before I leave you, I have to say... I love you... URRGH! A-and! Hugh! I-I want to wish you... "Happy Sweet Sixteen... Rrraaaaaaagghhh!' *beep*

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

>What's happening? They’re here! >Are those… People? Around the street corner? I can hear screaming… Is it really them? >What are they doing? There aren’t any parades today. Maybe it’s a protest. Everyone, run! >Run? Are we in danger? Oh my god, the dead are here! >The… dead? You mean, zombies?! It’s true! We have to go! >Everyone’s sprinting away… Are they really here?! Don’t look back! Just go! >No… They really are here… I have to get Chloe out of here… They’re coming fast! >Oh god, where's Chloe?! She couldn't have gotten far! Chloe! *You have to get out of here!* >Oh god, oh god, I can't lose her now! Where did all these people come from? Chloe! *What are you doing?! You have to leave!* >Where are we running? Where’s my little sister?! *Go! Run for your lives!* >”CHLOE!” *Don’t go that way!* >I have to find her! *You’ll die!* >**”CHLOE!”** *You can’t save anyone! Just go!* >No! I have to, she’s all I have! *Oh no… You’re on your own, girl!* >What? Oh shit. No, no, no, no, the zombies are here! *Gnuuuuuuug…* >Fuck, where is she? I have to turn around… **Melissa!** >Chloe?! *Melissa, you have to come back!* >Oh thank god, you’re safe… *Come on!* >I’m coming! >“Run! I’ll catch up!” *Lil’ girl! You can’t stand there!* >What? Who is that? A man? That man… He grabbed Chloe by the arm… *Come on! You gotta go!* >Wait! Wait for me! *Anyone back there is a dead man, lil’ girl, come on, you have to leave!* *My sister!* >Dead… man? *Go!* >He just left… With my sister… *Melisa!!* >Chloe! *Uuuuuuugghheeerrrr* >Oh my god, I can’t run any faster… They’re going to get me… I need to hide… *Aaaaaaaah…. Huuugh!* >Holy shit! My… leg! Aagh... What happened? No… No, no, no, no! He got me… It burns… It hurts… Oh god! I can’t move! At least I’m off to the side, the zombies can’t see me... and rip me to shreds right in front of Chloe… AGH! My body! It’s so hot! I’m losing so much blood though, it’s getting everywhere… zombies can’t smell, can’t they? How long does it take to turn? Do I die first? Do I just turn on the spot? It hurts so much... Oh fuck what will Chloe do without me? What will I do without her?! >Ugh... My head... It's spinning... This is it, isn't it? All I wanted to do was go shopping with my little sister... Why out of every other day, today?! It's a special day today... Oh FUCK! I can't... I can't control my legs! I need to tell Chloe... I haven't said it.. Just grab my phone... Yes! Just call her... She never leaves home without her phone, and listens to every voicemail when she can't pick up the phone.. Call her... Call her! *Ring... ring... ring...* *beep* "Heya! It's Chloe!" >This... this could be the last time I hear her voice... AH! My head! "I'm out at the moment, leave me a message! Hugs and cuddles!" >*Hugs and cuddles...* >"Chloe... Today was supposed to be the greatest day of your life... I'm sorry I couldn't make it... AGH! I'm sorry, *sob* I-I can't be there." >*FUCK! My body is spazzing out! Just last a little longer!* >"Ugh! Be-before I leave you, I have to say... I love you... URRGH! A-and! Hugh! I-I want to wish you... "Happy Sweet Sixteen... Rrraaaaaaagghhh!' *beep*

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

The sharp pain in my shoulder releases, and the mob of rotten flesh surrounding me seems to lose interest. For the first few moments afterwards, I'm not entirely sure what has changed. Did something scare them away? Did they find a new victim? It's only as I grasp my shoulder that the liquid truth begins to drip onto me, over my hand and down my wrist. I feel the rough imperfections of the gash underneath my fingers and know it was caused by no knife. I feel the tickle of warm fluid running down my arm and realize this gentleness of blood is deceptive. I squeeze my shoulder, wanting to strangle the truth cut into my shoulder until it leaves forever. But, of course, it doesn't. Already, I begin to experience the effects the bite mark is pumping into me. My hands jitter, subtly at first. Random muscles contract and release. Soon, I'm standing on my feet, and I don't know how I got there. My eyes well with tears, and I'm comforted to know that at least they are still my own. However, this doesn't prevent me from releasing a scream. An angry scream. This unexpected anger causes me to flinch, but I don't push the emotion away. How *DARE* this bite mark take over *MY* body! I scream louder, beginning to understand that my own voice will soon belong to a wound on my shoulder. I want my vocal chords to tear apart so they can never be used against me. I want to shred my entire body, limb from limb, so it can never be taken from my control. I begin gnawing at my shaking fingers, prepared to consume myself before I am consumed. ~~~ It has turned to nighttime somehow. I'm not sure when the sun left my presence, or when the moon took its place. I stare at my raw, bloody hands. They have stopped shaking. Did I win? Has the wound's effects been scared away? I take several steps forward and know it is true. I am ecstatic. Adrenaline fills my body and I begin running and jumping in joy, feeling my legs, *MY* legs, pumping underneath my body. My miserable hands feel like the trophies of my victory. Suddenly, I hear a jarring noise, like a trash can being knocked over. I look around. Off in the distance, I see a moving shadow. Is it another human? Somebody to share my own excitement with?! Yes! I can tell by the way they walk, carefully, quietly, that I am not alone in this environment. I begin running towards the silhouette, hopeful for safety and company. Something changes inside of me. My bloody hands turn to fists. I am suddenly reminded of the rage I felt after the bite mark appeared on my shoulder. What if my new companion is attacked, too? I can't let them experience the pain I felt during my battle for consciousness. The thought of this causes the pain in my destroyed hands to pound furiously. No, I will never allow another human to be stolen their body, their identity, like I almost had. I know what I must do. As I finally reach the figure, I take them by the shoulders and sink my teeth deep into their neck.

When she was nine, she’d gotten bitten by a doberman pinscher pitbull mix. On Labor day. Someone had let their dog off its leash, and she’d been playing tag. She hadn’t seen it until it was attached to her arm. Her brain went to another place, stupider and more focused than her usual scattered thoughts. “It won’t let go. Get it off.” She’d punched it with her knuckles. How had she known to do that? Sharp and repeated on the dog’s nose. When it released, she stumbled back toward the picnic. Someone’s dad caught her in his arms. “It wouldn’t let go,” she shuddered, “It wouldn’t let go.” She was bundled into the car. Her mother held her in the back seat. Who was driving? Her arm didn’t hurt, but she was shaking. She carefully extended it to take a look. There wasn’t as much blood as she’d expected, but she could see yellowish globs of fatty tissue around the wound. Her eyes tipped up towards the burgundy upholstered car ceiling, and the last thing she felt before losing consciousness was her mother stroking her hair. She is thirty six now, and until this moment had almost forgotten that dog. It all floods back. What counts as a bite? Damage control. Is it possible to just... cut yourself? On a ghoul’s mouth? She takes a shaky breath. Damage control. She looks. Fatty tissue. Yellow and vaguely gelatinous. She’d always wondered if that detail were true or added by an addled child’s memory. True apparently. She remembers her mother and Shaundra’s mom, Connie (Connie must have been driving!), both ER nurses themselves, ordering hot towels and enough room for her to lay down before she had even been triaged. “She’s in shock.” Her mother’s voice cut through the din and her dim consciousness. “Hang on honey, it will be all right.” It is not all right. Her arm hurts. It hurts and it hurts and (she thinks she prays) has anyone ever gotten out of this? Find a way, scrape by, make do, make it work... Nothing comes. No answer. She can’t... She thinks of her daughter, back at camp. Of her soft blond hair and of brushing it, damp with sleep, off of her forehead as she wakes groggy from another nightmare. The thought of holding that limp pulsing life in her arms ... feed. No time no time no time to say goodbye to stop herself to stop herself to stop me feed. feed. feed.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

Oh God oh shit oh NO!! Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it. "Charlotte?!" "Bill? Where are you?!" "I'm in the pharmacy, Char!" Shit it HURTS! "Bill? OH MY GOD!" "Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--" "It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can." "Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?" "N-no...I can't...I won't..." "Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me." "No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!" Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!" "But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it." "Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey." "That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--" "No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!" Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. "Come over here, Char." "There's got to--" "There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold." "This isn't right." "You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready." "I'm...sorry." "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte." "I love you too, Bill."

When she was nine, she’d gotten bitten by a doberman pinscher pitbull mix. On Labor day. Someone had let their dog off its leash, and she’d been playing tag. She hadn’t seen it until it was attached to her arm. Her brain went to another place, stupider and more focused than her usual scattered thoughts. “It won’t let go. Get it off.” She’d punched it with her knuckles. How had she known to do that? Sharp and repeated on the dog’s nose. When it released, she stumbled back toward the picnic. Someone’s dad caught her in his arms. “It wouldn’t let go,” she shuddered, “It wouldn’t let go.” She was bundled into the car. Her mother held her in the back seat. Who was driving? Her arm didn’t hurt, but she was shaking. She carefully extended it to take a look. There wasn’t as much blood as she’d expected, but she could see yellowish globs of fatty tissue around the wound. Her eyes tipped up towards the burgundy upholstered car ceiling, and the last thing she felt before losing consciousness was her mother stroking her hair. She is thirty six now, and until this moment had almost forgotten that dog. It all floods back. What counts as a bite? Damage control. Is it possible to just... cut yourself? On a ghoul’s mouth? She takes a shaky breath. Damage control. She looks. Fatty tissue. Yellow and vaguely gelatinous. She’d always wondered if that detail were true or added by an addled child’s memory. True apparently. She remembers her mother and Shaundra’s mom, Connie (Connie must have been driving!), both ER nurses themselves, ordering hot towels and enough room for her to lay down before she had even been triaged. “She’s in shock.” Her mother’s voice cut through the din and her dim consciousness. “Hang on honey, it will be all right.” It is not all right. Her arm hurts. It hurts and it hurts and (she thinks she prays) has anyone ever gotten out of this? Find a way, scrape by, make do, make it work... Nothing comes. No answer. She can’t... She thinks of her daughter, back at camp. Of her soft blond hair and of brushing it, damp with sleep, off of her forehead as she wakes groggy from another nightmare. The thought of holding that limp pulsing life in her arms ... feed. No time no time no time to say goodbye to stop herself to stop herself to stop me feed. feed. feed.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

When she was nine, she’d gotten bitten by a doberman pinscher pitbull mix. On Labor day. Someone had let their dog off its leash, and she’d been playing tag. She hadn’t seen it until it was attached to her arm. Her brain went to another place, stupider and more focused than her usual scattered thoughts. “It won’t let go. Get it off.” She’d punched it with her knuckles. How had she known to do that? Sharp and repeated on the dog’s nose. When it released, she stumbled back toward the picnic. Someone’s dad caught her in his arms. “It wouldn’t let go,” she shuddered, “It wouldn’t let go.” She was bundled into the car. Her mother held her in the back seat. Who was driving? Her arm didn’t hurt, but she was shaking. She carefully extended it to take a look. There wasn’t as much blood as she’d expected, but she could see yellowish globs of fatty tissue around the wound. Her eyes tipped up towards the burgundy upholstered car ceiling, and the last thing she felt before losing consciousness was her mother stroking her hair. She is thirty six now, and until this moment had almost forgotten that dog. It all floods back. What counts as a bite? Damage control. Is it possible to just... cut yourself? On a ghoul’s mouth? She takes a shaky breath. Damage control. She looks. Fatty tissue. Yellow and vaguely gelatinous. She’d always wondered if that detail were true or added by an addled child’s memory. True apparently. She remembers her mother and Shaundra’s mom, Connie (Connie must have been driving!), both ER nurses themselves, ordering hot towels and enough room for her to lay down before she had even been triaged. “She’s in shock.” Her mother’s voice cut through the din and her dim consciousness. “Hang on honey, it will be all right.” It is not all right. Her arm hurts. It hurts and it hurts and (she thinks she prays) has anyone ever gotten out of this? Find a way, scrape by, make do, make it work... Nothing comes. No answer. She can’t... She thinks of her daughter, back at camp. Of her soft blond hair and of brushing it, damp with sleep, off of her forehead as she wakes groggy from another nightmare. The thought of holding that limp pulsing life in her arms ... feed. No time no time no time to say goodbye to stop herself to stop herself to stop me feed. feed. feed.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

The sharp pain in my shoulder releases, and the mob of rotten flesh surrounding me seems to lose interest. For the first few moments afterwards, I'm not entirely sure what has changed. Did something scare them away? Did they find a new victim? It's only as I grasp my shoulder that the liquid truth begins to drip onto me, over my hand and down my wrist. I feel the rough imperfections of the gash underneath my fingers and know it was caused by no knife. I feel the tickle of warm fluid running down my arm and realize this gentleness of blood is deceptive. I squeeze my shoulder, wanting to strangle the truth cut into my shoulder until it leaves forever. But, of course, it doesn't. Already, I begin to experience the effects the bite mark is pumping into me. My hands jitter, subtly at first. Random muscles contract and release. Soon, I'm standing on my feet, and I don't know how I got there. My eyes well with tears, and I'm comforted to know that at least they are still my own. However, this doesn't prevent me from releasing a scream. An angry scream. This unexpected anger causes me to flinch, but I don't push the emotion away. How *DARE* this bite mark take over *MY* body! I scream louder, beginning to understand that my own voice will soon belong to a wound on my shoulder. I want my vocal chords to tear apart so they can never be used against me. I want to shred my entire body, limb from limb, so it can never be taken from my control. I begin gnawing at my shaking fingers, prepared to consume myself before I am consumed. ~~~ It has turned to nighttime somehow. I'm not sure when the sun left my presence, or when the moon took its place. I stare at my raw, bloody hands. They have stopped shaking. Did I win? Has the wound's effects been scared away? I take several steps forward and know it is true. I am ecstatic. Adrenaline fills my body and I begin running and jumping in joy, feeling my legs, *MY* legs, pumping underneath my body. My miserable hands feel like the trophies of my victory. Suddenly, I hear a jarring noise, like a trash can being knocked over. I look around. Off in the distance, I see a moving shadow. Is it another human? Somebody to share my own excitement with?! Yes! I can tell by the way they walk, carefully, quietly, that I am not alone in this environment. I begin running towards the silhouette, hopeful for safety and company. Something changes inside of me. My bloody hands turn to fists. I am suddenly reminded of the rage I felt after the bite mark appeared on my shoulder. What if my new companion is attacked, too? I can't let them experience the pain I felt during my battle for consciousness. The thought of this causes the pain in my destroyed hands to pound furiously. No, I will never allow another human to be stolen their body, their identity, like I almost had. I know what I must do. As I finally reach the figure, I take them by the shoulders and sink my teeth deep into their neck.

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! No...why me? I had a plan. Everything was going great. We had food, we had a place to sleep without fear. No, no, Christie...what about her? Oh God, she's waiting for me to come back with food. The door is unlocked. Anyone could get in. NO! ***eat*** What? What was that? ***eat*** No, I can feel it. It's ***eat*** happening. I'm getting hungry. ***eat*** My head ***eat*** feels like it's on ***eat*** fire! My stomach ***eat*** is burning! ***eat*** OH GOD, IT HURTS SO MUCH!!! ***eat***

I can't believe it. That chump-nugget bit me. What kind of person bites a man just for a cheap tv? Well at least I won. I just saved a cool hundred bucks. I'm the man. Whoa... my body's feeling kind of strange. My heart feels like it's slowing down. Damn it's hot in here! Hmm, my left foot seems to have stopped working. Well I'll just limp over to the electronics salesman here, ask where I can find the cheap ipads, and be on my way. "Excuse me, sir! Do you work here? Do you know where I can find the braaaaaiiiinnss?"

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

Oh God oh shit oh NO!! Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it. "Charlotte?!" "Bill? Where are you?!" "I'm in the pharmacy, Char!" Shit it HURTS! "Bill? OH MY GOD!" "Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--" "It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can." "Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?" "N-no...I can't...I won't..." "Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me." "No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!" Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!" "But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it." "Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey." "That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--" "No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!" Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. "Come over here, Char." "There's got to--" "There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold." "This isn't right." "You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready." "I'm...sorry." "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte." "I love you too, Bill."

I can't believe it. That chump-nugget bit me. What kind of person bites a man just for a cheap tv? Well at least I won. I just saved a cool hundred bucks. I'm the man. Whoa... my body's feeling kind of strange. My heart feels like it's slowing down. Damn it's hot in here! Hmm, my left foot seems to have stopped working. Well I'll just limp over to the electronics salesman here, ask where I can find the cheap ipads, and be on my way. "Excuse me, sir! Do you work here? Do you know where I can find the braaaaaiiiinnss?"

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

I can't believe it. That chump-nugget bit me. What kind of person bites a man just for a cheap tv? Well at least I won. I just saved a cool hundred bucks. I'm the man. Whoa... my body's feeling kind of strange. My heart feels like it's slowing down. Damn it's hot in here! Hmm, my left foot seems to have stopped working. Well I'll just limp over to the electronics salesman here, ask where I can find the cheap ipads, and be on my way. "Excuse me, sir! Do you work here? Do you know where I can find the braaaaaiiiinnss?"

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

Oh God oh shit oh NO!! Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it. "Charlotte?!" "Bill? Where are you?!" "I'm in the pharmacy, Char!" Shit it HURTS! "Bill? OH MY GOD!" "Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--" "It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can." "Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?" "N-no...I can't...I won't..." "Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me." "No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!" Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!" "But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it." "Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey." "That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--" "No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!" Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. "Come over here, Char." "There's got to--" "There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold." "This isn't right." "You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready." "I'm...sorry." "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte." "I love you too, Bill."

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! No...why me? I had a plan. Everything was going great. We had food, we had a place to sleep without fear. No, no, Christie...what about her? Oh God, she's waiting for me to come back with food. The door is unlocked. Anyone could get in. NO! ***eat*** What? What was that? ***eat*** No, I can feel it. It's ***eat*** happening. I'm getting hungry. ***eat*** My head ***eat*** feels like it's on ***eat*** fire! My stomach ***eat*** is burning! ***eat*** OH GOD, IT HURTS SO MUCH!!! ***eat***

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! No...why me? I had a plan. Everything was going great. We had food, we had a place to sleep without fear. No, no, Christie...what about her? Oh God, she's waiting for me to come back with food. The door is unlocked. Anyone could get in. NO! ***eat*** What? What was that? ***eat*** No, I can feel it. It's ***eat*** happening. I'm getting hungry. ***eat*** My head ***eat*** feels like it's on ***eat*** fire! My stomach ***eat*** is burning! ***eat*** OH GOD, IT HURTS SO MUCH!!! ***eat***

Bonus points for events leading up to the attack!

[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?

"Well man, its been a good run, " I said. My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses. "Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out. I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit. John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me. John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers. "Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run." I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk. "Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too." I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away. I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me: "I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."

Oh God oh shit oh NO!! Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it. "Charlotte?!" "Bill? Where are you?!" "I'm in the pharmacy, Char!" Shit it HURTS! "Bill? OH MY GOD!" "Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--" "It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can." "Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?" "N-no...I can't...I won't..." "Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me." "No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!" Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!" "But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it." "Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey." "That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--" "No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!" Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. "Come over here, Char." "There's got to--" "There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold." "This isn't right." "You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready." "I'm...sorry." "I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte." "I love you too, Bill."

[WP] A man on the death row realizes his fault and experiences guilt, for the first time on the night before his execution.

When I awoke this morning I felt oddly serene. I was thankful that I would never have to open my eyes in the morning to see the stark metal bars reminding me that I don’t deserve freedom. I am animal, I deserve a cage, nothing more. Though, I had never really believed that. I fought against the ruling as hard as I could. But legally I was a prisoner of the state, destined to live out the rest of my days behind bars and die there, when they decided it was my time to leave this world. There’s something surreal about knowing the moment of your death. Most people go through their lives, knowing full well that they’ll die some day, but choosing not to dwell on that fact. Most of them live their lives to the fullest because they know one day death will come and when it does they want to look back without regret and only fond memories. Even if they grow old and sick, inevitably approaching death, they still never know the exact moment they’ll die. It’s different for me. Tonight, shortly after midnight on November 30th, I will die. Life will slip from my physical form into whatever unknowable void that exists beyond this world. I still sometimes wish that I had been a religious man, especially knowing for eighteen years now that I would die behind these prison walls, but judging by the fact that I still hadn’t found God at this point I know I was never supposed to. God ain’t meant to save the souls of some men. I realized today that I’d never truly accepted responsibility for what I’d done, because I had never realized the magnitude of my actions. I still believe I was a different man when I committed that crime; an angry, hateful young man. The conviction read “Murder in the first degree”, but until now they were only words and they didn’t hold any real meaning to me. But it was this afternoon, after slipping on my sneakers for my last trip to the yard I felt like it finally meant something. A sage bug crawled from under my sole, dashing across the white linoleum floor when, without a thought, I reached down and pressed out its life with my thumb. It stuck to the swirl of my thumbprint as I lifted my hand away and I looked at it, frozen in death, with its legs sticking straight out like it was reaching for a last futile grasp at existence. I stared at that dead fucking bug on my finger for ten minutes before the guard came to unlock my cell to lead me out, and I wiped it carefully off my thumb onto my bed sheet. I kept replaying the image in my head all day, thinking about how alive it was, insignificant and useless, but living. It was living until, with a tiny crack, I snapped its outer shell and ended whatever force dwelled within it that gave it the life it had. Motivations. Needs. Hardly different from any other life. As I’ve written this the sun has long been set out my little cell window and I know the last hour of my life is close. I feel like I should cry, but I can’t. I cried on the first night I was here. I cried on the holidays when I missed my loved ones. But as I’m closing in on the waning hours of this existence I only feel numb. So many years I’ve grown angry here, stewing in my cell knowing for certain that I didn’t deserve this fate, but now that I’ve reached the end I’m not so sure. I keep flashing back to the dead, colorless sage bug stuck to my thumb with outstretched legs. I’ve felt so sick since that moment that I couldn’t even eat my last meal. Someone who’s never taken a human life could never imagine it, but even as a man guilty of the crime I’ve found that I still can’t fathom that my own hands have done it. At this moment, I feel anxious. I’m suddenly eager for the guards to come to my final holding cell and lead me, one on each arm, to the chamber where they’ll lay me on the table and strap down my limbs in worn leather belts. The straps will only be for the ceremony. I’m not going to fight it. If anything, I might sigh. When the syringe pricks my arm I’ll heave my last desperate breaths until I feel the final pounding throbs of my heart slow to a halt, and my eyes will close finally, as the paralyzing shadow of death overtakes my body and I’m freed forever from the horror of my own evil.

It all seemed so simple. I pull out my blade, stick it in the other guy's gut a few times. He dies, the cops come and take me. After an unnecessarily drawn-out trial, I receive the sentence of death from a jury of my peers, like they were my peers to begin with. I live on Death Row for a few months or years while my lawyer makes appeal after appeal trying to save my ass, but the ruling remains the same: Death by three-stage lethal injection. After feeding me whatever the hell I want, they take me out of my cell, strap me down to a gurney, ask if I have any last words (“Get a fucking move on!”), and then send me into oblivion by means of three little syringes. It ain't so simple anymore. I don't know why it didn't hit me then, when I had my knife in the guy's gut, blood flowing out of the wound. Why it didn't hit me when the jury laid down the death sentence. Why it didn't hit me for all those fucking months and years I was in this hellhole, locked up with only the guards and the killers and the rapists for company. Why it didn't crash down on me until just a few hours ago. I fucking killed a man. This wasn't just some nobody off the street. He was someone with a family, with people to come home to. People fucking *cared* about him. He meant the world to somebody. And I destroyed that somebody's world. The chaplain has been telling me that God is infinitely forgiving, that even on the cross His own Son forgave His executioners for killing Him. But that was just a man; sure you can argue if he's God or not, but he was in the form of a man. I killed the world in the form of a man. I am a destroyer of worlds. There is no forgiveness for me.

[WP] A man on the death row realizes his fault and experiences guilt, for the first time on the night before his execution.

