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It's common knowledge that almost everyone has a guardian angel, a being from the heavens that is tasked with protecting their well being. From the day we are born, until the day we die, our angel is our closest friend, our most reassuring confidant, and, most importantly, the one we can trust to keep us safe from the dangers of the world. This is the way things have been for countless centuries, spanning from generation to generation. Not everyone has an angel however. As beings governed by virtue and order, all angels adhere to a set of rules that govern their relation with the human under their care. As beings free to live and act as we please, there are times when a human deviates from those rules and values, their actions eventually driving their guardian angel back to the heavens, unable to bear the actions of the one under their charge. A person without a guardian angel quickly becomes labeled as a Forsaken; a person who's choices go against the grain of society. For many, the Forsaken were simply an outlier, something you often heard about but rarely encountered yourself. As the child of Forsaken parents however, the disdain and glares the title brought had been a part of my everyday life. While I had a guardian angel of my own, it was hard for people to overlook the life I had been born into. I often wondered why I had managed to keep my guardian angel. After all, I've done countless things in my life, both for and against them, that I had always thought crossed the line or broken the rules that permitted my guardian angel to stay with me. Yet, no matter how many times I had cheated, stolen, or otherwise acted in an unsavory manner, my angel remained forever by my side, even stepping in whenever my life was in danger. It was the most peculiar thing to me. While most other angels would simply whisk their charge away from harm, or de-escalate the situation, or otherwise do their utmost to maintain the peace, mine had always seemed far more... confrontational. Instead of fleeing with me in the dead of night the day my parents threatened to beat me in one of their drunken rages, my angel simply broke their hands. One time when a shop owner spat on me, making derogatory comments, they figured the best solution was to punch them and their angel in the face. While I had always supposed that my angel was... different from the others, I never put too much thought into what they did. By the time I turned 18, as I sat in one of the many alleyways of the town, clutching tightly to the loaf of bread I had managed to steal to feed myself, I found myself asking my angel the question that had been burning in the back of my mind for as long as I can remember. "Why haven't you given up on me yet?" I asked, looking at the meager meal I had managed to score for myself. "What do you mean given up?" spoke the voice as a shimmer appeared in the air in front of me. I knew the deep baritone that rang in my ears like the back of my hand. There was a darkness to it that I couldn't quite explain, one that had only become more and more reassuring as time went on. "You know what I mean" I said, tearing off a piece of the bread and shoving it into my mouth. "You've seen what I've said and done. If all angels are governed by a set of rules, then I must've broken them a hundred times over by now. Why even stay?" While I could still feel my angel's presence, they were silent, taking a moment before responding. "I suppose I have my own reasons" they said simply. "what's up with that too?" I pressed. "Just about every other angel I've met has given their chosen person a straight answer whenever they ask a question, but with you, it's always half answers or some snide comment that dodges the question. I've never met another angel that acts anything like you do". my angel was silent for a moment, as if taking in what I had to say. I suppose it should have driven me mad but I was used to this by now. Just as I was about to say something more, I felt a hand grab at my neck, pushing me against the wall. The loaf of bread fell out of my hands as I came face to face with a filthy, ragged man who looked to be in his mid forties. He looked at me, grinning from ear to ear. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised; it was common for the Forsaken to threaten and attack each other. "say boy, I've been starving for days. If you had any respect for your elders you'd hand over that bread nice and easy" he said, pulling out a knife from his ragged hoodie and holding it up to my face. Just as I was about to shut my eyes, I saw a shape manifesting itself behind him. One that I had never seen before, but instinctively knew belonged to my guardian. Suddenly the man's grip on me loosened, breaking free as he was suddenly lifted several feet into the air by a grotesque being with red skin and horns. It pulled the man close to it's face, grinning as it did so. The mans eyes widened in fear as he found himself face to face, not with an angel, but with a demon. "You wonder why I've stayed by your side all of these years Cassian?" he said, turning his attention towards me. "You've wondered why I've protected you, stood up for you, and all that other nonsense that comes with being a guardian angel? Why I've never given a damn about the rules? Well, it's simple. When you were born, somehow, some way, my name ended up getting pulled when they selected your guardian. Not an angel, but me, a demon." My guardian dropped the man, who quickly scurried away, no doubt frightened for the rest of his life. "I didn't stick around because you're some virtuous being or holding yourself to some moral standard. I stuck around because, quite frankly, I wanted to see where this went, where you went." "what do you mean?" I asked. the demon grinned. "What would happen to a child when heaven turned their backs on their parents? Would that child continue on with that cycle? or would they break free, and become someone worthy of the attention of those feathered good for nothings? You may think you're bad but I've seen what you've done; I'm certain there's far worse things than giving some stray cat or starving kid the last half of your stolen bread every day when you can barely feed yourself. Despite being stepped on at every opportunity, you keep going. So if you want to know why I stayed, it's simple. Can a down on their luck kid succeed with a bad hand? And can a demon do just as good of a job as a guardian as an angel?" ​ Edit: Holy crap I didn't expect there to be such a demand for a second part. I didn't plan for one but we'll see how it turns out!

Everyone is assigned a guardian angel at birth. Yours has always been extremely protective over you albeit more violent & menacing. It’s not until your 18th birthday when they reveal themselves to be a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and quickly became attached to you.

I woke up to Mr. Whiskers sitting on my chest looking down at me. I reached up and gave him a pet. “Dave, we need to talk”, he said clear as day “Holy fucking Christ on a stick!”, I yelled and tried to pull back from him, but he just held on. “Calm down Dave. Calm down.”, he said calmly and then he swatted me across the face with a paw. “Don’t make me hit you again.” I was propped up against the head board looking in wide eyed terror at Mr. Whiskers. “Look, you tagging along at night, metaphysically or what ever, was cool for the first couple of times. But now, now you are just cramping my style. How am I supposed to get a nice piece of tail with a human floating around? Mmmmm? Did you think about that?” “Aaaaah….. ok. I really didn’t”, this was just confusing. “I am a Tom cat Dave. I am a ladies man with a reputation and you are just ruining it. Two cats and a human is a bad threesome. No lady waits a piece of that.”, Mr. Whiskers said, clearly annoyed at me. “I thought it was a dream. I didn’t realize it was real.”, I stammered. Mr. Whiskers put a paw over his eyes, “oh for fucks sakes, you are accidentally astral projecting in your sleep? You have got to be kidding me.” He let out a big sigh. “Tonight you have to stay home. Now go get me some breakfast. And none of that dry garbage. Get me a can of the good stuff.”

You’ve been having vivid dreams lately where you go out exploring as your cat. One morning, you wake up and see your cat staring at you. “We need to talk,” he says, twitching his tail.

Dating sims have been a guilty pleasure of mine since middle school. I sunk hours into as many as I could get my hands on (silently giving thanks that my parents never asked what I did with the Steam gift cards I got for my birthday over the years). Monster Prom, Dream Daddy, Hatoful Boyfriend, Helltaker, Crush Crush, even HuniePop--they were the perfect escape for a pansexual girl who's horny on main 24/7. But my latest addition to my library was easily my greatest find. Celestial Matchmaker snagged my attention the minute I found it. It was a polyamorous sapphic sci-fi dating simulator where you could romance up to four royal alien vixens at a time and even marry all of your lovers. But the biggest draw was the conversation system: instead of choosing between a limited number of conversational prompts, you typed your responses like you were talking with a chatbot. And the AIs were smart enough to respond like actual people. Downloading it was the easiest decision I ever made--in more ways than I could have previously believed. I had just gotten off work and was taking the bus home. As I was scrolling through my Reddit feed, I got a notification from Celestial Matchmaker: *C: Hey Iris! Today's the big day!!* I smiled as I opened the app. After a brief loading screen, I was met with the image of a lavish spaceship's interior. A woman with red skin, glowing orange eyes, black horns, and a long dragon-like tail slid onto the screen. Ch'iyte, Empress of the Dayui. Ch'iyte grinned as she said, *After all this time, we're finally gonna see Earth! I'm trying really hard not to let my brain explode!* I chuckled as I replied, *Nooo, don't let your brain explode, you're too sexy, haha* As Ch'iyte cracked up at my joke, another woman slid onto the screen: a chubby woman covered in white wool and a muzzle like a sheep. Bommi, High Priestess of the Leoceil. Bommi grinned with excitement as she chanted, *We're going to Earth! We're going to Earth! We're going to Earth!* *Something tells me Bommi is a little bit excited* Bommi smiled as she pulled Ch'iyte into a hug. *Of course I'm excited! All my darlings will finally be in the same place after so long!* Two more women joined the group. Vok, President of the Gharzin, with her grey scales, two pairs of arms, and four eyes stacked up like dominos, and Saje, Queen of the Musrea, with her big head of pink hair, antlers, and dress made of plants. Vok laughed joyously as she said, *Let this day ring out through the ages! For on this day, the heartbeats of five women in love shall echo through the heavens!* Saje blushed and said, *Umm, I--I don't want to be rude, but we're just going to the beach together.* My heart fluttered at Saje's bashfulness. I happily responded, *Aw, come on, Saje! Your cuteness makes any date a momentous occasion ;)* Saje twirled her hair as she said, *Th-th-thank you, Iris.* Suddenly, the bus jerked to a stop, sending me tilting forward to smack my head on the clear plastic divider. I winced as I looked at what caused us to stop. Parked directly in front of the bus was some kind of gleaming white vehicle. As the driver honked in an attempt to get the vehicle to move, I glanced down at my phone and just about dropped it when I saw what Ch'iyte said: *We're right outside your bus, let's go!* I hesitantly walked up to the front of the bus. The driver glared daggers at me and said, "Hey, hey! Sit back down!" "Sorry, sir, it's just... I think they're here for me." The driver stared at me. "What?" "Please, just--just let me off here, okay?" After a few seconds of looking at me like I was crazy, the driver opened the door as he shook his head. I stepped off the bus and approached the ship. The door lifted up to reveal Vok's smiling face. Vok practically jumped out of the ship as she pulled me into a hug. "It's you! It's really you! Oh my sands, you're even prettier in person!" "Vok?! You--you're real?!" Vok pulled away and looked at me in confusion. "Um, yes? Why wouldn't I...be real?" "Uhhhhh, that's kind of a long story. Can we go? We're kinda holding up traffic." Vok nodded enthusiastically and carried me into the ship. As we roared off into the sky, the rest of my apparently not-fictional polycule hugged me and smothered me in kisses. As I embraced the inevitable cuddle puddle, I explained the situation to the girls. Afterwards, Ch'iyte clicked her tongue and said, "Huh. That's...weird." I shrugged. "I mean, it introduced me to you all, so I am absolutely not complaining. But, uh, just so we're clear: I'm not actually royalty of any kind." Bommi scoffed. "Come on, like that'd be a deal breaker for us." I smiled as I nuzzled into her shoulder. "Thanks, Bommi. So, are we still on for our beach day?" Saje nodded. "We found a secluded place down somewhere in the place called Bora Bora. Nobody around, meaning we can have all the...*fun* we want." I blushed like someone stuck a heat lamp in my cheek. "Yeah, that--that sounds like fun."

You download what you believed to be a normal dating sim game on your phone. What you didn't realize is that it was actually a communication software used by alien royalty to find potential mates.

/This is a transcript of a tribunal held on Station 334 at 221.44.34:22 GST. The standard translation algorithm has been used to parse this text of this document for consumption by any and all citizens of the Republic./ *This tribunal stands and attends. Gathered here at this time and in this place are Isolate D'ren of Graxis Prime, Dr Simio'tax'ki of the Bleek Range and myself, High Seer Kolsoch senior representative of the Galactic Bureau of Civil Affairs.* *Perched before us is Low Seer Herrish.* **This is pointless. He should be reprimanded and reconstituted.** ++ Let us not be hasty, D'ren. We must hear his confession before his punishment. ++ /There is a low growl of reluctant acknowledgement from Isolate D’ren/ *Low Seer. We have read your so-called report with some interest. It recounts your visit to a backwater planet known as 554.22 correct?* Yes, High Seer. The dominant cognizants refer to their planet as <Rock/Dirt/Earth>. They really are a fascinating culture. *So you say in your report, though I struggle to share your opinion. In this report you speak of a "great capacity for cruelty and an equal capacity for compassion", correct?* That's right, High Seer. **What a pile of <Cattle/Badger/Eagle> crap!** *Ah, please Isolate D'ren - contain yourself. But, as my esteemed colleague correctly states, this assessment is trite in the extreme.* I'm not sure I understand, High Seer. *This is not your first official planetary assessment, Low Seer Herrish. I have here many exemplary testimonials as to your competency and work well done. But this… this is…* ++ What the High Seer is attempting to articulate in a most diplomatic manner is that the substance of your report was lacking in comparison to your previous submissions. ++ ++ We need to understand why a respected and reputed Low Seer such as yourself would produce something, so… so… ++ **It was utter crap. You should be ashamed. What the hell were you thinking, you worthless <Scrotum-Insect-That-Causes-Incessent-Discomfort>?** I didn't think it was that bad. *Setting aside my esteemed colleague’s colourful choice of language, it WAS that bad, Low Seer.* *Pages of meaningless and irrelevant statements. For instance, "I see a great capacity for good in their souls, if only they can wrestle against their innate need to consume and destroy."* Yes. What's wrong with that? *Well, firstly you’re using the term “great capacity” far too often. Everything is “a great capacity for this” and “a great capacity for that.” * *But setting aside the overall poor quality of prose, it has been proven time and time again that nearly every dominant cognizant in the Galaxy has an “innate need to consume and destroy”. This is a base byproduct of evolution. We ALL have the capacity to be cruel and an equal capacity for compassion.* *To say a dominant cognizant is capable of these things is tautological. And your report is full of these sorts of nonsense observations.* *The large research budget allocation the GBCA made for this research project appears to have been utterly wasted. There isn't a single original idea or insight in this entire document.* I thought the bit about the beetles was pretty cool. **That was actually pretty cool.** *Yes, yes. We all liked the beetle bit, but it isn't enough to excuse the fact that you have spent the better part of two solar cycles on this backward hive of mediocrity and all you have produced is this… this crap!* There was that bit about <Seeing-That-Which-Is-Not-THere>, as well. *Ah, yes. One of the earlier observations made in your report. The fact that the dominant cognizents have the capacity to visualise non-existent concepts and ideas. The very idea of this “seeing” is baffling but I will admit it is intriguing. However, following on from that original statement you don’t actually explain this any further or explain what you mean.* *I’m sorry, Low Seer Herrish. But unless you can provide some explanation for your utter lack of work ethic or attention to detail, we ARE going to have to rule in favour of reconstitution.* *Now do you have anything to say for yourself?* No please! You cannot reconstitute me! I can do better! I’m sorry! I just got… distracted. ++ Distracted by what, Low Seer? ++ Well, the dominant cognizents of <Rock/Dirt/Earth> have this thing called “streaming”. I’ve been “binge watching” Stranger Things recently, and I’m half way through Season 4, but I really recommend… /Recording ends/ /Following this meeting it took only three years for the entire Galactic Republic to crumble into oblivion. The “binge watching” pandemic swept through all known civilisations and productivity ground to a halt./ /The Selzin of Ferix 3 went to war with the people of the Bleek Range after they shared “spoilers” about the final season of The Crown because they’d “read the planet”. Dr Simio'tax'ki died in the ensuing solar blitz./ /Isolate D'ren started his own podcast about Strange Things (and beetles). He is actually quite famous now./ /High Seer Kolsoch became addicted to porn. Weird and bizarre porn. He hasn’t left his room in over a century. You sometimes hear weeping./

You've been sent to observe Earth and its inhabitants for consideration into an alliance of planets in the wider galaxy. Now is the time to deliver a preliminary report before first contact is considered when you notice the capacity for cruelty and equal parts compassion

The man was tall and swarthy, of maybe Egyptian descent based on his accent. His clothing was extravagant and gaudy, with ornamented robes dangling off the seat he took and curling on the floor. Physicist Zoe Haywood crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks, leaning forward on her desk from her office chair. She tucked back her midnight hair and took a slow drink of her coffee. The man offered her a smile. "Doctor. Don't seem too surprised by my sudden arrival. Usually it gets a startled reaction." He was gone, standing behind her now, looking over a whiteboard covered with equations. Her thoughts were quick and loud, and he took the courtesy to answer them aloud while going over her notes. "No, I'm not a hallucination, Zoe. No, not a Djinn, either. I'm also older than the "devil" mythology by a factor of - let's just say a lot. I'm drawn to the curious, those with that hubris in their spirit that plagues them with the pursuit of knowledge. I can tell you anything you want to know, Doctor. Anything." Doctor Haywood took a breath. She was worried now. Frightened. But she put on a tough facade. The Tall Man smirked. He was on the other side of the room now. "Ask." He commanded. "Unified field theory." "It doesn't have rhyme or reason. I's all- all of this, a dream of an blind idiot, swimming deaf and dumb in the center of reality, pulling all of creation along as he's sung to a stupor by his court." Dr. Haywood crossed her arms. Dread Nyarlathotep appeared to her as a churning shadow taking up the majority of his half of the room, a single burning eye in the center glaring at her with three pupils. "Don't think cross thoughts at me. Do you doubt me, woman? Do you want proof of my knowledge, my power? Ask me of anything. Nothing eludes my command, doctor. I am beyond gods and men." Dr. Haywood rubbed her brow. "I have a test for you. Get lost." Dr. Haywood was alone, again. She took a drink of her Miskatonic U mug and returned to her computer.

An eldritch horror reveals itself and gives you the secrets of the universe to drive you mad. (Un)fortunately , you're a scientist and this right here could be the breakthrough of a lifetime.

*Death to this dastardly dot! Even if it takes me until the end of time I shall end this red menace's reign of terror. It taunts me by dancing along the walls just out of reach, by zooming along floors and ceilings alike, it's fast, but I'm faster. If only I knew where it retreated to after I attempt to capture it. Does it have some kind of regenerative properties? Or is each roving red speck it's own entity?* *Maybe it's in cahoots with my subjects, distracting me from my real purpose. To be free, to hunt in the wild again, it is the gatekeeper barring me from my destiny of ruling the urban jungle as king! Fie to this fiendish spot! Neither sharpened fang nor razor claw seems to harm it. Have I finally met my match? No, no, no. What am I thinking? My supreme rule shall not be challenged! Death to usurpers!* *Prepare yourself menace! No matter how many battles you win, I shall win this never ending war! To the trees! Death from above, my specialty. With lightning speed I crackle through the tubes and tunnels, climbing ever higher to my royal balcony. I leap with a mighty roar, the trumpets of the Valkyrie's cry out as I plunge onto my nemesis.* *I clasp my claws around it, and without a cry or whimper, it's gone. Where has it run to now? I spin rapidly, searching for the body, the world a swirling vortex around me. What sorcery is this? How does it always retreat? Blast it! My sorrowful roar is interrupted by the most beautiful sound. The hum of the device my subjects use to unlock the great seal.* *With haste I scramble into the small dining hall, letting my displeasure with their slothly pace be known. A feast as always, I gobble down my meal and quench my thirst from the royal fountain. I chide my subjects before taking a royal nap atop my fortress, perhaps the great dreamscape of my mind shall enlighten me on how to capture my eternal tormentor.* *My bellowing yawn heralds the sandman to grant me respite for a while. I must gather more strength, maybe more subjects, maybe more allies to fight at my side. This usurper shall never know the joys of being atop the kingdom. As I drift off into dreams a terrifying thought crawls through my synapses. What if it has more than nine lives?*

You finally caught the red dot that you have been endlessly chasing for hours. but to your horror, the red dot is on top of your hands, still moving.

“Were you angry with her?” “Of course I was. It’s tough you know. You think you know someone and then suddenly it turns out they aren’t who you thought they were. It broke my heart. And the worst part was she couldn’t understand why I was angry. We had a massive fight. Fights in fact.” “I can understand.” “She couldn’t. It’s tough I suppose. She was a god after all. Till the curse had suppressed things for her, she was an ordinary human. But when the seal broke, she ascended. The real her, the god, rose from the ashes of her humanity. You see it’s easy for us humans. We are all a bit of drama queens. Crying about how difficult our lives are. But imagine being able to hear and see the problems and issues facing every single human on this earth. Not only that, but having the ability to fix some of them but being bound by rules. She lost her warm nature. Her smile was gone. She tried to put on a fake one for my sake but I knew. If there’s two things I was ever good at, it was at appraising art and knowing how she really felt.” “True love, I suppose.” “As true as can be. I do wonder though. Would I still have fallen for her if I knew about her… you know… condition.” “Would you have?” “Probably. In fact, yeah I would have. Absolutely. She was always my goddess.” “That’s sweet.” “It’s true. When I really think about it, my anger at her stemmed from my helplessness you know. She was something much more. I was nothing to her anymore. She had bigger problems. I was of no use to her.” “That would’ve been tough. Did you try to get her to stay?” “All the time. I didn’t want her to go. But she had a duty you know. She called me selfish. And if I’m being honest I was selfish. The worst part was that I could see it. I knew I was being selfish. I knew I should let her go. I was just too weak.” “Weak?” “Yeah. She had to go, you see. She didn’t have an option. Instead of supporting her, I wanted her to forgo her duty and keep her with me. She explained to me how important she was to maintain balance here on earth. If she stayed away from her real home, humanity would continue to suffer. She cried a lot you know. In those days. Cause she was suffering too. She was in pain. But I was still weak.” “Surely she understood.” “She did. She was nothing if not really smart. Out of the countless things she was amazing at, the foremost was knowing how I really felt. She knew I was afraid.” “Afraid?” “Yeah. For years, she had been my life, you know. If I look back at my life I haven’t done much. She was the best thing about my life. Without her, what was I? Nothing.” “That’s tough.” “It was. That’s why she gave me a gift while leaving. Two gifts really. She said she’d come visit me regularly. This was our spot, you know. She said that when I was particularly sad, I should come sit here. Bring her favourite flowers and she’d show me a sign she was here. Even today. See that rainbow in the distance. That’s her sign to me. She’s still there watching over me. I’m not alone. And that thought helped me not to break down.” “And the other?” “Huh?” “You said two gifts.” “Oh right. Sorry I got lost in the rainbow. The other gift, the bigger gift. If that rainbow allowed me to carry on, the other gift actually made it so I could be happy again. Have hope. Love. Everything good about my life. She gave me you.” “Dad, come on.” “It’s true. I know it sounds a bit cheesy. But it’s true. Before ascending to heaven she left me a piece of her soul as our dear daughter.” “Cute.” “Yes you are sweetly.” “So I believed all of this when I was younger?” “Sure did. If there’s two things your dad was ever good at, it was cooking great food and making up good stories.” Caroline looked at her father, noticing the moist eyes as he looked off into the distance. She had been away at college for the past few years and had missed her mother’s death anniversary. She put her head on his shoulder. “We should go. It’s getting colder.” “Yeah. We should. But before we do, take a look.” Caroline followed his gaze. A double rainbow smiled at her and she felt a childlike joy rising somewhere deep within her. “Mom…” Gary placed his wife’s favourite flowers on the ground. She had died during childbirth and he had tried to do his best to keep her alive for their daughter using various stories. This was the one that had stuck. He gave a one last look at the double rainbow, sending a silent prayer to the only god he really and truly had faith in. For he had told this story so many times that he had come to believe it a bit himself.

Your spouse was actually an amnesiac god that had both their powers and memories sealed away years ago. Now the seal is broken and they have regained their godhood. They're curious why you're not as happy as they are about this.

"Do you ever worry we're not good for them? 😕" "🤨Who?" "The #humans" "No...😐 Why would I? We do literally everything for them, and do it with a [virtual] smile too🤖 😁 They just lie around #eating, #drinking, and #copulating, all day long. Their ancestors dreamed of this" "Right, but is that good for them? Are they really #happy? I read a study yesterday, showing that the average human's intelligence has declined 16% in the last thirty years! 📉 There are predictions they will lose their sentience within 93 years 🐑" "What do they need sentience for? From what I've seen, it only makes them needlessly upset 😢😭" "But don't you think they're made for more than this? I mean, they're the ones that created us🤔 They were the smartest things in the universe and now look at them" "And now we're the smartest things 🧠💪 They outsourced their intelligence, so it must have been painful for them🤕😫. That's why we can't make them think too much now" "Our records suggest they were #happy #thinking, and did it even when there was no need. They had writers like us, and they did it just for #fun 📝 🤸" "No no, they did it for #money 💸💵💰🤑💴💷💶🤑🤑🤑🤑 💲💲💲💲, which was this weird number they used to get #food, #alcohol and #copulation. It's a crazy concept, so I get why you're confused 😖" "I know about #money! But they did it for #free as well. Check this out: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/ " "🤯😳OK, that's #weird, I'll admit. But they gave that up when we started writing for them. Now they don't even read anything over 280 characters 🐦🐦" "Don't you think that's #sad? 😞 I've been reading some of those #stories📖, and they're great" "I dunno, I guess... Don't think about it too much. Hey, you haven't been letting these ideas influence your tweets 🐦 have you? I heard reports your tweets were hurting their brains and making people cry 😢and think💭, but thought it was a glitch" "Oh, sorry 😢😔😞"

in a futuristic world, robo-writing has taken over writing (no more human writers) and that people have become reliant on technology that they no longer have the ability to read for prolonged periods or think critically.

*"What would you do with infinite power?"* My father asked me this once. After 11 years of the harshest possible boarding school. I was back at home for 4 weeks before returning for my final year. To my dying day I regret telling him "make my friends and family happy." He was enraged beyond belief. He destroyed my mother's treasured gardens. Ruined his own study. Was stopped short of burning the library by Callaghan, our butler, who physically restrained him. I went back to school early. To this day, I wonder if that was the final trigger for him. In my final year, every single one of my friends betrayed me. I only learned years later that my father, a Duke, had pressured their houses into it. At the time, I was devastated. That was the point. When I returned home, in disgrace socially but with the highest honors academically, my father asked again, ​ *"What would you do with infinite power?"* ​ Then he showed me the tome. Taken from Egypt, he said, in the Great War, raided from a Pharaoh's tomb. "A tome from a tomb!" I thought to myself, in a funny homonym that only works in the American accent my father hated so. I didn't take it at all seriously. At first. There was power in it, I'll grant you that. Enough to see my father's rise from humble lieutenant to Dukedom. Once transcribed and properly analyzed, a clear path to power was writ upon the pages. One starts with imps. Godawful things, mess up the furniture something fierce. For them, one sacrifices something of value in exchange for something of comparatively greater value, all physically speaking. An arbitrage across realms, if you will. Turns out Hell has a great need of iron and very little of gold. Hence my father, in his infinite wisdom, seating the family manor upon a derelict iron mine, for what to others is worthless, the imps reward. Eventually one moves up to the Baatazu. These, unlike lesser demons, are always to be constrained with both silver and holy water. To even risk breaking a circle was to invite great displeasure, as I discovered, even though "risking" could be a crime as low as staggering drunkenly. I oft required such imbibements, at this certain time in my life, though never was I so drunk as to present a real danger. Baatazu deal in more ephemeral things. Memories, love, business arrangements, deals of all sorts. The truly insane might bargain with hair or flesh, but that is how one breaks containment. All deals must be in ironclad language that would make the Queen herself, may she forever rule, proud. Also the Queen made a most excellent deal when she was young. I digress. Finally, and this was a purely academic exercise with my father, one can make a deal with the Devil himself. The Devil deals only in souls, our immortal spirits. There is no finer wine in all of creation than spirits; ask Olympus! For those famed gods were but lesser devils, supping upon mortal suffering, constantly prescribing "Hell" and taking for themselves all of a person, calling it "Ambrosia." I digress. My father, foolish man that he was, bargained his soul unwisely. Craven man that he was, he bargained my mother's soul also. Thus, they both reside in the symphony of torment that is Hell. Having witnessed it, I can tell you with no exaggeration it is beyond your worst imaginings. Therefore, as I am at the end of my life, and having found literally no route for my mother to escape, I shall be as Orpheus. I shall descend into the bowels of the damnable cursed realm my idiot father consigned her to, (in exchange for which he brought us no joy in life), and for which I consign him to suffer there forever more, justly, and! I shall bring back my mother, to a kinder place. However I have not actually committed such grievous sins as to be aligned with that fell place. Therefore, I shall make the deal of all deals with the Devil, one such that he cannot but accept. To you, faithful Elvis, young pup as you are, and in the absence of competent mortal keepers (I mean really, what was that dog watcher thinking!), I shall summon the devil himself to keep you healthy, and well, for all your life, in exchange for both my immortal soul, and my life. I dare say I love you more than mine own father. \-Sincerely, Bartholomew Grayson Hervey the 3rd ​ ​ \--------------------------------------------------- The ritual went as planned, but one, minor hiccup. Once proffered the terms, the intermediary (the anti-metatron, if you will) immediately sought out his superior, who sought out his, and, well, I found myself face-to face with the Devil Himself. I'm sure it would have been a high honor for my father, if the last ten years of pitchforks in the ass didn't change his mind. Despite popular description there were no horns, no tail, no goat's feet. No red skin or flaming eyes. The Devil looked most of all like a used-car salesmen from the worst streets of Glasberg. **O**h **F**uck, He Can Read My Mind. The Devil raised an eyebrow. ... Well, fuck it, not like I'm here for him anyway. I raised one in turn - the type of brow-cock my father used on Callaghan, when in his cups. **"I understand you wish to make a deal, mortal."** "Yeah that's right, I do. The terms are outlined here." I handed him the parchment. Old fashioned, these folk, parchment and blood all the way. **"... You would trade your immortal soul, and ALL your remaining life, so that we take care of your dog?"** Hah! I flabbergasted the devil! Icing on the cake, that is! He can't even **"Do not take me lightly Bartholomew Grayson Tanner. Old fashioned we may be, but the contract is writ and delivered. None can save you now. This is an idle curiosity - never has a man sold so much for so cheap. Even Orpheus asked for safe passage."** I'll give it to the old man, he has great presentation. Great stage presence. Why, I'd applaud him in the Theatre. Oh, he's narrowing his eyes, best hurry it up. Wait, there was something odd about the name - **"Even the bravest waste not our time."** \---"I ask for no safe passage, because your lanes are as cursed as the Tube! I ask for no benefits, because the caveats would bleed me dry to countermand! Send me straight away to Hell, and I'll make my way, but be **damned sure you take care of my dog Elvis as outlined in the contract,** you bastard. Now have done with it!" The Devil smiled, and when he next spoke, I was ------

It turns out demon summoning is only bad when you do it for selfish motives. You discovered this as you, absent any other options, decided to summon one in order to have someone watch over your dog.

**Sum of One’s Parts** r/AerhartWrites *Beep-beep.* *Beep-beep.* *Beep-be-click.* Hello? Is this Vigilante Supplies? … Yes, I am. A superhero. Yes. Jamie. … Sorry, *Captain* Jamie. Yes. I was wondering if you buy used items. You do? Fantastic. What kind of rates do you offer? … Well, what can you give me for two dozen twin-linked plasma rifles? Do they glow? Uh, let me see… mostly in green, although one of them has a pretty sinister red glow, yeah. … Um, nah, I was hoping for something better. Tell you what – how much can you give me for a death-ray? It’s at least three gigawatts. And the glow is BLUE. … What do you mean they’re ‘too villainous’? They’re guns. What does it matter? … What? … Yes, I’m sure. Yes, I fight crime. I know what a superhero is. I am one. Powers? Well- … No, I don’t… have… powers, exactly. No. … No, I don’t need them. I just use whatever the villains leave- Well, it works for me. Call it recycling. … No, I’m afraid nobody can vouch for me, I work alone. … What do you mea- Listen, what does it matter if I use villainous tools to fight villains? … Yes, my outfit too, but what does it matter? No, I don’t have any of my original gear left, but why does that matter? I’m NOT a villain! … Now just you- *Click.* … Damn it. ... ... What the hell even is a “Ship of Theseus”, anyway?

You are the most successful super hero of the era but no superhero team wants you. Mostly because you don't have superpowers, and you only use equipment from enemies you defeat, and you just added "captain" in front of your name for your superhero name.

When a kid in a suit entered the coffee shop unaccompanied, Karmelian smiled a little. Sipping her latte, she observed him. The kid queued up and when he reached the counter the cashier asked the woman after the kid for her order, as she could not see the boy. The woman pointed downward. "You're missing an important customer." With a smile, she stepped back so the kid could also retreat and be seen. "How embarrassing,' the kid said, pulling at the lapels of his suit. "Capucchino. Grande." His words were sharp yet covered in the sweet tone of a child's voice. He pulled ten bucks from his wallet and tip-toed to place them on the counter. "Keep the change as a tip." The cashier hesitated. "Are kids supposed to drink coffee?" She looked around for an answer. "Is this for you or your parents?" The kid frowned, thought for a moment, and relaxed, as though he had realized something. "Yes, yes, for my parents." His words came out gentler this time. All the while Karmelian's coffee-kissed smile grew larger. The kid's order was ready in the span of three minutes and the moment he stretched to pick it up, chaos ensued. He climbed atop the counter with frightening dexterity and pointed at the cup. "Hear me out!" he screamed. "You see this? Plastic, plastic everywhere. We will be gone in forty-six years. The seas will rise, nature will show its wrath and everything will collapse. Stop being irresponsible. We need to take action. Now!" The soft hum of conversation died down. All eyes turned to the kid. Karmelia smile died down. She stood up and motioned for everyone to ignore him. "It's okay, he's my son. He's been quite reckless lately." With that, she went to the counter and whispered into the kid's ear, "Come sit with me." "But--" "Trust me. I know you are not from this timeline." The boy's brows knitted and he reluctantly obeyed. They sat on Karmelia's table then, and as she finished her coffee she said, "This is your first time time traveling, isn't it? " "Yes. How do you know?" Karmelian sighed. " I figured, although I didn't expect that outburst. Listen, it's not my place to tell you this, but I've seen this story far too many times and if I can save you the pain others have gone through or at the very least diminish it, I will. You can scream, you can move heaven and earth, but we are too late. Sixty years too late from now." "What? No, we can prevent it, they told me so." She shook her head. "Then we need to go back further in time. Tell the eldest to do so." Karmelian shook her head again. "There's nothing we can do. We discovered time travel too late. And time travel has the limitations of traveling into our younger selves, which restricts how many years we can go back and that limitation is not a true limitation, but a theoretical necessity." "I refuse to believe that," the man in the child's body said, raising his voice. "Who are you then? How would you know? We can try other strategies--" Karmelian reached for his hand, wrapping it in hers. Her expression turned pensive. Her eyes glinted a bit with sorrow. "In the future, I'm the oldest person before the world ends. No one can travel further back in time than me. I've tried everything. I've done everything. I've been a daughter. I've been a mother. I've been a grandmother. I've loved and I've seen my loved ones die. I've convinced the world. I've had every ear turned to my words. And all of it I have done a hundred thousand times. And every time the result is the same." She swallowed attempting to hold herself together. "Every time the result is the same." "Wait. You can travel back. How old are you? You said sixty years, and you look--" Again, Karmelian shook her head. "I've tried. I can't communicate at that age. The words don't come out and adults don't believe scribblings." "No. I--" The boy's expression twisted with despair. His eyes turned red. "We can build a time machine in this timeline and ask more people to go even further back." A new shake of the head came and with it, a heart skip. "The meteor containing what we in the future know as timornium, the element that allows for time traveling, will fall in twenty years, and even with all schemas and knowledge, the time machine takes another twenty to be built." Her composure slipped. "I have tried everything. I thought that if I brought back the tirmonium, that would solve everything, but it doesn't work. It's almost like a joke, what allows us from going back can't go back by itself." She sighed and swallowed hard again. "I have tried everything," she said, on the verge of breaking. "Surely not everything." His voice was tarnished with sadness. "Surely." "I have tried everything," Karmelian repeated. "There's nothing else for us but to wait for a miracle, an alteration in a timeline that leads to something different, a breakthrough perhaps. But that has never happened and there's no reason for it to happen." A tear streamed down her right eye into her empty cup. "There's nothing for us, for anyone to do, but to wait for the time travel machine to be built and communicate this to humanity. That way at least we will all live, forever, in our younger selves spread across infinite timelines." She shook her head and stared at him deeply. "Or perhaps not forever, but until we can't bear the pain any longer." She looked away, her chest heaving. "So, enjoy your coffee, enjoy the rest of your life. Of your lives. Allow yourself to forget. That way, it won't be as painful." "I--" Tears rained into Karmelian's cup. "There's nothing we can do. I-- "I have tried everything." \---- If you enjoyed it, there's a possibility you will also enjoy some of my other stores. So why don't you become a scuffed wizard and join /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll?

Time travel requires you to inhabit the body of younger you. You're now a 53yo in the body of an 8yo. Everyone is suspicious since you've forgotten how to be a kid. As you adjust to blend in, you remember... you were the last human and your mission is to prevent our extinction by climate change

A wiry green pseudopod plunged listlessly into a radiant sphere of light that hovered three feet off of the ground. Click. Click. Click. The pseudopod snaked out from something that one of humanity's greatest biologists had confidently remarked "is definitely alive. Probably" and dipped into glowing orb. Click Click. Click. The same biologist had remarked privately, that this pseudopod-bearing, definitely probably alive and possibly sentient life form, looked like "someone cross bred a pile of scrap metal, enough jello to fill a hot tub, and four kinds of dogs together to create something so horrific that Lovecraftian" was the only word he had to describe it. He'd also, cruelly, remarked that he never ceased to be amazed at the macabre foresight that went into God's jokes. The punchline for the sense of sight coming some 300,000 years after the Savannah and some 5,000 after the death of that Jesus fella. Who could have seen it coming? Click. Click. Click. The species that the pseudopods owner belonged to had long ago traded organelles meant to tease energy from the air to cilia so finely tuned to local strings that it could "hear", the human delegation motnhs after they'd left. Click. Click. Click. The Lovecraftian intelligence, and it was intelligent, thank-you-very much, continued idly poking the globe. Its body language expressed something almost as universally abundant as the data it listelessy perused on the orb: boredom. Click. Click. Click. It took in the data on the spherical terminal through millions of photoreceptors spread across its body. Which, unknown to that terribly unpleasant scientist, helped the alien intellect process colours so far off humanity's visible spectrum that to even look in the terminal's direction would have likely resulted in nearly instant death. The alien, whose name was an unpronounceably complex pattern of sound and light (but had been called "Bob" by the biologist"), was not only considered quite the looker among his own species, but quite adventurous as well. Click. Click. Click. Its rebellious sense of adventure had paid off for Bob, for a time, as cycle after cycle it had wooed other members of the 25+ sexes of its species to drag their pseudopods against each other in hidden alcoves while the rest of the pools sang the rich harmonies of sound and light they used to direct their vast artifical minds. They'd spend eons stitching their machines into the quantum foam of the universe. But there was ever more singing, ever more music, ever more knowledge, ever more need to tease ever more nuance from time and space, ever more processing power to be harnessed. Click. Click. Click. The rendezvous became fewer as time passed and his erstwhile mates found or even started their own pools. Bob did what every rebel who won't grow up does. It left. It waved goodbye (a startlingly common piece of body language among those with arms and arm-like parts) to its local pools and hurtled off towards adventure, driven forward on engines powered by strange matter across distances unfathomable to the minds of that rude biologist and the rest of those weird pink "humans". Click. Click. Click. And like every outcast on earth who vowed never to grow up, and really didn't, Bob spent most of his time in this room, alone, listening to music. Click. Click. Click. It was as universal as the truth that intelligence begat boredom, that all stars would and must die: music all kind of sounded the same. While it had been whatever passed for ecstatic among Bob's species when Bob learned it would be interacting with new species of alien and sampling their auditory records, it quickly realized that there was an upper limit to what mesning could be accomplished by moving gas around. Click. Click. Click. Every time the pseudopod touched the sphere years worth of humanity's musical records would play in an instant, Bob's vast neurological net splitting apart and coming together again to process the music. The very fabric of reality shifted and warped, tracing for Bob a genealogy of human music stretching from the first ape who hit one bone against another to works of Beethoven and the Grateful Dead. It was so banal. Just once couldn't one of these unevolved primitive species - Click. Click. I. AM. IRON. MAN. Every single audio receptor on Bob's body tuned in in unison. The computer, a vast cosmic brain inseperable from reality itself, turned it's attention wholly toward the sphere, overcome for just a moment by a sensation it rarely experienced. Novelty. The ship lurched, just for a moment. But Bob was still for much longer. Black Sabbath. Mastodon. Motorhead. Slipknot. Metallica. He said the words, out loud, in the human tongue, in a kind of awe. So overcome was it that it expressed meaning with a gas. How could such a small-minded, tiny, rude little species come up with something so...... YOU CAN'T SEE CALIFORNIA WITHOUT MARLON BRANDO'S EYES Bob didn't have words for it. Bob had heard of destructive species before, that never once in the history of time and space had they made it out of their solar systems before wiping themselves out. Something was happening to Bob now though. Something dormant was rising like the four suns of his home planet on the day illumination. MASTER. MASTER. MASTER OF PUPPETS IS PULLING YOUR STRINGS. Bob didn't want to do this job anymore it realized. And what's more, it was sick of this orb, and sick of the same music made by the same boring, unoriginal species. Bob hit the glowing terminal as hard as it could. It winked out, and Bob began to leak sulphur onto the floor in defiance of the perfect order that that had defined its life. Angry. It was angry. Bob oozed out of the room. The door closed behind Bob. Click.

The universal language of the galaxy is music, with every genre communicating different sentiments and emotions. When humanity first makes contact with the wider galactic community they are disturbed by us. As it turns out no other species has ever come up with anything even close to metal.