When I awoke this morning I felt oddly serene. I was thankful that I would never have to open my eyes in the morning to see the stark metal bars reminding me that I don’t deserve freedom. I am animal, I deserve a cage, nothing more. Though, I had never really believed that. I fought against the ruling as hard as I could. But legally I was a prisoner of the state, destined to live out the rest of my days behind bars and die there, when they decided it was my time to leave this world. There’s something surreal about knowing the moment of your death. Most people go through their lives, knowing full well that they’ll die some day, but choosing not to dwell on that fact. Most of them live their lives to the fullest because they know one day death will come and when it does they want to look back without regret and only fond memories. Even if they grow old and sick, inevitably approaching death, they still never know the exact moment they’ll die. It’s different for me. Tonight, shortly after midnight on November 30th, I will die. Life will slip from my physical form into whatever unknowable void that exists beyond this world. I still sometimes wish that I had been a religious man, especially knowing for eighteen years now that I would die behind these prison walls, but judging by the fact that I still hadn’t found God at this point I know I was never supposed to. God ain’t meant to save the souls of some men. I realized today that I’d never truly accepted responsibility for what I’d done, because I had never realized the magnitude of my actions. I still believe I was a different man when I committed that crime; an angry, hateful young man. The conviction read “Murder in the first degree”, but until now they were only words and they didn’t hold any real meaning to me. But it was this afternoon, after slipping on my sneakers for my last trip to the yard I felt like it finally meant something. A sage bug crawled from under my sole, dashing across the white linoleum floor when, without a thought, I reached down and pressed out its life with my thumb. It stuck to the swirl of my thumbprint as I lifted my hand away and I looked at it, frozen in death, with its legs sticking straight out like it was reaching for a last futile grasp at existence. I stared at that dead fucking bug on my finger for ten minutes before the guard came to unlock my cell to lead me out, and I wiped it carefully off my thumb onto my bed sheet. I kept replaying the image in my head all day, thinking about how alive it was, insignificant and useless, but living. It was living until, with a tiny crack, I snapped its outer shell and ended whatever force dwelled within it that gave it the life it had. Motivations. Needs. Hardly different from any other life. As I’ve written this the sun has long been set out my little cell window and I know the last hour of my life is close. I feel like I should cry, but I can’t. I cried on the first night I was here. I cried on the holidays when I missed my loved ones. But as I’m closing in on the waning hours of this existence I only feel numb. So many years I’ve grown angry here, stewing in my cell knowing for certain that I didn’t deserve this fate, but now that I’ve reached the end I’m not so sure. I keep flashing back to the dead, colorless sage bug stuck to my thumb with outstretched legs. I’ve felt so sick since that moment that I couldn’t even eat my last meal. Someone who’s never taken a human life could never imagine it, but even as a man guilty of the crime I’ve found that I still can’t fathom that my own hands have done it. At this moment, I feel anxious. I’m suddenly eager for the guards to come to my final holding cell and lead me, one on each arm, to the chamber where they’ll lay me on the table and strap down my limbs in worn leather belts. The straps will only be for the ceremony. I’m not going to fight it. If anything, I might sigh. When the syringe pricks my arm I’ll heave my last desperate breaths until I feel the final pounding throbs of my heart slow to a halt, and my eyes will close finally, as the paralyzing shadow of death overtakes my body and I’m freed forever from the horror of my own evil.

It feels like it happened forever ago. I would sit and watch how they moved, talked to each other. Blatantly lie to each others faces. Disgusting. I hated them. every last fucking one of them. I wasn't surprised when it happened. It really was just a matter of time, that first feeling of wanting to see someone cut up.. what their insides looked like.. How their blood smelt. The warmth from their insides on my face. No one understands why I am the way I am. I dont even think I know why. All I know, all I knew, was that someday I would loose control. My blood lust would seep into my mind and I wouldn't be able to stop myself. That's exactly what happened. After 5 murders they Locked me up. I would hear rumors from the outside world about me. They called me names. They called me names!? Those ignorant filthy animals.. Said I was some kind of monster, a psycho! Well maybe they're right, maybe I am a monster. Who knows? Maybe I'm getting what I deserve, Death row. Its funny, I never really felt anything in my life. Nothingness was a constant, Numbness engulfed me. But now, suddenly as I sit here waiting for them to take me away. For the first time in my life I'm feeling guilt. Not guilt for the crimes Ive done or guilt for the lives I've stolen, no. I feel guilt for not killing more people, guilt for not cleansing this world of its disgust. This is my one true fault. I was not good enough. (OK I have not wrote ANYTHING since high school. so umm.. yeah my grammar is awful. So I must apologize.. I just thought this was a cool idea. so I went for it! cheers!)

[WP] You find a book that allows you to open a portal to anywhere. What do you do with it?

The bookmarked pages were a pile of handwritten dates spanning every date conceivable. The instructions were clear, write the when and where, step through the gate, bring the book with you. It was so easy. Some dates had little notes about stopping some dictator or finding true love. Most said little warning for whoever next picked up the book - "Don't try to kill Mbardasher, he's taking our technology and making things worse". But a few had last words from thier last owner - "I'm done. Just so done. This portal will kill me and the book. Krakatoa Augest 25, 1883" I penciled in my anniversary and watched an awkward young boy kiss and awkward young girl. I watched atomic bomb tests from stolen starships. I broke into the world leaders bedrooms and traded their things. (Assad will look lovely in Queen Elizabeth's second best hat I think). I was a god with that dusty paper. I tried to show people what the book was like but they never saw what it was. They saw wavy lines or blindly agreed to whatever I said was there. "Exit visa" looked the same as "Your death certificate". I wish I had a better ending to that story. I wish I was a good man. I wish I hadn't tried to fix things. I stole the immortality drugs from the future. I will regenerate until the heat death of the universe. Now all I can do is piddle around. Maybe I'll steal a police box.

"Alright children, it's time to go! Come along now!" A collective sigh arose from kids dotted along the shoreline. One of them, his name Tim, spoke up. "But Mr. Micheals, I didn't finish building my sandcastle!" He put on a pooched lip. I knelt down and gave him a friendly nudge. "Ah, Tim. Don't worry. We'll come back next week. And then do you know what's after that?" "The forest with all the colors!" He exclaimed, his eyes shining. "Yes, Tim, the jungle!" I laughed. I got back up, brushing sand off of my khakis. "Make a circle, children, let's all hold hands!" They all crowded around me, kicking up sand, most of them trying to hold hands with their friends. As soon as they were circled around me, I pulled from my pocket a little white book, with gilded edges. It had no name, but then, it had no story. It was every story, any story. I opened it and pictured the small library from which we had arrived. A golden glow surrounded us, and the children laughed. And then we stood in the quiet little room, the scent of the ocean replaced by that soft smell of old, well-read books. The children danced about, shaking sand from their hair and clothes. Usually, I made sure that the kids got rid of whatever they brought back with them. Thank goodness this room had a carpet. A little while later, the parents began arriving to pick up the young adventurers. The group seemed to pick up an extra one or two every time, and the parents usually stopped by to tell me about much fun their kids had with our "Story-time Adventures." One parent in particular though, was always present in my thoughts. Chloe. "Mr. Micheals, I don't know how you do it. Tim always tells me he can't wait for the next story time. He's always outside these days, talks about "preparing for his next adventure.'" She laughed, the sound of a choir of angels singing. "Tricks of the trade, I'm afraid I can't tell, Ms. Miller." I said, smiling. She was raising Tim all on her own. On the wages of a local diner, no less. What a strong lady. Tim exploded from the room, a small force of excitement, and bounded up to Chloe. She usually had a late shift at the diner on Thursday, so I waited the extra half-hour with Tim. I didn't feel that old Mrs. Green, although a sweetheart, was much company for him. "Mom! We went to the beach this time, it was so fun! We saw seagulls and little crabs, even a huge boat!" The boat was a Spanish Galleon, and the children had stood in awe as it swept by at full sail. I ruffled his hair. "Wait!" he said suddenly, and plunged his hand into his pocket and brought it back out. Uh oh. "Sand!" He let it slip though his fingers, dusting the hallway floor. I met eyes with Chloe, who laughed. "You really go all out at story time, Mr. Micheals." She said, eyebrows raised. I smiled sheepishly. Phew. But Tim was still digging in his pockets though... "Oh cool!" Tim shouted. Looking down, I saw in his other hand a Hermit Crab. How he had managed to bring it, I had no idea. Chloe went from cheerful to confused in an instant. Not good at all. "Is that real? I...uh...Mr. Micheals?" She picked it up, and dropped it almost immediately, for the little guy was curious about all the commotion and had stuck his pincers out. Chloe looked at me, her face edging on fear. "I can explain. Look..." I trailed off as she grabbed Tim's hand and started to back away. I pulled the book from my pocket. "This book, it's not like other books. It can take you where you want to go, real or imagined. Present, or past. Even the future." She was shaking her head. "Mr. Micheals, I...Shawn. Why are you lying to me? What is going on here?!" She pulled Tim behind her. "I understand the sand, but a crab? And now this whole thing? This is ridiculous!" "Mom, he's right!" Tim chirped from her side. She looked at him, then at me. I had one last shot. "Where have you always wanted to go? Please, I can prove this." She looked at me for a second. "My parent's wedding." She said sarcastically. "Where and when?" I asked. "Really? Venice, November 23rd, 1972." She rolled her eyes and turned to leave. I opened the book and stepped towards her as the world began to glow gold. My foot stepped down into a soft dusting of snow, while flakes whirled around me. Tim and Chloe stood a couple feet away, he jumping up and down giggling, and she as still as a statue. The dimly lit streets and waterways of Venice lay before us, and on one corner there was a procession coming from a little church. Wedding music danced on the wind and to my ears. Tim was on the ground making snow angels. I waited while she took it in, and it was a couple minutes before she finally turned. "Shawn." she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "How?..." "I don't know how. It just is." I said, looking at the book in my hand. She ran to me and kissed me. "I always wanted to see them like this. Happy." I smiled and held her. I felt a tugging on my sleeve, and looked down to see Tim. "Mr. Micheals, I'm cold. Can we go home?" Our laughter rose into the sky.

[WP] You go to sleep, wake up only to find you have been in a coma and your entire life that you remember was just a figment of imagination, and you don't remember anything about your actual self just the dream you lived

"So, how long was I out?" Altos said. "And why does my face hurt?" "Doctors said you were coming around so I slapped you around a bit to quicken it. I've got monster truck tickets. And you were under for about three days. Doctors said you had a good chance of recovery," Tatcho said, sneaking a half pint out of this pants and passing it to his dear drinking buddy. "You mean, I dreamed 28 years of that life over the course of three days? Eh, sounds about right. Where are my clothes?" "First, you got to tell me about the dream you. Was there a dream me?" "Yeah, but your name was Nacho. But, you were a total asshole." "Wow, way different, huh?" and he took a belt of cheap whiskey. "No, you are a total asshole. Where are my clothes?" Altos dressed and drank. Though the day had just begun, the whiskey and grogginess from the Van Winkle nap made him ready for another dose of ether. He checked out of the hospital because, apparently, he was fine now. Many of the minor characters of his second life seemed to all culminate here. The doctor was once a gas station attendant who had given Altos some sage advice he couldn't quite recall now. It was as if, like all his other dreams, he immediately brushed away all remnants of unconscious life like so many shakes of the Etch-a-Sketch. The nurse was once a child with a very large head as his brain had quickly ran out of ideas to model the people in 28 years of life. See, Altos wasn't very smart, which is what got him here in the first place. "Can you remember anything?" "I remember one of the pinnacles of my life...ah, let me see. Okay, I remember, yes, once I went to Los Vegas. Yes, I went there and something happened. Something very important. Yes, I ran into a buddy from high school. Luke McLaughlin. That was wild, man." "Well, what did you guys do?" "Well, just say 'hey.' I didn't know him too well. How do I know him in this world?" "He's actually dead." "You know, I'll just save the rest for surprising me, yeah?" "So, like, you have amnesia? Like in Spider-Man 3?" "I don't know. I don't really think so. I remembered you're really an asshole." "Yeah, so it's not all lost." Altos couldn't admit it, but learning his life was a complete figment of his imagination was the best news he'd heard in his entire life. After all, pining for the same chick for years. He clearly remembered those brief moments they spoke and she laughed in tune to the ache of his heart. Her eyes soft and welcoming his company--for coffee, for lunch, for a brief walk to the copy room--yet he never once asked her out. Her suitors were many, broad muscled fuck machines. And here his penis still hung from the shower rod. Could she be in this life? Tatcho brought Altos back to the bar. "I said to take me home." "This is your home," Tatcho said. "You live above the bar. You've actually got some problems, I should tell you." The afternoon barflies bellowed and a squat woman waddled to Altos. "You're alive, son!" "Mom!" The few drunks laughed, and the bartender blushed. "Get you a pint for living? It's on the house, and the next two are half off, how about that?" "Thanks, mama." Tatcho leaned in. "I don't want to jump to conclusions, but she's not your mother. You spend a lot of time here. She at one point said that she wishes she was your mother so she could beat some sense into you, but she's not your mother. Your mother is dead." "Now, what did I say about letting me surprised. Goddamn, these people look happy for me to be here, and I'm getting a free pint. Let me do my thing here. Damn, you know--" It was her. Walking in from the back. The soft blue eyes and nose with the level ridge. He loved that, how her skull didn't curve down from her forehead to her nose. Not like her waist curved, her back with the deeply set dimples. It was as if she went unchanged. 'Momma' over by the tap had grey hair, separate from his dream. Tatcho was leaner and meaner, not this lumpy breath from the Haribo hanging out of his pocket. She went unchanged. What happened next was a new feeling altogether. She ran to him and wrapped her arms so tightly around his shoulders, his nose filled with what only used to come to him in whiffs around the office, in the elevator, across the meeting room. He put his hand to the small of her back and turned his head into the curve of her neck. Wonderful. The second sensation he had oddly felt before. A slap. "YOU GOT A LOT OF GODDAMN NERVE GETTING THAT DRUNK AND LEAVING WITH THOSE BITCHES. HOW DID YOU THINK I WASN'T GOING TO KNOW?! I'M GLAD YOU FELL AND HIT YOUR HEAD THAT NIGHT; MAYBE IT KNOCKED SOME SENSE INTO YOU. IF NOT, I'M STILL GLAD YOU DIDN'T DIE BECAUSE NOW I CAN KILL YOU MYSELF." Tatcho leaned into Altos' ear. "Surprise," he said.

this is almost my nanowrimo novel to a t.

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

((Here it is, ladies and gentleman. I present to you... **Commander of the Rings**)) ((Also, formatting will come later. )) Day: Prolouge "Oh, yeah, well, FUCK YOUR RING. IT'S MADE YOU A POWER-OBSESSED, CONTROLLING FREAK." Those were the last words Tom Vaughn said to his college roommate before he decided to ship off to the army. After graduating the basic courses, he pursued a career in the Marines. He worked hard, trained hard, and practiced until he ate, breathed, and shat the US Army. But the Marines were a whole nother standard. He nearly collapsed five times during training. But, like the Nevada summers of his childhood long ago, he continued to work hard in the harshest of conditions. Nine long months he labored, and at long last he finally became a United States Marine. The graduation ceremony wasn't a big deal, just all the graduates packed into a room with a 15 minute speech telling them the status quo and wishing them luck, then an hour long after party. Tom ate at a nicer restaurant (the first non-MRE he'd had in months) and retired to his quarters happy that night. A few years later and, instead of Private Vaughn, he now prefered Sergeant Vaughn. A squad of marines under his command, he made sure, through all the missions, every single one got home. While on patrol with a Lt. Bergsland of Delta Squad, his combined squad was ambushed by what seemed like the whole nine yards; machine gunners, rocket launchers... if it was propelled out of something, it hit some part of the 42nd Battalion convoy. He saw the Lt. holding position between a tree and a small shack. As soon as the Taliban's Buzzsaws were sighted in, the Bergsland's position was raked with bullets. Crawling through a hail of gunfire and dragging an injured comrade (in addition to being wounded himself) back to the Marine's pseudo-perimeter, and the subsequently fetching the Lt and his Lt's bodies, earned Tom a scholarship to an abridged officer's training camp (due to the Lieutenant and his immediate subordinate being FUBAR'ed . When he got back home, he headed to the Base's local bar. There, hr heard word of a .50 caliber machine gun being recovered near Rome, with 2-3000 year old rust covering it, buried under a cathedral in what was thought to be a Centurion's grave. He paid no attention to those drunken ramblings from a Private of the 35th MEU who called himself "Prufrock". He went to bed after watching some "Lord of the Rings", amazed how people like Tolkien can write three hour long movies-made-from-books when the best his aspiring mind could do was 25,000 words at best. How true Private "Prufrock's" warnings were, he knew not, for when he awoke, a ring was placed outside his door. ((Check out [r/commanderoftherings](http://reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings) for official postings. Updates will also be posted there, with links to said updates posted after the Prolouge.)) ((EDIT: Alright, maggots! This is your Drill Sergeant here! I need an Intelligence officer, one who knows about the local territory. So, if you want a pay raise, get your ass over to the [intelligence booth](http://www.reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings/comments/1se8gt/help_wanted/). ))

For reference, a Marine Expeditionary Unit (featured in Rome, Sweet Rome), consists of (on paper at least) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marine_expeditionary_unit#Attributes

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

AM I TOO LATE

For reference, a Marine Expeditionary Unit (featured in Rome, Sweet Rome), consists of (on paper at least) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marine_expeditionary_unit#Attributes

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

((Here it is, ladies and gentleman. I present to you... **Commander of the Rings**)) ((Also, formatting will come later. )) Day: Prolouge "Oh, yeah, well, FUCK YOUR RING. IT'S MADE YOU A POWER-OBSESSED, CONTROLLING FREAK." Those were the last words Tom Vaughn said to his college roommate before he decided to ship off to the army. After graduating the basic courses, he pursued a career in the Marines. He worked hard, trained hard, and practiced until he ate, breathed, and shat the US Army. But the Marines were a whole nother standard. He nearly collapsed five times during training. But, like the Nevada summers of his childhood long ago, he continued to work hard in the harshest of conditions. Nine long months he labored, and at long last he finally became a United States Marine. The graduation ceremony wasn't a big deal, just all the graduates packed into a room with a 15 minute speech telling them the status quo and wishing them luck, then an hour long after party. Tom ate at a nicer restaurant (the first non-MRE he'd had in months) and retired to his quarters happy that night. A few years later and, instead of Private Vaughn, he now prefered Sergeant Vaughn. A squad of marines under his command, he made sure, through all the missions, every single one got home. While on patrol with a Lt. Bergsland of Delta Squad, his combined squad was ambushed by what seemed like the whole nine yards; machine gunners, rocket launchers... if it was propelled out of something, it hit some part of the 42nd Battalion convoy. He saw the Lt. holding position between a tree and a small shack. As soon as the Taliban's Buzzsaws were sighted in, the Bergsland's position was raked with bullets. Crawling through a hail of gunfire and dragging an injured comrade (in addition to being wounded himself) back to the Marine's pseudo-perimeter, and the subsequently fetching the Lt and his Lt's bodies, earned Tom a scholarship to an abridged officer's training camp (due to the Lieutenant and his immediate subordinate being FUBAR'ed . When he got back home, he headed to the Base's local bar. There, hr heard word of a .50 caliber machine gun being recovered near Rome, with 2-3000 year old rust covering it, buried under a cathedral in what was thought to be a Centurion's grave. He paid no attention to those drunken ramblings from a Private of the 35th MEU who called himself "Prufrock". He went to bed after watching some "Lord of the Rings", amazed how people like Tolkien can write three hour long movies-made-from-books when the best his aspiring mind could do was 25,000 words at best. How true Private "Prufrock's" warnings were, he knew not, for when he awoke, a ring was placed outside his door. ((Check out [r/commanderoftherings](http://reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings) for official postings. Updates will also be posted there, with links to said updates posted after the Prolouge.)) ((EDIT: Alright, maggots! This is your Drill Sergeant here! I need an Intelligence officer, one who knows about the local territory. So, if you want a pay raise, get your ass over to the [intelligence booth](http://www.reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings/comments/1se8gt/help_wanted/). ))

OH MY GOD. THIS HAS TO BE MY FAVOURITE WRITING PROMPT EVER.

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

AM I TOO LATE

OH MY GOD. THIS HAS TO BE MY FAVOURITE WRITING PROMPT EVER.

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

((Here it is, ladies and gentleman. I present to you... **Commander of the Rings**)) ((Also, formatting will come later. )) Day: Prolouge "Oh, yeah, well, FUCK YOUR RING. IT'S MADE YOU A POWER-OBSESSED, CONTROLLING FREAK." Those were the last words Tom Vaughn said to his college roommate before he decided to ship off to the army. After graduating the basic courses, he pursued a career in the Marines. He worked hard, trained hard, and practiced until he ate, breathed, and shat the US Army. But the Marines were a whole nother standard. He nearly collapsed five times during training. But, like the Nevada summers of his childhood long ago, he continued to work hard in the harshest of conditions. Nine long months he labored, and at long last he finally became a United States Marine. The graduation ceremony wasn't a big deal, just all the graduates packed into a room with a 15 minute speech telling them the status quo and wishing them luck, then an hour long after party. Tom ate at a nicer restaurant (the first non-MRE he'd had in months) and retired to his quarters happy that night. A few years later and, instead of Private Vaughn, he now prefered Sergeant Vaughn. A squad of marines under his command, he made sure, through all the missions, every single one got home. While on patrol with a Lt. Bergsland of Delta Squad, his combined squad was ambushed by what seemed like the whole nine yards; machine gunners, rocket launchers... if it was propelled out of something, it hit some part of the 42nd Battalion convoy. He saw the Lt. holding position between a tree and a small shack. As soon as the Taliban's Buzzsaws were sighted in, the Bergsland's position was raked with bullets. Crawling through a hail of gunfire and dragging an injured comrade (in addition to being wounded himself) back to the Marine's pseudo-perimeter, and the subsequently fetching the Lt and his Lt's bodies, earned Tom a scholarship to an abridged officer's training camp (due to the Lieutenant and his immediate subordinate being FUBAR'ed . When he got back home, he headed to the Base's local bar. There, hr heard word of a .50 caliber machine gun being recovered near Rome, with 2-3000 year old rust covering it, buried under a cathedral in what was thought to be a Centurion's grave. He paid no attention to those drunken ramblings from a Private of the 35th MEU who called himself "Prufrock". He went to bed after watching some "Lord of the Rings", amazed how people like Tolkien can write three hour long movies-made-from-books when the best his aspiring mind could do was 25,000 words at best. How true Private "Prufrock's" warnings were, he knew not, for when he awoke, a ring was placed outside his door. ((Check out [r/commanderoftherings](http://reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings) for official postings. Updates will also be posted there, with links to said updates posted after the Prolouge.)) ((EDIT: Alright, maggots! This is your Drill Sergeant here! I need an Intelligence officer, one who knows about the local territory. So, if you want a pay raise, get your ass over to the [intelligence booth](http://www.reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings/comments/1se8gt/help_wanted/). ))

I'll just patiently wait for someone to write an epic piece that will be best-of'd and gilded.

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

AM I TOO LATE

I'll just patiently wait for someone to write an epic piece that will be best-of'd and gilded.

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

((Here it is, ladies and gentleman. I present to you... **Commander of the Rings**)) ((Also, formatting will come later. )) Day: Prolouge "Oh, yeah, well, FUCK YOUR RING. IT'S MADE YOU A POWER-OBSESSED, CONTROLLING FREAK." Those were the last words Tom Vaughn said to his college roommate before he decided to ship off to the army. After graduating the basic courses, he pursued a career in the Marines. He worked hard, trained hard, and practiced until he ate, breathed, and shat the US Army. But the Marines were a whole nother standard. He nearly collapsed five times during training. But, like the Nevada summers of his childhood long ago, he continued to work hard in the harshest of conditions. Nine long months he labored, and at long last he finally became a United States Marine. The graduation ceremony wasn't a big deal, just all the graduates packed into a room with a 15 minute speech telling them the status quo and wishing them luck, then an hour long after party. Tom ate at a nicer restaurant (the first non-MRE he'd had in months) and retired to his quarters happy that night. A few years later and, instead of Private Vaughn, he now prefered Sergeant Vaughn. A squad of marines under his command, he made sure, through all the missions, every single one got home. While on patrol with a Lt. Bergsland of Delta Squad, his combined squad was ambushed by what seemed like the whole nine yards; machine gunners, rocket launchers... if it was propelled out of something, it hit some part of the 42nd Battalion convoy. He saw the Lt. holding position between a tree and a small shack. As soon as the Taliban's Buzzsaws were sighted in, the Bergsland's position was raked with bullets. Crawling through a hail of gunfire and dragging an injured comrade (in addition to being wounded himself) back to the Marine's pseudo-perimeter, and the subsequently fetching the Lt and his Lt's bodies, earned Tom a scholarship to an abridged officer's training camp (due to the Lieutenant and his immediate subordinate being FUBAR'ed . When he got back home, he headed to the Base's local bar. There, hr heard word of a .50 caliber machine gun being recovered near Rome, with 2-3000 year old rust covering it, buried under a cathedral in what was thought to be a Centurion's grave. He paid no attention to those drunken ramblings from a Private of the 35th MEU who called himself "Prufrock". He went to bed after watching some "Lord of the Rings", amazed how people like Tolkien can write three hour long movies-made-from-books when the best his aspiring mind could do was 25,000 words at best. How true Private "Prufrock's" warnings were, he knew not, for when he awoke, a ring was placed outside his door. ((Check out [r/commanderoftherings](http://reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings) for official postings. Updates will also be posted there, with links to said updates posted after the Prolouge.)) ((EDIT: Alright, maggots! This is your Drill Sergeant here! I need an Intelligence officer, one who knows about the local territory. So, if you want a pay raise, get your ass over to the [intelligence booth](http://www.reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings/comments/1se8gt/help_wanted/). ))

Is it in first person or third person? My internet's being odd and I feel quite lazy in regards to googling. EDIT: Fack it. I'll begin planning soon. I've always wanted to see what would happen if Bilbo had a Machine gun

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

AM I TOO LATE

Is it in first person or third person? My internet's being odd and I feel quite lazy in regards to googling. EDIT: Fack it. I'll begin planning soon. I've always wanted to see what would happen if Bilbo had a Machine gun

This would be similar to Rome Sweet Rome (look at r/RomeSweetRome for more details if needed), but has a fantasy element as well. The rest of the details are up to the writer.

[WP] Similar to Rome Sweet Rome, but instead a US Marine battalion fully equipped with tanks and attack helicopters, etc. comes to support a dangerous, losing battle at Minis Tirith.

AM I TOO LATE

((Here it is, ladies and gentleman. I present to you... **Commander of the Rings**)) ((Also, formatting will come later. )) Day: Prolouge "Oh, yeah, well, FUCK YOUR RING. IT'S MADE YOU A POWER-OBSESSED, CONTROLLING FREAK." Those were the last words Tom Vaughn said to his college roommate before he decided to ship off to the army. After graduating the basic courses, he pursued a career in the Marines. He worked hard, trained hard, and practiced until he ate, breathed, and shat the US Army. But the Marines were a whole nother standard. He nearly collapsed five times during training. But, like the Nevada summers of his childhood long ago, he continued to work hard in the harshest of conditions. Nine long months he labored, and at long last he finally became a United States Marine. The graduation ceremony wasn't a big deal, just all the graduates packed into a room with a 15 minute speech telling them the status quo and wishing them luck, then an hour long after party. Tom ate at a nicer restaurant (the first non-MRE he'd had in months) and retired to his quarters happy that night. A few years later and, instead of Private Vaughn, he now prefered Sergeant Vaughn. A squad of marines under his command, he made sure, through all the missions, every single one got home. While on patrol with a Lt. Bergsland of Delta Squad, his combined squad was ambushed by what seemed like the whole nine yards; machine gunners, rocket launchers... if it was propelled out of something, it hit some part of the 42nd Battalion convoy. He saw the Lt. holding position between a tree and a small shack. As soon as the Taliban's Buzzsaws were sighted in, the Bergsland's position was raked with bullets. Crawling through a hail of gunfire and dragging an injured comrade (in addition to being wounded himself) back to the Marine's pseudo-perimeter, and the subsequently fetching the Lt and his Lt's bodies, earned Tom a scholarship to an abridged officer's training camp (due to the Lieutenant and his immediate subordinate being FUBAR'ed . When he got back home, he headed to the Base's local bar. There, hr heard word of a .50 caliber machine gun being recovered near Rome, with 2-3000 year old rust covering it, buried under a cathedral in what was thought to be a Centurion's grave. He paid no attention to those drunken ramblings from a Private of the 35th MEU who called himself "Prufrock". He went to bed after watching some "Lord of the Rings", amazed how people like Tolkien can write three hour long movies-made-from-books when the best his aspiring mind could do was 25,000 words at best. How true Private "Prufrock's" warnings were, he knew not, for when he awoke, a ring was placed outside his door. ((Check out [r/commanderoftherings](http://reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings) for official postings. Updates will also be posted there, with links to said updates posted after the Prolouge.)) ((EDIT: Alright, maggots! This is your Drill Sergeant here! I need an Intelligence officer, one who knows about the local territory. So, if you want a pay raise, get your ass over to the [intelligence booth](http://www.reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings/comments/1se8gt/help_wanted/). ))

[WP] "You could have had it all, if you'd just said 'yes.'"

The office was quiet now. What hadn't been seized by the cops was smoldering in the metal trash bins, puffing thin black smoke above the cubicles. He could see Meredith's legs sticking out a few yards away. He hadn't yet walked over to see if she had been knocked out in the chaos or if she had slit her wrists when the alarms went off. He twisted the cap off the bottle of whiskey, a cheap plastic squirt top he found in Robby's bottom drawer. Robby hadn't come in to work today, the lucky bastard, although there's no way Robby wasn't complicit. Everyone was complicit. People didn't take jobs here without knowing what they were getting into, who they were screwing over, how much money was passing between hands right under their noses. No one really asked where the money was coming from. When he had been called into The Big Cheese's office, he had been shown documents that suggested drugs. It made the most sense. Given how much cocaine and amphetamines flowed among the men in the offices below, there had to be a way for them to get it without getting their hands dirty. All the language in the paperwork, all the late night shipments at the rear loading dock, it was all vague enough that they got away with it, and all obvious enough that the people working here caught on. He took another swig of the whiskey. How things would have been different if he hadn't had a conscience. Well, that wasn't true, he thought. If he had a conscience, he wouldn't have worked here in the first place. But for some reason, when The Big Cheese had passed over the contract and asked him to become his right hand, he saw all the money and power and risk... and froze. A small part of his blackened heart told him it wasn't worth it. The same small part that brought him to the precinct the next morning. The same small part that came into the office like normal and watched as the shit went down. He knew he would probably be dead within a week. These were not people you fucked with. The cheapness of the whiskey was tolerable with that knowledge in mind, as was sitting in the corner of the office and not going home. The smoke and alcohol burning in his throat was preferable to getting shot in his bed. He heard the elevator door open from across the expanse of the cubicles. Perhaps it would come sooner than he thought.

After being asked the most important question of his young life, Alex let out a resounding **No**. Tanya was shocked, she was the most popular girl in school, how could this new kid say no to her? *What the hell is wrong with you? I'm giving myself to you! This is your chance to fuck me! This is what you want!* Tanya yelled at Alex as he stood in front of her splayed body. Her eyes were furious and confused, her body lifting from the bed in short movements, as if she was waiting for Alex to change his mind, because she was. **No, it's not what I want. It's what you want.** Alex said in a cool, confident manner that commanded respect. Tanya hesitated, then quickly scrambled to grab her clothes and dress herself again while blurting out threats, *I'm going to tell everyone you didn't fuck me because you're a loser and couldn't get it up, you...you fag!* Alex only blinked. He put his hand on Tanya's shoulder and her body seemed to curl around it. After another slow blink, Alex locked eyes with Tanya. **You tell them whatever you want to tell them, they'll believe you. But you will know the truth. You will know, now and forever, that you aren't the perfect little princess that you want to believe you are. Your parents' wealth, which is fleeting by the way, has only brought you empty friendships and a spoiled upbringing. In reality, you're nothing, less than nothing. That's why you've come to my house this night with the ambition of sleeping with "the new rich kid" in order to kindle a relationship with me and thus validate your existence. You can try and justify it as becoming a "power couple" but you why you want me. And it's pathetic. You'll do whatever you can can to stay in a relationship so that you can marry me and lead a cushy, secure life. Anything to keep from being that lonely girl in the office who does nothing but prattle on about the one time she left the country, which was Cancun correct?** Tanya was in shock. Her head let out the faintest nod a human being could muster. Otherwise, her body was cold and still like an ice sculpture. She didn't even cry, it was as if her body simply shut down at Alex's words. She was closer to flatlining than she's ever been. The world was on mute until Alex snapped his fingers in her face with disrespect. She jumped and turned her head to Alex, eyes sullen and mouth agape. Alex turned his body to give way to the door. Tanya slowly pushed her stiffened body to hallway of Alex's (not his parent's) estate. She didn't know where to go, not in the house, or in life. After what seemed like hours, Tanya found the front door, as she stretched her arm to grab the handle, she heard an echoing **Hey** from behind her. She spun around to see Alexander standing at the top of the stairs. **Stop calling me Alex, that's not my name. My name is Alexander.** Alexander the Great.

[WP] Friedrich Nietzsche, newest addition to the Jersey Shore cast. What happens?

*Note: Haven't seen Jersey Shore. Nor will I for this prompt. So the context here is "solo interview montage segment about the new guy" because I imagine that's a thing they do with the cast. And since I don't know any of their names (except Snooki, because that's such a fuckin' dog name), I'll call the cast members "Turd" and differentiate them with some numbers or codenames or something.* Turd 1: This guy is BLEEPin' serious. Like *really* BLEEPin' serious. All the time. I like that. Snooki: I totally walked in on him using the toilet. And he just BLEEPing looked at me like I wasn't even there! Like, he heard a noise or something but there wasn't anything there. SO weird, right? Turd Bravo: My man is a trend-SETTER! I mean, his hair's a BLEEPin' crazy bird's nest and he doesn't wear nothin' except tweed suits all the time, but that old-timey mustache? If I could grow somethin' like that, I totally would. And the ladies would totally love it when it tickles their BLEEP. Snooki: And this other time, I saw him touching himself on the couch when he thought he was alone. But I needed to get to the fridge, so I made a lot of noise so he'd, you know, put his BLEEP away. And when I come in, he's still BLEEPing touching himself! Totally BLEEPing ignoring me! I start yelling and slapping him upside the head, like "What the BLEEP is wrong with you?" And he stops, just for a second, and looks at me and says, "I do what I must. I want it because I must do it." And then he keeps on jerkin' it! BLEEP, I almost cried. How the hell do you talk to someone like that? Third Turd: I dunno, I ain't seen much of him, really. He spends a lot of time in the bathroom. I don't really use that bathroom, but Snooki says there's, like, a new book every other day in there. Like he's startin' a libary [sic] or somethin' in there, man. I dunno, to each his own I guess. I wouldn't want to share a bathroom with him, that's for sure. Snooki: So I axed [sic] the whole crew to, you know, meet up and get it through to him that he can't just BLEEPing do BLEEP like that! We all meet up and he's sitting on the couch. He's got this creepy sorta half-smile and we're all looking around at each other. Like, who's gonna say something first? You know, at this point, I don't really want to open my mouth, 'cuz, you know, I'm pretty upset. Turd Bravo: Hahaha! BLEEP, Snooki just attacked him! Went right for the 'stache! It was BLEEPin' hilarious! Hahaha...But only for a second. It got weird pretty quick after that. He didn't fight back or anything. Just sat there, didn't move a inch. Like a BLEEPin' rock. Turd 1: Like a rock, bro. I mean, we all know that bitch is BLEEPin' crazy, but he didn't even flinch. Dude's got balls of steel. Third Turd: It was really weird because, like, he didn't even look at her. She was grabbin' his hair and pullin' it out. I'm pretty sure she bit him. Yeah, he kept starin' off, like he was thinkin'. I don't really know what that guy is. Creepy, I guess. Snooki: I'm just gonna spend more time drinking around the Shore, outta this house. I can't deal with this BLEEP.

Friedrich was sitting in a wooden chair, turned away from the table. His feet were on the floor and his ankles felt heavy. A television show. He flipped the swastika stamped envelope over in his hands several times and touched the corners. It was red. The paper felt heavy. Official. *Scheiße.* He grabbed the letter off the table behind him and brought a light close. The Jersey Shore. Guidos. He read the signature at the bottom. *Überscheiße.* The guard rapped the bars behind him with a club, then told him to pack his things. Friedrich shook his knees a little. His ankle chains rattled. He sat up, put his hands on his thighs, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and felt his mustache with his lower lip. Then he died. The guard said something in German. edit:scheiße, pronounced something like sheigh-suh i think

[WP] Friedrich Nietzsche, newest addition to the Jersey Shore cast. What happens?

This isn't something I'm writing, but this reminds me of an anecdote about Nietzsche that my first year philosophy prof told us. Apparently some people he knew once invited him to go to a piano recital with them. When he arrived he discovered that they had tricked him into going to a whorehouse. Apparently he walked over to a nearby piano, put his head down, and stubbornly played Wagner to himself, refusing to acknowledge any of what was going on around him. Some of the details of this story might be questionable as I heard it ten years ago, but it's sort of relevant and might add a little context for people trying to figure out Nietzsche's personality type.

Nietzsche stared around the room while he twirled his mustache and realising that these people almost embodied the ubermenshen, they decided everything by themself not by some man made god, they indulged into everything that Dionysius represented however they did still follow those stupid beliefs about how to act. They have both fallen and risen, in the end arriving at nowhere. Soon that would all change.

[WP] Friedrich Nietzsche, newest addition to the Jersey Shore cast. What happens?

This isn't something I'm writing, but this reminds me of an anecdote about Nietzsche that my first year philosophy prof told us. Apparently some people he knew once invited him to go to a piano recital with them. When he arrived he discovered that they had tricked him into going to a whorehouse. Apparently he walked over to a nearby piano, put his head down, and stubbornly played Wagner to himself, refusing to acknowledge any of what was going on around him. Some of the details of this story might be questionable as I heard it ten years ago, but it's sort of relevant and might add a little context for people trying to figure out Nietzsche's personality type.

I approve of this writing prompt.

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

Chloe tends to stick around the house, most days. She enjoys spending time, caring for the livestock and such, but that ain't really the reason she stays home. I couldn't help but cry when I saw 'em throwing rocks and garbage at her. I chased the lot of 'em off, but I know it still weighs on her. Nobody should ever have to go through what she endured when we first started seeing each other. See, going on about six years ago, a pandemic wiped out around ninety percent of the male population, and up to a high of  fifteen percent of the female population in some areas. Most folks gloss over the women who died in the disease, but I doubt they've forgotten. Now, Chloe took ill from the disease, but she exhibited relatively minor symptoms, as was the case for most women, from what I've heard. It did, however, make her infertile, and that's half of why the other women hate her. The other side of this vitriol is based on the fact that we're in love. Do I obey the law, and donate sperm at least once a month? Yes, but that's not gonna please people. I can understand, at least in that humans are humans, and sex isn't just for breeding. However, I finally found something meaningful. I found someone who loves me, and she loves me because of who I am, not how lucky I got. In that, I won a lottery that I thought impossible to win. Even most of the horny bastards started to want an actual relationship, but that's not the kind of thing that happens these days. Chloe and I have even made some friends. For instance, here's a lovely couple of guys who live on the land next to us... Brad and Michael. They have even better security than we do. They have to. Around here, things weren't great for gay guys, before the pandemic, but now it's a million times worse. Frankly, I worry a lot about them every time the women show up at our land, since they're normally over at the boys' as well. Yep... Life is still hard for everybody. You don't lose half your population without things going to hell. I'm really proud of our current president. She's been making a lot of progress, in spite of those sexist assholes who want to keep men in some secure facility. The large majority of women seem to agree that you can't just lock people up because you want their gametes, but there have always been crazy people, politicians, and the poor fools who think there's a difference between the two.

"Broodmale." That's what she called me. Dad had used the word once or twice, and the sound of it carried the same disdain. The word sliced from her teeth like a sonic papercut and I flinched. I squinted against the flashing lights, catching glimpses of four or five figures standing around me. There was an exchange between the women, a few commands over the radio, and they converged on me. We'd gone into hiding about two months ago, after the rumors started: Men being kidnapped and disappearing. It used to be that when someone went missing, hardly anyone noticed. These days, a man goes missing, it's headline news. It was a strange time, two months ago. About the time dad was blackstaff'd, he'd decided it was time to go into hiding. The stories that didn't seem true had taken on a startling reality. The police seemed powerless, politicians didn't even mention it. Only rumor and the occasional story when a Vital went missing. Some women even took to putting GPS collars on their men and kids, like those used for felons on house arrest. No one was safe. The longer we stayed, the more likely we were to vanish. It was 1 AM when dad drug me from my bed, my backpack bulging in his hand. He didn't say a word, and he didn't have to. Mom didn't know and she wasn't going to. She hadn't been the same since the plague ended and got much worse after the rape. She became aggressive, easily frustrated, and buried herself in work. When we did see her, she wasn't alive but just breathing. Going into hiding seemed just as logical as suicide. Suicide did seem to be the most common response when the plague started, though. I read about this one woman who lost her father, four young sons, and her husband over two days. At the time, I was too terrified to let it bother me, but as the hours of survival turned into weeks, I thought about it. When you really connect with someone, even a total stranger your met in a tabloid, it burns in your heart like a bead of acid that you can't ignore. That woman committed suicide wearing a hospital gown in her kids' room. To this day I can't imagine the emptiness she must have felt. The suicides continued. Almost every one of them was a distraught woman. Some women had heard that sperm was an anti-depressant, and with the plague only claiming men, they must have decided they wouldn't be happy again. I have no idea how many thousands committed suicide because of this story, but it was two weeks later before some scientists called bullshit on that 'research'. Anti-depressant drugs were quickly deregulated and sold right off the shelf. Most of the suicides stopped seemingly overnight. And that's when the men started disappearing. We couldn't risk getting caught sneaking around after curfew, so we ran out of the city. There was no cover if we took the bridge, so we had to swim. Once we were clear of the city, headed to the mountains. A couple days of hiking through the woods and we found a cabin on a small pond. We waited until it was dark to go inside. A quarter moon on a cloudless night spilled just enough light that we didn't need our flash lights. "You know we can't stay here. It's a house, with an address," dad said after we had ensured the house was empty. "Yeah, I know. It would be a great place, though." I said wistfully, looking at the rope swing that hung neglected from a tree. A cool breeze carried a birds song. "Let's take what we need and keep heading up." Dad was opening the cabinets quickly, stuffing canned goods into his pack. "Caves are a couple more days up." I nodded and loaded up my pack. After we were done, I flicked on the television. It was a national news channel reporting on some major incidents, with reporters tripping over themselves in the rush to get the scoop. A ticker at the bottom was keeping a running count of men that were dead world wide. When that number got to big, it had switched to the percentage of surviving males. The number flashed "10%". My dad hung his head and turned his hands palms up. I stared at the number in disbelief. "That can't be right..." I stammered. It couldn't, right? TEN PERCENT?! The full burden of this hadn't finished weighing on me when President Clinton flashed on the screen. She was talking but I could only hear the blood pounding in my ears, my heart beating so profusely that my body shook. Dad put his hand on my shoulder. And that's when we heard those two words that completely changed everything." "... martial law...." "Let's go, Mal. NOW." Dad gave me a quick shove as he moved to the door. I stood there, waiting for the room to stop spinning. "What does that me..." "It means were leaving, Malcolm. Get your shit in one sock and let's go. NOW." His voice was sharp and determined. "We're no longer runaways, we're criminals." "Wait, seriously?! Because we have a DICK?!" "We were the most valuable commodity on the planet because we have a dick, son. We're criminals because that dick is surrounded by legs that ran." I couldn't keep the laugh in anymore. I laughed way more than was appropriate. Dad ripped a chuckle and pushed me outside. I stepped through the door and was immediately confronted with rifle in the hands of a young female soldier. The entire house was suddenly bathed in flood lights. "Broodmale." As the figures descended on me, I heard my dad yell behind me. His last word on this planet was my name and filled with the terror only a parent knows. A flash of light and the crack of the rifle silenced him. The only sound I heard after that was my own scream. I don't know how much time passed, nor do I remember anything for a few days after that. I'm in this room now, a prisoner. I'm given food, but no one speaks to me. I haven't seen a person's face in.. well, there's 19 marks on the wall, so 19 days. That means my birthday is in two days. I'll be 9. No one's even asked my name...

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

As the women sized me up, I lit my cigarette. I could feel their eyes on me, but I couldn't see them behind the one way mirrors the room was walled with. The ceiling and floor were plated in steel, which felt quite cold on my bare feet. Air vents in the ceiling, almost 30 feet up, made a slight whirring sound. The trapdoor I had come in from was behind me, securely fastened, almost impossible to make out. Yep. I wouldn't gain my freedom anytime soon. I took a drag of my cigarette, and watched in the mirror as the smoke I exhaled traveled up, past my emerald green eyes and raven hair. I never thought my good looks would get me into this much trouble. A cool female voice suddenly echoed through the room. "Ladies, take your seats. Break time is over. Our next acquisition is Caucasian, and grew up in the United States of America. He was a university level swimmer, and majored in computer science. After graduation, he joined the United States Army special forces. During a tour in China, he received several decorations for valor in combat. Upon China's fall, he returned home and was treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the age of 24, his stunning features landed him a job as an underwear model." I silently smoked my cigarette, wincing a little bit as I listened to my life story being laid out for these women to judge. Flashbacks of China rose to my mind, and I did my best to block them out. "Age is 26. Height is 1.9 meters. Weight is 84 kilograms. Penis is 10 centimeters, flaccid. Erect it is 17 centimeters. Foot size 12. 20/20 vision. Scored a 448 out of 450 on the Physical Fitness Exam. No family history of disease or illness. Has had four sexual partners in the past. Virility stats are off the chart, standing at a 94.3 VPA. Hair is black, eyes are green. You can find the rest of his information on page 13 of your itinerary. Bidding will begin momentarily, with a starting price of 100 million euros. Bidding increments will be in 50 millions. Good luck." I took another long drag of my cigarette, staring at myself in the mirror. If only I had been worth that much money a year ago. I exhaled and chuckled to myself. At least I was alive. A soft beep filled the air. The bidding had probably started. I looked down at my feet and shivered. Whether it was from the chill on my naked body, or the fact that my future was being decided as I stood there, I don't know. "Do I hear 100 million?" The woman had barely finished speaking when another soft tone filled the air. "I have 150 million. Do I hear 200?" Again, the woman barely finished speaking when yet another soft tone filled the air. On and on it went, the woman speaking, and tone after tone filling the air. Such was the speed of the auction, that the sound of one tone was still in the air when another sounded. The women were voracious, they refused to be outdone by one another. Each of them wanted dearly to claim me as their trophy, so that their clan would rise in power and rank. "I have 650 million. Do I hear 700?" No tone rose this time. "Going once." Nobody was going to outbid that number. A bit of anger stirred within me. I had always prided myself in being the best, and pushing myself as far as I could go. Fuck, if all I was in the world now was a trophy, then I was going to make these cunts pay top dollar for me. "Going twice." I still felt the eyes on me. I lowered my cigarette to my side, and looked up to the middle of the mirror, and flashed my most charming smile. A second later, a tone filled the air. I chuckled. I still had it, damn it. I was one of the best looking guys in the modeling game before the plague, so I was practically god tier now. Tones continued to ring through the air now, spurred on by my smile. I dropped my head again, slightly proud of my accomplishment. My happiness faded as the reality of my situation set in once more. I was a prisoner, about to be sold into slavery. The tones stopped again. When the announcer spoke again, she had lost some of her coolness. "I have...1 billion. 1 billion euros. Going once." Silence filled the air. "Going twice." I smiled inwardly. That's a number dad would have been proud of. He always was about the numbers. "Sold, to buyer number 16. This concludes our auction, ladies. Your acquisitions will be brought to your lounges momentarily. Good night, and thank you for participating." The trapdoor behind me opened. I threw my cigarette on the floor of the auction chamber in a feeble attempt of defiance, and with nowhere else to go, I climbed down the trapdoor, into another metal plated room. Two attractive young women in pantsuits were waiting for me, a brunette and a blonde. The blonde unceremoniously grabbed me and slapped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. "Follow her," the blonde said, pointing at the brunette. "Your owner awaits." "And if I refuse?" I asked coyly. She scowled. "Then you're going to get a couple of bruises, and your owner won't like that." A smile came to my face, and I practically laughed in her face. My muscle tone was well defined, and I was two heads taller than both of the women. She saw my amusement and opened her jacket, revealing a holstered Sig Sauer. It made my amusement fade slightly, but just slightly. I looked at the brunette. "A couple of guns don't scare me...I have my own pistol to fire." I winked and the brunette blushed, her eyes quickly dropping down to my penis, and then back up to my face. The blonde rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, and pushed me in front of her. "Walk." She ordered. Bitch. I never did like blondes. As we walked, we passed a large number of cream colored doors spaced evenly along the dull metal hallway. The brunette stopped at one. "This is 16, right?" The blonde sighed again, impatiently. "Yes." The brunette cast her a sideways glance, and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked the door, and opened it. As the blonde pushed me inside, I winked at the brunette. "See you around." She blushed again. Who was really in power here, I wondered? The door slammed shut behind me, and I looked around. A lavishly decorated room greeted my eyes. On a gold trimmed bed sat a rather fat, older woman wearing a beautiful silk night gown. She stared at me greedily. Behind her, the entire wall was a window, overlooking a city skyline. "Well, don't be shy, come here darling. Let Franny take a look at you." I grimaced inwardly and approached 'Franny.' She got up from the bed, with slight difficulty, and trailed a finger from my chest to my abs. "Oh yes," she muttered under her breath. "Worth every euro." She circled me, finger trailing all the time. I stood there impassively, contemplating the fact that I was genuinely worth 1 billion euros. I didn't know who this woman was, but she must be the head of a very prestigious clan. She stopped suddenly in front of me, looking up into my eyes. I stared out into the city skyline, over her head. I saw Big Ben; we were in London. "You're perfect, aren't you?" She said. I didn't respond. "Oh, the strong quiet type? Franny knows how to get you making sounds." She grabbed my penis gently, and began fondling it. I continued looking out into the skyline. "Oh yes, I used to be quite popular with the men. I had many the suitor, and I knew how to make a man's cock rise fast as lightning." Despite the proclamation of her skills, I was quite flaccid. She continued fondling for another minute, and then spoke angrily. "Are you gay? They assured me you weren't gay! Franny is going to raise quite the shit storm if you're gay." I continued to not look at her,and she suddenly grabbed my chin and forced my head down. "Look at me!" She cried. My eyes met hers; they were filled with a mixture of sadness, anger, and longing. I could tell that she used to be quite attractive, but her best years were behind her. "Are you gay?" She asked quietly. I stared back at her for a second, thinking about lying, just to see what the look on her face would be. I decided against it and told the truth. "No." I raised my head back up, observing the skyline. She was quiet for a moment, and then spoke. "Well, thank God for that at least. If only I was ten years younger, I would ravish you m'dear. Ah well." She released my member. "Perhaps you're just nervous right now....yes, you're just nervous! It's ok dearie. You'll get used to us." Us? I was curious but my gaze remained straight. Without removing her gaze from me, she yelled. "Megan! Your birthday present is here!" A door opened behind me, but I was too disciplined to look around on my own, despite my curiosity. Thankfully, Franny helped me out by spinning me around. Before me stood a beautiful young girl, she couldn't have been more than 20. Brown curls cascaded around her shoulders, and her hazel eyes twinkled as she examined me. She wore a simple sundress, accentuating her killer figure. Unbidden, something stirred within my loins.