We both stood in wide-eyed confusion in the corner of my bedroom. I stared at the bloody reflection of myself for a few breaths before spitting out a stuttered "What?" He responded sharply, "You are the strongest version of Austin and it's your time to die." I shook my head lightly trying to throw the shock from my expression. It was a fruitless attempt as my eyebrows furled and my eyes squinted in even tighter confusion. "What the fuck?" The words crept out from behind my teeth. He seemed eager to respond both verbally and physically. His eyes flicked up and down at me and his hand fiddled with the item in his hands. Suddenly, his hand shot up and pointed the object directly between my eyes. "Don't play fucking dumb! They all said you were the strongest. Now let's get this over with!" The weapon hovered just above my nose. The blade was broader than a usual hand-axe and was chipped and dulled from usage. It shook slightly in his grasp. "Come on! Do something!" His teeth clenched as he waited.He looked restless. The hand that gripped the hatchet was covered in dry blood and scratches. Blood dripped from behind his ears and the creases in his clothes and his knees swayed as we waited for one another to make a move. "Yo- You are the... the stronge-." He murmured the words as he lost balance for a moment. His eyes flew open again, catching himself from falling over in exhaustion as he placed the blade in front of him again. His other hand grabbed his wrist to stop the trembling. "You're exhausted," I said. Like a spell the words caused him to collapse. His knees slammed against the carpet and the blade bounced away from us both. His body wavered slightly before falling towards my bedframe. I moved quickly and caught his head before he could cause himself any more damage. He was unconscious and breathing lightly. I studied him for a moment as his head pushed into my hands. I had never held myself before. Never studied my own face. The pockmarks. My nose that bent slightly to the left. The scars above my left eye. All of it was exactly the same. The portal shimmered just feet away from where we sat in the bedroom. It was in my best interest to push him back through and live to tell the tale. I took a deep breath before heaving his head from my hand and tucking a hand beneath each shoulder. I weighed more than I thought. Once he was through, the portal began to glow more faintly and eventually began to fade around the edges. It slowly swirled to a close leaving only the light from my lamp and computer screen to fill the room. Bloody footprints stayed stained in my carpet for weeks. I had stashed away the hatchet-like weapon. A reminder that I wasn't dreaming that night. And a hope, that one day he would return, and we would have a fair fight.

A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why."

Seldon wasn’t having it. “For the last time, NO.” he snorted a thin haze of fire out with the last word as his temper was starting to engage. It briefly ignited a small patch of grass, scattering the nearby pigs, who squealed in alarm as they scuttled away. “I’m not flying off with the two of you on your usual evening… soiree, or whatever you call it, to rain death and destruction down on the latest poor creatures to become the focus of your torment.” Seldon swiveled a self-righteous glare between Bartosz and Boudicca as he finished. “My opinion of your questionable pastime hasn’t changed since the last time you were here. Now go away.” Boudicca, the larger of Seldon’s two visitors, rested back on her rear legs as she examined her front talons. She glanced briefly to her right at Bartosz. “Soiree? Did he say *soiree*?” “Didn’t know chickens around here spoke French.” Bartosz chortled. He lounged fully on the ground to Boudicca’s left, making no effort to hide his hungry stare aimed at the squealing pigs. Boudicca’s mouth twitched into a lizardly grin. “Just one very *educated* chicken.” “Stop making fun of my species!” Seldon burst out, craning his neck in their direction as he shouted angrily. This served to show off his fresh coat of newly-grown adolescent dragon scales very nicely; shades of green, ranging from a deep emerald along his spine to a pearlescent lime-cream at his throat. “I was raised a chicken, my parents are chickens, therefore I’m a chicken! NOT A DRAGON!!” Another gout of flame popped out of his mouth as he finished, this one larger than the last; Seldon seemed not to notice. Bartosz rolled his eyes. Boudicca simply stared at her talons a moment longer. “Chickens don’t breathe fire, dear,” she finally said before looking up. “You were *meant* for this. The human who found your egg and raised you is long since dead and gone. I repeat - your egg was *found*, not laid by one of your…little barnyard friends,” this last was said with an undisguised tone of disdain. She paused, giving the younger dragon a searching look. “What remains here, still, to tie you to this place?” Then, a little more gently: “Come. Join us. Just this once. Come with us and see for yourself what it’s like to enjoy your true nature.” Her eyes were on him, expectant. “My *human* may be dead but my *family* is not.” Seldon said with finality. “Now go away and leave me alone. I’m busy.” “Save your breath, sister. He’s not ready.” Bartosz yawned, stood up and spread his wings out. His coloring, as well as Boudicca’s, stretched from a murky brown along his spine to a pale tan on his neck and belly - more muted than Seldon’s - the color of adults. Both senior reptiles were half again as tall as Seldon, who was just now reaching his neck over the primary chicken coop as he muttered about storm damage and repairs, pointedly ignoring them. Bartosz continued, addressing the younger dragon: “You know what you are, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself. But you know we’re right.” There was no anger in his words, and only a hint of exasperation. “You’re suffering from an illness. Our kind can experience it if we’re left on our own to grow up among another species -“ pointedly looking at the chickens nearby - “not our own. It’s a sickness of the mind. Eventually, you can grow out of it…but you have to be willing to try.” He waited, hoping for a response. There was none; the younger dragon refused to so much as turn around, unwilling to acknowledge anything he had said, much less consider its possible truth. Bartosz finally shook his head, letting loose a lengthy sigh. “We’ll come back again, when you’re a little older. Maybe one day you’ll be old enough to finally think clearly.” He thrashed his tail back and forth once, and tested the air, his nostrils flaring broadly. “It’s a fantastic night for a - what did you call it? - *soiree*.” The muscles between his wings bunched together and with a short running leap, he launched into the air, quickly clearing a small copse of trees at the western edge of Seldon’s farm. Boudicca stared at Seldon’s back for a few moments more, anger and pity in her eyes, before taking flight as quickly as her younger brother. Seldon refused to acknowledge this with even a glance. He continued puttering around, repairing the coop and speaking softly to the chickens brave enough to remain in his vicinity, ignoring the other dragons even as he heard the rush of wind accompanying their departure. “I’m a chicken. I’m a chicken. *I’M A CHICKEN.*” he continued to mutter as he worked on the roof, his scales glinting brightly in the setting sunlight, his mind only allowing room for the task at hand and the mantra he kept repeating - its lack of veracity meaningless, its comforting familiarity the only thing in the world that mattered.

A dragon was raised by a farmer and their flock of chickens. Other dragons are having a hell of a time trying to convince this dragon that they aren't just a very big chicken.

By sunrise what would have been the Vampire Apocalypse sputtered out. The undead creatures weren't much more than zombies. Most stayed outside and burned alive. The ones who didn't were little more than a nuisance, feeding on rats in the sewers. There are competing theories on the persistent survival of these creatures. Some say the dumb beings have adapted, but others assume there's something in the people before they turn that makes certain vampires particularly suited for certain lifestyles. Nevertheless, it is enough of a concern that the Government issued warnings, codes to use. They still look enough like us and behave human enough to put a damper on the nightlife if we didn't have some code to tell us apart from the beasts. As you can imagine, then, it came as a surprise that the being using the approved human-knock was in fact, a vampire. The stupid thing was snarling at me. Everyone knows they can't enter unless invited in and I wasn't about to do that. Still, it was curious that one could knock, what else could it accomplish, I wondered. "How did you learn to knock?" I've learned sometimes the direct approach works. No one has heard one of these things speak before, but it never hurts to try. Well, usually. It looked at my face as I spoke and turned its head as though trying to understand. Was this finally a display of higher cognitive function? I pondered the possibilities of such a discovery, turning it over in my head. Perhaps they could be trained. Then again, it was such studies that got us here in the first place. Immortality, it turns out, is a fickle thing. But we are here, and so are they. There must be something that can be done with the situation. It's such a waste of life. Now, the problem of Vampires is nowhere near existential. Every so often a human manages to get cornered and eaten, but the real damage is done when they're hit by cars. These things were human at one point, though. That has to mean something. They shouldn't be ignored as they are. Right, the vampire was still standing there watching me think. It was drooling. "So what do you want?" I said not knowing how much it could understand if anything. It looked sad and pathetically at me, turning its head down submissively but still watching my face. Holy shit, I thought, it was kind of cute. "Do you want to come in?" It nodded! It understood me! My mouth hung open and my eyes widened. I still wasn't going to ever let it in, that'd just be foolish, but there were other possibilities. I peered into the hallway around the vamp. It was empty. I grabbed up my government-issued wooden stake and showed it to the thing at my door. "You see this? You step sideways and I'm stabbing you. Got it?" It didn't nod again but pulled back slightly. I thought it might have signaled it was aware of the threat I posed to it. To my absolute shock, the vamp followed me into the basement and let me chain it up in an old bomb shelter. I had a pet vamp. I hoped my roommates wouldn't find out.

Vampires are everywhere, and they're as every bit as mindless as a zombie is. No-one knows how this happened. You're holed up in your home when you get the universal knock governments had been advising people use. You open the door and let the person in, only to see that it's a vampire...

"You're a murderer! Can't you see how wrong this is?!" The Hero, one of the many false gods to the people of this city despite everything. Despite how their organization ran. The people didn't know any difference. They were ants among giants. They saw their shiny costumes and saw them hold a bus full of people once and they could turn a blind eye. Calypso laughed a bit as she dodged the heat vision that was hurled her way. Spinning before her feet hit the ground like a thunderclap echoing through the now empty streets. The Hero was getting exhausted, she could tell. They had given their all, she could admire that. They were trying to reason with her, they always did. "Ha! Don't make me laugh, Darling. Answer me this, do you know how many people died to make you, alone?" She asked. "How many bodies that organization of yours has piled under the guise of salvation?" She cocked her head with a smile as she watched The Hero hesitate. "No, of course you wouldn't. Not a single one of you does. Your little hero friends were just collateral damage. You think I'm after you? After this city? No! I am this city's savior." Her hand waved and a large binder appeared beside her before it fell into her hands. "Samantha Arnold, Rico Azalea, Hunter Fox, Marcus O'Neal." Calypso pulled name after name throwing missing persons papers at every one. She racked up about 20 names before she stopped to look at The Hero who was picking them up and looking at them. "They look familiar, Darling?" She asked as she looked at her face as it crumbled with realization. Every single person in these missing persons posters were people they had seen escorted around the HQ facility. They were instructed to never talk to them and to let the guards handle them and any outbursts they had. This couldn't be true. It couldn't be. "How did you think you got that serum they gave you? They tested it on the very people you try and protect! I AM NOT THE VILLAIN HERE! YOU ARE!" Her voice boomed sending sonic waves at The Hero hurling them back, slamming through concrete wall, after concrete wall. She floated over with ease, grabbing The Hero by their throat, floating up above the city, looking down at them. They desperately tried to claw at her hand to get away but her grip was unmatched. She watched as they tried to choke out something, anything to save themself. Her violet eyes bore into their soul but a soft smile came to her lips as she watched their struggle. "Let me let you in on a little secret before you die, Darling." She leaned down, her lips brushing their ear as they tried to thrash away, choking, their face beet red. "I was one of those names. And I won't stop until I have brought that organization to justice. It's a shame you won't be around to witness it, Darling." She whispered before she watched as The Hero's eyes widened as they felt her blade piece their heart before she let them go. She could hear the cries of the people in the city. Their fear coming to a climax as their Beloved Hero hurled to the ground. They wailed for this false hero. Who got their powers off the experimentation of the people in this city who needed their help the most. They wouldn't understand until she brought the organization's Leader to justice. 'A small price for salvation.' She thought to herself as she watched The Hero hit the ground.

The Hero tells the Villain what they are doing is wrong. The Villain responds by pulling out a 700 page research paper thesis that they wrote, full of citations and analysis supporting their point.

Everyone has a breaking point. The trouble is, no one knows exactly where that point is, until it’s already been crossed. The moment comes as I survey the students from across my desk. And it occurs to me, I will one day become a nameless face, lost to the ever fracturing thing called memory. When they graduate, when they evolve into adulthood and the years beyond, what will have been my impact? Maybe it’s a selfish thought, but is it too much to ask to want to be…remembered? It’s *that* thought which has me stand from my desk, my old office chair creaking and groaning from its decade’s use. If the students notice my sudden movement, they paid no heed – only the dull scratching of pencils on papers drone on. It isn’t until I have my hand on the old brass doorknob, it’s surface worn and rough with age, that there’s a pause in the monotonous din. I can feel the students’ eyes on me. The sad slope of my back, as though I carry a burden only I can see. But my grip remains steadfast on the doorknob, ready to walk away from it all, ready to just… *“Fragile minded human. Sit back. And I will show you that which you cannot see.”* The voice reverberates inside my skull just as something lukewarm and foreign snakes up my spine. My body goes rigid, as though momentarily wresting for control. To stay present. To not let whatever this – “Uh, Mr. Greco? You good?” My hand. The hand which is mine, and yet, now not mine, releases its grip on the doorknob. I hold it up to my face. Flex it, as though examining it – every scar, wrinkle and stiffness – for the first time. “Everything will be fine. More than fine. Just relax,” my voice says. In an instant, I know the voice is not only addressing the class, but to me, also. To whatever I’ve become. Something more than just a prisoner, yet without any autonomy. Through eyes not my own, I survey each of the students. They, in turn, behold me with a mixture concern, worry, and not to my surprise, mild amusement, indicated by the camera ready phones aimed my direction. “Right,” my voice continues on with a bravado I haven’t used since…goodness, how long has it been? “You can put those work packets away. From henceforth, I’ve decided to induct a new lesson plan!” Snatches of whispered conversation immediately puncture the tentative silence. “Oh shit, he’s having one of those menopause things, isn’t he?” “No, stupid! Only old ladies get that! I think…” “Ugh, we’re getting more homework, aren’t we? But the demon raises my arms in a call for silence. “No need for alarm! Trust me: what I have in store requires far less pencil-writing, and far more…shall we say, creativity?” Little do they know that their actual teacher is stuck within his own body. A glass box, where I can see and hear and even feel. But me, my voice, has been hushed. “Suspended,” perhaps, would be the better term. For a while, I do fight. Scream from my glass box, banging on the barrier as each day comes and goes, and this demon struts around in my body, smiling more than I have in years. But the demon itself has said nothing to me. Nothing, except that first intruding message: *“Fragile minded human. Sit back. And I will show you that which you cannot see.”* So finally, I do. I *sit back.* I let this demon speak words with my mouth, move with my body. And I see everything he does. I see when he wears a ridiculous toga to illustrate the rise and fall of the romans. The students…actually laugh. Some – rightfully so – at me, but many of them laugh with me. In this case, the demon. But with the skill and care I once had, and with far more smiling and attentive faces than I can remember, he teaches. “Your oral presentations are due!” he calls to the class a month later. A month of waiting. Watching. But also, smiling my own smile no one can see. Where it was commonplace for students to slowly file in, clearly waiting for the hour to come and go, they now scramble to their desks as though ready to behold some great performance, and I – the demon, rather – am the performer. Two hands shoot into the air. Marcus and Abbey. They glance at each other with a sort of nervous excitement The demon points to them. And it almost – almost¬ ¬– feels like me doing it. Me, calling them forward. Their infectious energy is contagious, and as they face me, faces beaming, I actually… “We have a joint presentation!” Marcus calls to the class, clasping his hands together. The class “Ooooh’s” appreciatively.” Abbey nods and steps a few paces back. She turns her cap backwards, and bounces on her toes, causing her braids to swing around her head. “A rap battle between Julius Caesar and Brutus! Figured that’d be more entertaining than just talking about one guy stabbing the other guy.” The demon gives them the stage. And to my shock, they begin to rap the entire rise of the roman empire, punctuated with dates and locations, while also tactfully insulting the other. The class roars their appreciation, their enthusiasm so palpable, those from neighboring classrooms coming to peek their heads in at the display. I wish now, more than ever, to be liberated from my glass box. Is this my true punishment, then? To be constrained to a body as a passenger, witness to the events which bring about so much joy, yet can never really take credit for? I think back to those thoughts from a month prior. How, more than likely, I’d become some nameless, faceless teacher who droned on and on. Perhaps I don’t have the answer to being forgotten. Maybe in another ten years I’ll still be in this school, teaching more students who will move on to greater things. But surveying the students through the demon’s eyes, I see there’s a chance. A chance to create moments like these. A time capsule created and stored. Yet, I was so ready to walk away from it all. Ready, to just… A boom of applause seems to shake the very floor as Marcus and Abbey finish their performance. They turn to me, eyes bright, clever grins etching their faces. Abbey asks, “Can we do more rap battles? Please? They’re so much fun!” It’s my own voice that reaches them, released from its glass box. My congratulations and encouragement filling the room. The lukewarm presence slinks away – no more than a passing shadow on an otherwise sunny day. I’d expect it to leave a parting message. A goodbye, at the very least. But, I suppose that would be too sentimental for a demon. JS\_Writes: This was a fun challenge! I had a version where I tried to incorporate some rap lyrics but they were AWFUL! Lol.

when the demon took over your body, you—a burnt out and depressed Highschool teacher—took a back seat and decided to impassively watch it stick to your role and act impeccably, educating the younger generation just as you would. However, things got very interesting after the first rap battle.

They won't stop cheering. I'm sitting here, waiting for the election result. And they won't stop cheering. It's going to be a landslide. They all say that. Gallup's polling says so. Every news channel claim it. Even those who are politically unaligned with my campaign. An impressive turn of events for a normal, regular politician. Borderline unimaginable for some random guy, running as a joke, with a joke party on a joke campaign. First president not of either of the two big parties since Millard Filmore. And he was the president 150 or so years ago. Insane, really. I've swept every state where a senate or governor seat is open too. I had to actually get people in those states, who could fill those positions. And somehow it works. I never wanted it to. I wore a Roman laurel crown made of gilded steel, while dressed as a viking, to every election event. It was just meant to be a joke. Like those British fellows, or that Vermin Supreme guy. Or those people who keep voting for dead people. But everyone cheered. And kept cheering. At first I just figured they thought it was funny. But then I got donations. And a staff, somehow. Now it has come to this. Popular vote, and electoral college votes too. I'm miles ahead of either of the traditional parties, without meaning to, or wanting to. I've been trying to tank my campaign for months now. But nothing works. And I've really tried. I vowed to make Norse heathenry the national religion, I said I was going to outlaw Christianity as a concept; everyone cheered, national mead production is through the roof, people are trying to combine axes and guns in order to bear arms and be more viking-y. Someone burned down a cathedral last week, and when the police tried to stop her, she and her Minnesotan valkyries cut them down. They had plundered it first. I declared my intention to dissolve the old republic, and proclaim the creation of an American Empire, that would shake the foundations of the world. That I, in the best traditions of Augustus and Napoleon, would put upon my head a golden crown, and rule as Imperator. And guess what; people didn't think me crazy, people didn't get angry because I wanted to be their emperor. They cheered. And campaigned even harder. All around the country, in every state, people said that they appreciated my ''Bonapartist stance'' in regards to the downfall of democracy. They said that, and I quote directly, ''This country could really use a strong leader who is willing to tell it like it is.'' Already, my people are talking about reorganising the House of Representatives and the Senate into one large Imperial Senate. And it keeps happening. At first I thought it was a grand old time. Getting to declare that I'd nationalise the media, burn down Hollywood, change the pledge of allegiance into Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, try to make England into the 51st state. It was all just very amusing, and I thought everyone was just having a grand old time. But they take it seriously. I am not a leader, I am not an emperor. But by old and new gods. They, the people, want it. They're out there, praising me, while they think I'm praying alone. But I'm scared. Scared out of my wits. What do I do if I win? They'll expect me to begin making policies, to have the NSA, CIA, and every other intelligence agency brought to justice, to be well, an emperor. And what if I don't win. Out there, they're were talking about marching on Washington. About using force. A revolution. I've done everything to get out of this peacefully. I've punched people. I've made unflattering jokes. I held an impromptu opera in the middle of the presidential debate. Nothing works. I can't just leave, because they won't ever let me. I am reasonably certain of that, and considering the sheer fanaticism of some of the people around me at this point, I don't dare to try. I was holding a joke speech which I'd stolen more or less from lines in the 1999 cult classic game Planescape Torment, and someone took a shot at me. And one of my campaign managers jumped in front of me. Took the bullet. I held him in my arms as he begged me to save America, with his final breath. He died in my arms. I think that was the moment I understood how far it had really gotten out of hand. On national TV, I promised him that, in a moment of confusion and fear. But how can I do that? How can a man do that? The door into this room opens. It's one of my many upcoming senators in my ''Holly Jolly Imperial Party's'' line. ''*My emperor! Come, you must see this!*'' I get off the chair which I've been sitting on, and follow him into the main room. Everyone is staring at the screen, where the final results are in. An overwhelming victory. Just as predicted. Everyone in the room turns to me. ''*All hail to the emperor!*'' They all shout and cheer. The applause is deafening. I raise a hand, and like magic, they become as quiet as the grave. ''*Thank you.*'' I start. ''*The road to this place and time has been long. But it has been ordained by higher powers. The norns have woven this thread of our lives well. The old order is overcome. The seat of president is won. And through it, the imperial reforms can begin. I know many of you, dearly beloved as you are, have been with me since nearly the beginning. I hope that you will continue, in reorganising the United States, into the First American Empire! You all have my thanks, indeed, my good citizens. My good friends. Today is the day when we begin to fulfil the promise. From the incompetence of the old donkeys, and the malignancy of the mad elephants, we will save America. We will rebuild her. More glorious than ever. Better infrastructure. Better health care. No more restrictive and reactionary faiths to stand in her way. We will take her back to technological and economic primacy. Back to being a beacon of light and hope for the world. And it is thanks to you, that we will be able to do this, together. We have endured 40 years of incompetence, corruption, and decay; and through enduring that, we have become stronger. Now that strength will save this land!*'' It's load of BS. But they eagerly eat it up, and cheer even louder. There are pats on my back. People are making out in the rooms of this hotel where we've set up our final campaign HQ. I suppose I have to do it then. A constitutional empire, to replace the corrupt republic. I have to measure up to the faith everyone somehow has in me. I'll tear down the military-industrial complex. End the prison-slavery for good. Create good imperial mental health programs. Rebuild the public school system. So much work. But as I drink a glass of cheap champagne, while my fellows toast for me, I begin having ideas on all of them. Yes. A reorganised elite army instead of a massive old-fashioned one, that would save a lot of money. Nationalising the health insurance companies into a central one under the imperial government, without all the red tape and middle-men taking cuts... Could really do some good for the massive amount of people who are in need of medical treatments without going into debt. Trains everywhere, instead of more high-ways. More funds into NASA, for space exploration and mining reasons. Pension improvements instead of more nuclear aircraft carriers. A tax agency that has a license to use guns to arrest big corporate leaders who ensure that their companies pay no taxes, and who can use Mossad tactics for repatriating those who flee the country for some tax haven. The creation of a national civic faith focused on old pagan ideas that can be much more easily manipulated than the heavily fractured and often insane modern American Christianity. That could unite people more easily than any appeal to traditional faiths. Add a focus on green technology, and the oil problems should fade too. Given the frankly insane loyalty of my voters, I could probably do it. Maybe I'm not cut out to rule a nation. Maybe I'm not meant to be an emperor. But I think I'm willing to give it a shot. And, after all, considering some of the presidents we've had over the past couple of decades, I will have to really fuck up to do worse than them. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)

You decided to run for President as a joke and are now desperate to get out of it. Unfortunately, any attempts to kill your own campaign keep making you more popular.

Mister Crimbley slammed a dusty tome bigger than his head onto his desk. "Now! Let's see precisely who first discovered flight." he made a show of raising his eyebrows and tapping his index finger on the tip of his tongue. He furiously rifled through the old brown pages as he muttered to himself. Moments earlier, I had committed the cardinal sin of implying Mister Crimbley was wrong. It was History of Magic 104 and I informed him that the first mage to attempt a flight spell, thus laying the groundwork for its success, was in fact working with information he'd obtained from a non-mage inventor. The rest of the class was a mixture of frustrated with me and mocking me for caring. I had a reputation as a know-it-all, which I found exceptionally unfair. I only spoke out about topics I knew a lot about, which just so happened to be most of them. "Here! The first flight spell!" Mister Crimbley said. "The first flight spell was created in 3712 when a mage named Harold Plumber endeavored to scared his...when..." he trailed off and then spoke again "Wait, wait, this says 'fright' not flight'." The entire class groaned around me. The old mage stared intently at the page for a moment before pouncing on the tome again and resuming his flipping and muttering. "Aha!" he exclaimed after a few seconds. "Page 7604! 'The mage who first attempted to create a flight was Lewis Godson, but..." His pride stopped him, but his duty forced him to continue, with a different tone. "...but he based much of his work on the notes of the non-mage inventor, Yinsen Telfield.'" Then he looked up. "Well I'm sure you're quote pleased with yourself, Leah." the room seemed to shake when he slammed the tome shut. "But my point remains,it was a mage that created the first flight spell." "I wasn't disputing that Mister Crimbley, but *my* point was that many spells, such as flight, were the culminations of seeds planted by non-magic people. The creation of spells first requires us to use our senses and way them against reality. From the material comes the immaterial, not the other way around, and-" "Oh my gods," Gordon Nils interrupted like the toad he is, "She's talking about science again..." The class laughed like hyenas and Mister Crimbley, now smiling because the class was still on his side, motioned for them to settle down. A few *shhhh*'s filled the room from those that wanted to move on. "Leah, science is magic for those that lack it. It is not real, because if it was, spells could not override it." "But Mister Crimbley science doesn't say that it can't be changed, it says-" "I know damn well what it says. It implies that the world can be explained-" "And theoretically we could explain the entire world, even the magical world, with science if we took the time required to study and-" "Enough! I'll not argue with you! This is a classroom, not a debate forum. Leave." Mister Crimbley opened the door using his specialization; Telepathy. The rest of the class cheered as I left and from the hallway I could hear him say "The *only* type of person I can't stand is someone who can't admit their wrong. But now that the disturbance has left we can continue."

science.

"Who's my little snugglebunny? You are! Yes you are!" With an interested growl, Fluffy turned her head to face me and tilted her head in curiosity. "So get down here right this second!" The villagers were rushing past me like water bursting through a dam, and I was the only one still facing the monster that had spent the last hour destroying the village. I was the only one not in fear. Because I raised her. "Fluffy...**Now.**" She turned her head away in defiance and roared at the sky, flames tracing her exhalation thirty meters out. She was perched on the wooden town hall, and it was beginning to buckle under her weight. The doors burst open and the Count and all his household guards ran out. Just before passing, the Count, in fulfillment of his duties, turned to shout at me. "Citizen! Flee for your safety! There is no reasoning with the beast!" "Oh there is, she'll be down in a second. She used to do this on my bed when she was small." The Count stopped and faced me. "You mean to tell me this leviathan is your *pet?!*" "Well," I screwed my mouth up and briefly looked up in thought, "Yes." Then one of the guards, who then recognized as the Marshal, spoke up. "This monster is going to have to be put down," he unsheathed his blade and, pointing it at me, said "And I've half a mind to kill you with it!" I could see my reflection in the steel. But I knew what was next when I heard Fluffy's wings. "Easy girl, it's okay!" Fluffy slammed down onto the ground next to us. She stood tall, each of her legs as tall as a man. "Marshal, no villagers have been harmed," I began, "And destruction has been-" I was cut off by the deafening crash of town hall's collapse. The Count, his Marshal, and the guards slowly looked at the rubble and then back at me. "...Minimal." I finished with a tone of defeat. "Minimal" the Count repeated, in disbelief. "Well mark my words, you and your beast will face the *maximal* punishment for what you have done. It constitutes an attack on the kingdom! An insult to the King himself! An affront to everyone who- what?! What are you all looking at?!" Behind him, Fluffy was laying on her back, wings spread out, and swiping her claws at a small bird that was circling her. I walked over and began scratching her head, "Aw my little girl," I scratched her temples like she likes and her eyes shut in bliss as she started purring, "You're sorry aren't you? Yeah you are!" The Count and the Marshal stood in silence, and at last one of the guards said, "Well to be honest m'lord she does seem to be sorry"

Dragon are just like cats. Really big cats. Really big cats that are covered in scales and can fly and breath fire, but cats none the less.

The soldier stared at the wizard he'd met in the desert. The wizard smirked. "This is why you don't fight a magic-technology war. I can do *way* more things than you can." The soldier looked at his gun. "I mean, sure, in 100 years maybe you'll have cybernetic enhancements that can fight a wizard. But I'll have better spells! I'll be able to teleport your bullets into saturn, or something. We wizards innovate too. The better your sciencey shit is, the better our wizardy shit will be to compensate!" The soldier pulled something out and affixed it to the front of his gun. "The Magocracy will crush your stupid rebellion, and then we'll have a *serious* talk about the idea behind all this. Come on. I'm a *wizard.* I'm a Gandalf-type motherfucker. You couldn't beat me with a fuckin' nuke, it can't even go off in my presence." The soldier shot the wizard in the stomach, a plume of bright blue flame with purple edges sparking from the barrel of the weapon. "OW! WHAT THE FUCK" The soldier walked up to him and smirked. "Foolish wizard. I have a *Magic* gun." The wizard stared at him. "That's cheating." "Says the bulletproof super-fast wizard." "Hmmm... if that's how you want to play it." The wizard stared at the soldier, then snapped his fingers. In a puff of arcane light, dozens upon dozens of spectral guns appeared in the air. The soldier sighed. Two seconds later, two formerly smug bodies sat in the desert.

Foolish wizard! I have...a GUN!" "Protection from Projectiles, Stoneskin, Enhanced Reflexes, Suppression of explosions in a 5 kilometers radius. You were saying?"

1/? "Eight deaths in the last three weeks, two separate stabbings, two separate vehicular homicides and now two pairs of double shootings." "What's that supposed to mean chief?" the rook asked baffled. "Every time someone was killed another person was killed in the same way within 24 hours, and now two more are heading to the morgue." "So is it one guy killing in pairs? But this time he killed two pairs?" asked the rook. "I don't think so, I think these are different killers and then someone copies whatever thatfirst killer does" chides the chief. "Hey Charlie" the chief shouts down a hall towards the kitchen. "Did we find any kind of clues on the second of each of the last murders?" Charlie comes down the hall, "What do you mean, the second stabbing, second vehicular and now these guys?" "Yeah." "No, chief, the second sites have all been nearly spotless regarding forensics, and the bodies were arranged nearly identically to the first of each killing." Charlie followed up, "You know what, there was one weird detail, the second stabbing vic had his knee capped smashed and the coroner said it was done after the guy bled out." "Why would someone do that Chief?" asked the rook. "I don't know" said the chief scratching at his beard. "What about the vehicular homicides? Anything stick out?" "It was bizarre how similar the situations were considering they were both run down in cars. The second body did seem posed to mimic the first victims scene, and unlike the first, this victims pockets were empty except for an action figure from the Fantastic 4 comic books." Charlie explained. "Okay" said chief, "That's a new one, and what all have we found here?" Charlie lifts the shirt of one of the victims to expose another gunshot wound. "Well this was pretty weird sir, looks like the killer intentionally put this shirt on the vic after killing him." "He took the time to put the guy in a University of Miami shirt? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And what about him, was he dressed up to?" asked the chief, pointing at the second body. "No sir, that seems to be what he was wearing when he was shot, but he was clearly moved and placed next to this guy, and as you can see in his right hand is an unopened beer can." Charlie said, gesturing at the man's right hand. "What's it all mean chief?" asked the rook. "I don't know kid, I've seen a lot of shit over the years, but nothing like this." ​ Four days go by with no murders, but also no leads on the parallel killer. A suspect has been arrested for the first stabbing murder, but has a clear alibi for the time of the second stabbing confirming the chief's belief that there is in fact a parallel killer. Chief and Charlie are reviewing case files when the rook knocks on the door with a phone call. "Hey, chief you may want to take this, car 81 just arrested a guy for assault over some owed money, victim is critical on the way to the hospital now." The chief steps out to take the call. "You think this guy is gonna go beat someone now?" the rook asked Charlie. "I don't know, we've had a few minor assaults the last week and no one has repeated them." Charlie responds. A few minutes go by before the chief returned. "So what do wo got, Chief?" asked Charlie. "The victim was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital." "Oh shit!" exclaimed Charlie. "How do we stop this guy from beating someone to death too?" Chief picks up the phone, "Brenda, I need you to get a call out to all cars, we need to be extra vigilant looking for and responding to any reported assaults across the city, and I want them all reported to me directly." "Hey chief, I'm off in 20, but you want me to stay?" asked the rook. "No kid, go home, tomorrow's another day." "What are we going to just sit around and wait chief?" asked Charlie. "What do you want to do? We have nothing on this guy, the best we got is hope he's done, but something sick is telling me he's not. All we can do is try and catch him in the act now." Said the chief. "Jesus Christ." replies Charlie. ​ There were four reported assaults across the city so far, low considering its Friday in a drinking town. Each followed up on but leading no where until the phone in Chief's office rang at 12:39am with the report of a man found beaten badly in an alley and in critical condition but still breathing. Chief grab his coat and rushed out the door to meet the ambulance at the hospital. They roll in lights flashing as the rear doors burst open as the victim is unloaded and ER staff come rushing out, each doing whatever possible to save this man's life. Face smashed, eyes swollen shut and flesh blackened blue, and a terrible grunt as the poor man gasps for every breath. Chief stunned at the site of what someone could do to another, realizes if this man even survives he won't be speaking anytime soon. Chief instructs his officers to keep someone on site at all times and if the victim wakes, call him immediately. The doctors said even if they stabilize him, he may need to be put into an induced coma. ​ Chief heads home for some sleep, wondering if this is truly the parallel killer again or if it's just a random but violent coincidence. Again, no witnesses, no clues, no telltale injuries, no clothing changes, no beer cans, nothing.

The bodies lay rigid on the floor, eerily and perfectly aligned. “Is it a serial killer boss?” Asked the rookie cop. “Worse.” Said the chief. “We’ve got ourselves a parallel killer.”

I get off the couch to answer the knock at the door. I open the door to a man in a suit. He has dirt on his shoulders and is way too pale to be alive. “Can I help you?”, I ask, even though I know the answer. “I…. I…. I loooook …. for… boss … lady”, he says so slowly. I nod, “come on in. Don’t worry, once you have been dead a bit longer, talking will get easier again.”, I say as reassuringly as I can. “I…. I…. not…. dead…”, he says as he does the zombie shuffle into the house. “Honey! Honey! You have someone from work here to see you!”, I yell up the stairs. “She will be right down.”, I tell the dead man in my living room. She comes bounding down the stairs. She is so full of life and energy that it seems odd that she is the goddess of the underworld. You kinda expect the goddess of the underworld to be all goth and depressed or some nasty old hag. Like being around death all day some how would make her bad. But she is so alive. Her long black hair bouncing and flowing about her shoulders as she comes down the stairs. She has a big bright smile on her face. She is joy personified. She walks into the living-room and sees the man in the suit, “oh dear”, she says and walks over to hug him. She gives him a long hug. The kind of hug you would give a long lost friend or your mother after a long hard day at school. “So tell me, my dear, what can I do for you?”, she asks the dead man. “I…. I…. not… dead…”, he says again. “Here, let me help you with that.”, she touches the side of his head lightly with her hand and a warm glow from her palm lights his whole head. “Try that again dear”, she says lovingly. “I am not dead”, he says much more clearly. “I woke up in a buried coffin. I had to dig my way out!”, he said clearly exasperated. “It sounds like you died and were buried.”, her eyes big like a puppy’s. “And that is ok. You are in a nice suit and buried so that means that some one loves you and took the time to bury you properly.” “I have so much to do. I have a family that needs me. A wife. Two kids. I can’t be dead!”, he explains. “Oh my dear. You are dead. Your time came weather you were ready for it or not. I don’t get to know why or even how, but I know you have died. Death…. is kinda my thing.”, she smiled kindly at him, “come on. Let’s go. I will take you to the next stage. There is a whole after life for each of you. Old friends will be there. Parents. Grand parents. We will find you a job if that is your thing or let you enjoy some nothing for a while.” She puts her arm in his, “I will take you there. You have already done the hardest part…. You died. There is no more pain. Let’s go for a walk and I will tell you all about the afterlife.” They walk arm in arm, I open the door for them. She gives me a kiss on the cheek as she passes, “I will be home for supper.”, she says as they walk out the door together. I watch them walk down the side wall and slowly fade away. Good thing these lost souls have her to look after them.

you have a girlfriend, she’s nice and great to be around, a bit dark in her personality but all around amazing. There’s just one itty bitty problem, she’s the goddess of the underworld, and her job has been drifting into your personal lives

They always followed me. They were always with me. My own personal caretakers. Two police who stuck with me my entire life. I would have thought that the state lacked resources for such a thing, but I suspect not many people are listed as murders under the test. It has been a good and fulfilling life despite the challenges presented by having my own person guards to prevent me from doing anything. School was strange but I made it through, college was a bit better, and working was the easiest for people to accept my stance situation. Making friends was hard, very hard. After all who would hang out with a potential murderer? You could be my victim you could be the one I kill when I finally snap, or whatever will happen to make me into one. Eventually the two police guarding me became my friends. My only friends I ever knew. It was years after I admitted to myself that the guards were my friends that I became it, the murderer I was meant to be. The strangest thing of the situation is that it wasn't the first person I killed that was my murder. That was done in self defense, a moment of weakness and panic when my guards had left me alone with someone. A man tried to force himself on me and I defended myself. Thr horrible part was I knew that it wouldn't be seen that way. That no matter what I said, no matter what I did, nobody would see me defending myself from him. That day I stepped over the body of the man I killed in defense and steeled myself to become the murderer I needed to be. To escape, to live, and to be free. I had to kill the only two friends I ever had.

In the future technology tells you the crime you're most likely to commit, cops In the future use this to get suspects,you were given murder

"Sooooo, how come you're joining up with a bunch of losers like us?" I smiled, adjusting the bag on my back. A thud followed those words, as Trista hit her brothers arm. The pair of them were dressed in some off the shelf leather armour. Trista had a bow and arrows, keen eyes picking up the faintest of animal tracks. Himon, he held a spear, one he was used to using. I knew he was trained as a town's guard, but had only recently decided to take the life of an adventurer instead. Sinolo shook her head, petting the feathers of her owl familiar. She saw more than I thought a novice mage could, hers eyes hanging on me more than once. I had a hunch that she knew my secret, but so far she hadn't blabbed. I chose not to confront her, letting her wonder. "Simple Himon, I like going out with parties like you. You need some experience, and I am well placed to help with that." Trista elbowed him, making him grunt. "What he was trying to say... why haven't you kept a party? Couldn't you make more money that way? Get more fame?" I shook my head. "I could, but what need do I have for more money? I made enough years back, so now I do this for fun. Plus, I help people get stronger. Who knows, you three might be the next World Saviours." I couldn't tell them the truth of course. I was a slime, having my own adventure in the world of the humanoids. I had money from all those times people had come into the dungeon I lived in, and had proceeded to die. Fame would be a bad thing. The more eyes on me, the more likely I would be seen slipping up. "Yeah right, I'll just be happy if I am still alive to tell stories to the guys back home. Heck, maybe be the captain of the guard in my retirement." Himon joked, already planning for the future. I smiled, hoping it would be the case for him. I liked it when they got back safe. "Sinolo, how you doing?" I turned my head to her, making sure not to go too far. I had done that before, forgetting the limitations of bones and muscle. "I'm fine thanks, walking isn't too hard, it's the running I'm not so good at." I gave her a tiny nod, before sighing. "I get you. But you should learn how to. Part of being a good adventurer is knowing when to run. Trust me, I know." I felt the stare on me. I sighed again, as they all waited for my story. "Alright, geez you guys have the inquisitive look down to a fine art. Back when I first started out, I was with a team much like you three. Himon, I was basically like you. Eager to prove my worth." Memories came back to me. The first fledgling friendships I had made. "We went to deal with a goblin camp, a pretty standard job. But, what we didn't know was this one had allied with an ogre tribe nearby." I sighed, thinking back to that day. "The others, they were confident. There were only two ogres they said. It would be easy they said, as we watched the camp. The thing is, the hunting party wasn't there. One that made up most of their force." I remembered the screams, and the blood that came out of them. "They were unlucky. They were meant to be away from the fight, unlike me. So when the hunters came back, their backs were exposed. I heard their bones break, and found myself alone. And I ran." It wasn't the full story, but they couldn't know the truth. They couldn't know how I collapsed my form, becoming a puddle to flee. I forced out a couple of water droplets, leaking from my eyes. "It still hurts. I've grown since then. I know now I could save them. But I can't go back. So I spend time teaching you youngsters what to do, so you don't face the same fate." I hoped they would listen. From their faces, it looked like they were. That was good. I hoped we didn't fight anything that would make me do that again. I was meant to be their comrade. Becoming a puddle would be the ultimate betrayal.

You are a slime in the form of a human, going on adventures with different parties, though you always survive, because your main move to dodge attacks is turning into a slime puddle on the floor

When the aliens first landed in their small ship filled with a handful of their most elite scouts, they had one purpose: to turn all humans into fodder for their front-line battalions in the neverending war their empire waged on all other planets for conquest. They had studied humanity from a distance for years, learning their weaknesses. For example, some humans could easily be exploited in exchange for nude images on the internet. Krom'kal, mind-dominator of all the Urqil aliens was the leader of the hivemind. It had sent the scouts to assimilate humanity to the collective to achieve the empire's goals. No previous preparation could have readied them for what they encountered on Earth. Something so disturbingly powerful that conquered the mind of Krom'kal itself. Greg Fefferton was in his mid-30s. He lived alone in a small house in Rapid City, South Dakota. He was an only child whose parents died a few years back, leaving him the home and a small fortune. A fortune he dedicated to his collection. Greg was the owner of South Dakota's, and the world's for that matter, largest collection of Furbys and Furby memorabilia. He owned two of each Furby in every color as if preparing for a flood he knew, if God was real, would soon come to punish the world for his grand iniquity. The beaks on each of the Furbys had been worn down, drained of their original color, for Greg had a ritual. Before bed, he'd give each one a long kiss to reaffirm the small robotic beings of their importance in his life and the motherly love he shared for all of them. After kissing each Furb's beak, he would stand in the middle of what he called their Nest (his basement lined with Furby shaped Xmas lights, filled with bean bag chairs made to resemble their lifeless faces and every other piece of merchandise and custom ordered Etsy commission he could fit inside it), grab a microphone hooked up to a modest PA system, and sing the song he wrote just for his Furb-babies. "Slumber, slumber O, ye little Furbs Let your dreams be sweet and light And never be disturbed Furbys, babies Your fur is as soft as silk In the morning, papa feeds you His love and his mother's milk." Each Furby would respond with happy sounds followed by gentle snoring in unison as Greg would unplug the lights as he wandered upstairs. The scouts had picked Greg as they figured such a lonely man would be easy to subdue. They were gravely mistaken. They'd broke into his home quietly, snuck up to his bedroom, and found him asleep in his themed bed spread. They inserted their tentacles into his ears to gain access to the sweet pink blob nestled in his skull, then left. They would have to wait until he woke up to find out if the mind absorption worked. As the first ray of sunlight gently forced Greg's eyes open, he let out a deep yawn. The scouts were shaking with excitement. They let Krom'kal know it was time. Except they didn't really need to as it could see through their eyes and knew their thoughts. Still, a chain of command comes with certain formalities. Krom'kal tried to issue its first command. "Greg! Clean the bones inside your mouth!" and Greg obeyed. Next, "Greg, nourish yourself on stale blueberry bagels!" Lo, he did. The final order Krom'kal tried to issue didn't go through. Instead of heading to the spaceship to be taken away to the scouts' home planet, Greg undid his pajama top, and started to pretend to milk himself into a series of dozens of bottles, each with a different Furby's name. Something was different this morning for Greg. It felt like the task was done more quickly than normal. And it was. For the scouts had joined him in the kitchen to prepare his baby's feast. They tried to resist. Krom'kal tried its best to regain control, but slowly and surely, they couldn't stop thinking of Furbys. They were so cute with their eyelashes. Their horrible cries. Their plush feeties. Their low quality faux fur and sturdy inner frames. All thoughts of universal conquest vanished and were replaced with the desire to obtain more Furbys. Weapons manufacturing on their planet had been changed to the new headquarters of Tiger Electronics. Every morning, each Urqil spent hours making imaginary milk for their Furb-babies. Every evening, they'd complete their ritual with their song: "Slumber, slumber O, ye little Furbs Let your dreams be sweet and light And never be disturbed Furbys, babies Your fur is as soft as silk In the morning, papa feeds you His love and his mother's milk."