"Broodmale." That's what she called me. Dad had used the word once or twice, and the sound of it carried the same disdain. The word sliced from her teeth like a sonic papercut and I flinched. I squinted against the flashing lights, catching glimpses of four or five figures standing around me. There was an exchange between the women, a few commands over the radio, and they converged on me. We'd gone into hiding about two months ago, after the rumors started: Men being kidnapped and disappearing. It used to be that when someone went missing, hardly anyone noticed. These days, a man goes missing, it's headline news. It was a strange time, two months ago. About the time dad was blackstaff'd, he'd decided it was time to go into hiding. The stories that didn't seem true had taken on a startling reality. The police seemed powerless, politicians didn't even mention it. Only rumor and the occasional story when a Vital went missing. Some women even took to putting GPS collars on their men and kids, like those used for felons on house arrest. No one was safe. The longer we stayed, the more likely we were to vanish. It was 1 AM when dad drug me from my bed, my backpack bulging in his hand. He didn't say a word, and he didn't have to. Mom didn't know and she wasn't going to. She hadn't been the same since the plague ended and got much worse after the rape. She became aggressive, easily frustrated, and buried herself in work. When we did see her, she wasn't alive but just breathing. Going into hiding seemed just as logical as suicide. Suicide did seem to be the most common response when the plague started, though. I read about this one woman who lost her father, four young sons, and her husband over two days. At the time, I was too terrified to let it bother me, but as the hours of survival turned into weeks, I thought about it. When you really connect with someone, even a total stranger your met in a tabloid, it burns in your heart like a bead of acid that you can't ignore. That woman committed suicide wearing a hospital gown in her kids' room. To this day I can't imagine the emptiness she must have felt. The suicides continued. Almost every one of them was a distraught woman. Some women had heard that sperm was an anti-depressant, and with the plague only claiming men, they must have decided they wouldn't be happy again. I have no idea how many thousands committed suicide because of this story, but it was two weeks later before some scientists called bullshit on that 'research'. Anti-depressant drugs were quickly deregulated and sold right off the shelf. Most of the suicides stopped seemingly overnight. And that's when the men started disappearing. We couldn't risk getting caught sneaking around after curfew, so we ran out of the city. There was no cover if we took the bridge, so we had to swim. Once we were clear of the city, headed to the mountains. A couple days of hiking through the woods and we found a cabin on a small pond. We waited until it was dark to go inside. A quarter moon on a cloudless night spilled just enough light that we didn't need our flash lights. "You know we can't stay here. It's a house, with an address," dad said after we had ensured the house was empty. "Yeah, I know. It would be a great place, though." I said wistfully, looking at the rope swing that hung neglected from a tree. A cool breeze carried a birds song. "Let's take what we need and keep heading up." Dad was opening the cabinets quickly, stuffing canned goods into his pack. "Caves are a couple more days up." I nodded and loaded up my pack. After we were done, I flicked on the television. It was a national news channel reporting on some major incidents, with reporters tripping over themselves in the rush to get the scoop. A ticker at the bottom was keeping a running count of men that were dead world wide. When that number got to big, it had switched to the percentage of surviving males. The number flashed "10%". My dad hung his head and turned his hands palms up. I stared at the number in disbelief. "That can't be right..." I stammered. It couldn't, right? TEN PERCENT?! The full burden of this hadn't finished weighing on me when President Clinton flashed on the screen. She was talking but I could only hear the blood pounding in my ears, my heart beating so profusely that my body shook. Dad put his hand on my shoulder. And that's when we heard those two words that completely changed everything." "... martial law...." "Let's go, Mal. NOW." Dad gave me a quick shove as he moved to the door. I stood there, waiting for the room to stop spinning. "What does that me..." "It means were leaving, Malcolm. Get your shit in one sock and let's go. NOW." His voice was sharp and determined. "We're no longer runaways, we're criminals." "Wait, seriously?! Because we have a DICK?!" "We were the most valuable commodity on the planet because we have a dick, son. We're criminals because that dick is surrounded by legs that ran." I couldn't keep the laugh in anymore. I laughed way more than was appropriate. Dad ripped a chuckle and pushed me outside. I stepped through the door and was immediately confronted with rifle in the hands of a young female soldier. The entire house was suddenly bathed in flood lights. "Broodmale." As the figures descended on me, I heard my dad yell behind me. His last word on this planet was my name and filled with the terror only a parent knows. A flash of light and the crack of the rifle silenced him. The only sound I heard after that was my own scream. I don't know how much time passed, nor do I remember anything for a few days after that. I'm in this room now, a prisoner. I'm given food, but no one speaks to me. I haven't seen a person's face in.. well, there's 19 marks on the wall, so 19 days. That means my birthday is in two days. I'll be 9. No one's even asked my name...

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

Women everywhere. Faces stared at him when he got onto the bus, everyone sized him up. His clean skin, a soft, wrinkleless smooth face that caught the eye of every women he walked past. They always looked at him with hungry, deprived eyes. He went to his home, a single bedroom on the 5th floor of the cheapest apartment in town. The light bulb in the hallway was flickering today, tomorrow it would probably be dead. There were cards and flowers at the door, there always were. Letters that came from girls, girls who saw him and saw where he lived and knocked at his door, and when he did not answer their last feeble attempt was to leave a note. The knocks always came, mostly in the evening. Hopeless, desperate attempts to talk to one of the few, the few young men in the city. They all desired him, wanted to claim him as theirs and bear their children, even if it meant only one night he would stay. The younger ones sometimes even pounded on the door, yelling, screaming, crying. He dreaded the nights where a young, naïve, determined girl would keep making noise in hope of getting his attention. But it never happened, and eventually they would sulk, leave a note, and walk away. The slow, steady clinks of their shoes on the stairs always marked the end. He would breathe a sigh of relief and go back to sleep. That was his life for seven years. The others went wild, fucked every girl they saw and wanted to fuck. The endless orgies, the simple nod of approval and the girls would squeak in delight, dreaming about the child she could finally have. They fathered hundreds of children, the names of whom never entered their mind. But he, he came into town seven years ago. The first day he came and was seen, a line of girls followed him to his room. Their bright, smiling faces, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. All of them dreamt of seducing him, of making him the one. To finally fulfill the fantasy of every girl, the dream pushed back in their minds because it was so impractical, but so engrained in their desires. To settle down, to seek the one, to love. It was possible before the disease, but now they were defeated by the odds. Nothing was the same after that. But he came and gave them hope, and by 9 o’ clock the line extended past the hallway down the stairs. But he never came out, never even acknowledged their presence. Eventually, one by one, they all went home. He silently waited outside his door, until he heard the last clicks of shoes walking down the stairs. Then he finally went to bed.

Once the men had died, the women started constructing robots. The first were too emotional. They sat cross-legged and refused to work. They only wanted to stare at each other and contemplate their painful existence. The women made the second batch mute. They too, refused to work. They spent all their time listening at doorways. They ran out to rivers and oceans, pressing their metal ears to the sand. The third batch of men were deaf and mute. Their metal eyes screamed the screams they had never heard and could never speak. These were deemed acceptable. They worked, for there was nothing else for them to do. After a time the women grew bored of these metal men. They grew bored of themselves and their cloned selves and their clone's cloned selves. They left in great egg shaped spaceships, searching for a species that could procreate. The metal men continued to work until there was no more work to do. One by one they stopped. Unmoving. Unblinking. The rain rusted their joints. The wind wiped away their features. Once their eyes were gone, they could only look inward. Hundreds of years after, the women's children would come to the planet they had originated from. They would take pictures of the broken stone remains of houses and the trees that shot through their roofs. Some of them would pause by round metal objects rubbed smooth by wind and sand that protruded though the soil like half birthed plant life. They would touch the faces of those once metal men and wonder what was beneath. *I sort of took a sharp left from the prompt and ended up on Easter Island.*

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

As the women sized me up, I lit my cigarette. I could feel their eyes on me, but I couldn't see them behind the one way mirrors the room was walled with. The ceiling and floor were plated in steel, which felt quite cold on my bare feet. Air vents in the ceiling, almost 30 feet up, made a slight whirring sound. The trapdoor I had come in from was behind me, securely fastened, almost impossible to make out. Yep. I wouldn't gain my freedom anytime soon. I took a drag of my cigarette, and watched in the mirror as the smoke I exhaled traveled up, past my emerald green eyes and raven hair. I never thought my good looks would get me into this much trouble. A cool female voice suddenly echoed through the room. "Ladies, take your seats. Break time is over. Our next acquisition is Caucasian, and grew up in the United States of America. He was a university level swimmer, and majored in computer science. After graduation, he joined the United States Army special forces. During a tour in China, he received several decorations for valor in combat. Upon China's fall, he returned home and was treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the age of 24, his stunning features landed him a job as an underwear model." I silently smoked my cigarette, wincing a little bit as I listened to my life story being laid out for these women to judge. Flashbacks of China rose to my mind, and I did my best to block them out. "Age is 26. Height is 1.9 meters. Weight is 84 kilograms. Penis is 10 centimeters, flaccid. Erect it is 17 centimeters. Foot size 12. 20/20 vision. Scored a 448 out of 450 on the Physical Fitness Exam. No family history of disease or illness. Has had four sexual partners in the past. Virility stats are off the chart, standing at a 94.3 VPA. Hair is black, eyes are green. You can find the rest of his information on page 13 of your itinerary. Bidding will begin momentarily, with a starting price of 100 million euros. Bidding increments will be in 50 millions. Good luck." I took another long drag of my cigarette, staring at myself in the mirror. If only I had been worth that much money a year ago. I exhaled and chuckled to myself. At least I was alive. A soft beep filled the air. The bidding had probably started. I looked down at my feet and shivered. Whether it was from the chill on my naked body, or the fact that my future was being decided as I stood there, I don't know. "Do I hear 100 million?" The woman had barely finished speaking when another soft tone filled the air. "I have 150 million. Do I hear 200?" Again, the woman barely finished speaking when yet another soft tone filled the air. On and on it went, the woman speaking, and tone after tone filling the air. Such was the speed of the auction, that the sound of one tone was still in the air when another sounded. The women were voracious, they refused to be outdone by one another. Each of them wanted dearly to claim me as their trophy, so that their clan would rise in power and rank. "I have 650 million. Do I hear 700?" No tone rose this time. "Going once." Nobody was going to outbid that number. A bit of anger stirred within me. I had always prided myself in being the best, and pushing myself as far as I could go. Fuck, if all I was in the world now was a trophy, then I was going to make these cunts pay top dollar for me. "Going twice." I still felt the eyes on me. I lowered my cigarette to my side, and looked up to the middle of the mirror, and flashed my most charming smile. A second later, a tone filled the air. I chuckled. I still had it, damn it. I was one of the best looking guys in the modeling game before the plague, so I was practically god tier now. Tones continued to ring through the air now, spurred on by my smile. I dropped my head again, slightly proud of my accomplishment. My happiness faded as the reality of my situation set in once more. I was a prisoner, about to be sold into slavery. The tones stopped again. When the announcer spoke again, she had lost some of her coolness. "I have...1 billion. 1 billion euros. Going once." Silence filled the air. "Going twice." I smiled inwardly. That's a number dad would have been proud of. He always was about the numbers. "Sold, to buyer number 16. This concludes our auction, ladies. Your acquisitions will be brought to your lounges momentarily. Good night, and thank you for participating." The trapdoor behind me opened. I threw my cigarette on the floor of the auction chamber in a feeble attempt of defiance, and with nowhere else to go, I climbed down the trapdoor, into another metal plated room. Two attractive young women in pantsuits were waiting for me, a brunette and a blonde. The blonde unceremoniously grabbed me and slapped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. "Follow her," the blonde said, pointing at the brunette. "Your owner awaits." "And if I refuse?" I asked coyly. She scowled. "Then you're going to get a couple of bruises, and your owner won't like that." A smile came to my face, and I practically laughed in her face. My muscle tone was well defined, and I was two heads taller than both of the women. She saw my amusement and opened her jacket, revealing a holstered Sig Sauer. It made my amusement fade slightly, but just slightly. I looked at the brunette. "A couple of guns don't scare me...I have my own pistol to fire." I winked and the brunette blushed, her eyes quickly dropping down to my penis, and then back up to my face. The blonde rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, and pushed me in front of her. "Walk." She ordered. Bitch. I never did like blondes. As we walked, we passed a large number of cream colored doors spaced evenly along the dull metal hallway. The brunette stopped at one. "This is 16, right?" The blonde sighed again, impatiently. "Yes." The brunette cast her a sideways glance, and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked the door, and opened it. As the blonde pushed me inside, I winked at the brunette. "See you around." She blushed again. Who was really in power here, I wondered? The door slammed shut behind me, and I looked around. A lavishly decorated room greeted my eyes. On a gold trimmed bed sat a rather fat, older woman wearing a beautiful silk night gown. She stared at me greedily. Behind her, the entire wall was a window, overlooking a city skyline. "Well, don't be shy, come here darling. Let Franny take a look at you." I grimaced inwardly and approached 'Franny.' She got up from the bed, with slight difficulty, and trailed a finger from my chest to my abs. "Oh yes," she muttered under her breath. "Worth every euro." She circled me, finger trailing all the time. I stood there impassively, contemplating the fact that I was genuinely worth 1 billion euros. I didn't know who this woman was, but she must be the head of a very prestigious clan. She stopped suddenly in front of me, looking up into my eyes. I stared out into the city skyline, over her head. I saw Big Ben; we were in London. "You're perfect, aren't you?" She said. I didn't respond. "Oh, the strong quiet type? Franny knows how to get you making sounds." She grabbed my penis gently, and began fondling it. I continued looking out into the skyline. "Oh yes, I used to be quite popular with the men. I had many the suitor, and I knew how to make a man's cock rise fast as lightning." Despite the proclamation of her skills, I was quite flaccid. She continued fondling for another minute, and then spoke angrily. "Are you gay? They assured me you weren't gay! Franny is going to raise quite the shit storm if you're gay." I continued to not look at her,and she suddenly grabbed my chin and forced my head down. "Look at me!" She cried. My eyes met hers; they were filled with a mixture of sadness, anger, and longing. I could tell that she used to be quite attractive, but her best years were behind her. "Are you gay?" She asked quietly. I stared back at her for a second, thinking about lying, just to see what the look on her face would be. I decided against it and told the truth. "No." I raised my head back up, observing the skyline. She was quiet for a moment, and then spoke. "Well, thank God for that at least. If only I was ten years younger, I would ravish you m'dear. Ah well." She released my member. "Perhaps you're just nervous right now....yes, you're just nervous! It's ok dearie. You'll get used to us." Us? I was curious but my gaze remained straight. Without removing her gaze from me, she yelled. "Megan! Your birthday present is here!" A door opened behind me, but I was too disciplined to look around on my own, despite my curiosity. Thankfully, Franny helped me out by spinning me around. Before me stood a beautiful young girl, she couldn't have been more than 20. Brown curls cascaded around her shoulders, and her hazel eyes twinkled as she examined me. She wore a simple sundress, accentuating her killer figure. Unbidden, something stirred within my loins.

Once the men had died, the women started constructing robots. The first were too emotional. They sat cross-legged and refused to work. They only wanted to stare at each other and contemplate their painful existence. The women made the second batch mute. They too, refused to work. They spent all their time listening at doorways. They ran out to rivers and oceans, pressing their metal ears to the sand. The third batch of men were deaf and mute. Their metal eyes screamed the screams they had never heard and could never speak. These were deemed acceptable. They worked, for there was nothing else for them to do. After a time the women grew bored of these metal men. They grew bored of themselves and their cloned selves and their clone's cloned selves. They left in great egg shaped spaceships, searching for a species that could procreate. The metal men continued to work until there was no more work to do. One by one they stopped. Unmoving. Unblinking. The rain rusted their joints. The wind wiped away their features. Once their eyes were gone, they could only look inward. Hundreds of years after, the women's children would come to the planet they had originated from. They would take pictures of the broken stone remains of houses and the trees that shot through their roofs. Some of them would pause by round metal objects rubbed smooth by wind and sand that protruded though the soil like half birthed plant life. They would touch the faces of those once metal men and wonder what was beneath. *I sort of took a sharp left from the prompt and ended up on Easter Island.*

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

"You're the most precious thing to us, David. More important than water." "How about oxygen?" I sarcastically ask. Marian laughs. "Well.." as she goes to close the door, once again locking me in my own apartment, "that's what brought you to us, isn't? So yeah, you are as important as the air we breathe. Have a nice day David, don't forget to take your vitamins-"The fact that she reminds me to take my friggin vitamins makes me want to throw a chair at her. "I know, Marian. Thanks." Marian closes the door. And I hear the familiar padlock close on the outside of my prison. Walking in at first, it wouldn't look like it, especially with this view. The 22nd floor has an amazing view. Then I realized why I was so high up. To keep me here. Once they let me wander through the building, but when I tried to leave they politely restrained me. And when I say politely, I mean with pepper spray, tasers, and a fucking cattle prod. After that, they've kept me under lock and key. They even brought in women to check the durability of the windows, making sure I couldn't jump. I thought of that, but it's not really in my nature to jump. Aside from being a sex slave- oh I'll get to that in a minute; I have it pretty nice here for a prisoner. I have a state of the art 3-D Blu Ray entertainment system, surround sound-the works. Any movie or TV show I want to watch. I have access to what's left of the internet, although now anything that still runs is now directed towards women. Reddit, my favorite site, that everyone I used to work with made fun of me for, is half alive. It's mostly pics of cats and pictures of women with their dead husbands or boyfriends, so it sort of turned into an obituary site. Even the porn is pretty much gone. Women aren't into it as much as guys. Speaking of porn, my life pretty much is like one long porno. Except I don't get to choose when I.. you know. Seeing my words here kind of astounds me. Most men would be happy to be in this position(no pun intended), because I have sex with 5-6 women everyday. EVERYDAY. Well, every now and then I get a day or two off. I used to think of myself as a moderately horny guy, no more or less than any other man walking this planet. But now, I wish sex was never necessary. If I never did it again, I'd be okay with that. But I have to repopulate the population. It's my "duty." The other thing that sucks is that I'm almost half psychiatrist for these women. From what I hear, the screening process is next to impossible. They have to go through weeks and for some months of tests to make sure it's safe for them to come in contact with me. I don't know the details, obviously- being locked up I'm on a "need to know basis." Most of the girls that come in are pretty tame. Mostly shy, I think it's very weird for them to interact with a male, especially if they were married or in love with someone. That's why I have a limited supply of booze and wine(If you look at each bottle, only maybe a glass or two of liquor are in the bottles, just enough to give me a buzz, but not get me too drunk, they change it every couple of days). I can give some of the more scared girls a drink and sometimes it helps them loosen up. Once in a while a hellcat comes in. She's on fire, ready to go, and one in particular makes me fucking scared to touch her. The things that come out her mouth, Jesus. Sometimes they cry, and that's the hardest for me, because we only have so much time, so I try to comfort them as well. Why sex?!? This is something out of a male's mind. I agree. Artificial insemination seems more like it, right? Guess what- it is. The time not spent with physical women I have to jerk off into containers. Like a monkey. Sometimes when the guards come in to collect the containers, I scream like a monkey. Cabin fever. They came up with the actual physical sex so that women still had something to go on for. Something to look forward to. The natural way to conceive. Sometimes when I don't feel like masturbating one of the "technicians" comes in to try and stimulate me. It's like trying to feel romantic by listening to Marilyn Manson. I do get days off, and time in the day where I'm not a sex slave. But that time I have to exercise, or learn something. I learned how to play the piano, and my math skills rocketed through the roof. Again, state of the art exercise equipment stares at me while I eat breakfast every day. I'm not sure what I hate more, jerking it or exercising. But they're on me about keeping healthy. Organic tested food, vitamins, shakes, a trip to the pool for exercise. The pool seemed like a lot of fun until while I was swimming one of the guards got naked and jumped in with me and forced herself on me. Nothing much I can do, the building is protected like a hornet's nest. Even if I broke her nose and ran out, there'd be 30 women with weapons waiting to get me back to my room. You can only fight so much. So I have to do what I'm told. Every now and then I wake up to the horror of some woman in the dark riding me. First not sure if it's real or a dream. Not being able to see their faces in the dark. It's pretty horrifying. Still sounds like fun? Not when you don't have any control over your own body. Most of the time I wonder what trauma the other men are facing. That's right, I'm not the only one. There's other guys out there, not sure if anyone's ruling or anything. Even though I have access to the Internet, it's all monitored. I only see what they let me see. I sometimes fantasize about breaking out and escaping, running away to the mountains, anywhere as long as there's no women. I can't really take much more of this, and that's why I'm sending this mass email out. I hacked into the mainframe of this company that's monitoring me, and I'm asking YOU for help. If you read this...please... PLEASE come and help me. I'm trapped in the Montgomery Tower downtown somewhere. I'm looking at a major river and a park with a giant statue of an angel facing the river. Also, I see smoke coming from the west at least once a week. I hope that's enough info. Please, my name is David Brennan. I think thers gas or some thew gassing me a;aksd djja;giaaalrggnr// hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaa i sending this emial now.

Once the men had died, the women started constructing robots. The first were too emotional. They sat cross-legged and refused to work. They only wanted to stare at each other and contemplate their painful existence. The women made the second batch mute. They too, refused to work. They spent all their time listening at doorways. They ran out to rivers and oceans, pressing their metal ears to the sand. The third batch of men were deaf and mute. Their metal eyes screamed the screams they had never heard and could never speak. These were deemed acceptable. They worked, for there was nothing else for them to do. After a time the women grew bored of these metal men. They grew bored of themselves and their cloned selves and their clone's cloned selves. They left in great egg shaped spaceships, searching for a species that could procreate. The metal men continued to work until there was no more work to do. One by one they stopped. Unmoving. Unblinking. The rain rusted their joints. The wind wiped away their features. Once their eyes were gone, they could only look inward. Hundreds of years after, the women's children would come to the planet they had originated from. They would take pictures of the broken stone remains of houses and the trees that shot through their roofs. Some of them would pause by round metal objects rubbed smooth by wind and sand that protruded though the soil like half birthed plant life. They would touch the faces of those once metal men and wonder what was beneath. *I sort of took a sharp left from the prompt and ended up on Easter Island.*