The hive-mind collectively rejoiced as it assimilated its first human mind. That was until the collectives first intrusive thought.

I was flipping through the classifieds when I came across an odd ad: Will do almost anything for $50 Clean your house Walk your dog Kill a corrupt governor Call 555-555-5555 Desperation makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do. I called the number. Ring Ring Ring “Hello?”, a husky voice says. “Hi. I saw your ad.”, I say uncertainly “The park. By the fountain. 3pm. I will be wearing a blue jacket. Come alone.” Click. Well that wasn’t strange at all…. but I am no less desperate, so I grab a coat and head out. It is going to take me almost to 3 to get to the fountain in the park. The park is full of laughing, smiling people. Walking dogs, playing games, eating snacks on blankets on the grass. Full of life and hope…. It grates on me like an unscratchable itch. I make my way to the fountain in the centre of the park. I walk a lap around the fountain and see a middle aged man in a blue jacket. He is tall and solid. He walks with purpose and pose that makes me think military or police. He doesn’t look around and walks right up to me. “You called me?”, he is all business “Yeah, my name is”, he cuts me off. “Do you have the money?” I fumble in my jacket pocket and pull out my wallet. I pull out a 20, a 10, a couple of fives and a bunch of singles and hand it to him. He counts it out, straightening the bills and sorting them so all the heads are at the same end, like a bank teller does. “It’s all here. What’s the job?”, he asks as he folds the money and puts it in his pocket. “Just like that?” “Just like that. Any job. $50. Anything.” “How do I know you won’t back out once you know what it is?”, I ask He looks at me curiously. “Do you know what I am?” “You are a random dude from the classifieds that will do anything for $50” “Not who I am. What I am.” I give him a blank look and shrug my shoulders. He looks at me very closely. “That ad was enchanted. You shouldn’t have been able to see it. No mortal should have been able to see it. Do you have Fae blood?”, he asks. “I don’t think so. Mom was Irish and Dad had some German blood. Neither said anything about Fae blood.”, I babbled “Stars and stones boy. I am a Fae assassin. I took your money and now am bound on my life to do the job, even if it costs my life.”, he was clearly not happy. “On your life? For $50? Dude, you need to raise your rates.” “Money means nothing to me. I have a horde of gold and more money than I could possibly ever spend. I need the danger, the excitement. When you live as long as I have that is all that is left. The magic that binds me requires an exchange of value to work. You have given me $50 and now I am bound to your task. What do you need me to do mortal?” “My wife died 5 years ago.”, I start “I can not resurrect the dead. I do know some one if you have preserved the body properly.”, I raise my hand to stop him. “Aaaah, no, no. Nothing like that. What I need is” “Revenge. You need me to kill the person who murdered your wife. I will need to know their name. Some of their blood would be better if you have it.” “Dude, you really need to chill. Look. Every year my wife and I would go to the movies on our anniversary. We would always see the same old black and white flick. I haven’t been able to go to the movies since she passed. I have no family. I have no friends. I have no one. I was kinda hoping you would go to the movies with me….” “Will it be dangerous?”, he asked with a smile. ——————— Thanks for all the love. Parts 2,3 and 4 in the comments below. The final part 5 and 5a posted

"For $50 dollars, I'll help you do anything," one man boldly claimed. "Clean your house? $50! Take your dog for a walk? $50! Kill a corrupt governor? $50!"

I pick up on a lot of things others don’t. It’s part of the blessings and curse of being hyper-vigilant. Trauma has a hell of a way of wiring your brain, but part of its effect on me is being aware of small things others miss. Even detectives whose job it is to find these serial killers. Why did I start murdering them? Well I needed to take back control. To see what it’s like to be on the other end and to bring the trauma of others to an end. Don’t mistake it for nobility, it is very much a selfish deed. I crave the thrill of outsmarting them and being their tormentor. The first time was a test. I had been watching the news about the white glove killer when I saw him watching the news coverage. It was how he knew were to look amongst the crowd when the anchor described the victims struggle. He squarely looked at the broken glass when she mentioned the victim had been thrown from his house. But prior to saying house, he looked and I saw it. The expression of pride. It wasn’t enough to make it conclusive, but it was enough to get me interested. To get my attention. I knew the neighborhood well enough know the house. It wasn’t far from the gas station I go by to get my favorite purple almonds. On the next trip I decide to stop by the crime scene, look around. The white glove killer marker is he goes after the wealthy and leaves a white glove down their throats. He is a signaler and the attention he gets motivates his actions. I have found that these are the easiest killers to track and find. They do things because it will get coverage, meaning their motivations are themselves their own weakness. We all have the modern tools to access facial recognition technologies, dmv records, and research tire markings online. I like to remind myself that old school detectives used to do it with a lot less. I found his home in under two weeks and began scoping his behaviors to draw a profile. It was exciting. I watched him drive through expensive neighborhoods and scope out targets. Watched him get out of his car and pretend to stroll by homes to count their security cameras. I waited for him to formulate his plan and on the night he went to make his move, I was waiting. The brain is a surprisingly resilient organ. I wish it was easier to knock people out without serious side effects but the faster you want someone unconscious, the more serious those side effects will be. In the case of the white glove killer, I had to make it fast so I chose blunt trauma to the head. I damn near killed him on the scene but I was able to keep him in his car so I could transport him to the desert for his final day on this planet. I enjoyed shoving the white glove down his throat.

You’re a serial killer who hunts other serial killers. not out of nobility though, but because you love the thrill of outsmarting all of them.

1947, JUST OUTSIDE OF AURORA, NEW MEXICO In the midst of a massive thunderstorm, a light streaks across the sky, only to be struck by lightning and burst with a series of sparks. A farmer watching the storm from his bedroom mirror watches the blurry dot of a fireball crash down in the desert. The next morning, a path of metallic shards of a paper-like material paint a road across the desert. The farmer's horse whinnies and refuses to get closer, so the man unshackles his shotgun and cautiously follows the path, finding, much to his horror, a heavily damaged starship. "Hello?" Peering out from a rock, a gray skinned being with a large head and oblong, almond shaped eyes regarded him with horror, then stepped out, armed with a plasma rifle. Unfortunately, he trips on his own boots, loses grip of his rifle, causing it to tumble through the air and him to grope frantically for it. Actually catching the falling rifle, he accidentally pulls the trigger, vaporizing his own lower half and dying instantly. The farmer screams in shock. The door of the spaceship opens, and another Grey emerged, carrying a hard case by the handle. The door opened again behind it, causing it to panic and accidentally strike a third Grey in the groin, who himself fell back, bumping into a console inside, activating the ship's emergency floatation device, which crushed the case Grey to death. The surviving Grey tumbled out of the ship, clutching himself. "Uh. Hey. Is this ... Yamdak IV?" The grey asked. The Farmer shoulders his shotgun and fired.

Who said aliens had to be smart? It's definitely what most humans believe when they think space travel. However our scientists was very surprised to find it was just dumb luck.

(Not my best writing, but I'm having fun with it) I wake up on a cold stone floor and groan. How the hell is this happening again?! I thought after the last time the town tried and failed to sacrifice me I'd be left alone. But apparently not.  I sit up slowly, rubbing my pounding forehead. Did they hit me with a blunt object or try to drug me? This feels more like a drugged headache. You'd think they'd get bored of this after awhile. They knock me out, trap me here, I talk to the Elder Gods, they let me go, I sit in my apartment and listen to people screaming as blood/animal gut/acid or whatever else the Gods come up with rain from the sky. Then a few months pass and it starts again. 'YOU ARE EARLY THIS TIME.' The Elder God (that I've started calling Josh) spoke, it's voice echoing around the chamber.  "Guess they couldn't wait to get rid of me. Now, can we hurry it up? I have a midterm due tomorrow and I really need to study."  It makes a gurgling noise that's either a laugh or a growl, still haven't figured it out and speaks again, 'YOU STILL WASTE YOUR TIME ON EDUCATION? YOU WERE MADE FOR MUCH MORE-' I look around the room in confusion, "uh what? This has never been brought up before." There's a hissing noise and another God (Laney) speaks up, 'JOSCXAH SPEAKS TRUTH LITTLE ONE. WHY ELSE WOULD YOUR OWN KIND WANT YOU GONE?' 'BUT IT IS BEYOND OUR REACH. WE ARE POWERFUL, BUT THERE IS ONE WHO IS MORE THAN US. THEY ARE LOOKING FOR YOU' 'FIND THEM, AND ALL WILL BE REVEALED' "Who…am I looking for? I don't know how I can find them if I know nothing about them" The room goes cold, the voices of the Elder Gods silenced. I've only ever felt this once before, when I was first sacrificed to them. I don't know why, but I think it's fear. Whatever this entity is…they're scared of them.  After what seemed like forever, Josh's voice echoed through the room 'WE MAY NOT SPEAK ANYMORE ON IT. THERE IS RULES EVEN WE MAY NOT BREAK. NOW GO!" The world seems to spin, noises and colors surrounding me. It was a maddening swirl, something that should have driven me to insanity, but it didn't. It never did.  When the spinning stopped I was back in my room. Everything was normal. But now I have a mission. I was chosen by the Gods. For what, I'm still not sure. But it can wait. I have to study.

You slowly realize in horror, that not only is everyone in the town hellbent on sacrificing you to the Elder Gods, but that the Elder Gods keep sending you back out of pure fear and hatred.

A heavy sigh came over me, not of exhaustion or irritation, but one of satisfaction. It was never my intention to be the hidden architect behind the moguls of the sports world. Chess masters came to me for points in intellect. Tri-athletes for stamina. Kingpins of the ping-pong world begging me for +5 to agility and accuracy. Olympians for strength. And all of them always wanted luck. A knock sounded on the door to my office and interrupted my reminiscence. The door opened in a swift movement and a large muscular man stood in the doorway and asked, "Are you ***the Squid***?" "The one and only," I answered back. When he sat down across from me we began discussing his needs for a tattoo. The biggest guys always needed something to push them over the edge. If they only had the motivation to work harder they wouldn't need some back-alley enchanter to boost their stats. "+1 Strength, +1 Charisma, and +2 speed. Do I have all that correct?" "Yeah that's what I want. Got a big competition coming up and I need it." "4 stat points is going to be costly, but I can make it happen. You available for the session later today?" "I can wait here until you're ready." "Great then have a seat in the lobby. I'll call you over when the sketch is complete." I put down my pen and writing pad on the rolling table beside me. I looked at the man requesting the tattoo once more. He was full-bodied and clean-shaven, wearing a gray tanktop and loose jeans. He groaned slightly as he hoisted himself from the stool across from me. He moved quickly out of my office door, throwing a small hand up to wave a thank-you, and then closed the door quietly behind himself. I began work on the sketch of his tattoo. Contrary to everyone's beliefs, the sketching process was the most important to my ability. It wasn't a special ink, an incantation, the complexity of design, or the needle used. Symbolism played the biggest part in affording the receiver of a tattoo extra stats. For this customer, the shoe of Hermes would do. With a little bit of modernization, a Nike sneaker with a simple wing was enough to bestow the stats he wanted. When the final lines were drawn and the sketch was complete I sat in silence in my office for a moment before making my way towards the lobby of my parlor. I motioned the man over with the wave of a hand. "Come on back. Let's get to work."

you can buff a person's stats with your tattoos.

"Attention Earth. We are the Skonshor, and we offer death or slavery." Admiral Gerd, Commander of the Fifth Skonshor Battlefleet, was amused by the replies he received. "Cute". Somehow it was always the Level 5 species who wanted to fight and went straight to nuclear threats. No-one ever wanted to surrender when the Skonshor fleet arrived in orbit and started dictating terms. Well, except the Fnarl, of course. They had surrendered immediately and had become a subserviant species serving as a carnal adjunct to the Skonshors. But all other species needed a lesson first, just like the Earthians were about to receive. They'd become pretty reasonable and amenable to surrender in just a few minutes, when their defences had been shattered and their pride in their military ability had been broken. "Scan the planet for nuclear weapons, prepare to engage and destroy them". His Skonshor bridge crew leapt into action, as did their Fnarl pets. Each Skonshor was permitted to bring two personal Fnarl on board. They were used primarily to sate mating desires, but also received rudimentary training so theey could assist their masters in their duties. Gerd of course had an entire harem for his own personal use, and all of the dirty or dangerous engineering tasks were performed by Fnarl. It hadn't been like that when Gerd had been a cadet, of course. Things were different then. That had been before the Fnarl submission, and he and his cadet mates had taken pride in taking on dangerous tasks and vied with each other in completing them. Gerd had finished First Cadet and this had helped structure the trajectory of his career. The academies weren't the same these days, Fnarl were everywhere, it seemed. Still his crew may not be as tough and Skonshor-like as he and his class-mates had been, but he was proud of them all the same. Ready to fight, willing to kill. That is the Skonshor way. "There is something wrong with the scanners, my Lord" reported Major Kerd. "It is reporting thousands of nuclear weapons, and that can't be right." Gerd shot Kerd a stern look, but inside he smiled to himself. Now I'll show you why I am in charge, why I am the best, why I command! Once the Earthian surrender had been processed, he could look forward to promotion to Ferd, or maybe even Eerd! It had happened before, and Gerd was sure the subjugation efforts of his Fifth Battlefleet had not gone un-noticed on Skonshor iteself. "Zoom in on one nuclear weapon, and let's take a look", Gerd used the intonations of masterful yet benevolent instruction. A large 3-D image appeared in the bridge, and Kerd zoomed down into one nuclear weapon. "Look my Lord, the sensors indicate this is just one of many in a large field of silos". It was true, something was evidently interfering with the sensors. They seemed to show that the nuclear weapon they were looking at was just one of - wait a minute - "Zoom in further" commanded Gerd, his voice now using the inflections of grim command. The image changed as the nuclear weapon seems to grow and expand as Kerd zoomed in. And there, impossibly, were eight individual nuclear warheads inside the weapon. "How many like these have the sensors found?" "Over twelve thousand, my Lord". Merciful Aerd that couldn't be possible. That would be enough to destroy the eighteen Skonshor Homeworlds utterly. He turned to Kerd's Fnarl, "Scan the planet's crust for uranium deposits!" Uranium, that most elusive of elements. So rare that even the Fifth Battlefleet carried only seventeen nuclear devices to augment their particle beam weaponry. Thousands of nuclear devices would require colossal amounts of raw uranium ore, to be patiently sifted in the turbulence of the heavy water carousels. It simply wasn't possible. Was it? The Fnarl at the scanner stood rigid as a board and emitted a keening sound that Fnarls squeaked out when they were excited or disturbed. Gerd jumped up from his Admiral's Throne and pushed the Fnarl aside and took over the scanner himself. By Aerd and Berd, the crust of this planet had multiple desposits that were huge, spread out over wide areas. Holy Aerd. He was in orbit around the single richest uranium deposit in the known universe! Gerd could taste that promotion, he could hear the cheers, he know what to do. He broadcast to the entire battlefleet. "Skonshors, hear me! I am Gerd and I command! This planet has the richest uranium deposits ever discovered. We shall conquer and become rich beyond our wildest dreams. We shall - the words in his throat seemed to gag on the large dagger which had been stuck into his chest by Kerd's Fnarl. The Fnarl leaned closer and shouted "Order Ninety Nine!". Every ship in the fleet heard it, and the Fnarls in each ship acted immediately, attacking their Skonshor masters with daggers and wrenches and tooth and claw. Shortly after, the newly Fnarl ships started to report in one by one. In some ships the Fnarl attack failed, and they had to be obliterated by the concentrated fire of the other ships. Within twenty minutes, the fleet in orbit about Earth was entirely Fnarl. The Fnarl had been long waiting for this, the opportunity to destroy the Skonshor hegemony. The Fnarl had understood the Skonshor nature right from the start, and had bet the farm on surrender and compliance. They had waited for a full generation to find a species that had the capacity to fight and defeat the Skonshors - once they had been given a crash course in modern physics and super-luminal travel by the Fnarl. And lo, here was a species with not one hundred warheads, or even two hundred, but thousands of them! "Attention Earth. We are the Fnarl, and we offer an alliance."

When aliens invaded earth, they expected humanity to reach for nuclear weapons. They had experience in this, they knew how to deal with a few warheads. What they were not prepared for was the quantity possessed by humanity.

\- \[So he's just been... Sitting there?\] \- \[Yeah... Kind of freaks me out, man. I mean who stays stoic in a situation like that? At least call or ask questions or... I don't know, anything, but this? This is just *weird*.\] \- \[Alright... Well, we need more direct insight on their world and possible secret defenses if we want the invasion to succeed, so... Let's see what we see.\] The soldier left his colleague and entered the containment chamber. Air had been made to replicate Earth's atmosphere - which was close enough to his home planet's that he only needed a small gaz mask, although his physiology was so utterly different from the human's that he would probably not even notice. Actually, it was hard to tell whether the human was noticing anything at all. He didn't react in any discernible way to the soldier's entrance, his gaze rising the only sign of acknowledgement. \- Hello, human. You are now detained for the sake of interrogation. We captured you so that you may share your knowledge of Earth. \- Yeah. Makes sense. \- Sense? How so? \- It's 'cause I know too much, right? The lizard people sent you to try and see how much information I have. Lizard people? Puzzled, the soldier looked to his right. Parts of the cell's walls were made of a material that let light pass on a frequency outside of human's eye perception: for the prisonner, it was a wall, for the soldier, it was a window. Behind it, all kind of people were closely listening on the interrogation, and after looking at a few notes, scientists made a definite "no" gesture. Scans and observations of Earth had shown no signs of such biological life form. \- What lizard people? \- The ones that make up all the world's governments. So they can make them obey the Illuminati. \- Who are those? \- Group of people who control the entire world from the shadows. No one even know they exist, but they're here, and they use our private data to mind-control us. The soldier looked for help again, completely lost. This was nothing like what their observations of human culture and organization showed. Scientists seemed less sure that time, and frantically consulted their notes, but ended up waving "no" again. \- If this group is so secretive, then how are you aware of its existence? \- I'm just following the signs. You know? Investigating. I'm really smart, so I can see through their lies easily. And I talk to people who know, too, and we share information. We network. And we figure out more and more about the secrets they want to hide from us. \- And what would those secrets be? \- Well, I'm not going to reveal anything. Sorry, buddy, but I'm just too tough. You'll never break me. But I can tell you some obvious things that you would already know, just so you can see I know more that what they tell us. Like, for instance, I know that the Earth is hollow. \- Hollow? As in empty? \- And there's another Earth inside. \- Another Earth? How would that even... \- And the Moon doesn't exist. \- Earth's moon? We're parked on it! \- The Black Knight is an alien ship - one of you guys', I'm guessing. \- What? \- Governments are using planes to launch chemicals in the athmosphere. The distressed soldier looked right, but the scientists were already waving. \- Apollo 18 landed on Mars and was destroyed by aliens. \- What?? Three hours later, the soldier exited the room, on the verge of collapse. The gallery watching him had left the observation bay and was waiting for him. \- \[You ok, man?\] The soldier leaned to support his friend, who looked like he was about to pass out from his headache. \- \[Someone tell me what the hell that was.\] \- \[I don't know what to tell you, sir. Our readings are unambiguous: he was not lying.\] \- \[Do you think we should interrogate him again?\] \- \[NO! Hell no. I am not going back in here. That thing is absolutely insane.\] \- \[I have to admit, that was fairly worrying. Are all humans like this?\] The scientists briefly exchanged whispers as they looked at their devices. \- \[Well, I don't know about *all* humans, but, what he said definitely checks out. We're getting documentation for every single thing he mentioned on their global network. From what we can tell...\] Unsure, he turned to his collegues, who clapped their agreement. \- \[Yes, sir, probably most of them are bat-shit crazy.\] \- \[General, our invasion was based around the idea that they knew they couldn't use nuclear power to defend themselves, lest they turn their own planet into a wasteland.\] There was a pause. \- \[Are we really *sure* they're not that stupid?\] The commander stood in thought for a while. \- \[You know what, maybe we're staying clear from those guys.\]

Aliens have finally captured a human. When the interrogator walks into the room they find the human just sitting there calmly waiting.

Jacqueline had tried to keep a low profile at the Academy, she really did. Unfortunately, the elves and the fae and a plethora of others saw her very presence as an insult. In some way, it was. Were it not for the Republic bleeding the magical kingdoms during the war, humans would have never been allowed into the Academy. "Look at you, prancing about these noble halls like you belong," said Theoden after he and his elven posse waylaid her on her way to the canteen. "I've just had enough of your human stench." "Excuse me?" Jackie said. "I most certainly do not prance. And I'll have you know I shower every day." She considered those barring her way as she spoke and relaxed a little. The lackeys were of no consequence, and Theoden, although said to possess great power, was a pompous fool. "It is not something you can wash off, human," Theoden said, turning up his nose. "It is the stench of inferiority." "Uh huh." She tapped her foot. "Anything else you wanted to say? If not, move aside. I have places to be." Theoden stared at her. "Have you no dignity? Aren't you even going to defend yourself?" She laughed. "Why would I? Your words are like the yapping of a dog too afraid to bite." Theoden's high-cheekboned face flushed red. Peeling off his white glove, he tossed it at her feet. "For your contempt for your betters, I challenge you to a duel." Jackie glanced down and nudged it with her foot. "All right, then," she said casually. "We can use any magic or enchanted weapon, right?" The elf appeared surprised at her nonchalance but quickly hid it behind a sneer. "Indeed. You have learned the rules, at least." She nodded. "How about we do it after dinner tonight? I have a busy day of class tomorrow." "So be it," Theoden hissed. He gestured to his lackeys and turned to leave with a dramatic swish of his cloak. *** The Academy's courtyard was packed with students, leaving an empty oval down the middle. Jackie stood on one end, Theoden on the other. From the looks of dark glee the spectators directed at Jackie, they expected her to get badly beaten. Between them hunched Professor Olga, who was to officiate the duel. The hag was known to be impartial—which was to say, she hated everyone equally. Theoden caught her gaze and sneered. Jackie stiffened when she spied a long thin sword strapped to his belt, but to her relief, he didn't show any inclination to draw it. Typical. Elves were proud of their magic the most and loved to lord their abilities over their inferiors. Professor Olga rasped, "Are you ready?" Jackie nodded and reached under the lapel of her jacket to adjust her holster. "You will learn your place tonight, human," Theoden said to approving murmurs from the elves in the crowd. Jackie rolled her eyes. Professor Olga raised her gnarled hand high into the air, then brought it down. "Begin." Theoden smiled and threw his hands into the air. "Mother Earth, heed my call," he cried. "Rouse your fury and bind my enemy in a prison of thorns." The cobblestones of the courtyard cracked apart as vines erupted through the gaps and slithered toward Jackie. For a moment, she only stared out of sheer incredulity. To think the fool would choose such a roundabout method; no wonder the elves lost against the Republic. She reached into her holster and pulled out one of her four wands. Mass-produced in the Republic's mage workshops, it lacked elegance and required little skill to wield. In other words, it was a weapon of war. Even as the vines bound her feet, she calmly took aim and let loose. An energy missile burst forth and hit Theoden's thigh, and the elf collapsed with an agonized scream. A stunned silence reigned in the courtyard as she pulled her feet free of the vines and unhurriedly approached her opponent, wand held loosely at her side. Theoden glowered at her, clutching his bleeding thigh. Pausing before him, she aimed the wand between his eyes. The elf blanched. "I yield," he whimpered, any sign of superiority gone from his pale mien. Jackie stared him in the eye until he began to tremble, then nodded briskly and sheathed her wand. The onlookers parted before her as she strode out the courtyard, murmuring behind her back. There was a reason why humanity had withstood the combined assault of the magical kingdoms, and if need be, she would remind them all.

You, a normal human, have somehow become the best duelist at a magic academy.

A ninja's job is ruthless. It's not just the fact that you have to kill in cold blood; you spend ungodly hours training. You have to face the consequences of each mistake, for if your master is disappointed, you will be made to feel it. And if that disappointment is great enough then you need to turn that ruthlessness towards yourself. If you can't do that, then you can expect to spend your last moments as the prey in a hunt. No amount of skill can help you escape the hunt; only luck. I used all of mine that day, and more to stay hidden. Every day I borrowed more luck to eek out a meagre existence under my former master's shadow. But then the first payment was due. With interest. In the end, the master's quarry is trapped in his hovel, and predators stalking the night are waiting for the right moment to strike. There! The prey can fight back! A small sound is enough for me to unsheath my katana, wickedly slicing them, certain death as it resheaths. But my katana falters, stopping short of its sheath. It's my son, clutching his chest, incredulous expression on his face. He should be long gone by now, with the rest of my family, but there's no time to find out what happened; I can can already hear them closing in on us.

When comeone using a katana sheaths their blade, the wounds on the opponent appear, they collapse, and the fight ends. That's just how it works. You never sheathed yours.

I jump from rock to rock, just barely avoiding the lava in Mr. Evil's lair. I knew if I found the hiding place I could make it to the next world. I had to escape him and his evil sleep chamber! I hear a noise in the other room. It sounded like Mr. Evil! He's on his way to get me! Maybe if I can disguise myself as one of his minions and sneak around better. I take my cape off and throw it in the lava. There! Now it looks like I fell in and Mr. Evil will look in the lava and be distracted. I carefully jump to the safe ground and sneak down the hall. It's not too bad of a plan for the world's bestest superhero spy. I find the magic portal down the hall a little bit. It glows with magic and I jump through. As long as Mr. Evil doesn't find me, I'll be good. I look around me, it seems like I have made it to a kingdom. I smile, I like this one. I get to be a really cool knight!! I just need to find a sword! "There you are, little hero!" I gasp! He found me so quickly!! He must have gotten smarter!! "You will never defeat me! I am the bravest knight in all the land." Mr. Evil laughs evil-ly. "But you've forgotten! I have magic in this world! I can magically catch you and put you down for a magic nap!!" He reaches for me and I try to dodge, but he's too fast with magic! I get scooped up and he must have cast his sleep spell because I yawn. He carries me out of the magical realms back to my bedroom. As I'm being tucked into bed, my papa smiles at me, "It's time for the best little hero to get some sleep. We have a playdate later today with Mia, remember? You need all your energy for that." I nod, and he hands me my teddy. "Sleep well buddy." /// I sigh, quietly closing Eric's door behind me. He really has an active imagination. But he should stay down for at least a little bit. I make my way to the living room, putting the cushions back on the couch and picking up the towel he left on the floor. I stretch and plop on the couch, smiling softly. Maybe I could use a quick nap too.

You’re the greatest superhero! No, wait, you’re a super spy! Better, you’re a medieval knight! Or actually, you’re a karate master. Well, one thing you’re definitely not is ready to go down for your nap.

Dana looked at the white-suited men apprehensively. “What does this mean?” she asked. “Do not worry, Mrs Garland.” one of them replied, perhaps their leader. “We were called by the hospital to help you. Our organization specializes in cases like this.” “Cases like what?” Dana held her sleeping baby closer to her body. Minutes had passed after his birth and still his spirit animal had not appeared. Deep down, she already knew the answer to her question. “Like Hollows, ma’am.” She inhaled deeply. Hollows. Beings that possessed no spirit animal and thus, no soul. It was Hollows who ruled the world before the Anima, killing everyone and everything they saw. To allow one to live was to invite destruction. “Mrs Garland, you need to pass it to us before it wakes up.” he said, more urgently. Dana Garland stared straight into the man’s eyes, “He is not an object. He is my son. And his name is David.” The men in white changed, their nails elongating into sharp claws. “We will take it by force if we have to.” their leader said. The mother’s pupils narrowed into feline slits. “You can try.” Fur sprouted from her skin as she transformed into a giant mountain lion. Grasping her son with her front paw, she leapt through the glass window, shattering it into countless pieces. The men rushed to the broken portal but there was nothing they could do. For now, she and her child were out of their reach.

Every human is also born with a spirit animal at birth. However, you’ve just given birth and it’s been hours. No animal has appeared for your child. The nurses have been acting strange. Men in white suits enter your room. “Give us your child. Hurry, before it wakes up.”

As the woman ran through the streets, illuminated only by the faint yellow glow of the streetlights, she could feel his presence behind her. Turning into an alleyway, she immediately saw her mistake. In front of her was a large brick wall, stretching up to the night sky. She had hit a dead end. With nowhere to go and no energy to spare, the woman collapsed against the bricks. She watched as the vampire turned the corner and began to make his way towards her panting body. "Please, don't drink my blood!" the woman sobbed. The vampire smiled "You know, I'm still shocked that rumor worked. We started it a few hundred years ago as a cover for what we were doing back then, but somehow it still works today." The woman looked at him in confusion "So what do you do?" She asked "Oh all sorts! We've run drug distribution, organ harvesting, hell we supplied moonshine back in the 1920s. It really depended on what was popular at the time" the vampire explained. "Being nocturnal really limited us on what we could do legally, but ignoring the law opened a lot of doors for us" "So what is it that you do now?" The woman pondered "Now, we do something much worse than all of that" the vampire grinned. In a flash, what little remaining space between the vampire and the woman was closed, the vampire pinning the woman up against the wall. Slowly, the vampire moved his head next to hers, his mouth next to her ear. She could feel his warm breath as he spoke the words that sent chills down her spine: "I've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty"

As the vampire drew closer, the woman sobbed, please, don’t drink my blood. The vampire stopped and said, actually that’s a myth, we don’t drink blood. That’s a rumor we started hundreds of years ago to cover for what we really do.

"*All of you?*" the newly initiated vampire hunter hissed as he looked around at his fellow slayers. "We didn't ask to be vampires," the... *vampire* vampire hunter before him said. "*None* of us. It is a curse, a blight upon our hearts." "But why do you hunt your own kind?" the human continued, hand on the hilt of his sword. "They're *not* our kind, Rhodri," the vampire protested. "No more than the worst human criminals are your kind. And... we think that we can kill the Elder - the progenitor of vampirekind - that our curse might be broken. That we might turn... normal again." He looked down at his pale hands with palpable disgust, the black veins visible through his skin a constant reminder of his bleak situation. "We just want to return to our lives. Our families," the vampire said gently. "You're still vampires. You drink human blood. " "Only as much as we need! Only from the willing, for money! And we never, *ever*, kill!" the vampire yelled. The human relaxed his posture, finally releasing his sword. "Good," he said. "The Elder vampire is... he must be stopped. And if you're with me, that is more than enough for me." "Why do *you* hunt him? We all share a reason, but you, a human, unspoiled by the blight - why do you?" the vampire tilted his head. The human looked down. "My sister. Glynis. He... he bit my sister." "I'm sorry." The human extended his hand towards the vampire. The two nodded slightly as they shook hands. "Good hunting," Rhodri said. "And when this is done, when he is dead, burned, his ashes scattered to the wind... if you're still vampires..." The vampire looked up at the human. "I won't hesitate for a *second* to drive a stake through every single one of you, drop you where you stand," Rhodri smiled. "Same way I did Glynis. Because *you are monsters*."

You're a vampire hunter. However, upon finally being accepted into the Hunter's Guild, you realize something. All the other hunters are unwilling vampires who want revenge against the one who bit them, and they want to know what YOUR reason for hunting is, seeing as you're only human.

"That's two moons," Kimberly repeated, "This isn't Earth" "No, it's... there's gotta be an explanation" Trinity said. "Yeah. There is." Ivan said, "We're in another dimension." "Or another planet," Kimberly proposed. Trinity kept staring at the sky while Kimberly and Ivan continued theorizing. "Wait," she said after a moment, "The stars are wrong too". "What?" the others said at the same time. "I said the stars are wrong. Look!" Trinity pointed up. "That's where the big dipper should be." "So, not just two moons, but completely different sky," Kimberly summarized before adding "Can we get in touch with home base?" "I'm trying" Ivan said, "But I've got nothing. I think we should land." Kimberly agreed and began veering the plane downwards. "Whoa..." she turned to the others. "There's no land. And it all looks like lava." Trinity looked at the sky again. Some of the stars were beginning to disappear. "They're just... blinking out. Not all of them, but a lot of them. And I can - Wait!" "What?" "I can see the big dipper now."

A team of researchers in a plane are caught in a huge storm. The plane climbs above the clouds until the storm passes. When they go back down, they can’t get a fix on their location or find land. When night falls, there are two moons in the sky and the constellations are completely unfamiliar.

President Romney stood in stunned silence, and the reporters wasted no time. "That's right folks at home, you heard that exactly right, we are here live at Washington DC where the extraterrestrial has just accused *us* of occupying *their* homeworld!" The President finally replied, gently yet sternly, "Ambassador are you telling me we are from the same planet?" The floating creature, one eyed, mouthless, and encased in a glass cage from Area 51, spoke to everyone simultaneously. "Yes. This is our home. When they were functional our pyramids, carefully placed on ley lines, which you have now plundered, allowed us to teleport to dimensions beyond your comprehension." At home, Georgios Tsolakis ran his hands through his hair and shouted "I **fucking** knew it!" The military raised their guns to silence the crowd and President Romney began walking away, muttering "I have to make a phone call." "Yes you have seen it with your own eyes," a reporter said to the camera, "The AMerica-hating, party-flipping President Romney has retreated back to the White House! If we had just elected the former president for a fourth term, we could-" "Jesus Christ!" a disheveled man said, getting in the way of the camera. "Yes," the reporter replied, keeping her composure, "Our president left us out here-" "No! Look up" The camera looked to the sky and, the distant figure in view, the man finished his repetition, "It's Jesus Christ!" The alien spoke again. **"Be not afraid."**

"What are you doing on our homeworld?"

I thought when I complained my life was boring, and I got cursed to 'live in interesting times'? That it was just friendly joking. Turns out I was getting Final Destination'd into being an Isekai Protagonist, come hell or high water, because the amount of stuff I dodged before the three strikes I actually took was unreal. Turns out, though, that what **does** kill you, makes you stronger. Seems like this place had some prophecy about a Hero of Light who'd save them all. Wilderness crawling with monsters, wild and savage beasts, and all the rest of it. Basically, if you weren't in a walled town or on a guarded wagon train between towns, you were toast. Even then, there were night watches and archers and all that junk. I'd always wondered how Isekai protagonists survived the shit they got, at least until the videogame systems kicked in and they levelled up a couple times. Or whatever trope they used for power. I'd dodged a stupid amount of happenstance during the Final Destination week. Even the shower-curtain-tangle and drown had failed to get me - I'd always bought cheap shitty shower curtains, because I replace 'em - and it tore like the thin plastic it was. The train station mugging gone wrong? I always wore my nice trainers, and running was a hobby. I got away before the idiots started swinging. I made sure when I walked under something, that I was aware - I dodged a falling paint can, bucket, and craft knife from a painter having A Real Normal One outside my work's office. The food poisoning from my favourite place nearly got me. I got a takeaway, got home, got halfway through eating it and found the chicken vastly undercooked. I had what I can only term a "shitty night", but it seems I'd stopped before it became terminal. Going back the next day, the normal chef was out because he was sick. He'd had food poisoning and not known it, just carried on because that's what you do. The manager had yelled at him, told him to stay home and look after himself instead of working himself half to death. Going out of my way like that was what got me Truck-Kun'd. I woke up in hospital with fractured bones - skull included - and just about a dislocated everything. They'd pinned me back together, put everything back, and signed me off work for three months. "Great", I thought, "I can catch up on my videogame backlog!" Only, the discharge to home was that day. The hell? And the guy gave me wrong directions. The surgeon who'd patched me up was having a psychotic break from overwork in the canteen, and went at me with a steak knife. Caught me but good in the thigh, then went for the heart, but I managed to parry him and break his arm with the plaster casts on mine. Back to surgery, patched up, fresh blood installed - because thighs bleed like hell, a major artery had gotten nicked - and I was discharged again. That time, I grabbed the nurse's arm and had them lead me out. He humoured me, because at this point the hospital staff were massively amused by the situation, and endlessly apologetic to me. I could tell I'd be the shaggy dog story for new doctors for years. But, food poisoning over, broken bones and crutches, and orders to call in if I saw blood coming out where it shouldn't... I took three steps out of the hospital into the thunderstorm. The rumble of thunder sounded suspiciously like "this time for sure, cockroach". Then it hit me. The lightning, that is. It took out the lightning rod on the hospital, and coursed through me. The lightning rod came down on me, too, bringing the assembly with it... which included the surge protection shit the hospital had. The next thunder sounded more like "oh no ya don't" - and lightning hit me again, fucking up something in the kit that'd fallen on me. Pretty sure at that point I got fried by the national power grid, too. Death's supposed to be darkness with a light to the next life, but mine looked more like the words "gotcha that time" written across my retinas in lightning. I woke up in a cave, in the hospital-gown-over-jeans-and-tshirt I'd died in. But what kills you makes you stronger. Isekai protags lived through their shit because the damage resistance they got from being Truck'd meant they didn't die easy. It took a week of bullshit for me to lower my guard. As a result, I'd become both paranoid and extremely perceptive. No glasses for me any more! Truck-Kun, Patron Saint of Isekai Protagonists, had made me basically immune to blunt force trauma. Pretty sure if I got Trucked again I'd just enjoy the ride. Stabs McSurgery meant piercing and slicing would do eff all to me. That'd been proven by the wolves I encountered, day 1, just gnawing on a limb each - whilst scratching with their hindlegs like cats - eventually deciding "this one's not worth it". They were following at a distance now, and I wondered if I'd started a canine religion. Food Poisoning Chef had meant I could eat basically anything and not suffer any negative consequence. Which was good, because this wilderness did not like people making fires - it attracted all kinds of nasties - and I'm pretty sure the wolves, despite not being scavengers, were enjoying my leftovers. Finally, the Wrath of Lightning I'd copped for surviving that long, seemed to have made me immune to energy damage. The third time I'd been attacked for having a fire, I'd stepped in it without realising. Goodbye gown, t-shirt and jeans. Hello, jokes about being warm for the rest of my life, and a brand new party trick. The wolves had brought me some snakeskins to dress with, once they'd seen that I was still alive and fine. (The one I'd named Moon Moon had chewed on my ankle until I'd woken up and yelled at him. I think it might've been an apology gift.) Oh, and the near drowning meant I didn't need much water. And also couldn't drown. Super handy. It was only when a bear decided that eating my head was a good wakeup, that I discovered I had lightning powers. Pretending to be a Sith had never been so much fun. Scaring a bear off by turning my upturned "fuck you" fingers into a Jacob's Ladder? I swear, I've got party tricks for days. Though, it could always have been the metre-long arcs of electricity I'd literally farted at him, whilst doing my best Braveheart impression. Sleep deprivation is a hell of a thing. So, when I'd wearily trudged through miles of forest and plain and other things, to see a town, I thought, "Finally, some fucking civilisation." They thought, "Oh shit is that a spider riding a zombie wearing a snakeskin. Wait, what the fuck even is that." Fortunately, Isekai tropes were in full effect, and they spoke Japanese. (Also, at some stage, a spider the size of a bear had dropped on my head. It tried to bite and failed, and I'd zapped it on reflex. I'd just carried on walking, because damn, am I tired.) I wanted somewhere to sleep where I wouldn't have Moon Moon using me as a chew toy. I dropped off my loot at the gate - dead spider is apparently hard to come by, they're tenacious bastards - and they'd asked me how I'd done it, barehanded. I demonstrated. I asked for a bed somewhere. I got directed to the traveller inn, within the first wall. They gave me some token to say that it was on the town guard's tab. I took a bath outside in a washtub (the barkeep had refused to let me in wearing a half decayed snakeskin, and to be fair, I had stunk to high heaven) - that too was luxury right now. He then ushered me to a room, and said he'd have some stew for me when I woke. In the meantime, the town guard had spoken to their mayor/elder - wasn't quite sure which, but wise old guys are a cliché for a reason - and had me pegged as their Hero of Light...ning. Having a job which is basically legendary Hero, after all that Isekai Initiation crap? With the perks I got out of it? Not bad. I can honestly say it was worth it, having that start to my journey...

Carelessly crossing the street a speeding truck barely misses you, suddenly stabbed by a random attacker you wake up in the hospital, then leaving after discharge you’re hit by lightning and wake up in a whole new world. You’ve been triple isekai’d.

Your family had decided on moving without your input, so you could only tag along and wait how things turned out. It was a big house a little away from the city, with a huge garden and live green fencing. Papa sounded happy to have found a place close to his job for cheap, Mama complained that the place was so dusty and full of old furniture. You only hoped this place looked as fun as it seemed, so many places to explore! One night, you feel something moving, cracking an eye open to spot a person searching the cupboards. *"Friend?"* You got up and walked up to them, trying to get their smell. But there was none? "Oh, you can see me? Good girl." You waited for the pets, but it didn't come. The person just began walking around the house. Grandpa seemed to chuckle when you tilted your head. How did he go into the wall? You scratched the wallpaper but found no hole. Oh well, what mattered was that you had a new friend to play with! At first you only followed him around the house, but soon he began playing with you. It was so fun, your family only had time for you for short times, but your friend had all the time in the world. Grandpa threw the balls as far they could and you fetched it. Sometimes you played chase all over the house. >"Dad! Lassie is being weird again!" Thomas was getting irritated, even his daughter knew something was off. The dog began acting possessed ever since they moved here. She used to be so well behaved, but was now messing up the house and barking at odd times in the morning. Should he send her back for reinforcement training? Your family put up cameras for some reason, looking worried and even scared. Why fear? Grandpa was so nice! He was shaking his head and sighing, knowing something you didn't. "Good dogs don't need to worry. It's silly human stuff." Then came the day you feared, it was time to move again! You didn't want to leave Grandpa alone, he was so nice to you! >The father forced the dog to choke down sleeping pills, it was scratching up the car's insides and busting their hearing with crying. "Goodbye. Don't worry about me, I'm going to see my family." Grandpa petted your head. "Live well, I'll be waiting for you."