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

As the women sized me up, I lit my cigarette. I could feel their eyes on me, but I couldn't see them behind the one way mirrors the room was walled with. The ceiling and floor were plated in steel, which felt quite cold on my bare feet. Air vents in the ceiling, almost 30 feet up, made a slight whirring sound. The trapdoor I had come in from was behind me, securely fastened, almost impossible to make out. Yep. I wouldn't gain my freedom anytime soon. I took a drag of my cigarette, and watched in the mirror as the smoke I exhaled traveled up, past my emerald green eyes and raven hair. I never thought my good looks would get me into this much trouble. A cool female voice suddenly echoed through the room. "Ladies, take your seats. Break time is over. Our next acquisition is Caucasian, and grew up in the United States of America. He was a university level swimmer, and majored in computer science. After graduation, he joined the United States Army special forces. During a tour in China, he received several decorations for valor in combat. Upon China's fall, he returned home and was treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the age of 24, his stunning features landed him a job as an underwear model." I silently smoked my cigarette, wincing a little bit as I listened to my life story being laid out for these women to judge. Flashbacks of China rose to my mind, and I did my best to block them out. "Age is 26. Height is 1.9 meters. Weight is 84 kilograms. Penis is 10 centimeters, flaccid. Erect it is 17 centimeters. Foot size 12. 20/20 vision. Scored a 448 out of 450 on the Physical Fitness Exam. No family history of disease or illness. Has had four sexual partners in the past. Virility stats are off the chart, standing at a 94.3 VPA. Hair is black, eyes are green. You can find the rest of his information on page 13 of your itinerary. Bidding will begin momentarily, with a starting price of 100 million euros. Bidding increments will be in 50 millions. Good luck." I took another long drag of my cigarette, staring at myself in the mirror. If only I had been worth that much money a year ago. I exhaled and chuckled to myself. At least I was alive. A soft beep filled the air. The bidding had probably started. I looked down at my feet and shivered. Whether it was from the chill on my naked body, or the fact that my future was being decided as I stood there, I don't know. "Do I hear 100 million?" The woman had barely finished speaking when another soft tone filled the air. "I have 150 million. Do I hear 200?" Again, the woman barely finished speaking when yet another soft tone filled the air. On and on it went, the woman speaking, and tone after tone filling the air. Such was the speed of the auction, that the sound of one tone was still in the air when another sounded. The women were voracious, they refused to be outdone by one another. Each of them wanted dearly to claim me as their trophy, so that their clan would rise in power and rank. "I have 650 million. Do I hear 700?" No tone rose this time. "Going once." Nobody was going to outbid that number. A bit of anger stirred within me. I had always prided myself in being the best, and pushing myself as far as I could go. Fuck, if all I was in the world now was a trophy, then I was going to make these cunts pay top dollar for me. "Going twice." I still felt the eyes on me. I lowered my cigarette to my side, and looked up to the middle of the mirror, and flashed my most charming smile. A second later, a tone filled the air. I chuckled. I still had it, damn it. I was one of the best looking guys in the modeling game before the plague, so I was practically god tier now. Tones continued to ring through the air now, spurred on by my smile. I dropped my head again, slightly proud of my accomplishment. My happiness faded as the reality of my situation set in once more. I was a prisoner, about to be sold into slavery. The tones stopped again. When the announcer spoke again, she had lost some of her coolness. "I have...1 billion. 1 billion euros. Going once." Silence filled the air. "Going twice." I smiled inwardly. That's a number dad would have been proud of. He always was about the numbers. "Sold, to buyer number 16. This concludes our auction, ladies. Your acquisitions will be brought to your lounges momentarily. Good night, and thank you for participating." The trapdoor behind me opened. I threw my cigarette on the floor of the auction chamber in a feeble attempt of defiance, and with nowhere else to go, I climbed down the trapdoor, into another metal plated room. Two attractive young women in pantsuits were waiting for me, a brunette and a blonde. The blonde unceremoniously grabbed me and slapped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. "Follow her," the blonde said, pointing at the brunette. "Your owner awaits." "And if I refuse?" I asked coyly. She scowled. "Then you're going to get a couple of bruises, and your owner won't like that." A smile came to my face, and I practically laughed in her face. My muscle tone was well defined, and I was two heads taller than both of the women. She saw my amusement and opened her jacket, revealing a holstered Sig Sauer. It made my amusement fade slightly, but just slightly. I looked at the brunette. "A couple of guns don't scare me...I have my own pistol to fire." I winked and the brunette blushed, her eyes quickly dropping down to my penis, and then back up to my face. The blonde rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, and pushed me in front of her. "Walk." She ordered. Bitch. I never did like blondes. As we walked, we passed a large number of cream colored doors spaced evenly along the dull metal hallway. The brunette stopped at one. "This is 16, right?" The blonde sighed again, impatiently. "Yes." The brunette cast her a sideways glance, and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked the door, and opened it. As the blonde pushed me inside, I winked at the brunette. "See you around." She blushed again. Who was really in power here, I wondered? The door slammed shut behind me, and I looked around. A lavishly decorated room greeted my eyes. On a gold trimmed bed sat a rather fat, older woman wearing a beautiful silk night gown. She stared at me greedily. Behind her, the entire wall was a window, overlooking a city skyline. "Well, don't be shy, come here darling. Let Franny take a look at you." I grimaced inwardly and approached 'Franny.' She got up from the bed, with slight difficulty, and trailed a finger from my chest to my abs. "Oh yes," she muttered under her breath. "Worth every euro." She circled me, finger trailing all the time. I stood there impassively, contemplating the fact that I was genuinely worth 1 billion euros. I didn't know who this woman was, but she must be the head of a very prestigious clan. She stopped suddenly in front of me, looking up into my eyes. I stared out into the city skyline, over her head. I saw Big Ben; we were in London. "You're perfect, aren't you?" She said. I didn't respond. "Oh, the strong quiet type? Franny knows how to get you making sounds." She grabbed my penis gently, and began fondling it. I continued looking out into the skyline. "Oh yes, I used to be quite popular with the men. I had many the suitor, and I knew how to make a man's cock rise fast as lightning." Despite the proclamation of her skills, I was quite flaccid. She continued fondling for another minute, and then spoke angrily. "Are you gay? They assured me you weren't gay! Franny is going to raise quite the shit storm if you're gay." I continued to not look at her,and she suddenly grabbed my chin and forced my head down. "Look at me!" She cried. My eyes met hers; they were filled with a mixture of sadness, anger, and longing. I could tell that she used to be quite attractive, but her best years were behind her. "Are you gay?" She asked quietly. I stared back at her for a second, thinking about lying, just to see what the look on her face would be. I decided against it and told the truth. "No." I raised my head back up, observing the skyline. She was quiet for a moment, and then spoke. "Well, thank God for that at least. If only I was ten years younger, I would ravish you m'dear. Ah well." She released my member. "Perhaps you're just nervous right now....yes, you're just nervous! It's ok dearie. You'll get used to us." Us? I was curious but my gaze remained straight. Without removing her gaze from me, she yelled. "Megan! Your birthday present is here!" A door opened behind me, but I was too disciplined to look around on my own, despite my curiosity. Thankfully, Franny helped me out by spinning me around. Before me stood a beautiful young girl, she couldn't have been more than 20. Brown curls cascaded around her shoulders, and her hazel eyes twinkled as she examined me. She wore a simple sundress, accentuating her killer figure. Unbidden, something stirred within my loins.

Women everywhere. Faces stared at him when he got onto the bus, everyone sized him up. His clean skin, a soft, wrinkleless smooth face that caught the eye of every women he walked past. They always looked at him with hungry, deprived eyes. He went to his home, a single bedroom on the 5th floor of the cheapest apartment in town. The light bulb in the hallway was flickering today, tomorrow it would probably be dead. There were cards and flowers at the door, there always were. Letters that came from girls, girls who saw him and saw where he lived and knocked at his door, and when he did not answer their last feeble attempt was to leave a note. The knocks always came, mostly in the evening. Hopeless, desperate attempts to talk to one of the few, the few young men in the city. They all desired him, wanted to claim him as theirs and bear their children, even if it meant only one night he would stay. The younger ones sometimes even pounded on the door, yelling, screaming, crying. He dreaded the nights where a young, naïve, determined girl would keep making noise in hope of getting his attention. But it never happened, and eventually they would sulk, leave a note, and walk away. The slow, steady clinks of their shoes on the stairs always marked the end. He would breathe a sigh of relief and go back to sleep. That was his life for seven years. The others went wild, fucked every girl they saw and wanted to fuck. The endless orgies, the simple nod of approval and the girls would squeak in delight, dreaming about the child she could finally have. They fathered hundreds of children, the names of whom never entered their mind. But he, he came into town seven years ago. The first day he came and was seen, a line of girls followed him to his room. Their bright, smiling faces, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. All of them dreamt of seducing him, of making him the one. To finally fulfill the fantasy of every girl, the dream pushed back in their minds because it was so impractical, but so engrained in their desires. To settle down, to seek the one, to love. It was possible before the disease, but now they were defeated by the odds. Nothing was the same after that. But he came and gave them hope, and by 9 o’ clock the line extended past the hallway down the stairs. But he never came out, never even acknowledged their presence. Eventually, one by one, they all went home. He silently waited outside his door, until he heard the last clicks of shoes walking down the stairs. Then he finally went to bed.

Write from the perspective of one of the 10% of males left. Thread marked NSFW, just in case. edit: If you're just going to write a one or two line lame joke, it will be eliminated.

[WP] A plague wipes out 90% of the males in the world, it's a year later and you are one of the 10% left

"You're the most precious thing to us, David. More important than water." "How about oxygen?" I sarcastically ask. Marian laughs. "Well.." as she goes to close the door, once again locking me in my own apartment, "that's what brought you to us, isn't? So yeah, you are as important as the air we breathe. Have a nice day David, don't forget to take your vitamins-"The fact that she reminds me to take my friggin vitamins makes me want to throw a chair at her. "I know, Marian. Thanks." Marian closes the door. And I hear the familiar padlock close on the outside of my prison. Walking in at first, it wouldn't look like it, especially with this view. The 22nd floor has an amazing view. Then I realized why I was so high up. To keep me here. Once they let me wander through the building, but when I tried to leave they politely restrained me. And when I say politely, I mean with pepper spray, tasers, and a fucking cattle prod. After that, they've kept me under lock and key. They even brought in women to check the durability of the windows, making sure I couldn't jump. I thought of that, but it's not really in my nature to jump. Aside from being a sex slave- oh I'll get to that in a minute; I have it pretty nice here for a prisoner. I have a state of the art 3-D Blu Ray entertainment system, surround sound-the works. Any movie or TV show I want to watch. I have access to what's left of the internet, although now anything that still runs is now directed towards women. Reddit, my favorite site, that everyone I used to work with made fun of me for, is half alive. It's mostly pics of cats and pictures of women with their dead husbands or boyfriends, so it sort of turned into an obituary site. Even the porn is pretty much gone. Women aren't into it as much as guys. Speaking of porn, my life pretty much is like one long porno. Except I don't get to choose when I.. you know. Seeing my words here kind of astounds me. Most men would be happy to be in this position(no pun intended), because I have sex with 5-6 women everyday. EVERYDAY. Well, every now and then I get a day or two off. I used to think of myself as a moderately horny guy, no more or less than any other man walking this planet. But now, I wish sex was never necessary. If I never did it again, I'd be okay with that. But I have to repopulate the population. It's my "duty." The other thing that sucks is that I'm almost half psychiatrist for these women. From what I hear, the screening process is next to impossible. They have to go through weeks and for some months of tests to make sure it's safe for them to come in contact with me. I don't know the details, obviously- being locked up I'm on a "need to know basis." Most of the girls that come in are pretty tame. Mostly shy, I think it's very weird for them to interact with a male, especially if they were married or in love with someone. That's why I have a limited supply of booze and wine(If you look at each bottle, only maybe a glass or two of liquor are in the bottles, just enough to give me a buzz, but not get me too drunk, they change it every couple of days). I can give some of the more scared girls a drink and sometimes it helps them loosen up. Once in a while a hellcat comes in. She's on fire, ready to go, and one in particular makes me fucking scared to touch her. The things that come out her mouth, Jesus. Sometimes they cry, and that's the hardest for me, because we only have so much time, so I try to comfort them as well. Why sex?!? This is something out of a male's mind. I agree. Artificial insemination seems more like it, right? Guess what- it is. The time not spent with physical women I have to jerk off into containers. Like a monkey. Sometimes when the guards come in to collect the containers, I scream like a monkey. Cabin fever. They came up with the actual physical sex so that women still had something to go on for. Something to look forward to. The natural way to conceive. Sometimes when I don't feel like masturbating one of the "technicians" comes in to try and stimulate me. It's like trying to feel romantic by listening to Marilyn Manson. I do get days off, and time in the day where I'm not a sex slave. But that time I have to exercise, or learn something. I learned how to play the piano, and my math skills rocketed through the roof. Again, state of the art exercise equipment stares at me while I eat breakfast every day. I'm not sure what I hate more, jerking it or exercising. But they're on me about keeping healthy. Organic tested food, vitamins, shakes, a trip to the pool for exercise. The pool seemed like a lot of fun until while I was swimming one of the guards got naked and jumped in with me and forced herself on me. Nothing much I can do, the building is protected like a hornet's nest. Even if I broke her nose and ran out, there'd be 30 women with weapons waiting to get me back to my room. You can only fight so much. So I have to do what I'm told. Every now and then I wake up to the horror of some woman in the dark riding me. First not sure if it's real or a dream. Not being able to see their faces in the dark. It's pretty horrifying. Still sounds like fun? Not when you don't have any control over your own body. Most of the time I wonder what trauma the other men are facing. That's right, I'm not the only one. There's other guys out there, not sure if anyone's ruling or anything. Even though I have access to the Internet, it's all monitored. I only see what they let me see. I sometimes fantasize about breaking out and escaping, running away to the mountains, anywhere as long as there's no women. I can't really take much more of this, and that's why I'm sending this mass email out. I hacked into the mainframe of this company that's monitoring me, and I'm asking YOU for help. If you read this...please... PLEASE come and help me. I'm trapped in the Montgomery Tower downtown somewhere. I'm looking at a major river and a park with a giant statue of an angel facing the river. Also, I see smoke coming from the west at least once a week. I hope that's enough info. Please, my name is David Brennan. I think thers gas or some thew gassing me a;aksd djja;giaaalrggnr// hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaa i sending this emial now.

Women everywhere. Faces stared at him when he got onto the bus, everyone sized him up. His clean skin, a soft, wrinkleless smooth face that caught the eye of every women he walked past. They always looked at him with hungry, deprived eyes. He went to his home, a single bedroom on the 5th floor of the cheapest apartment in town. The light bulb in the hallway was flickering today, tomorrow it would probably be dead. There were cards and flowers at the door, there always were. Letters that came from girls, girls who saw him and saw where he lived and knocked at his door, and when he did not answer their last feeble attempt was to leave a note. The knocks always came, mostly in the evening. Hopeless, desperate attempts to talk to one of the few, the few young men in the city. They all desired him, wanted to claim him as theirs and bear their children, even if it meant only one night he would stay. The younger ones sometimes even pounded on the door, yelling, screaming, crying. He dreaded the nights where a young, naïve, determined girl would keep making noise in hope of getting his attention. But it never happened, and eventually they would sulk, leave a note, and walk away. The slow, steady clinks of their shoes on the stairs always marked the end. He would breathe a sigh of relief and go back to sleep. That was his life for seven years. The others went wild, fucked every girl they saw and wanted to fuck. The endless orgies, the simple nod of approval and the girls would squeak in delight, dreaming about the child she could finally have. They fathered hundreds of children, the names of whom never entered their mind. But he, he came into town seven years ago. The first day he came and was seen, a line of girls followed him to his room. Their bright, smiling faces, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. All of them dreamt of seducing him, of making him the one. To finally fulfill the fantasy of every girl, the dream pushed back in their minds because it was so impractical, but so engrained in their desires. To settle down, to seek the one, to love. It was possible before the disease, but now they were defeated by the odds. Nothing was the same after that. But he came and gave them hope, and by 9 o’ clock the line extended past the hallway down the stairs. But he never came out, never even acknowledged their presence. Eventually, one by one, they all went home. He silently waited outside his door, until he heard the last clicks of shoes walking down the stairs. Then he finally went to bed.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

I would be sticking out of this crowd like an indignant red flag in a calm sea mud if anyone bothered to look. But their eyes, everyone's eyes, were in the sky. I wanted that maroon-clad bastard to win so bad. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't even really try. Why should he? He's signed a contract to lose. He has no real power. And so like we saw every couple weeks, a villain surfaced and threatened to destroy some building or monument or whatever bullshit. And then Mr. Liberty, the "protector of our freedoms," and the wielder of a name I couldn't help roll my eyes at, bursts from the shadows and cuts off the new bad guy (or girl) at some dramatic moment. Cut to me, in the audience, mentally checking off items in a series making this week's script. It's sad. At least hire someone to mix the dialogue up. Create jobs. Not this sad display of bullshit. The Maroon Menace, or whatever he introduced himself as (I honestly stopped listening to their introductions anymore; they never last, and the names are bland anyway), is just another pawn. It's not coincidence that as soon as we get this super soldier we start get super villains too. So Mr. Maroon was injected with some hellish cocktail of empowering toxins, plus some testosterone and adrenaline and probably a little alcohol, in that same government laboratory that Captain Freedompants was. Here he is now, showing us (for a decent paycheck) just how powerful and necessary our new national superhero is. I miss the days when people didn't want super soldiers. They were worried the government would use them to control the masses. Cue the almost immediate introduction of supercharged "criminals." It's a show. It's there for no other reason to justify the over-powered, American flag underwear-clad, roid-raging beefcake's new muscles. Soon the arguments against them stopped. The shows became city wide spectacles. There's always some excited kid on a bike or a skateboard going up and down streets yelling about a show down. Cut back to me. Fists clenched as I root for Maroon Man to win. For one docile subject of an elaborate government project to stand up for himself and show the people that there's a real threat. Not him. Not the baffoon he's punching. The government that made them both possible. Yet, as the crowd looks up in awe at the excitement, I double check my mask. When that bald eagle cock delivers that magnificent firecracker blow in a few seconds to end the fight the air will be flooded with that chemical that makes us all more docile and patriotic. All of us except for me. Besides, I hate that they made it smell like apple pie. So cliché. Seriously, at least start hiring writers.

You can never see what is happening. A shower of shattered glass and the sound of a chandelier falling. Now you know which block they're on. If you're lucky, you might be able to catch a glimpse of them as they dash through the air. That part about the speeding bullet? It's true. People flee like this doesn't happen every couple of weeks. It's disgusting, so many addicts to melodrama. It's easy enough to avoid them, though. You learn to listen for the car alarms; you notice the craters in buildings and sidewalks. You begin to know which streets to avoid, which neighborhoods they hang out in. You might think it's funny: they affect real estate. I do, because I live far away from him. People love him for some reason. The media loves him; the mayor loves him. Just about every moron in the city loves him. I wonder, do they love him when they're running from the billboard—or water tower—that is about to obliterate their car from fifty feet? Most people love him. There are a few though. You call them scum, bandits, criminals. I call them enlightened. They're not blinded by the flames of the police helicopter lying in Time Square—or the people under it. No, their eyes are open. You may think I hate this city. I don't. I hate *him*.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

I duck, along with nearly everyone else in the crowd as the null bolt zips the air apart with a crackle and a fan of green light. Bob isn't quite so fast on his feet, and his head and shoulders vanish in a crimson splash. That self righteous jackass never could keep track of bystanders. It was a constant gripe amongst those of us in the trade back when I was still free. You couldn't even take hostages most times because Omeganaut rarely slows down enough to notice. I checked once, after the last big fight between him and me, and he did something like three times the damage I did in the process of "saving the city". Made sense once I realized he's in the construction business. Voodoo Baron's hex may have locked away my powers, but I got away... Never leave home without your emergency teleporter kids. They think I'm harmless now, that Chainbreaker isn't ever going to threaten them again. They never understood that it wasn't my ability to disrupt the strong nuclear force that makes me dangerous, it's my smarts and my ability to hold a grudge. The last eighteen villain attacks in Paradise City have been my work, angry young men and women carefully selected and granted advanced weapons or superhuman abilities with a formula I borrowed from Genedancer. It'll kill them in a few years without the antidote, but nobody else worries about how their bullets feel about being fired, why should I? This one generates swordlike unstable fissures in space, like sparkling slices of confusion, and he's actually hurt the hero...I can see he's getting tired, and I can feel the old sneer creep to the surface as I watch. Omeganaut is probably going to win again. Never know though, today might be my lucky day.

You can never see what is happening. A shower of shattered glass and the sound of a chandelier falling. Now you know which block they're on. If you're lucky, you might be able to catch a glimpse of them as they dash through the air. That part about the speeding bullet? It's true. People flee like this doesn't happen every couple of weeks. It's disgusting, so many addicts to melodrama. It's easy enough to avoid them, though. You learn to listen for the car alarms; you notice the craters in buildings and sidewalks. You begin to know which streets to avoid, which neighborhoods they hang out in. You might think it's funny: they affect real estate. I do, because I live far away from him. People love him for some reason. The media loves him; the mayor loves him. Just about every moron in the city loves him. I wonder, do they love him when they're running from the billboard—or water tower—that is about to obliterate their car from fifty feet? Most people love him. There are a few though. You call them scum, bandits, criminals. I call them enlightened. They're not blinded by the flames of the police helicopter lying in Time Square—or the people under it. No, their eyes are open. You may think I hate this city. I don't. I hate *him*.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

The battle between Wonder and Red Kaiser raged over the Nation’s capital. The camera drones hovered as close as their stabilizers allowed. They swarmed the dueling pair like gnats; each connecting blow, each intercepted fist, thundered through their buzzing ranks sending them tumbling. Still, there were enough drones so that the digital broadcast could be cut together on-the-fly for the millions watching, enraptured, in their basements and their downtown bunkers. Jeremy watched the battle unfold on the flat screen in his father’s apartment fifty miles away. His father ruffled his hair and said “Don’t worry. Wonder is going to wipe the floor with him.” “I’m not worried,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. He quickly turned back to the TV just as the sound of another blow reached them. Was it one that he had seen on the live broadcast just seconds ago? He wondered at the shape of the sound and what sort of impact would cause it. They were an hour by car from the Capitol and he remembered something about lightning, about seeing it and how the sound of it, each molecule pushing on the one right beside, would take a few seconds to reach his ears. And the number of seconds could tell you how far away it was. Had his father taught him that? It excited him as he thought about it now, that the particles of air packed against his eardrums were set buzzing by a chain that led all the way back, fifty miles away, to an event that had happened seconds ago and that he’d seen in high definition: the blue and white Lycrex covered fist of Wonder slamming into the Kaiser’s cheek, the force rippling through Kaiser’s ceramic-metal flesh, then the meteor of the distinctive Kaiser red and black plunging into the cluttered cityscape. Plumes of smoke and dust already arose like rampaging movie monsters from the studio set boxes of skyscrapers and monuments. Yeah, it was his father. He remembered now. It was like listening back into the past, his father had said. Jeremy and his father leaned forward in their couch cushions as the combatants traded building leveling blows, and forward still as Kaiser picked up a bus of screaming school kids and chucked it at Wonder who gently caught the impromptu projectile and set it down away from danger. It was definitely tough to root for the Red K. It was readily apparent that Wonder, clad in white and yellow, stood for peace and justice, and that Kaiser was his opposite. Though there were kids at school, outcasts and anarchists, who wanted for nothing more than the villain to be victorious. Taking care of the schoolchildren had left Wonder open, something that Kaiser was obviously counting on. He took the opportunity to charge and then deploy his devastating Omega blast just as the school bus was tucked away. This sent the stalwart Wonder flying, five hundred, a thousand, two thousand feet into the air. It wasn’t just the Omega blast: as soon as Wonder was launched into the air Kaiser took off in pursuit, landing hero propelling uppercuts along the way. At the apex of their flight the pair paused and then instantly separated, a grueling piledriver of an overhead smash sending the white speck like a falling bullet into the earth. Two fighter jets, Raptors by the look of them, took this as a signal to swoop in and unleash their high-tech Doomsday payload on the hovering red and black dot. A blinding blue flash later and what was left was a hovering red and black dot, slightly more blackened. The camera drones, the ones far enough to have avoided destruction, zoomed in so that it was apparent the dot was laughing, no cackling maniacally. Just then, just as it was getting good, the distinctive horn of Tod’s Lexus sounded out below the window of his father’s apartment. A second later there came his Mom’s manic staccato knock on the front door. “Uh oh,” Jeremy said as his father went to answer the door. “What the fuck Paul?” “What? What?” “I’ve been calling all afternoon. Remember our talk? Jeremy needs to be packed and ready to go by 3 PM.” “He’s packed. You’re packed, right buddy?” Jeremy tapped on his pull behind and lifted his backpack to show that he was indeed packed to go. “Let’s go young man. We’re late.” “Mom, Wonder and Kaiser are fighting.” “Now.” “But mom,” “Right this second.” He sighed as he got up to put on his shoes. “Go out to the Lexus. I want to have a word with your father.” Jeremy eyed them warily knowing what was about to come. He finally got his shoes on. He gave his father a bro-fist, then changed his mind and leaned in for a bro-hug. Then, with a final head nod, he was outside, the door slammed behind him. He didn’t know what was being said yet he knew exactly what was being said. It was as undeniable as a flying uppercut or an Omega blast or a hurtling school bus with screaming school kids inside. He busied himself by leaning on the bannister and looking off towards the distant capital while trying his darndest to ignore the perpetually sunglassed, laser-whitened teeth flashing and currently waving Tod. The door flew open, his mother’s red, surprised face looming out. “What did I tell you? Put your bags in the car. Right this second.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, hating very exactly the way his mom got at 3PM on Sundays. He pulled his bag to the car trying not to look back at the ruined pile of a person shuffling behind them. He didn’t look back until he was in the car, safely behind the tinted, tempered glass. He glanced back and waved as the car pulled away because he felt he had to leave the guy with something. They drove in complete silence, Tod humming along some incomprehensible tune and his mother looking out the window and tapping her fingers on the elbow rest. They were half way to the other side of town when Todd turned to him and said: “Hey buddy. I got you something.” Todd moved the steering column out of the way as the autodrive took over and reached down to dig around in the front footwell. Tod’s hand came up with a smiling figure clad in white and yellow, arms akimbo though Jeremy knew, from all the commercials, that they were articulated to perform karate chops and sharp uppercuts. “Gee thanks,” he said, taking the gift that had arrived through a wormhole four years late. Jeremy would find somewhere in the clutter of his room to tuck it away, some place he could easily point out to his mother, to to show her he was committed to making things work for her, yet somewhere easily covered up for when his friends came over. In antithesis to this gift he decided he would get a memorial, a Red K Poster from the mall and sticky tack it to the back of his closet door. In antithesis he decided he would try not to miss anymore visitations to his father at his run down apartment. Above all he decided that despite all the signs to the contrary, the emerging from the bathroom with red eyes, the watching him sleep, the stilted speeches on how to become a good man, his father might not be so lame. He looked out the window as the frequency of booms increased, the friction between the two Supers creating sparking fireworks that lit up the low clouds in the distance. He would miss the end of the fight but he didn’t care anymore. Instead he squinted at the capital skyline as if he might see the inevitable end: Wonder standing over the fallen Kaiser, arms akimbo and polished teeth glistening. He wondered if the hero might feel even the slightest twinge of remorse as he stood over his fallen double, given to a pause as he posed for camera drones amidst the crumbling rubble, the echoing blows fading in his ears, as if his super hearing was super sensitive enough to listen back to a time before it all started.

You can never see what is happening. A shower of shattered glass and the sound of a chandelier falling. Now you know which block they're on. If you're lucky, you might be able to catch a glimpse of them as they dash through the air. That part about the speeding bullet? It's true. People flee like this doesn't happen every couple of weeks. It's disgusting, so many addicts to melodrama. It's easy enough to avoid them, though. You learn to listen for the car alarms; you notice the craters in buildings and sidewalks. You begin to know which streets to avoid, which neighborhoods they hang out in. You might think it's funny: they affect real estate. I do, because I live far away from him. People love him for some reason. The media loves him; the mayor loves him. Just about every moron in the city loves him. I wonder, do they love him when they're running from the billboard—or water tower—that is about to obliterate their car from fifty feet? Most people love him. There are a few though. You call them scum, bandits, criminals. I call them enlightened. They're not blinded by the flames of the police helicopter lying in Time Square—or the people under it. No, their eyes are open. You may think I hate this city. I don't. I hate *him*.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Blows and the bruises had always been the price of broken peace in Santoval. Amy knew that better than most, it had been a lesson learned early and often as a child in her father's household. Still, she winced with every building-shuddering blow traded between Captain Amazing and The Instigator as the pair battled atop the now ruined rooftop of City Hall. Amy stood amongst the enraptured onlookers, the lone silent observed amid alternating cheers and gasps from the crowd, her face taught and her brow furrowed with the single-minded fervor of a woman praying desperately and sincerely for one thing, and one thing only. *Kill him, Brian. This once, stop being so noble and just kill him.* Unconsciously, she brought her hand to her face, her fingers gingerly tracing the not-quite invisible outline of her foundation-masked black eye. The innocent always suffer for the battles of the mighty. She'd met Brian during their years at Geldon's Academy for the Gifted, where young supernaturals were gathered and groomed for government service. He'd been a genius, even then, with a knack for invention a joy in discovering the limits of his superhuman peers. He was also Amy's first friend after she transferred to the school mid quarter. Amy had been moved to Geldon's on the basis of the prophetic dreams that had troubled her as a child. Often, she'd awoken screaming and crying for her mother, who would dash into Amy's room frantically shushing her, lest her father arise instead. While her mother cradled her and hummed, Amy would try her best to forget her dream, the horrible blows she'd foreseen her mother having to endure. It wasn't until primary school, when she had fallen asleep during a Geography lecture and disrupted the classroom crying out "No, Jimmy, no!" that the government became aware of her existence. Jimmy, who had been absent that day, was found hanged in his basement later that day. Within the week, Amy was transferred to Geldon's. Because she arrived mid quarter, Amy had a hard time fitting in with her new classmates, with the exception of Brian. Brian had been captivated by her 'gift', as he referred to it. "Precogs are rare, Amy," he'd told her on the day they'd met, running his fingers through his wavy black hair nervously, the way he often did when they spent time together between classes. "Even among supernaturals I mean. Only a handful have ever been recorded." He ran his hand through his hair once again and smiled his charming half-smile. It was only years later that Amy began to understand why he'd been so nervous, or why he'd always smiled that particular smile for her. Geldon's was also where she'd met Captain Amazing. Ryan, he'd been called back then. Ryan was your run of the mill superstar; stronger than ten men, faster than the eye could see, and so good looking it was almost unfair. He'd even been training to fly. Ryan and Amy had been introduced by Brian, who was studying what he described as Ryan's "Extraordinary ability to not give a fuck about being damaged." Within a month, she was going on dates with him. Before graduation, they were engaged. Brian left Geldon's during their final year, by expulsion if you believed the official report. Amy had been having a hard time believing it at the time; now she knew for a fact it was just another government lie. After graduation, Ryan had become a 'Hero' for the government. They sent him to dangerous situations, and he became extremely good at making danger go away. The Captain Amazing moniker came about after the wedding, when Ryan became the overt face of the government's supernatural operatives. Amy had hoped against hope that his alter ego would provide him another outlet for his demons, that maybe pummeling criminals as the Protector of Santoval would be enough for him. Every time he hit her, Amy would think bitterly upon her 'gift', and how she'd never seen or foreseen that Ryan was and would become exactly like her father. And so, as Amy and the rest of Santoval watched Captain Amazing battle The Instigator, her mind was a lone voice rooting for the raven-haired villain with the ironic, broken smile. Brian was different now than he had been at Geldon's, his charms had harshened, his laughter cold and humorless rather than warm and inviting. He hardly seemed the type of man-- or superman-- to befriend a scared, lonely little girl during her first week in a strange place. Amy recognized his technology though, the hoverboard and strength-enhancing armor, and wondered if Ryan knew him as well. The old friends battled amid the smoking ruins of City Hall, and Amy sank to her knees. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to sob as the vision overtook her.

You can never see what is happening. A shower of shattered glass and the sound of a chandelier falling. Now you know which block they're on. If you're lucky, you might be able to catch a glimpse of them as they dash through the air. That part about the speeding bullet? It's true. People flee like this doesn't happen every couple of weeks. It's disgusting, so many addicts to melodrama. It's easy enough to avoid them, though. You learn to listen for the car alarms; you notice the craters in buildings and sidewalks. You begin to know which streets to avoid, which neighborhoods they hang out in. You might think it's funny: they affect real estate. I do, because I live far away from him. People love him for some reason. The media loves him; the mayor loves him. Just about every moron in the city loves him. I wonder, do they love him when they're running from the billboard—or water tower—that is about to obliterate their car from fifty feet? Most people love him. There are a few though. You call them scum, bandits, criminals. I call them enlightened. They're not blinded by the flames of the police helicopter lying in Time Square—or the people under it. No, their eyes are open. You may think I hate this city. I don't. I hate *him*.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

I duck, along with nearly everyone else in the crowd as the null bolt zips the air apart with a crackle and a fan of green light. Bob isn't quite so fast on his feet, and his head and shoulders vanish in a crimson splash. That self righteous jackass never could keep track of bystanders. It was a constant gripe amongst those of us in the trade back when I was still free. You couldn't even take hostages most times because Omeganaut rarely slows down enough to notice. I checked once, after the last big fight between him and me, and he did something like three times the damage I did in the process of "saving the city". Made sense once I realized he's in the construction business. Voodoo Baron's hex may have locked away my powers, but I got away... Never leave home without your emergency teleporter kids. They think I'm harmless now, that Chainbreaker isn't ever going to threaten them again. They never understood that it wasn't my ability to disrupt the strong nuclear force that makes me dangerous, it's my smarts and my ability to hold a grudge. The last eighteen villain attacks in Paradise City have been my work, angry young men and women carefully selected and granted advanced weapons or superhuman abilities with a formula I borrowed from Genedancer. It'll kill them in a few years without the antidote, but nobody else worries about how their bullets feel about being fired, why should I? This one generates swordlike unstable fissures in space, like sparkling slices of confusion, and he's actually hurt the hero...I can see he's getting tired, and I can feel the old sneer creep to the surface as I watch. Omeganaut is probably going to win again. Never know though, today might be my lucky day.

Dude, dude turn on the TV! It on!?!?! You seeing this? I know Ultraman vs Dr.Mindbender!!!!! In my face...liiiive!!!! So cool!!! Yeah the Lakefield trust tower is getting obliterated by ray guns and cars tossed in it. Oh SHIT..gotta move...towers waving. Call you later when I'm safe(Cmon DM) Hey(yes..use the boot spikes) Huh..yeah some dude is cheering on the bad guy. Douche(You got 'em!!) DUDE SHUT UP! Fuck that guy, who wants the bad guy to win. Lol probably. Home schooled too(Nooo) Oh Ultraman sent Mindbender flying through a sub shop store front looked like it hurt.(GET UP DM) This is getting annoying. I'm gonna talk to the guy. Call ya back. Cya. Hey man...what's your deal? My deal? What do you mean? Your encouraging and rooting for the bad guy!! The Fuck? Hahaha. Purely a business decision. Could be very lucrative if the fight goes my way. So selling out your city and endangering its people is good? My boy, business is business. And this is America and the events of 2001 have made security a boom business. I'm in the business of fear and protection . what better way to get more business than a evil super villian amuck in town? None. Don't worry...ya know all those superheroes who disappeared? Let's just say their talents were duplicated. Now a line of personal arms and shields for regular Joe to use are in place. Your silence is understood. But please I have a vested interest here. Now please leave me alone while my stock, millions, lie in battle. Hey,yeah I'm ok. unbelievable. Guy has money invested in the bad outcome. I don't know, what can I do? He's busy. Money. Yup. Root of it is right. Let's hope it ends the way we want.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

The battle between Wonder and Red Kaiser raged over the Nation’s capital. The camera drones hovered as close as their stabilizers allowed. They swarmed the dueling pair like gnats; each connecting blow, each intercepted fist, thundered through their buzzing ranks sending them tumbling. Still, there were enough drones so that the digital broadcast could be cut together on-the-fly for the millions watching, enraptured, in their basements and their downtown bunkers. Jeremy watched the battle unfold on the flat screen in his father’s apartment fifty miles away. His father ruffled his hair and said “Don’t worry. Wonder is going to wipe the floor with him.” “I’m not worried,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. He quickly turned back to the TV just as the sound of another blow reached them. Was it one that he had seen on the live broadcast just seconds ago? He wondered at the shape of the sound and what sort of impact would cause it. They were an hour by car from the Capitol and he remembered something about lightning, about seeing it and how the sound of it, each molecule pushing on the one right beside, would take a few seconds to reach his ears. And the number of seconds could tell you how far away it was. Had his father taught him that? It excited him as he thought about it now, that the particles of air packed against his eardrums were set buzzing by a chain that led all the way back, fifty miles away, to an event that had happened seconds ago and that he’d seen in high definition: the blue and white Lycrex covered fist of Wonder slamming into the Kaiser’s cheek, the force rippling through Kaiser’s ceramic-metal flesh, then the meteor of the distinctive Kaiser red and black plunging into the cluttered cityscape. Plumes of smoke and dust already arose like rampaging movie monsters from the studio set boxes of skyscrapers and monuments. Yeah, it was his father. He remembered now. It was like listening back into the past, his father had said. Jeremy and his father leaned forward in their couch cushions as the combatants traded building leveling blows, and forward still as Kaiser picked up a bus of screaming school kids and chucked it at Wonder who gently caught the impromptu projectile and set it down away from danger. It was definitely tough to root for the Red K. It was readily apparent that Wonder, clad in white and yellow, stood for peace and justice, and that Kaiser was his opposite. Though there were kids at school, outcasts and anarchists, who wanted for nothing more than the villain to be victorious. Taking care of the schoolchildren had left Wonder open, something that Kaiser was obviously counting on. He took the opportunity to charge and then deploy his devastating Omega blast just as the school bus was tucked away. This sent the stalwart Wonder flying, five hundred, a thousand, two thousand feet into the air. It wasn’t just the Omega blast: as soon as Wonder was launched into the air Kaiser took off in pursuit, landing hero propelling uppercuts along the way. At the apex of their flight the pair paused and then instantly separated, a grueling piledriver of an overhead smash sending the white speck like a falling bullet into the earth. Two fighter jets, Raptors by the look of them, took this as a signal to swoop in and unleash their high-tech Doomsday payload on the hovering red and black dot. A blinding blue flash later and what was left was a hovering red and black dot, slightly more blackened. The camera drones, the ones far enough to have avoided destruction, zoomed in so that it was apparent the dot was laughing, no cackling maniacally. Just then, just as it was getting good, the distinctive horn of Tod’s Lexus sounded out below the window of his father’s apartment. A second later there came his Mom’s manic staccato knock on the front door. “Uh oh,” Jeremy said as his father went to answer the door. “What the fuck Paul?” “What? What?” “I’ve been calling all afternoon. Remember our talk? Jeremy needs to be packed and ready to go by 3 PM.” “He’s packed. You’re packed, right buddy?” Jeremy tapped on his pull behind and lifted his backpack to show that he was indeed packed to go. “Let’s go young man. We’re late.” “Mom, Wonder and Kaiser are fighting.” “Now.” “But mom,” “Right this second.” He sighed as he got up to put on his shoes. “Go out to the Lexus. I want to have a word with your father.” Jeremy eyed them warily knowing what was about to come. He finally got his shoes on. He gave his father a bro-fist, then changed his mind and leaned in for a bro-hug. Then, with a final head nod, he was outside, the door slammed behind him. He didn’t know what was being said yet he knew exactly what was being said. It was as undeniable as a flying uppercut or an Omega blast or a hurtling school bus with screaming school kids inside. He busied himself by leaning on the bannister and looking off towards the distant capital while trying his darndest to ignore the perpetually sunglassed, laser-whitened teeth flashing and currently waving Tod. The door flew open, his mother’s red, surprised face looming out. “What did I tell you? Put your bags in the car. Right this second.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, hating very exactly the way his mom got at 3PM on Sundays. He pulled his bag to the car trying not to look back at the ruined pile of a person shuffling behind them. He didn’t look back until he was in the car, safely behind the tinted, tempered glass. He glanced back and waved as the car pulled away because he felt he had to leave the guy with something. They drove in complete silence, Tod humming along some incomprehensible tune and his mother looking out the window and tapping her fingers on the elbow rest. They were half way to the other side of town when Todd turned to him and said: “Hey buddy. I got you something.” Todd moved the steering column out of the way as the autodrive took over and reached down to dig around in the front footwell. Tod’s hand came up with a smiling figure clad in white and yellow, arms akimbo though Jeremy knew, from all the commercials, that they were articulated to perform karate chops and sharp uppercuts. “Gee thanks,” he said, taking the gift that had arrived through a wormhole four years late. Jeremy would find somewhere in the clutter of his room to tuck it away, some place he could easily point out to his mother, to to show her he was committed to making things work for her, yet somewhere easily covered up for when his friends came over. In antithesis to this gift he decided he would get a memorial, a Red K Poster from the mall and sticky tack it to the back of his closet door. In antithesis he decided he would try not to miss anymore visitations to his father at his run down apartment. Above all he decided that despite all the signs to the contrary, the emerging from the bathroom with red eyes, the watching him sleep, the stilted speeches on how to become a good man, his father might not be so lame. He looked out the window as the frequency of booms increased, the friction between the two Supers creating sparking fireworks that lit up the low clouds in the distance. He would miss the end of the fight but he didn’t care anymore. Instead he squinted at the capital skyline as if he might see the inevitable end: Wonder standing over the fallen Kaiser, arms akimbo and polished teeth glistening. He wondered if the hero might feel even the slightest twinge of remorse as he stood over his fallen double, given to a pause as he posed for camera drones amidst the crumbling rubble, the echoing blows fading in his ears, as if his super hearing was super sensitive enough to listen back to a time before it all started.

Dude, dude turn on the TV! It on!?!?! You seeing this? I know Ultraman vs Dr.Mindbender!!!!! In my face...liiiive!!!! So cool!!! Yeah the Lakefield trust tower is getting obliterated by ray guns and cars tossed in it. Oh SHIT..gotta move...towers waving. Call you later when I'm safe(Cmon DM) Hey(yes..use the boot spikes) Huh..yeah some dude is cheering on the bad guy. Douche(You got 'em!!) DUDE SHUT UP! Fuck that guy, who wants the bad guy to win. Lol probably. Home schooled too(Nooo) Oh Ultraman sent Mindbender flying through a sub shop store front looked like it hurt.(GET UP DM) This is getting annoying. I'm gonna talk to the guy. Call ya back. Cya. Hey man...what's your deal? My deal? What do you mean? Your encouraging and rooting for the bad guy!! The Fuck? Hahaha. Purely a business decision. Could be very lucrative if the fight goes my way. So selling out your city and endangering its people is good? My boy, business is business. And this is America and the events of 2001 have made security a boom business. I'm in the business of fear and protection . what better way to get more business than a evil super villian amuck in town? None. Don't worry...ya know all those superheroes who disappeared? Let's just say their talents were duplicated. Now a line of personal arms and shields for regular Joe to use are in place. Your silence is understood. But please I have a vested interest here. Now please leave me alone while my stock, millions, lie in battle. Hey,yeah I'm ok. unbelievable. Guy has money invested in the bad outcome. I don't know, what can I do? He's busy. Money. Yup. Root of it is right. Let's hope it ends the way we want.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Blows and the bruises had always been the price of broken peace in Santoval. Amy knew that better than most, it had been a lesson learned early and often as a child in her father's household. Still, she winced with every building-shuddering blow traded between Captain Amazing and The Instigator as the pair battled atop the now ruined rooftop of City Hall. Amy stood amongst the enraptured onlookers, the lone silent observed amid alternating cheers and gasps from the crowd, her face taught and her brow furrowed with the single-minded fervor of a woman praying desperately and sincerely for one thing, and one thing only. *Kill him, Brian. This once, stop being so noble and just kill him.* Unconsciously, she brought her hand to her face, her fingers gingerly tracing the not-quite invisible outline of her foundation-masked black eye. The innocent always suffer for the battles of the mighty. She'd met Brian during their years at Geldon's Academy for the Gifted, where young supernaturals were gathered and groomed for government service. He'd been a genius, even then, with a knack for invention a joy in discovering the limits of his superhuman peers. He was also Amy's first friend after she transferred to the school mid quarter. Amy had been moved to Geldon's on the basis of the prophetic dreams that had troubled her as a child. Often, she'd awoken screaming and crying for her mother, who would dash into Amy's room frantically shushing her, lest her father arise instead. While her mother cradled her and hummed, Amy would try her best to forget her dream, the horrible blows she'd foreseen her mother having to endure. It wasn't until primary school, when she had fallen asleep during a Geography lecture and disrupted the classroom crying out "No, Jimmy, no!" that the government became aware of her existence. Jimmy, who had been absent that day, was found hanged in his basement later that day. Within the week, Amy was transferred to Geldon's. Because she arrived mid quarter, Amy had a hard time fitting in with her new classmates, with the exception of Brian. Brian had been captivated by her 'gift', as he referred to it. "Precogs are rare, Amy," he'd told her on the day they'd met, running his fingers through his wavy black hair nervously, the way he often did when they spent time together between classes. "Even among supernaturals I mean. Only a handful have ever been recorded." He ran his hand through his hair once again and smiled his charming half-smile. It was only years later that Amy began to understand why he'd been so nervous, or why he'd always smiled that particular smile for her. Geldon's was also where she'd met Captain Amazing. Ryan, he'd been called back then. Ryan was your run of the mill superstar; stronger than ten men, faster than the eye could see, and so good looking it was almost unfair. He'd even been training to fly. Ryan and Amy had been introduced by Brian, who was studying what he described as Ryan's "Extraordinary ability to not give a fuck about being damaged." Within a month, she was going on dates with him. Before graduation, they were engaged. Brian left Geldon's during their final year, by expulsion if you believed the official report. Amy had been having a hard time believing it at the time; now she knew for a fact it was just another government lie. After graduation, Ryan had become a 'Hero' for the government. They sent him to dangerous situations, and he became extremely good at making danger go away. The Captain Amazing moniker came about after the wedding, when Ryan became the overt face of the government's supernatural operatives. Amy had hoped against hope that his alter ego would provide him another outlet for his demons, that maybe pummeling criminals as the Protector of Santoval would be enough for him. Every time he hit her, Amy would think bitterly upon her 'gift', and how she'd never seen or foreseen that Ryan was and would become exactly like her father. And so, as Amy and the rest of Santoval watched Captain Amazing battle The Instigator, her mind was a lone voice rooting for the raven-haired villain with the ironic, broken smile. Brian was different now than he had been at Geldon's, his charms had harshened, his laughter cold and humorless rather than warm and inviting. He hardly seemed the type of man-- or superman-- to befriend a scared, lonely little girl during her first week in a strange place. Amy recognized his technology though, the hoverboard and strength-enhancing armor, and wondered if Ryan knew him as well. The old friends battled amid the smoking ruins of City Hall, and Amy sank to her knees. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to sob as the vision overtook her.

Dude, dude turn on the TV! It on!?!?! You seeing this? I know Ultraman vs Dr.Mindbender!!!!! In my face...liiiive!!!! So cool!!! Yeah the Lakefield trust tower is getting obliterated by ray guns and cars tossed in it. Oh SHIT..gotta move...towers waving. Call you later when I'm safe(Cmon DM) Hey(yes..use the boot spikes) Huh..yeah some dude is cheering on the bad guy. Douche(You got 'em!!) DUDE SHUT UP! Fuck that guy, who wants the bad guy to win. Lol probably. Home schooled too(Nooo) Oh Ultraman sent Mindbender flying through a sub shop store front looked like it hurt.(GET UP DM) This is getting annoying. I'm gonna talk to the guy. Call ya back. Cya. Hey man...what's your deal? My deal? What do you mean? Your encouraging and rooting for the bad guy!! The Fuck? Hahaha. Purely a business decision. Could be very lucrative if the fight goes my way. So selling out your city and endangering its people is good? My boy, business is business. And this is America and the events of 2001 have made security a boom business. I'm in the business of fear and protection . what better way to get more business than a evil super villian amuck in town? None. Don't worry...ya know all those superheroes who disappeared? Let's just say their talents were duplicated. Now a line of personal arms and shields for regular Joe to use are in place. Your silence is understood. But please I have a vested interest here. Now please leave me alone while my stock, millions, lie in battle. Hey,yeah I'm ok. unbelievable. Guy has money invested in the bad outcome. I don't know, what can I do? He's busy. Money. Yup. Root of it is right. Let's hope it ends the way we want.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Sweat insisted on dotting itself all over Willis’ brow and neck. The costume he wore was a perfect replica, he knew—every rivet lovingly hot-glued into place, every stitch a tiny masterpiece of mid-amateur-level sewing skill. He’d done so many swatches. It’d had to be perfect. But Tryclone was looking at him, singling him out within the crowd for just a moment, and Willis couldn’t have felt it more insufficient. For instance, Tryclone’s real costume looked like it breathed. It looked as if the material moved with his rippling muscles, instead of fighting against flesh that was slightly doughier than was healthy. It wasn’t only the costume, either; his mad laughter, the look in his eyes that promised pain, the angry red they glowed when the death-beam bounced harmlessly off of Agent A’s indestructible shoulder pauldron and took out the very jewelry store he’d come to liberate…. It was divinity itself. Willis shivered, and shoved his way through the mass of stupid imbeciles that were gathered there, cheering for Agent A the way they always did. Couldn’t they see? Agent A was the bully, the lunchroom jock who hung out with his friends and laughed at you for having braces. Tryclone was like Willis. Only, Willis hadn’t developed a formula for super-strength that also made the drinker go slowly insane. But the principle of it all was the same. Some of the sheep stared at Willis’ costume and muttered to each other, but Willis was used to being stared at, and muttered at. Cast out by society. Just like Tryclone. Agent A swung and Tryclone caught the punch with his jaw, and fell into the crowd, scattering the herd, several crushed beneath his great girth. Willis was there in a moment. It took every ounce of courage to kneel beside the villain, and to cradle his head in his lap. His frizzy white hair was singed black at the ends. Willis touched them with wonder. Tyclone whispered something. Willis leaned in close to hear, heart thumping. “Go…. Away.” Tryclone wheezed. “I…. Hate…. Nerds….” Agent A was there. Willis hadn’t heard him approach. He sank to his knees beside Willis and lifted the villian’s now-lifeless body in his arms. Willis could see that he was weeping. “We were such good friends, once,” Agent A sobbed quietly. “Best friends, so long ago, before the formula, before all this.” Willis placed a hand on the hero’s pauldron. He could see, now, that he had been wrong about Agent A. He had been wrong about Tryclone, too. Tryclone was a bully. Agent A was a good man, forced to do battle with a friend who’d gone mad. “It may not mean much,” Willis said, “but I’ll be your friend.” Agent A looked down and him, and wiped the snot from his nose with a hand gloved in white. His mouth quirked into a small smile. “That’s sweet,” he said, “but I could never be friends with a nerd.”

Dude, dude turn on the TV! It on!?!?! You seeing this? I know Ultraman vs Dr.Mindbender!!!!! In my face...liiiive!!!! So cool!!! Yeah the Lakefield trust tower is getting obliterated by ray guns and cars tossed in it. Oh SHIT..gotta move...towers waving. Call you later when I'm safe(Cmon DM) Hey(yes..use the boot spikes) Huh..yeah some dude is cheering on the bad guy. Douche(You got 'em!!) DUDE SHUT UP! Fuck that guy, who wants the bad guy to win. Lol probably. Home schooled too(Nooo) Oh Ultraman sent Mindbender flying through a sub shop store front looked like it hurt.(GET UP DM) This is getting annoying. I'm gonna talk to the guy. Call ya back. Cya. Hey man...what's your deal? My deal? What do you mean? Your encouraging and rooting for the bad guy!! The Fuck? Hahaha. Purely a business decision. Could be very lucrative if the fight goes my way. So selling out your city and endangering its people is good? My boy, business is business. And this is America and the events of 2001 have made security a boom business. I'm in the business of fear and protection . what better way to get more business than a evil super villian amuck in town? None. Don't worry...ya know all those superheroes who disappeared? Let's just say their talents were duplicated. Now a line of personal arms and shields for regular Joe to use are in place. Your silence is understood. But please I have a vested interest here. Now please leave me alone while my stock, millions, lie in battle. Hey,yeah I'm ok. unbelievable. Guy has money invested in the bad outcome. I don't know, what can I do? He's busy. Money. Yup. Root of it is right. Let's hope it ends the way we want.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

I duck, along with nearly everyone else in the crowd as the null bolt zips the air apart with a crackle and a fan of green light. Bob isn't quite so fast on his feet, and his head and shoulders vanish in a crimson splash. That self righteous jackass never could keep track of bystanders. It was a constant gripe amongst those of us in the trade back when I was still free. You couldn't even take hostages most times because Omeganaut rarely slows down enough to notice. I checked once, after the last big fight between him and me, and he did something like three times the damage I did in the process of "saving the city". Made sense once I realized he's in the construction business. Voodoo Baron's hex may have locked away my powers, but I got away... Never leave home without your emergency teleporter kids. They think I'm harmless now, that Chainbreaker isn't ever going to threaten them again. They never understood that it wasn't my ability to disrupt the strong nuclear force that makes me dangerous, it's my smarts and my ability to hold a grudge. The last eighteen villain attacks in Paradise City have been my work, angry young men and women carefully selected and granted advanced weapons or superhuman abilities with a formula I borrowed from Genedancer. It'll kill them in a few years without the antidote, but nobody else worries about how their bullets feel about being fired, why should I? This one generates swordlike unstable fissures in space, like sparkling slices of confusion, and he's actually hurt the hero...I can see he's getting tired, and I can feel the old sneer creep to the surface as I watch. Omeganaut is probably going to win again. Never know though, today might be my lucky day.