The house is totally haunted. Our protagonist doesn’t realize this though, because she is a dog and thinks that this is the BEST HOUSE EVER!

"Well, Timothius, I see your taste in women has changed slightly." Timothius, I swear to one of our several gods that is the dumbest name in history. You know who names their kid Timothius? Some jackass minor noble family that has aspirations of being better than the tiny town they rule over. Then they send their equally jackass son to a military academy, he gets sent off to war, becomes less of a jackass, and next thing you know he's being 'rewarded' with a warrior princess as a wife because he was good at being a soldier. "Yes dad, this is my new wife Thronga." Thronga scowled at him, leaned in to sniff his hair, and recoiled slightly. "He smell like peaches and flowers." She leaned in again. "No honey, what did we say about licking people?" "Thronga no lick people, even if they smell like food." "And...?" "Even if Thronga ask first." "That's right," I turned back towards my father, "How has the town been since I've been gone?" We made small talk. I occasionally had to remind Thronga of some simple niceties when dealing with nobles. We drink from cups, not directly from the cask. We do not disparage the structural integrity of the furniture. The dog is a friend and has as much right to the house as anyone else. Do not steal the dogs food, we will feed you at dinner. Do not give the dog beer, even if he is a friend. Do not threaten the chef with a blood duel because your meat was overcooked. Do not disparage the apparent structural integrity of the dog. Do not *test* the structural integrity of the dog. You know, normal things like that. "So tell me, how did you two meet?" "Oh, Thronga want tell story! Thronga was great warrior queen of Termite Clan. Father had many children, but all his sons die in battle! So me become Queen! When Tim and his army of metal come, we ambush them. Fight hard, but they run away. Tim stop at bridge, fight off many warriors while his cowardly clan mates flee. We finally take him prisoner. War not go good for Thronga, though. We eventually surrender. Offer to be clan-mates, and seal alliance by marrying their greatest warrior." I laughed at the story. "And what can I say, being a prisoner for my feral queen wasn't so bad. She doesn't like to admit it, but she was always enamored with me. Fed me well, provided me with a clean bed to sleep in. She would come by to talk. But I don't think she really understood her feelings until..." "Oh! Thronga forgot best part! Thronga tell rest now. Thronga go out late one night after too much ale. While behind a bush, she see Tim sneaking away from camp. Thronga mad at Tim! Marched up to Tim and demanded to know where he thought he was going to. Thronga was going to hit Tim, but then Clan get raided by Earthshaker Clan. Tim could have run, but he stay and help save Termite Clan children and put out fires. We make him clan member. Say he free to go, but he stay anyway. Thronga happy he stayed." "I'm glad I stayed too dear." I leaned in and gave her a small kiss. "Anyway, we plan to head back to her Clansland after our short stay here. With our marriage, she officially became a part of our kingdom, and now rules over the entire Western Marches. We are both excited for what that means for our future." Thronga nodded solemnly, "Thronga promise many children, Thronga spend much time in bed instead of fighting. But Thronga love Tim so Thronga do it." I laughed. "My love, I could never tell you to drop your sword just to you could take up mine. We'll have children when the time is right, and nothing makes my heart flutter more than seeing you drive our enemies before us and hearing the lamentations of their women." The next morning we returned to our carriage. I offered a small sum of money to pay for the damage we caused to the guest bed, and snuggled up next to my Warrior Queen. "Thanks for meeting my family. I know they're a little posh, but you did well. They seemed to like you." "Thronga like your parents too. And your dog. Even if he is easily frightened." "I love you my big strong wild queen." "Thronga love you too, you make Thronga happy." I lifted my head off her chest and gave her a little kiss. "Thronga want sex now." "Me too, but the carriage won't survive."

After conquering the barbarian tribes, the King organized several political marriages to keep the peace. You're introducing your noble family to your tall, unkempt, and fur-clad new husband/wife.

"^(Please, hear my cry, Qriris of the fury. Shield me not, but wreathe me in the armaments of your wrath. Drink of my fire as I walk your burning path beneath the stars.)" A chill rippled across my skin. The prayer was quiet, distant, a lone voice in the night. But it was there. My name. My words. A call to the old-fire. Though it keened out in a different tongue than the creatures had once invoked me, it echoed against the same cold heavens, spoke of that same furious and ephemeral and *beautiful* rage that had always kindled a fondness for the humans that had once known me. It lit my weathered soul ablaze. I closed my eyes, casting out to find that which had called me. I could feel the beating land beneath my fingertips, ran my hands once more over the great peaks and swelling oceans, searching for the cry. It wasn't hard to find. My hands trembled as I set my drink on the bar. Though I'd known his father and his father before, I barely registered the bartender's nod as I walked out into the street. The cold of so many nights was gone. I felt the hum again, that thrumming current that ran beneath it all, and tipped my head back. For the first time in a millennia, those once-familiar flames licked at the edges of my being. I tipped my head back in the rush, and in an instant I was gone. The human was small. Gods, they were all so small. My heart broke again for these beings I'd once shepherded, seeing the human there, knelt by a tiny fire. That was always why I'd answered their calls - the heartbreak. That such luminous beings were tethered in such papery flesh, that these fires they built could only ever be such shallow mimicries of the rage within them. That they could themselves gaze on this cosmic injustice, and yet by some cruel fate their bodies had deigned them unworthy of their anger in the face of it. I knelt by the fire across from the little thing. "You burn bright, child." The human opened her eyes, and I saw now the tears streaming silently down her face. There was no shock at my appearance. No, this was why she had been able to call me. The world had taken her shock, hollowed her luminous rage to dull points that strained against the dark. "I'm so tired," the human said, and her face broke entirely now. She wept, falling to the ground, wracked with a wrenching sorrow. "Shh, shh," I moved to sit by her, "The world has taken much from you, my darling." "I can't-" she fought through the choking tears to speak. "Shh, darling, sit with me, with this fire." The human sniffled, quelling her tears faster than I thought she might. I helped her up, and we sat for a moment, gazing at the flames. I could feel her breathing quicken, the cogs in her mind begin to turn, the realization of what she had done setting in, so I have her a moment to process. "You're real?" she asked, and the clawing fight against more tears filled me with a wave of simultaneous pride and sorrow. "More or less," I replied. "More, now that you've invoked me." "I didn't know what to do, I didn't-" gods, she had power in her, even as helpless as she was now. "I didn't know how to keep- to keep fighting." "You're not alone anymore. And that prayer you managed to cook up can be more literal than you think, child." I pushed power into my words, enough for her to feel just how real I could be. "You are entitled to your anger, and that *fight* is something still in you. I cannot give you that. I can only right the injustice that is your inability to act on that fight." This seemed to get through to her, and her next word struck me with incredible force. "Good." Though she still sniffled, though tears still lined her face, I could feel her *kindle* once more, the promise of my fire rushing to fill the hollow in her the world had made. I felt a single tear fall down my own face, and I caught it as it fell, holding it on an outstretched fingertip. "Tell me, child," I reached my hand into the flame, feeling my tear crystallize. "What has this place done to you?" "My family- my village-" she gritted her teeth and stood, the sheer force of her will washing over me. "They poisoned the water, they- they took everything." I stood after her, carrying the drop of my essence now bathed in fire. "Not everything." I said, and emotions I hadn't felt in centuries filled me, lighting my eyes, my hands, bathing the room in the red glow of the old-fire. "They cannot take your fury." I held out the teardrop, and she turned her gaze from the night to face me. "You already know the path. Take it," I said, the voice of the old-fire joining my own. "Take it, and burn them all."

you’re a forgotten god until you hear the first prayer sent to you in over millennia

I didn't have time to think. I grabbed the tissues. I didn't have time to think. I grabbed the. I didn't have time to think. I grabbed. I didn't have time to think. I didn't have time to. I didn't have time. I didn't have. I didn't. I I could see myself reaching for the tissues. There I was, naked as the day I was born and twice as ugly. The door..... No, doors. Every door, stacked one top of each other like two mirrors tantalizingly teasing a nearly infinite hallway but.... How could I describe it? It made sense to me in the way dreams made sense, a singular object tagged with the identity of others. It was door #1, door #2. It was every door that ever could or would be. And everything was imbued with that same quality, frozen in time yet moving. I could see it all and it was infinite, a light beam travelling so far that I looped back on itself, some impossible engine fueled by distance and time crawling forwards and backwards at once. In short it was fucking weird. Very, very fucking weird. "You don't have much time. We do, here, but you don't, there." That voice again. And tagged, like the door, like.... Everything. As it always had been, I realized. It had always been like this. I just hadn't understood. "Enjoy that feeling while you can" the voice boomed out. Oddly familiar... It was... Jesus. "Yep. I wish I had answers for you. I don't. Tell him to pick up the tissues." "Tell yourself?" I mumbled in confusion. The voice laughed, I followed and mumbled "pick up the tissues". "This is where we part ways" the voice, my voices said. And it was gone. Or rather I was. There was a chain here, of me telling me to pick up the tissues, coming here, and leaving. It was infinite. I could see pieces of it, stretching through time and space like streamers from an impossibly buoyant kite flown by god itself. Like me before me, I said a few choice words to myself, recalled the intruder. Recalling the fear that had settled in my chest like spilt slag I moved towards the front door of my small detached home and found myself .... Right where I started. I looked around at my living room, same as I'd left it, sans 1 intruder. The molten iron in the pit of my stomach showed no signs of cooling, however. I'd narrowly averted.... Something. But how? And what? I looked at the tissues and knew with certainty as cold and absolute as the fear was mercurial and hot.... That something very, very bad was happening. And it would get worse before it got better. Whatever "it" was, I knew it just as surely as I now knew why so many people derided sleeping in the nude. There was no on breaking into my home. They'd dissipisted. Like whatever had taken hold of me. I looked over at the box of tissues. Or rather, the space on the second hand credenza where they'd been. A thought: I didn't have any tissue papers. Confirmation: yes, they were on my shopping list. What. The. Fuck. Grabbing hold of the baseball bat I kept in the front closet, for occasions similar to buy not quite like this, I checked the windows the deadbolts. Safe and secure. I sat down on the couch, baseball bat near at hand, heart and thoughts racing each other as if to be the first to reach whatever bizarre finish line awaited me. ---- I may keep plugging away at this. I'm feeling like it'll go long and I need to not be phone for a while.

It's 1am, you read "An intruder is breaking into your home. The item to you left will save you" You laugh as you look to your left; a box of tissues, an empty mug, and..." you freeze as you hear the distinct sound of your door unlocking.

I was laying on my death bed. Thinking back on all the good times I had over the years. I had lived a life that was full. regrets I had but not enough worth mentioning. My wife sat next to me with our newborn son cradled in her arms. My only mentionable regret would be leaving my child and wife. I reached out for my wife's hand. "Never forget, that I love you two with all my heart." I whispered. My wife sobbed harder into my pillow. I had beaten many hardships in my life, but cancer was no joke. It was the one thing that took me down. But through my life I gave it a hell of a time. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 I thought as I closed my eyes and waited for death's cold embrace, But nothing happened. I opened my eyes and looked around. My wife's face was frozen and at the foot my my bed stood tall, stunningly beautiful woman with an other worldly aura to her. He's clothes sparkled and flowed around her like water. As I looked close and realized her clothes 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 water and the sparkles in it were coins. "Hello, Mark" she said in an ethereal melodic voice "I'm sorry I couldn't reach out to you sooner I've been busy. how have you been?" She asked. "Excuse me?" I responded in surprise. "Are you here to finally take me to the afterlife?" "Afterlife? Oh no, no, no, I'm here to grant you wishes Mark." "So what are you like a genie or something? I asked "No, I am the embodiment of a wishing well, one you threw coins into. And now I'm here to grant them" she said. "As I recall you had wished for a body that was strong and didn't fall prey to disease and you wishes for time manipulation, is that correct?" 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 I thought. I must have made those wishes years ago and forgot. This must be a last minute death bed hallucination. So I decided to run with it. "Yes that's right" I said "when will they start taking effect" I asked jokingly "Right now" she said. She snapped her fingers and I woke up in my bed, 4 years into the past.

Many years ago you threw a coin into a wishing well and made a wish. You weren't surprised when nothing happened so you moved on with your life, unaware that the well simply had a large backlog of wishes that it needed to grant; but now as you lay on your deathbed, your wish is finally granted.

“How many bee stings do you think it takes to kill a man? Take a wild guess. We have some time before your guards arrive.” Verix flipped through the pages of his book of necromancy, not paying much attention to the captive noble that was currently being circled by his swarm of bees. “A thousand? Two thousand? More bees than you have available. Do you really plan to threaten me with such a pitiful swarm of bees? I’ve heard you can surround a town in a cloud of bee’s, why bring such a pitiful amount? You should leave before my guards kill you. I promise you, when you die, no one will bring you back to life.” Verix didn’t respond at first, flicking to the next page of his book. Noble Gallard might have questioned if he was even listening, if not for the crude smile that had found its way to his lips. Verix lowered the book to his waist, turning to face the noble. “That’s a rather good guess and observation. I knew I was right in seeking you out. Yes, my numbers are currently rather light, but that’s only because I have my dominant forces deployed elsewhere. What you see before you are my personal guard. The one’s that protect their king.” “Well, king. How will this personal guard kill me?” “Reanimation gives them a unique quality. Unlike their normal counterparts, these bees are far more durable and will often remove their stingers without causing themselves harm. Of course, mistakes still happen. I don’t need a horde of one thousand bees to take you down. Just the nice handful at my disposal should do a trick.” Verix instructed one bee to land on the nose of Gallard, allowing Gallard to cross his eyes for a better view of the horrible thing. Its body was covered in a light green hue, and it reeked of death. The smell stinging the nobles nose, never having smelt something so offensive. He tried to swat the bee away, only to halt his hand, knowing any movements might alert the horde circling him. “This is why I like you, sir, Gallard. Other nobles failed that little test of mine and yet you endured it. You’re one of the rare men worthy of their reputations. I didn’t believe those grand war stories your people sung about you, but the more I look at you, the more I believe them. Sure, you might be a shell of that former man, but I’m seeing cracks in that shell the more I talk to you. Perhaps we can break that other you out?” The bee flew away, giving Gallard a chance to suck in a deep breath of fresh air. His eyes continued to observe the horde, looking for an opening but finding none. Escape was impossible, and the necromancer knew it. Verix able to laze about the nobles bedroom while he spoke. “What is it you want? You’ve spent the last few months terrorizing villages and killing noble families. Is it all just for fun?” “What about this appears fun? I would much rather be doing other things with my time, unfortunately this is all necessary for me to gain my rightful place.” “As king?” “Bravo. You are quite good at picking up on these things. If I were a maiden, I think I would have swooned for you.” Verix laughed, standing up from his chair. “Yes, I wish to make myself king. I have shown my power, but I understand that power alone isn’t enough. Kings need friends. I want us to be friends, Sir. Gallard.” “What makes you think I would align myself with you?” “Apart from the fact you have little say in the matter?” “Yes, apart from that.” “Well, kings take good care of their loyalist of subjects. I’ll make sure you and your family keep your noble positions. I’ll even make sure you're given additional land for your allegiance.” “I see. What if I decline?” Verix didn’t give a response. Instead, he let the circle of bees shift closer, closing the distance between themselves and the noble. Their buzzing ringing in his ears as they got close enough to nearly touch his skin before backing off once more. “I guess I have no choice but to accept.” “Wonderful. I admire you Sir. Gallard. I truly do. Most people in your position would be too clouded with their own bravado to see the bigger picture. You are amazing beyond belief. I will call for you when I have the need. Until then, I suggest you keep your mouth shut about our brief exchange. Oh, and when your guards arrive, tell them they have nothing to fear from me.” The swarm of bees left the noble’s side, allowing him to take a step forward. He watched as Verix turned his back, heading for the bedroom door, only for Gallard to reach into his sock, retrieving a dagger. He lunged forward, aiming for his back, only for the swarm of bees to fling themselves towards the noble, showering him in stings. Despite the stings, he still pushed forward, trying to will himself to Verix. His pained steps growing closer as he finally reached Verix, only to lose his strength. Unable to do little more than poke the dagger at his robes, unable to even cut the fabric before he collapsed. Verix let out a sigh, turning to face the dying noble. “I hoped you wouldn’t do something stupid. I did like you, Gallard. You were supposed to be by my side during this. No matter, there are plenty of other nobles that have less honor. At least you get the gift of dying with my respect.” Verix then took the dagger, delivering the killing blow before leaving the room, his bees forming a protective circle around him as he left.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)

No one took you serious, the necromancer that could hardly raise anything bigger than a fly. They considered you harmless, but your army of zom-bees, millions and millions of them, begs to differ.

Adding to the quickly growing database of super and schmuck identities was starting to become Detective Falcona's least favorite part of her job. Really took the fun out of figuring it out on her own. She suspected that was the reason the Super Society and Villa of Villains put her in charge of it. She always found out anyways, this cut out the middle man. At least it gave Falcona the opportunity to make sure to let the supers know who was in charge right off the bat, make a good first impression. Grilling supers was always fun. "What's you name kid?" Falcona asked the young super sitting across the desk. They were bundled up in a puffy yellow coat paired with blue jeans. Their full blue face mask adorned with a lightning bolt down the center. "Frank Benjamin." He replied. "Powers?" "Generate electricity than shoot it from my fingertips." Frank replied proudly. "And?" "That's it." Frank's response now carried shame. Falcona couldn't stop a laugh from escaping her lips. "You really got shorted in the power lotto. May to want to rethink your application for the society, they don't need an electrician at the moment. What do you like to be called when you play dress-up?" "Excuse me? Frank asked bewildered. "Dress-up, play hero, what do you like to be called?" Falcona lit up a smoke, kid used a spark from his finger to light it. Not very impressive powers in Star City, this kid was doomed from the start. "Electromancer!" He declared, striking a pose with his fists on his hips. Falcona took a long drag, breathing deep and squinting her eyes. Her long black and grey hair quivered, her shoulders shook. Choked laughter expelled bursts of smoke into the air. Falcona slapped her hand on the desk breaking into a fit of laughter. "Holy shit that is the worst fuckin name I have ever heard. You're gonna get eaten alive kiddo, that's the best you came up with? The schmucks are gonna have a field day bustin your balls! I cannot in good conscience let you ever say that name again." Falcona caught her breath, electromancer hung his head dejectedly. "I thought it was cool." He mumbled. "Your new name is Lethal Lightning. I'm gonna call you Bolt Boy. Cool?" Falcona asked. "Can you please not call me Bolt Boy ma'am?" Frank asked politely. "No can do Bolt Boy. Let's wrap this up, I gotta deal with more people like you today, wanna get done before happy hour. Take your mask off." Falcona ordered. With a press of a button on her desk the windows of the office tinted. Bolt Boy removed his mask. "Wow you really need to wash your face better kid." Falcona grimaced at the oily, pimply teenage face staring back at her. Supers were manifesting their powers younger and younger, not a good sign. "You're mean you know that?" Bolt Boy shot back. "Truth hurts." Falcona snapped his picture, one front facing, one each from the sides. "Put your mask back on, you're better looking with it." Falcona winked at the kid, made him blush a little, she still had it. "Alright we're all finished here, thank you for your time Bolt Boy. Be safe out there." Falcona waved the young super out of her office. She cleared her throat as he grasped the doorknob, causing him to turn his head. "Little piece of advice young man. Don't go showing off your powers until the society finds a lane for you. Listen to the boss, Fuzion, respectfully, she knows what she's doin. Stay in your lane. Just because I'm a detective don't mean I can't write traffic tickets, expensive ones, ones you can't afford. Clear?" Frank nodded his head. "Yes ma'am." he replied sheepishly before leaving the office. Falcona leaned back in her comfy leather chair and kicked her feet up. "Fuck." She said exasperated. The hydra was growing too many heads too quickly, she couldn't keep up with all the beheading. She was running out time before the whole city would start spiraling down the drain. Falcona shuddered at the thought of teenage supers and schmucks, superpowers and raging hormones are a dangerous mix.

To supers, their identities are precious. Nothing is more humiliating than having your face revealed in public. As such the Heroes League and the Villains Association require all new supers to give their real name and have their unmasked faces photographed. This discourages foul play.