You're crouched next to a potted plant in the corner of the sandwich shop you decided to try for lunch. Your coat's falling off, pressed into the wall on your left, and your ankle's screaming at you for the awkward position it's in. The girls who were in line to order are on your right now, pushing into your space in an attempt to hide further behind the overturned table in front of you all. With every approaching crash, you flinch. The girls huddle closer together and look like they want to drag another table over as well, although you all know it won't do any good - wood doesn't hold up very well against supernatural powers. All you can focus on is the thought that you were supposed to be back in the office eight minutes ago. Sirens sound in the distance and you have to suppress a laugh; the best help you could ever find against this threat is already here and not faring well, by the sound of it. "I hope someone gets here in time to save us," one of the girls whispers, tears threatening to spill over onto pale skin. You absently pat her arm in response, perhaps trying to stop her crying. This is where you should say that you hope so too, that you'll all be able to get out safely, that the situation will be resolved before ever reaching your corner of the room...but you can't. You can't because of a folder named 'research' on the laptop that's on the floor halfway across the floor. You can't, because after so many hours spent wondering, so many articles and pictures saved, all you want is to see this person in the flesh. So you wait. --- First time writing on this sub, decided to try out second person. It's intentionally vague and I tried getting rid of stereotypes as thoroughly as I could; I think most of the prompt is implied rather than addressed directly. 'You' are that person.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

The battle between Wonder and Red Kaiser raged over the Nation’s capital. The camera drones hovered as close as their stabilizers allowed. They swarmed the dueling pair like gnats; each connecting blow, each intercepted fist, thundered through their buzzing ranks sending them tumbling. Still, there were enough drones so that the digital broadcast could be cut together on-the-fly for the millions watching, enraptured, in their basements and their downtown bunkers. Jeremy watched the battle unfold on the flat screen in his father’s apartment fifty miles away. His father ruffled his hair and said “Don’t worry. Wonder is going to wipe the floor with him.” “I’m not worried,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. He quickly turned back to the TV just as the sound of another blow reached them. Was it one that he had seen on the live broadcast just seconds ago? He wondered at the shape of the sound and what sort of impact would cause it. They were an hour by car from the Capitol and he remembered something about lightning, about seeing it and how the sound of it, each molecule pushing on the one right beside, would take a few seconds to reach his ears. And the number of seconds could tell you how far away it was. Had his father taught him that? It excited him as he thought about it now, that the particles of air packed against his eardrums were set buzzing by a chain that led all the way back, fifty miles away, to an event that had happened seconds ago and that he’d seen in high definition: the blue and white Lycrex covered fist of Wonder slamming into the Kaiser’s cheek, the force rippling through Kaiser’s ceramic-metal flesh, then the meteor of the distinctive Kaiser red and black plunging into the cluttered cityscape. Plumes of smoke and dust already arose like rampaging movie monsters from the studio set boxes of skyscrapers and monuments. Yeah, it was his father. He remembered now. It was like listening back into the past, his father had said. Jeremy and his father leaned forward in their couch cushions as the combatants traded building leveling blows, and forward still as Kaiser picked up a bus of screaming school kids and chucked it at Wonder who gently caught the impromptu projectile and set it down away from danger. It was definitely tough to root for the Red K. It was readily apparent that Wonder, clad in white and yellow, stood for peace and justice, and that Kaiser was his opposite. Though there were kids at school, outcasts and anarchists, who wanted for nothing more than the villain to be victorious. Taking care of the schoolchildren had left Wonder open, something that Kaiser was obviously counting on. He took the opportunity to charge and then deploy his devastating Omega blast just as the school bus was tucked away. This sent the stalwart Wonder flying, five hundred, a thousand, two thousand feet into the air. It wasn’t just the Omega blast: as soon as Wonder was launched into the air Kaiser took off in pursuit, landing hero propelling uppercuts along the way. At the apex of their flight the pair paused and then instantly separated, a grueling piledriver of an overhead smash sending the white speck like a falling bullet into the earth. Two fighter jets, Raptors by the look of them, took this as a signal to swoop in and unleash their high-tech Doomsday payload on the hovering red and black dot. A blinding blue flash later and what was left was a hovering red and black dot, slightly more blackened. The camera drones, the ones far enough to have avoided destruction, zoomed in so that it was apparent the dot was laughing, no cackling maniacally. Just then, just as it was getting good, the distinctive horn of Tod’s Lexus sounded out below the window of his father’s apartment. A second later there came his Mom’s manic staccato knock on the front door. “Uh oh,” Jeremy said as his father went to answer the door. “What the fuck Paul?” “What? What?” “I’ve been calling all afternoon. Remember our talk? Jeremy needs to be packed and ready to go by 3 PM.” “He’s packed. You’re packed, right buddy?” Jeremy tapped on his pull behind and lifted his backpack to show that he was indeed packed to go. “Let’s go young man. We’re late.” “Mom, Wonder and Kaiser are fighting.” “Now.” “But mom,” “Right this second.” He sighed as he got up to put on his shoes. “Go out to the Lexus. I want to have a word with your father.” Jeremy eyed them warily knowing what was about to come. He finally got his shoes on. He gave his father a bro-fist, then changed his mind and leaned in for a bro-hug. Then, with a final head nod, he was outside, the door slammed behind him. He didn’t know what was being said yet he knew exactly what was being said. It was as undeniable as a flying uppercut or an Omega blast or a hurtling school bus with screaming school kids inside. He busied himself by leaning on the bannister and looking off towards the distant capital while trying his darndest to ignore the perpetually sunglassed, laser-whitened teeth flashing and currently waving Tod. The door flew open, his mother’s red, surprised face looming out. “What did I tell you? Put your bags in the car. Right this second.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, hating very exactly the way his mom got at 3PM on Sundays. He pulled his bag to the car trying not to look back at the ruined pile of a person shuffling behind them. He didn’t look back until he was in the car, safely behind the tinted, tempered glass. He glanced back and waved as the car pulled away because he felt he had to leave the guy with something. They drove in complete silence, Tod humming along some incomprehensible tune and his mother looking out the window and tapping her fingers on the elbow rest. They were half way to the other side of town when Todd turned to him and said: “Hey buddy. I got you something.” Todd moved the steering column out of the way as the autodrive took over and reached down to dig around in the front footwell. Tod’s hand came up with a smiling figure clad in white and yellow, arms akimbo though Jeremy knew, from all the commercials, that they were articulated to perform karate chops and sharp uppercuts. “Gee thanks,” he said, taking the gift that had arrived through a wormhole four years late. Jeremy would find somewhere in the clutter of his room to tuck it away, some place he could easily point out to his mother, to to show her he was committed to making things work for her, yet somewhere easily covered up for when his friends came over. In antithesis to this gift he decided he would get a memorial, a Red K Poster from the mall and sticky tack it to the back of his closet door. In antithesis he decided he would try not to miss anymore visitations to his father at his run down apartment. Above all he decided that despite all the signs to the contrary, the emerging from the bathroom with red eyes, the watching him sleep, the stilted speeches on how to become a good man, his father might not be so lame. He looked out the window as the frequency of booms increased, the friction between the two Supers creating sparking fireworks that lit up the low clouds in the distance. He would miss the end of the fight but he didn’t care anymore. Instead he squinted at the capital skyline as if he might see the inevitable end: Wonder standing over the fallen Kaiser, arms akimbo and polished teeth glistening. He wondered if the hero might feel even the slightest twinge of remorse as he stood over his fallen double, given to a pause as he posed for camera drones amidst the crumbling rubble, the echoing blows fading in his ears, as if his super hearing was super sensitive enough to listen back to a time before it all started.

You're crouched next to a potted plant in the corner of the sandwich shop you decided to try for lunch. Your coat's falling off, pressed into the wall on your left, and your ankle's screaming at you for the awkward position it's in. The girls who were in line to order are on your right now, pushing into your space in an attempt to hide further behind the overturned table in front of you all. With every approaching crash, you flinch. The girls huddle closer together and look like they want to drag another table over as well, although you all know it won't do any good - wood doesn't hold up very well against supernatural powers. All you can focus on is the thought that you were supposed to be back in the office eight minutes ago. Sirens sound in the distance and you have to suppress a laugh; the best help you could ever find against this threat is already here and not faring well, by the sound of it. "I hope someone gets here in time to save us," one of the girls whispers, tears threatening to spill over onto pale skin. You absently pat her arm in response, perhaps trying to stop her crying. This is where you should say that you hope so too, that you'll all be able to get out safely, that the situation will be resolved before ever reaching your corner of the room...but you can't. You can't because of a folder named 'research' on the laptop that's on the floor halfway across the floor. You can't, because after so many hours spent wondering, so many articles and pictures saved, all you want is to see this person in the flesh. So you wait. --- First time writing on this sub, decided to try out second person. It's intentionally vague and I tried getting rid of stereotypes as thoroughly as I could; I think most of the prompt is implied rather than addressed directly. 'You' are that person.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Blows and the bruises had always been the price of broken peace in Santoval. Amy knew that better than most, it had been a lesson learned early and often as a child in her father's household. Still, she winced with every building-shuddering blow traded between Captain Amazing and The Instigator as the pair battled atop the now ruined rooftop of City Hall. Amy stood amongst the enraptured onlookers, the lone silent observed amid alternating cheers and gasps from the crowd, her face taught and her brow furrowed with the single-minded fervor of a woman praying desperately and sincerely for one thing, and one thing only. *Kill him, Brian. This once, stop being so noble and just kill him.* Unconsciously, she brought her hand to her face, her fingers gingerly tracing the not-quite invisible outline of her foundation-masked black eye. The innocent always suffer for the battles of the mighty. She'd met Brian during their years at Geldon's Academy for the Gifted, where young supernaturals were gathered and groomed for government service. He'd been a genius, even then, with a knack for invention a joy in discovering the limits of his superhuman peers. He was also Amy's first friend after she transferred to the school mid quarter. Amy had been moved to Geldon's on the basis of the prophetic dreams that had troubled her as a child. Often, she'd awoken screaming and crying for her mother, who would dash into Amy's room frantically shushing her, lest her father arise instead. While her mother cradled her and hummed, Amy would try her best to forget her dream, the horrible blows she'd foreseen her mother having to endure. It wasn't until primary school, when she had fallen asleep during a Geography lecture and disrupted the classroom crying out "No, Jimmy, no!" that the government became aware of her existence. Jimmy, who had been absent that day, was found hanged in his basement later that day. Within the week, Amy was transferred to Geldon's. Because she arrived mid quarter, Amy had a hard time fitting in with her new classmates, with the exception of Brian. Brian had been captivated by her 'gift', as he referred to it. "Precogs are rare, Amy," he'd told her on the day they'd met, running his fingers through his wavy black hair nervously, the way he often did when they spent time together between classes. "Even among supernaturals I mean. Only a handful have ever been recorded." He ran his hand through his hair once again and smiled his charming half-smile. It was only years later that Amy began to understand why he'd been so nervous, or why he'd always smiled that particular smile for her. Geldon's was also where she'd met Captain Amazing. Ryan, he'd been called back then. Ryan was your run of the mill superstar; stronger than ten men, faster than the eye could see, and so good looking it was almost unfair. He'd even been training to fly. Ryan and Amy had been introduced by Brian, who was studying what he described as Ryan's "Extraordinary ability to not give a fuck about being damaged." Within a month, she was going on dates with him. Before graduation, they were engaged. Brian left Geldon's during their final year, by expulsion if you believed the official report. Amy had been having a hard time believing it at the time; now she knew for a fact it was just another government lie. After graduation, Ryan had become a 'Hero' for the government. They sent him to dangerous situations, and he became extremely good at making danger go away. The Captain Amazing moniker came about after the wedding, when Ryan became the overt face of the government's supernatural operatives. Amy had hoped against hope that his alter ego would provide him another outlet for his demons, that maybe pummeling criminals as the Protector of Santoval would be enough for him. Every time he hit her, Amy would think bitterly upon her 'gift', and how she'd never seen or foreseen that Ryan was and would become exactly like her father. And so, as Amy and the rest of Santoval watched Captain Amazing battle The Instigator, her mind was a lone voice rooting for the raven-haired villain with the ironic, broken smile. Brian was different now than he had been at Geldon's, his charms had harshened, his laughter cold and humorless rather than warm and inviting. He hardly seemed the type of man-- or superman-- to befriend a scared, lonely little girl during her first week in a strange place. Amy recognized his technology though, the hoverboard and strength-enhancing armor, and wondered if Ryan knew him as well. The old friends battled amid the smoking ruins of City Hall, and Amy sank to her knees. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to sob as the vision overtook her.

You're crouched next to a potted plant in the corner of the sandwich shop you decided to try for lunch. Your coat's falling off, pressed into the wall on your left, and your ankle's screaming at you for the awkward position it's in. The girls who were in line to order are on your right now, pushing into your space in an attempt to hide further behind the overturned table in front of you all. With every approaching crash, you flinch. The girls huddle closer together and look like they want to drag another table over as well, although you all know it won't do any good - wood doesn't hold up very well against supernatural powers. All you can focus on is the thought that you were supposed to be back in the office eight minutes ago. Sirens sound in the distance and you have to suppress a laugh; the best help you could ever find against this threat is already here and not faring well, by the sound of it. "I hope someone gets here in time to save us," one of the girls whispers, tears threatening to spill over onto pale skin. You absently pat her arm in response, perhaps trying to stop her crying. This is where you should say that you hope so too, that you'll all be able to get out safely, that the situation will be resolved before ever reaching your corner of the room...but you can't. You can't because of a folder named 'research' on the laptop that's on the floor halfway across the floor. You can't, because after so many hours spent wondering, so many articles and pictures saved, all you want is to see this person in the flesh. So you wait. --- First time writing on this sub, decided to try out second person. It's intentionally vague and I tried getting rid of stereotypes as thoroughly as I could; I think most of the prompt is implied rather than addressed directly. 'You' are that person.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

The battle between Wonder and Red Kaiser raged over the Nation’s capital. The camera drones hovered as close as their stabilizers allowed. They swarmed the dueling pair like gnats; each connecting blow, each intercepted fist, thundered through their buzzing ranks sending them tumbling. Still, there were enough drones so that the digital broadcast could be cut together on-the-fly for the millions watching, enraptured, in their basements and their downtown bunkers. Jeremy watched the battle unfold on the flat screen in his father’s apartment fifty miles away. His father ruffled his hair and said “Don’t worry. Wonder is going to wipe the floor with him.” “I’m not worried,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. He quickly turned back to the TV just as the sound of another blow reached them. Was it one that he had seen on the live broadcast just seconds ago? He wondered at the shape of the sound and what sort of impact would cause it. They were an hour by car from the Capitol and he remembered something about lightning, about seeing it and how the sound of it, each molecule pushing on the one right beside, would take a few seconds to reach his ears. And the number of seconds could tell you how far away it was. Had his father taught him that? It excited him as he thought about it now, that the particles of air packed against his eardrums were set buzzing by a chain that led all the way back, fifty miles away, to an event that had happened seconds ago and that he’d seen in high definition: the blue and white Lycrex covered fist of Wonder slamming into the Kaiser’s cheek, the force rippling through Kaiser’s ceramic-metal flesh, then the meteor of the distinctive Kaiser red and black plunging into the cluttered cityscape. Plumes of smoke and dust already arose like rampaging movie monsters from the studio set boxes of skyscrapers and monuments. Yeah, it was his father. He remembered now. It was like listening back into the past, his father had said. Jeremy and his father leaned forward in their couch cushions as the combatants traded building leveling blows, and forward still as Kaiser picked up a bus of screaming school kids and chucked it at Wonder who gently caught the impromptu projectile and set it down away from danger. It was definitely tough to root for the Red K. It was readily apparent that Wonder, clad in white and yellow, stood for peace and justice, and that Kaiser was his opposite. Though there were kids at school, outcasts and anarchists, who wanted for nothing more than the villain to be victorious. Taking care of the schoolchildren had left Wonder open, something that Kaiser was obviously counting on. He took the opportunity to charge and then deploy his devastating Omega blast just as the school bus was tucked away. This sent the stalwart Wonder flying, five hundred, a thousand, two thousand feet into the air. It wasn’t just the Omega blast: as soon as Wonder was launched into the air Kaiser took off in pursuit, landing hero propelling uppercuts along the way. At the apex of their flight the pair paused and then instantly separated, a grueling piledriver of an overhead smash sending the white speck like a falling bullet into the earth. Two fighter jets, Raptors by the look of them, took this as a signal to swoop in and unleash their high-tech Doomsday payload on the hovering red and black dot. A blinding blue flash later and what was left was a hovering red and black dot, slightly more blackened. The camera drones, the ones far enough to have avoided destruction, zoomed in so that it was apparent the dot was laughing, no cackling maniacally. Just then, just as it was getting good, the distinctive horn of Tod’s Lexus sounded out below the window of his father’s apartment. A second later there came his Mom’s manic staccato knock on the front door. “Uh oh,” Jeremy said as his father went to answer the door. “What the fuck Paul?” “What? What?” “I’ve been calling all afternoon. Remember our talk? Jeremy needs to be packed and ready to go by 3 PM.” “He’s packed. You’re packed, right buddy?” Jeremy tapped on his pull behind and lifted his backpack to show that he was indeed packed to go. “Let’s go young man. We’re late.” “Mom, Wonder and Kaiser are fighting.” “Now.” “But mom,” “Right this second.” He sighed as he got up to put on his shoes. “Go out to the Lexus. I want to have a word with your father.” Jeremy eyed them warily knowing what was about to come. He finally got his shoes on. He gave his father a bro-fist, then changed his mind and leaned in for a bro-hug. Then, with a final head nod, he was outside, the door slammed behind him. He didn’t know what was being said yet he knew exactly what was being said. It was as undeniable as a flying uppercut or an Omega blast or a hurtling school bus with screaming school kids inside. He busied himself by leaning on the bannister and looking off towards the distant capital while trying his darndest to ignore the perpetually sunglassed, laser-whitened teeth flashing and currently waving Tod. The door flew open, his mother’s red, surprised face looming out. “What did I tell you? Put your bags in the car. Right this second.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, hating very exactly the way his mom got at 3PM on Sundays. He pulled his bag to the car trying not to look back at the ruined pile of a person shuffling behind them. He didn’t look back until he was in the car, safely behind the tinted, tempered glass. He glanced back and waved as the car pulled away because he felt he had to leave the guy with something. They drove in complete silence, Tod humming along some incomprehensible tune and his mother looking out the window and tapping her fingers on the elbow rest. They were half way to the other side of town when Todd turned to him and said: “Hey buddy. I got you something.” Todd moved the steering column out of the way as the autodrive took over and reached down to dig around in the front footwell. Tod’s hand came up with a smiling figure clad in white and yellow, arms akimbo though Jeremy knew, from all the commercials, that they were articulated to perform karate chops and sharp uppercuts. “Gee thanks,” he said, taking the gift that had arrived through a wormhole four years late. Jeremy would find somewhere in the clutter of his room to tuck it away, some place he could easily point out to his mother, to to show her he was committed to making things work for her, yet somewhere easily covered up for when his friends came over. In antithesis to this gift he decided he would get a memorial, a Red K Poster from the mall and sticky tack it to the back of his closet door. In antithesis he decided he would try not to miss anymore visitations to his father at his run down apartment. Above all he decided that despite all the signs to the contrary, the emerging from the bathroom with red eyes, the watching him sleep, the stilted speeches on how to become a good man, his father might not be so lame. He looked out the window as the frequency of booms increased, the friction between the two Supers creating sparking fireworks that lit up the low clouds in the distance. He would miss the end of the fight but he didn’t care anymore. Instead he squinted at the capital skyline as if he might see the inevitable end: Wonder standing over the fallen Kaiser, arms akimbo and polished teeth glistening. He wondered if the hero might feel even the slightest twinge of remorse as he stood over his fallen double, given to a pause as he posed for camera drones amidst the crumbling rubble, the echoing blows fading in his ears, as if his super hearing was super sensitive enough to listen back to a time before it all started.

I would be sticking out of this crowd like an indignant red flag in a calm sea mud if anyone bothered to look. But their eyes, everyone's eyes, were in the sky. I wanted that maroon-clad bastard to win so bad. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't even really try. Why should he? He's signed a contract to lose. He has no real power. And so like we saw every couple weeks, a villain surfaced and threatened to destroy some building or monument or whatever bullshit. And then Mr. Liberty, the "protector of our freedoms," and the wielder of a name I couldn't help roll my eyes at, bursts from the shadows and cuts off the new bad guy (or girl) at some dramatic moment. Cut to me, in the audience, mentally checking off items in a series making this week's script. It's sad. At least hire someone to mix the dialogue up. Create jobs. Not this sad display of bullshit. The Maroon Menace, or whatever he introduced himself as (I honestly stopped listening to their introductions anymore; they never last, and the names are bland anyway), is just another pawn. It's not coincidence that as soon as we get this super soldier we start get super villains too. So Mr. Maroon was injected with some hellish cocktail of empowering toxins, plus some testosterone and adrenaline and probably a little alcohol, in that same government laboratory that Captain Freedompants was. Here he is now, showing us (for a decent paycheck) just how powerful and necessary our new national superhero is. I miss the days when people didn't want super soldiers. They were worried the government would use them to control the masses. Cue the almost immediate introduction of supercharged "criminals." It's a show. It's there for no other reason to justify the over-powered, American flag underwear-clad, roid-raging beefcake's new muscles. Soon the arguments against them stopped. The shows became city wide spectacles. There's always some excited kid on a bike or a skateboard going up and down streets yelling about a show down. Cut back to me. Fists clenched as I root for Maroon Man to win. For one docile subject of an elaborate government project to stand up for himself and show the people that there's a real threat. Not him. Not the baffoon he's punching. The government that made them both possible. Yet, as the crowd looks up in awe at the excitement, I double check my mask. When that bald eagle cock delivers that magnificent firecracker blow in a few seconds to end the fight the air will be flooded with that chemical that makes us all more docile and patriotic. All of us except for me. Besides, I hate that they made it smell like apple pie. So cliché. Seriously, at least start hiring writers.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Blows and the bruises had always been the price of broken peace in Santoval. Amy knew that better than most, it had been a lesson learned early and often as a child in her father's household. Still, she winced with every building-shuddering blow traded between Captain Amazing and The Instigator as the pair battled atop the now ruined rooftop of City Hall. Amy stood amongst the enraptured onlookers, the lone silent observed amid alternating cheers and gasps from the crowd, her face taught and her brow furrowed with the single-minded fervor of a woman praying desperately and sincerely for one thing, and one thing only. *Kill him, Brian. This once, stop being so noble and just kill him.* Unconsciously, she brought her hand to her face, her fingers gingerly tracing the not-quite invisible outline of her foundation-masked black eye. The innocent always suffer for the battles of the mighty. She'd met Brian during their years at Geldon's Academy for the Gifted, where young supernaturals were gathered and groomed for government service. He'd been a genius, even then, with a knack for invention a joy in discovering the limits of his superhuman peers. He was also Amy's first friend after she transferred to the school mid quarter. Amy had been moved to Geldon's on the basis of the prophetic dreams that had troubled her as a child. Often, she'd awoken screaming and crying for her mother, who would dash into Amy's room frantically shushing her, lest her father arise instead. While her mother cradled her and hummed, Amy would try her best to forget her dream, the horrible blows she'd foreseen her mother having to endure. It wasn't until primary school, when she had fallen asleep during a Geography lecture and disrupted the classroom crying out "No, Jimmy, no!" that the government became aware of her existence. Jimmy, who had been absent that day, was found hanged in his basement later that day. Within the week, Amy was transferred to Geldon's. Because she arrived mid quarter, Amy had a hard time fitting in with her new classmates, with the exception of Brian. Brian had been captivated by her 'gift', as he referred to it. "Precogs are rare, Amy," he'd told her on the day they'd met, running his fingers through his wavy black hair nervously, the way he often did when they spent time together between classes. "Even among supernaturals I mean. Only a handful have ever been recorded." He ran his hand through his hair once again and smiled his charming half-smile. It was only years later that Amy began to understand why he'd been so nervous, or why he'd always smiled that particular smile for her. Geldon's was also where she'd met Captain Amazing. Ryan, he'd been called back then. Ryan was your run of the mill superstar; stronger than ten men, faster than the eye could see, and so good looking it was almost unfair. He'd even been training to fly. Ryan and Amy had been introduced by Brian, who was studying what he described as Ryan's "Extraordinary ability to not give a fuck about being damaged." Within a month, she was going on dates with him. Before graduation, they were engaged. Brian left Geldon's during their final year, by expulsion if you believed the official report. Amy had been having a hard time believing it at the time; now she knew for a fact it was just another government lie. After graduation, Ryan had become a 'Hero' for the government. They sent him to dangerous situations, and he became extremely good at making danger go away. The Captain Amazing moniker came about after the wedding, when Ryan became the overt face of the government's supernatural operatives. Amy had hoped against hope that his alter ego would provide him another outlet for his demons, that maybe pummeling criminals as the Protector of Santoval would be enough for him. Every time he hit her, Amy would think bitterly upon her 'gift', and how she'd never seen or foreseen that Ryan was and would become exactly like her father. And so, as Amy and the rest of Santoval watched Captain Amazing battle The Instigator, her mind was a lone voice rooting for the raven-haired villain with the ironic, broken smile. Brian was different now than he had been at Geldon's, his charms had harshened, his laughter cold and humorless rather than warm and inviting. He hardly seemed the type of man-- or superman-- to befriend a scared, lonely little girl during her first week in a strange place. Amy recognized his technology though, the hoverboard and strength-enhancing armor, and wondered if Ryan knew him as well. The old friends battled amid the smoking ruins of City Hall, and Amy sank to her knees. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to sob as the vision overtook her.

I would be sticking out of this crowd like an indignant red flag in a calm sea mud if anyone bothered to look. But their eyes, everyone's eyes, were in the sky. I wanted that maroon-clad bastard to win so bad. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't even really try. Why should he? He's signed a contract to lose. He has no real power. And so like we saw every couple weeks, a villain surfaced and threatened to destroy some building or monument or whatever bullshit. And then Mr. Liberty, the "protector of our freedoms," and the wielder of a name I couldn't help roll my eyes at, bursts from the shadows and cuts off the new bad guy (or girl) at some dramatic moment. Cut to me, in the audience, mentally checking off items in a series making this week's script. It's sad. At least hire someone to mix the dialogue up. Create jobs. Not this sad display of bullshit. The Maroon Menace, or whatever he introduced himself as (I honestly stopped listening to their introductions anymore; they never last, and the names are bland anyway), is just another pawn. It's not coincidence that as soon as we get this super soldier we start get super villains too. So Mr. Maroon was injected with some hellish cocktail of empowering toxins, plus some testosterone and adrenaline and probably a little alcohol, in that same government laboratory that Captain Freedompants was. Here he is now, showing us (for a decent paycheck) just how powerful and necessary our new national superhero is. I miss the days when people didn't want super soldiers. They were worried the government would use them to control the masses. Cue the almost immediate introduction of supercharged "criminals." It's a show. It's there for no other reason to justify the over-powered, American flag underwear-clad, roid-raging beefcake's new muscles. Soon the arguments against them stopped. The shows became city wide spectacles. There's always some excited kid on a bike or a skateboard going up and down streets yelling about a show down. Cut back to me. Fists clenched as I root for Maroon Man to win. For one docile subject of an elaborate government project to stand up for himself and show the people that there's a real threat. Not him. Not the baffoon he's punching. The government that made them both possible. Yet, as the crowd looks up in awe at the excitement, I double check my mask. When that bald eagle cock delivers that magnificent firecracker blow in a few seconds to end the fight the air will be flooded with that chemical that makes us all more docile and patriotic. All of us except for me. Besides, I hate that they made it smell like apple pie. So cliché. Seriously, at least start hiring writers.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

The battle between Wonder and Red Kaiser raged over the Nation’s capital. The camera drones hovered as close as their stabilizers allowed. They swarmed the dueling pair like gnats; each connecting blow, each intercepted fist, thundered through their buzzing ranks sending them tumbling. Still, there were enough drones so that the digital broadcast could be cut together on-the-fly for the millions watching, enraptured, in their basements and their downtown bunkers. Jeremy watched the battle unfold on the flat screen in his father’s apartment fifty miles away. His father ruffled his hair and said “Don’t worry. Wonder is going to wipe the floor with him.” “I’m not worried,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. He quickly turned back to the TV just as the sound of another blow reached them. Was it one that he had seen on the live broadcast just seconds ago? He wondered at the shape of the sound and what sort of impact would cause it. They were an hour by car from the Capitol and he remembered something about lightning, about seeing it and how the sound of it, each molecule pushing on the one right beside, would take a few seconds to reach his ears. And the number of seconds could tell you how far away it was. Had his father taught him that? It excited him as he thought about it now, that the particles of air packed against his eardrums were set buzzing by a chain that led all the way back, fifty miles away, to an event that had happened seconds ago and that he’d seen in high definition: the blue and white Lycrex covered fist of Wonder slamming into the Kaiser’s cheek, the force rippling through Kaiser’s ceramic-metal flesh, then the meteor of the distinctive Kaiser red and black plunging into the cluttered cityscape. Plumes of smoke and dust already arose like rampaging movie monsters from the studio set boxes of skyscrapers and monuments. Yeah, it was his father. He remembered now. It was like listening back into the past, his father had said. Jeremy and his father leaned forward in their couch cushions as the combatants traded building leveling blows, and forward still as Kaiser picked up a bus of screaming school kids and chucked it at Wonder who gently caught the impromptu projectile and set it down away from danger. It was definitely tough to root for the Red K. It was readily apparent that Wonder, clad in white and yellow, stood for peace and justice, and that Kaiser was his opposite. Though there were kids at school, outcasts and anarchists, who wanted for nothing more than the villain to be victorious. Taking care of the schoolchildren had left Wonder open, something that Kaiser was obviously counting on. He took the opportunity to charge and then deploy his devastating Omega blast just as the school bus was tucked away. This sent the stalwart Wonder flying, five hundred, a thousand, two thousand feet into the air. It wasn’t just the Omega blast: as soon as Wonder was launched into the air Kaiser took off in pursuit, landing hero propelling uppercuts along the way. At the apex of their flight the pair paused and then instantly separated, a grueling piledriver of an overhead smash sending the white speck like a falling bullet into the earth. Two fighter jets, Raptors by the look of them, took this as a signal to swoop in and unleash their high-tech Doomsday payload on the hovering red and black dot. A blinding blue flash later and what was left was a hovering red and black dot, slightly more blackened. The camera drones, the ones far enough to have avoided destruction, zoomed in so that it was apparent the dot was laughing, no cackling maniacally. Just then, just as it was getting good, the distinctive horn of Tod’s Lexus sounded out below the window of his father’s apartment. A second later there came his Mom’s manic staccato knock on the front door. “Uh oh,” Jeremy said as his father went to answer the door. “What the fuck Paul?” “What? What?” “I’ve been calling all afternoon. Remember our talk? Jeremy needs to be packed and ready to go by 3 PM.” “He’s packed. You’re packed, right buddy?” Jeremy tapped on his pull behind and lifted his backpack to show that he was indeed packed to go. “Let’s go young man. We’re late.” “Mom, Wonder and Kaiser are fighting.” “Now.” “But mom,” “Right this second.” He sighed as he got up to put on his shoes. “Go out to the Lexus. I want to have a word with your father.” Jeremy eyed them warily knowing what was about to come. He finally got his shoes on. He gave his father a bro-fist, then changed his mind and leaned in for a bro-hug. Then, with a final head nod, he was outside, the door slammed behind him. He didn’t know what was being said yet he knew exactly what was being said. It was as undeniable as a flying uppercut or an Omega blast or a hurtling school bus with screaming school kids inside. He busied himself by leaning on the bannister and looking off towards the distant capital while trying his darndest to ignore the perpetually sunglassed, laser-whitened teeth flashing and currently waving Tod. The door flew open, his mother’s red, surprised face looming out. “What did I tell you? Put your bags in the car. Right this second.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, hating very exactly the way his mom got at 3PM on Sundays. He pulled his bag to the car trying not to look back at the ruined pile of a person shuffling behind them. He didn’t look back until he was in the car, safely behind the tinted, tempered glass. He glanced back and waved as the car pulled away because he felt he had to leave the guy with something. They drove in complete silence, Tod humming along some incomprehensible tune and his mother looking out the window and tapping her fingers on the elbow rest. They were half way to the other side of town when Todd turned to him and said: “Hey buddy. I got you something.” Todd moved the steering column out of the way as the autodrive took over and reached down to dig around in the front footwell. Tod’s hand came up with a smiling figure clad in white and yellow, arms akimbo though Jeremy knew, from all the commercials, that they were articulated to perform karate chops and sharp uppercuts. “Gee thanks,” he said, taking the gift that had arrived through a wormhole four years late. Jeremy would find somewhere in the clutter of his room to tuck it away, some place he could easily point out to his mother, to to show her he was committed to making things work for her, yet somewhere easily covered up for when his friends came over. In antithesis to this gift he decided he would get a memorial, a Red K Poster from the mall and sticky tack it to the back of his closet door. In antithesis he decided he would try not to miss anymore visitations to his father at his run down apartment. Above all he decided that despite all the signs to the contrary, the emerging from the bathroom with red eyes, the watching him sleep, the stilted speeches on how to become a good man, his father might not be so lame. He looked out the window as the frequency of booms increased, the friction between the two Supers creating sparking fireworks that lit up the low clouds in the distance. He would miss the end of the fight but he didn’t care anymore. Instead he squinted at the capital skyline as if he might see the inevitable end: Wonder standing over the fallen Kaiser, arms akimbo and polished teeth glistening. He wondered if the hero might feel even the slightest twinge of remorse as he stood over his fallen double, given to a pause as he posed for camera drones amidst the crumbling rubble, the echoing blows fading in his ears, as if his super hearing was super sensitive enough to listen back to a time before it all started.

I duck, along with nearly everyone else in the crowd as the null bolt zips the air apart with a crackle and a fan of green light. Bob isn't quite so fast on his feet, and his head and shoulders vanish in a crimson splash. That self righteous jackass never could keep track of bystanders. It was a constant gripe amongst those of us in the trade back when I was still free. You couldn't even take hostages most times because Omeganaut rarely slows down enough to notice. I checked once, after the last big fight between him and me, and he did something like three times the damage I did in the process of "saving the city". Made sense once I realized he's in the construction business. Voodoo Baron's hex may have locked away my powers, but I got away... Never leave home without your emergency teleporter kids. They think I'm harmless now, that Chainbreaker isn't ever going to threaten them again. They never understood that it wasn't my ability to disrupt the strong nuclear force that makes me dangerous, it's my smarts and my ability to hold a grudge. The last eighteen villain attacks in Paradise City have been my work, angry young men and women carefully selected and granted advanced weapons or superhuman abilities with a formula I borrowed from Genedancer. It'll kill them in a few years without the antidote, but nobody else worries about how their bullets feel about being fired, why should I? This one generates swordlike unstable fissures in space, like sparkling slices of confusion, and he's actually hurt the hero...I can see he's getting tired, and I can feel the old sneer creep to the surface as I watch. Omeganaut is probably going to win again. Never know though, today might be my lucky day.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Blows and the bruises had always been the price of broken peace in Santoval. Amy knew that better than most, it had been a lesson learned early and often as a child in her father's household. Still, she winced with every building-shuddering blow traded between Captain Amazing and The Instigator as the pair battled atop the now ruined rooftop of City Hall. Amy stood amongst the enraptured onlookers, the lone silent observed amid alternating cheers and gasps from the crowd, her face taught and her brow furrowed with the single-minded fervor of a woman praying desperately and sincerely for one thing, and one thing only. *Kill him, Brian. This once, stop being so noble and just kill him.* Unconsciously, she brought her hand to her face, her fingers gingerly tracing the not-quite invisible outline of her foundation-masked black eye. The innocent always suffer for the battles of the mighty. She'd met Brian during their years at Geldon's Academy for the Gifted, where young supernaturals were gathered and groomed for government service. He'd been a genius, even then, with a knack for invention a joy in discovering the limits of his superhuman peers. He was also Amy's first friend after she transferred to the school mid quarter. Amy had been moved to Geldon's on the basis of the prophetic dreams that had troubled her as a child. Often, she'd awoken screaming and crying for her mother, who would dash into Amy's room frantically shushing her, lest her father arise instead. While her mother cradled her and hummed, Amy would try her best to forget her dream, the horrible blows she'd foreseen her mother having to endure. It wasn't until primary school, when she had fallen asleep during a Geography lecture and disrupted the classroom crying out "No, Jimmy, no!" that the government became aware of her existence. Jimmy, who had been absent that day, was found hanged in his basement later that day. Within the week, Amy was transferred to Geldon's. Because she arrived mid quarter, Amy had a hard time fitting in with her new classmates, with the exception of Brian. Brian had been captivated by her 'gift', as he referred to it. "Precogs are rare, Amy," he'd told her on the day they'd met, running his fingers through his wavy black hair nervously, the way he often did when they spent time together between classes. "Even among supernaturals I mean. Only a handful have ever been recorded." He ran his hand through his hair once again and smiled his charming half-smile. It was only years later that Amy began to understand why he'd been so nervous, or why he'd always smiled that particular smile for her. Geldon's was also where she'd met Captain Amazing. Ryan, he'd been called back then. Ryan was your run of the mill superstar; stronger than ten men, faster than the eye could see, and so good looking it was almost unfair. He'd even been training to fly. Ryan and Amy had been introduced by Brian, who was studying what he described as Ryan's "Extraordinary ability to not give a fuck about being damaged." Within a month, she was going on dates with him. Before graduation, they were engaged. Brian left Geldon's during their final year, by expulsion if you believed the official report. Amy had been having a hard time believing it at the time; now she knew for a fact it was just another government lie. After graduation, Ryan had become a 'Hero' for the government. They sent him to dangerous situations, and he became extremely good at making danger go away. The Captain Amazing moniker came about after the wedding, when Ryan became the overt face of the government's supernatural operatives. Amy had hoped against hope that his alter ego would provide him another outlet for his demons, that maybe pummeling criminals as the Protector of Santoval would be enough for him. Every time he hit her, Amy would think bitterly upon her 'gift', and how she'd never seen or foreseen that Ryan was and would become exactly like her father. And so, as Amy and the rest of Santoval watched Captain Amazing battle The Instigator, her mind was a lone voice rooting for the raven-haired villain with the ironic, broken smile. Brian was different now than he had been at Geldon's, his charms had harshened, his laughter cold and humorless rather than warm and inviting. He hardly seemed the type of man-- or superman-- to befriend a scared, lonely little girl during her first week in a strange place. Amy recognized his technology though, the hoverboard and strength-enhancing armor, and wondered if Ryan knew him as well. The old friends battled amid the smoking ruins of City Hall, and Amy sank to her knees. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to sob as the vision overtook her.

I duck, along with nearly everyone else in the crowd as the null bolt zips the air apart with a crackle and a fan of green light. Bob isn't quite so fast on his feet, and his head and shoulders vanish in a crimson splash. That self righteous jackass never could keep track of bystanders. It was a constant gripe amongst those of us in the trade back when I was still free. You couldn't even take hostages most times because Omeganaut rarely slows down enough to notice. I checked once, after the last big fight between him and me, and he did something like three times the damage I did in the process of "saving the city". Made sense once I realized he's in the construction business. Voodoo Baron's hex may have locked away my powers, but I got away... Never leave home without your emergency teleporter kids. They think I'm harmless now, that Chainbreaker isn't ever going to threaten them again. They never understood that it wasn't my ability to disrupt the strong nuclear force that makes me dangerous, it's my smarts and my ability to hold a grudge. The last eighteen villain attacks in Paradise City have been my work, angry young men and women carefully selected and granted advanced weapons or superhuman abilities with a formula I borrowed from Genedancer. It'll kill them in a few years without the antidote, but nobody else worries about how their bullets feel about being fired, why should I? This one generates swordlike unstable fissures in space, like sparkling slices of confusion, and he's actually hurt the hero...I can see he's getting tired, and I can feel the old sneer creep to the surface as I watch. Omeganaut is probably going to win again. Never know though, today might be my lucky day.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Blows and the bruises had always been the price of broken peace in Santoval. Amy knew that better than most, it had been a lesson learned early and often as a child in her father's household. Still, she winced with every building-shuddering blow traded between Captain Amazing and The Instigator as the pair battled atop the now ruined rooftop of City Hall. Amy stood amongst the enraptured onlookers, the lone silent observed amid alternating cheers and gasps from the crowd, her face taught and her brow furrowed with the single-minded fervor of a woman praying desperately and sincerely for one thing, and one thing only. *Kill him, Brian. This once, stop being so noble and just kill him.* Unconsciously, she brought her hand to her face, her fingers gingerly tracing the not-quite invisible outline of her foundation-masked black eye. The innocent always suffer for the battles of the mighty. She'd met Brian during their years at Geldon's Academy for the Gifted, where young supernaturals were gathered and groomed for government service. He'd been a genius, even then, with a knack for invention a joy in discovering the limits of his superhuman peers. He was also Amy's first friend after she transferred to the school mid quarter. Amy had been moved to Geldon's on the basis of the prophetic dreams that had troubled her as a child. Often, she'd awoken screaming and crying for her mother, who would dash into Amy's room frantically shushing her, lest her father arise instead. While her mother cradled her and hummed, Amy would try her best to forget her dream, the horrible blows she'd foreseen her mother having to endure. It wasn't until primary school, when she had fallen asleep during a Geography lecture and disrupted the classroom crying out "No, Jimmy, no!" that the government became aware of her existence. Jimmy, who had been absent that day, was found hanged in his basement later that day. Within the week, Amy was transferred to Geldon's. Because she arrived mid quarter, Amy had a hard time fitting in with her new classmates, with the exception of Brian. Brian had been captivated by her 'gift', as he referred to it. "Precogs are rare, Amy," he'd told her on the day they'd met, running his fingers through his wavy black hair nervously, the way he often did when they spent time together between classes. "Even among supernaturals I mean. Only a handful have ever been recorded." He ran his hand through his hair once again and smiled his charming half-smile. It was only years later that Amy began to understand why he'd been so nervous, or why he'd always smiled that particular smile for her. Geldon's was also where she'd met Captain Amazing. Ryan, he'd been called back then. Ryan was your run of the mill superstar; stronger than ten men, faster than the eye could see, and so good looking it was almost unfair. He'd even been training to fly. Ryan and Amy had been introduced by Brian, who was studying what he described as Ryan's "Extraordinary ability to not give a fuck about being damaged." Within a month, she was going on dates with him. Before graduation, they were engaged. Brian left Geldon's during their final year, by expulsion if you believed the official report. Amy had been having a hard time believing it at the time; now she knew for a fact it was just another government lie. After graduation, Ryan had become a 'Hero' for the government. They sent him to dangerous situations, and he became extremely good at making danger go away. The Captain Amazing moniker came about after the wedding, when Ryan became the overt face of the government's supernatural operatives. Amy had hoped against hope that his alter ego would provide him another outlet for his demons, that maybe pummeling criminals as the Protector of Santoval would be enough for him. Every time he hit her, Amy would think bitterly upon her 'gift', and how she'd never seen or foreseen that Ryan was and would become exactly like her father. And so, as Amy and the rest of Santoval watched Captain Amazing battle The Instigator, her mind was a lone voice rooting for the raven-haired villain with the ironic, broken smile. Brian was different now than he had been at Geldon's, his charms had harshened, his laughter cold and humorless rather than warm and inviting. He hardly seemed the type of man-- or superman-- to befriend a scared, lonely little girl during her first week in a strange place. Amy recognized his technology though, the hoverboard and strength-enhancing armor, and wondered if Ryan knew him as well. The old friends battled amid the smoking ruins of City Hall, and Amy sank to her knees. She shut her eyes tightly, and began to sob as the vision overtook her.

I'll give it a go, no promises on level of "quality" (is that the word??) I don't write much. "They're up on the roof. Fighting. I hope he dies. After all, where was he when my wife was killed by the psychos he swore to PROTECT us from? Where was he when my Daughter died along-side her mother, crying about how she was scared, while I had to watch? Then AFTER he caught the responsible party, you know what he did? NOTHING! Locked them up in that nice comfortable asylum cell so they could get out, AGAIN! I know that when the idiots that believe in him need him the most, he'll fail. Just like he did me." What do you think? It feels a little cliched or stupid. Any constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated so I can improve.

There's always that one villain you secretly root for... So use that to your own advantage! The character could have an obsession, love or fandom for the villain, maybe even want to be their lackey/minion.... Oh the possibilities! Make me believe it!

[WP]: Amongst a crowd watching a superhero/villain battle, one person is secretly rooting for the villain to win...

Sweat insisted on dotting itself all over Willis’ brow and neck. The costume he wore was a perfect replica, he knew—every rivet lovingly hot-glued into place, every stitch a tiny masterpiece of mid-amateur-level sewing skill. He’d done so many swatches. It’d had to be perfect. But Tryclone was looking at him, singling him out within the crowd for just a moment, and Willis couldn’t have felt it more insufficient. For instance, Tryclone’s real costume looked like it breathed. It looked as if the material moved with his rippling muscles, instead of fighting against flesh that was slightly doughier than was healthy. It wasn’t only the costume, either; his mad laughter, the look in his eyes that promised pain, the angry red they glowed when the death-beam bounced harmlessly off of Agent A’s indestructible shoulder pauldron and took out the very jewelry store he’d come to liberate…. It was divinity itself. Willis shivered, and shoved his way through the mass of stupid imbeciles that were gathered there, cheering for Agent A the way they always did. Couldn’t they see? Agent A was the bully, the lunchroom jock who hung out with his friends and laughed at you for having braces. Tryclone was like Willis. Only, Willis hadn’t developed a formula for super-strength that also made the drinker go slowly insane. But the principle of it all was the same. Some of the sheep stared at Willis’ costume and muttered to each other, but Willis was used to being stared at, and muttered at. Cast out by society. Just like Tryclone. Agent A swung and Tryclone caught the punch with his jaw, and fell into the crowd, scattering the herd, several crushed beneath his great girth. Willis was there in a moment. It took every ounce of courage to kneel beside the villain, and to cradle his head in his lap. His frizzy white hair was singed black at the ends. Willis touched them with wonder. Tyclone whispered something. Willis leaned in close to hear, heart thumping. “Go…. Away.” Tryclone wheezed. “I…. Hate…. Nerds….” Agent A was there. Willis hadn’t heard him approach. He sank to his knees beside Willis and lifted the villian’s now-lifeless body in his arms. Willis could see that he was weeping. “We were such good friends, once,” Agent A sobbed quietly. “Best friends, so long ago, before the formula, before all this.” Willis placed a hand on the hero’s pauldron. He could see, now, that he had been wrong about Agent A. He had been wrong about Tryclone, too. Tryclone was a bully. Agent A was a good man, forced to do battle with a friend who’d gone mad. “It may not mean much,” Willis said, “but I’ll be your friend.” Agent A looked down and him, and wiped the snot from his nose with a hand gloved in white. His mouth quirked into a small smile. “That’s sweet,” he said, “but I could never be friends with a nerd.”

I'll give it a go, no promises on level of "quality" (is that the word??) I don't write much. "They're up on the roof. Fighting. I hope he dies. After all, where was he when my wife was killed by the psychos he swore to PROTECT us from? Where was he when my Daughter died along-side her mother, crying about how she was scared, while I had to watch? Then AFTER he caught the responsible party, you know what he did? NOTHING! Locked them up in that nice comfortable asylum cell so they could get out, AGAIN! I know that when the idiots that believe in him need him the most, he'll fail. Just like he did me." What do you think? It feels a little cliched or stupid. Any constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated so I can improve.

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

And so the whole world wept.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

One day, humanity will just disappear.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

And the end is just darkness

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

I must take this exam again.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

And they parted, one final time.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Mommy, I don't want to die.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

As the world faded, she didn't.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

His suicide note: "Messy, isn't it?"

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

You're not who I once loved.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Training wheels, off too soon. Mistake.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

My dog, Sunny, isn't here anymore.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Even bleeding, he loved his father.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

He weeped at his empty plate.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

As the darkness consumed her, she wept.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Final words unwritten, the clock stops.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

I was happy. Then I awoke.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Hungry he saw fat people eating.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

She changed her name after me.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

One last game of fetch before...

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

I never had a birthday party

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

It didn't matter in the end.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

He died for a cheating wife.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Its voice never graced the world.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

A mother's cry, buried under gunfire.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Meet, love, morn. Lather, rinse, repeat.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

i'll give it all up again

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

All of your friends will die. *** Not exactly original, I've heard this before, but it's not attributed to anyone in particular as far as I know.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

"Sorry." And then there were none.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Born wrong, failed making it right.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

He died a lonely old man.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

She's homeless. Nobody cares about her.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

The orphanage was now completely full.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

No one will ever know me.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Dying like he awoke everyday: alone.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

In the end, all hearts break.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Pappa, you promised it wouldn't hurt

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

"I'm sorry for what I am."

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

I open my eyes again. Darkness.

She let go of her doll

[FF] The saddest 6 word story that you can come up with

Her hand slipped, she sank quickly...

She let go of her doll