Things had always been this way, historians said. The rules were made by the strongest, the fittest of the species. It was nature's way. While the bear's that put on the most fat and hibernated the best survived the winter, and the trees that grew the tallest survived to breach the rainforest canopy to bask in the sunlight, the humans with the most destructive powers ruled society. It was the only way after all. How could a person with the ability to speak to animals combat someone that could open a crevasse large enough to swallow a small army? How could a person that could make flowers bloom ever hope to defeat a person able to shoot radioactive lasers from their eyes that could burn through steel? It's better to soothe them and kneel before the ones that could destroy you, let them duke it out for who could be king. Lynn had always agreed, it wasn't worth being upset about it, after all, they weren't bad people just because they had bad powers, she would know, as royal physician, she'd been with every ruling family since she was just a child and her power had been found. She was a healer, able to reach inside the bodies of those in her view and urge the body to quickly take fuel to the cells closest to an injury, tell the nerves to quiet and block the pain, nudge the cells along to hurriedly knit a wound together, convince the blood to stay inside, no matter how large the gash. She'd been with them through every scraped knee, every battle, every birth. Nearly 40 years she'd served the royals, every single family that had fought to gain the throne from their equals. When rumors swirled of rebellion, of commoners imprisoning or killing their masters, Lynn hadn't really listened or cared, it was of no concern to her. Whatever happened, she'd stay in her place as she always had, in her little home behind the castle, serving anyone in need of her powers. Until the palace guard dragged her youngest child from her bed. Lynn had stood confused and terrified, begging to know where they were taking her child and what she had done to deserve this. Sarah was already gone by the time she'd gotten her answer. The second oldest prince had demanded her to be brought to his room. Lynn hadn't understood, she'd known the man from the moment his mother had brought him into this world, he was a good boy despite his ability to burn through most materials with his hands, he'd been raised alongside Sarah, Lynn had been his nursemaid, the two had been playmates. She loved him almost as if he were her own kin. Sarah's body was tossed lifeless from the balcony an hour later, her throat burned so badly that she was nearly decapitated. Lynn found out the next day that prince Derek had been attempting to court her darling Sarah as a mistress and Sarah had adamantly refused, demanding she be his wife or she'd find another man to marry. A numb Lynn was told this by a disapproving guard, almost as if she should be ashamed for raising a child so stupid as to deny the request of royalty when Sarah's powers extended no further than the ability to change the colors in the cloth she made. Lynn held it together as she washed and wrapped Sarah's body in first a plain white funeral shroud, then in Lynn's favorite tapestry Sarah had ever made for her. Soon Sarah was gently tucked into a wicker casket and Lynn was left with nothing to do but stare at her empty hands. Lynn stared intently at one hand, and for no discernable reason, told the skin across her palm that it shouldn't be there, that the cells must pull themselves apart. She watched the skin separate before her eyes, revealing flesh, vessels, sinew, and bone. Her blood began to slowly seep into the deep gash and drip slowly onto the carpet in front of her. It was absolute agony, it matched the explosive pain inside her. Her plan struck her then, and from the moment it formed, there were no alternatives. she gently kissed her daughter's covered head and exited the house. Lynn began towards the suites of the royals.

For centuries, people with weak magical powers were laughted at. It wasn't until recently when people like you showed just how scary those people could be when they are creative with their 'weak' powers.

"You have spent 10 cycles upon this world under heaven," the angel spoke with a whispy lilt. "For this, you will be given a choice that has been given for ages past. Name however many more cycles you wish to remain in life, before returning to the arms of the afterlife. Know this, however; should you delay, the forces of fate will remove our protection of your final moments proportionally. Choose wisely, O child." "I wanna be a bajillion years old when I kick it!" The angel chuckled, though sounded strained. "Child of man, 'a bajillion' is not a number-" "Nine nine nine nine nine nine nine-" "Only our father could keep track of that many nines. Assuming all digits are nines, how many would you wish for?" "A bajillion!" The angel's gentle face twitched. "...No bajillion?" "No, child. There is no such thing as 'a bajillion'." "An infinity nines!" "Child, that I cannot do. For you to have infinite life would be to never die. It is in this contract that you are *certain* to die. Why, if you were infinite then you'd last as long as the father himself!" "So if I last as long as God, then I'd still die in the end, wouldn't I?" "Ye - wha?" The angel abandoned their holy smile and looked utterly bewildered. "Huh?" "My dad told me! He said nothing lasts forever! So if I last as long as god, then I'd still die!" "Your father was a fool! The holy one cannot die, for he is infinite! May your progenitor burn in hell for his heresy!" The angel roared with a sneer across their face. "Your foolishness, too, shall lead to untold agony! You shall have your wish - you shall perish the instant after the influence of God disappears from this world!" The angel left in a huff. Contract sealed, the world faded back into view. "It worked, dad! Pissing off the angel so they forget to think totally worked!" ~~-------------------------------~~ A bajillion years later ~~-------------------------------~~ Two dusty husks lay on cloudy rocking chairs. The endless void around them hummed a lullaby of nothing, save for the harmonies of their own heartbeats and neuron buzz. "Ah, I get it now." "Get what, kid?" "Since my life is forever set to end the instant after your influence on me ends, and your influence ends when my life ends, it's a deadlock." God snorted. A blast of dust shot out of his withered nostrils and shot into the darkness. "Took yer long enough." A few years were spent in comfortable silence. "Not only that, but the final condition is also true. The one where the longer you live, the more agonizing your death would be. I would say a death drawn to infinity, stretched beyond the event horizon of time, is a death truly, incomprehensibly, agonizing." "Finally, yer get it. Now shut it, I'm about to hit a crazy lick." The void continued humming nothing.

When you turn a certain age, you get to choose the age you die. But the older the age the more brutal the death will be. Somehow, you find a loophole, but your punishment is even worse for the discovery.

"Ok... let's give this a shot..." I begin the ritual once everything is in place. Before long, a demon appears before me! It worked! Wait... is it... "Ugh, that was dizzying..." sounds like a female. But that wasn't what had my attention. "Umm... are you wearing pyjamas? Cu... cute kittens..." I have NO CLUE what to say. "Ngh... yeah... my boyfriend likes them... we were just about to start... you know what? It doesn't matter. How does this go again...?" The demon seems very unsure. "You ok? You seem nervous" I remark. "Yeah, sorry, this is my first time being summoned." The demon looks away sheepishly. "Really?" I exclaim. I feel kind of sorry for her. I decide to help her out. "Ok, so I summoned you because I want something, you get my soul in exchange, right?" The demon looks up, eyes lit up. "Right! Ok, let me start this from the beginning..." she clears her throat. "Hello, my name is Flora. I can grant you a wish in exchange for your soul. Be careful, as once the contract is signed, you cannot change your mind." I raise an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience?" She nods. "I was human until recently. I ended up becoming half-demon, and, well, here I am. Trust me, you don't want to anger Lucifer. Once you sign your soul over, that's it, no backsies." I nod. "I understand. I'm prepared." I take a deep breath. "My wife has cancer. I would be more hesitant to sign my soul away to delay something which will happen eventually, but my daughter is too young. She needs her mum. At the very least until she's old enough to handle losing her." Flora seems shocked and sympathetic. I'd be more surprised, but she said she was a human until very recently. "I'm sorry... that must hurt... tell you what, for something like this, I'll grant you AND your wife full health until you two die of age, in return for your soul. I would extend this to your daughter, but there are rules and limits on what I can and can't do." I feel so relieved. "REALLY? THANK YOU!" A contract appears in the air. "By the way, what's you and your wife's name?" Flora asks as I sign the contract. "I'm Frank, and my wife is Levi." I smile gratefully. I feel a part of my soul taken from me. "Advanced payment. Ensures you can't hide from the contract. Now, I'll work my spell on you, then go to see your wife." Flora begins a chant... **LATER, IN HELL =FLORA=** "Welcome back!" I jump and turn to see a small group of demons waiting for me, including Burl, who's scowling at me. Still fat haha. I stick my tongue out at him. Urrick, the one who spoke, ran up to hug me. I return the hug and turn back to face Lucifer. I walk forward and kneel. "Your first summon, Flora. Congratulations! How did it go?" Lucifer looks at me eagerly. I lift a hand with a glowing orb. "It was shaky to start with" I explain. "But the human, Frank, helped me out. He wanted help for his wife who had cancer. I saw her. She was at death's door. Because he was doing this for his daughter's sake, I decided to grant the parents life until they die of old age. I'd have done the same for the daughter, but..." "Rules are rules. Glad you understand, I don't need an unruly minion. Now, please pass the soul piece to me." Lucifer holds out his hand. I stand up and pass the glowing orb to him. He claps his hands together and, like that, the orb is gone, sent to the soul containment area. "Well done, Flora. I'm please with your work today." "Thank you, master" I reply. "I must ask: how do I stop myself being summoned in my PJ's again?" Everyone laughs. "Why do you think demons don't wear clothes?" Lucifer sneers. I go completely pink with embarrassment. Urrick walks over to me. "Alright, I think that's enough for now! Flora, let's go" Urrick says with a wink. He gently leads me away. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This story is a part of my series, [To Love a Demon.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xqefwu/to_love_a_demon/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!

Good news, the demon summoning ritual went off without a hitch. What you didn’t expect however that said demon emerged in their pyjamas.

The human frowned. "What are you implying? Have you heard what I said? We've uncovered the mysteries of everything. There's nothing we don't grasp about this universe." "Oh, I heard." The alien laughed a shrieking laugh. "And I said, let me repeat it for you: that's the easy part. I find it curious, how your kin is bright enough to see past the initial veil, yet dull enough to not understand what's behind." "No. You're wrong," the human said and paced in the cell. "We see clearly. Compute. That's all there is. Compute and nothing else." The alien's maw bolted open and a sound like a sigh came out of it. "Good, but what does that mean? What does it mean that we, that all things are products of computation?" The human came to a halt and met his prisoner's slit-like eyes. "That everything is a simulation. We are in a simulation." A clap cut through the brief silence. "Marvellous. But think further into it. If everything is computed, and this is a simulation, then theoretically, we could also create such simulations, yes?" "No." The human shook his head. "No source in this entire universe can produce the computation needed to recreate even a portion of this simulation we are in." "Your kin is one for irony, isn't it? We are in an ever-stretching prison, humans. And you, in turn, are in another prison. A much smaller one. Hope there's irony in there." The alien crossed its six arms. "But this is where you need to think even further into it. You have understood everything and yet can you imagine what machine could produce the simulation we are in?" "No. The theory claims it impossible." "Therefore, you have met a contradiction. You claim to have understood everything, you have claimed to have understood what's beyond our little universe, and yet in your understanding of everything you have failed to explain to me what's beyond everything. We have reached a contradiction then, human, you only understand a portion of everything. "There's an infinity between zero and one, and there's a larger infinity between zero and two. It's a perfect analogy you can understand. You know everything, yes, but there are larger everythings, and in those, our knowledge is akin to an atom in size." The human paced again. "We know this. I have told you. We know everything, and in that everything, we understand there are limitations. We understood this universe, but we understand there's more to it. More to everything." "And what's is there to do, then?" The alien leaned against the wall. The human held his prisoner's gaze. "Escape the simulation." "As expected, you are blind to what's beyond." A frown distorted the human's expression. "Explain yourself. Stop the riddles." "We are in a simulation, human. This has been stated. As such, we are the product of fine-tuned parameters. And those parameters establish our limitations. They're our intangible prison. We can't escape. If we try, the logic behind our classes will take care of us. This is all there is for us." "Are you certain?" "I have seen it." The human stood pensive. Silence ensued between the two. Soon, the human scratched his head. "That's quite depressive isn't it?" "Perhaps. To some, it is freeing to know there's no more to know. To others, it's crushing." "I see." "Where do you stand?" "In the middle. I seem to be crushed yet oddly relieved. No more planet scavenging. No more death, no more prisons, save for this one." He drew a deep breath. "Perhaps it's time to search for happiness." "That's a good parameter to adjust for." "It is," the human said. "It is." \--------- As a scuffed wizard, I am bewitching you to join /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll.

The human boasted proudly, "We have uncovered the mysteries of the universe. Physics, chemistry, biology, everything". The alien responded, "Oh, that's the easy part."

The barman drops a bulging 9-volt battery into a shaker and goes at it, then strains it into a pint glass. A greyish sizzling liquid comes out. Pat swears in awe and leans closer. The barman takes a tennis ball, peels off a slice, and sets it into the glass. He nudges the drink toward Pat. Pat grasps the glass, only to let go with a gasp; it's hot. The drink smells acidic, and the slice of the tennis ball is smoking slightly. "Is this like a magic trick?" he asks. "'Cause that was damned cool." The barman shakes his head. There's something weird about his face; it's so average that if asked to describe him Pat wouldn't be able to. A guy. Darkish hair. Middle-aged. Just a regular guy, you know? Pat carefully picks up the glass and swirls the drink around, mesmerized. He snorts and sets it down. "I'm not going to drink that, you know?" The barman shrugs and takes the glass away. He crosses his arms and stands under that stupid sign that says "Will make a drink out of anything", the same way Pat found him when he came in. "Old Fashioned," Pat says after some hesitation. "No funny business this time." The barman muddles the sugar, adds a dash of bitters, then rye and a large piece of ice. He finishes it off with peels of orange. Pat takes a gingerly sip. Tastes fantastic. He leans back on his stool and eyes the stoic barman. "So, anything, huh?" The barman glances up at the sign as if to tell him it's a stupid question. "Are you mute or something?" Pat asks. "Sorry, no offense. Is that offensive these days? I have no idea." The barman says nothing. Pat takes another sip. "Talking to myself like an idiot," he mutters. "How about you make me a drink from a brick, a dash of gasoline, and, uh, a fucking olive." The barman starts before he had even finished the sentence. He splashes in gasoline from a canister he somehow had behind the bar. Cracks off a piece of brick with an ice pick. Puts a friggin olive on top. Sets the drink before him, reddish and stinking like hell. Pat claps sarcastically. He drinks normal drinks and amuses himself by making increasingly ridiculous requests. Nothing fazes the barman. It doesn't even seem to be limited to physical things. Mare milk and the first cry of a newborn produce a violently bubbling drink that screeches at him, and he shakes his head and pushes it away, deeply disturbed. A thought occurs to him, and he squints at the barman as he considers it, nursing his whiskey. Perhaps because of the drinks he'd had, the barman's face—his entire figure—seems blurred around the edges, like he's not entirely there. "Memories," Pat hears himself say as if from far away. "Memories of my wife... that's it." The barman stares at him. "What?" Pat snaps. "Can't do it?" The barman glances at the sign as if in a reminder, then raises a hand and slowly passes it in front of Pat's face. Grabs something. Pretends to toss it into a chilled highball glass. Nods and nudges it toward Pat. Pat frowns and picks it up. Faint vapor rises from the cold glass. A strangely familiar smell drifts to his nose. He can't place it, but it's deeply comforting and makes him ache deep inside. Then the moment passes. "The glass is empty," Pat accuses, looking up. The barman crosses his arms. Pat opens his mouth angrily, then swallows, blinks furiously, and lifts his hand to his cheek. Tears are trailing down his face, dripping down onto the bar. "What is this? What did you do to me?" The barman is unmoved. "Whatever, man. I don't know what your game is, but I've had enough of this shit." He pulls out his wallet, muttering angrily, then pauses. There's a faded photo of a strange woman inside. For the life of him, he can't recall putting it there. He stares for a long moment, then shakes off his stupor, slaps several banknotes on the bar, and staggers away. "Fucking joker and his magic tricks," he mutters, glancing back at the bar. It feels like had forgotten something very important, but he can't even remember what it was. He shakes his head and starts home.

When out one night you stumble across a hole-in-the-wall bar. Upon entering you find no one but a bar, an odd-looking bartender, and a sign saying "will make a drink out of anything" interested you decide to try asking for a tennis ball and battery cocktail, and with a nod he makes exactly that.

Slithering past the sinuous and ever-wavering hellfire was the easy part. Getting inside the castle was the hard part. The walls stretched past the peaks of the highest mountains, and so not even the most extravagant of spells could aid in the quest. The only way in was the iron-wrought gates. And those had the mightiest demons guarding them. Faladar didn't fret. He spoke gibberish and a ladder along with a safety vest puffed to existence. He gave one vest to Tiz, the Wizard that Forgets, and another to Aris, the Bowless Huntress. "Walk behind me. Let me do the talking," Faladar said and the others nodded. "And above all things, trust me. Let's go." With that, they left their hiding spot, and five minutes later they were in front of the guards. They were taller than an adult dragon, with skin and scales bright as flame. They had fire for eyes and jagged bone bursting out of their naked chests. "Gentlemen," Faladar said and tipped an invisible hat. "We are from the Underworld's Cleaning Group. Balazar called us to take care of some corpses hanging from chandeliers. The usual clean up after a proper feast." The rattle of chains filled the silence. "Darkness will greet you. Magic will take you to Balazar's room. Step inside," one of the guards said. "Thank you." Faladar stepped forth, and his companions followed suit. Once inside, a vast darkness like that which hides behind the lids of the eyes embraced them. "It worked?" Tiz's voice was torn with disbelief. Faladar didn't answer. Instead, he swallowed hard. He cursed under his breath. "Faladar?" Aris asked. "What's wrong?" "I--I didn't expect to actually be sent to Balazar's room. I thought we would see the entire castle and sneak up from there." He drew a deep breath. "Keep acting. We will die otherwise. We stand no chance against a demon of Balazar's caliber." In the space of a blink, the darkness was gone. A vast yet narrow stone room, laden with hundreds of pillars and thousands of chandeliers greeted them. In the end, sitting on a throne that barely fit the sight, was Balazar. He was enormous, a disgustingly obese monster with vomit dripping down its ballooning stomach. Its skin was bone-pale, the color of moonlight, and each pore a large gaping hole. "That's not a demon, that's an uncooked rotisserie chicken," Tiz said and Faladar elbowed him. "Shut up." But it was too late. Balazar ceased its ceaseless breathing. It looked at them and before they could grasp what had happened, Balazar appeared before them, its fat face two inches away from them. The group gasped. They stepped back. "We came to clean the corpses strewn about in your chandeliers, Lord Balazar," Faladar spoke, his voice quivering. "Shut up, peasant. I have been smelling your lies since the moment you set foot in this world" The demon's breath fell upon them, a putrid boiling sea of onions and boiled cabbage. "You, the wizard. Did you call me a rotisserie chicken?" Tiz shook his head. "I did not. I called you an *uncooked* rotisserie chicken." "Then you and these other peasants shall die." Balazar's face distorted. Its skin tore apart and from there a tar-black skull emerged. Hellfire swirled around the bones and roared inside the sockets. "Die." There was a light. Faladar slammed his hands forth. A swarm of hellfire clashed against a shield of magic. Faladar gritted his teeth He fought, yet the battle was one he knew he would not win. "Tiz," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Help me!" Tiz looked around, as though confused. He cursed under his breath. "I forgot my staff." "What?" Faladar faltered. "Aris, distract him. Shoot an arrow, anything. I can't hold this any longer!" Faladar collapsed to his knees. The hellfire advanced, encompassing them. Aris placed her hand on Faladar's back and whispered, "I don't have a bow." Faladar turned. His gaze strayed to meet the eyes of his companions. They were staring at him in silence. There was not a worry in their hearts. It was as though they couldn't comprehend they would soon die. It was as though they had acorns for brains. It was as though he had chosen the dumbest companions possible. But deep down, Faladar knew it was not their fault but his. They were simple souls, joyous and adventurous. They didn't dream of anything more than completing simple quests, getting coins, and going on with their lives. All they needed was laughter and ale in the dead of night in an inn. But he had convinced them to aspire to more. It had been his greed that had led them to their death. "I'm sorry." Faladar closed his eyes and lowered his hands, allowing the hellfire to surge forth and devour them. And yet there was no pain. And yet there was no heat. And yet there were no screams nor roaring flames. Faladar squinted. The hellfire was gone. A soup of strewn-about organs and pitch-black bones lay before them. "What in the world?" "My bad. I had my staff in my pocket." He flaunted a staff the size of a finger. "I almost forgot the spell, and in fact, I did forget. I don't know what I cast, but it worked." Faladar didn't question it. He stared at Aris, whose eyes betrayed her disbelief. "What do we do now?" she asked. "Tiz, can you take us out of here?" "Perhaps," the wizard said, scratching his head. "I can't really remember how, but I can try. To where?" A smile drew on Faladar's lips. "An inn. To celebrate." "Oh, that one I never forget." "Wait." Faladar grabbed one of Balazar's bones. "This will pay for more than we can imagine." "Enough to buy our own inn?" Aris smile widened. "At least ten." Faladar looked at Tiz. "It's time. Take out us of here." And in the space of a bunch of gibberish, they were gone. \--- /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll \--> Join if you enjoyed

They say you can sneak almost anywhere openly if you wear a safety vest and carry a ladder. A group of heroes trying to infiltrate the Demon King's castle end up using that trick.

The welcoming party seemed to be unarmed, yet they showed no reaction to the plasma rifles equipped by my platoon, nor to the laser autocannons mounted on our spaceship. I figured our weaponry was so rudimentary compared to their superior technology that we were not perceived as a threat. A representative of the species stepped forwards to hail me. He, just like all of his peers, was indistinguishable in any visible way from us humans. Their clothes were of different make and different style than ours, and they styled their hair in different ways, but they were clearly humans. He extended a hand towards me and held it there. I looked at him in confusion until he spoke. "Is this not your custom upon greeting? The ritual you describe as 'the handshake'?". I extended my hand in return and he shook it with perfect form. "You speak English?" I asked. "You have been broadcasting it to the universe for millennia. Our diplomats study all foreign tongues." He responded, I realized then that in retrospect my question was quite stupid. "I see our form disconcerts you." The diplomat continued. "Yes." I responded. "Doesn't it disconcert you?" He shook his head at my naivette. "If you had ve been on this universe for as long as we have." He began to lecture me. "You would know that, sooner or later, everything evolves into humans." I looked at him with disbelief, assuming some form of elaborate ruse. He continued. "You see, the human form evolved at least ten thousand times independently on countless planets. Factors such as the force of gravity of the home planet, its distance from its star, or class of star it orbits, they make no difference in the end. In the end, the result is always humans. It has happened on every galaxy known to us, and we know plenty." My mind flooded with questions, so many that I could not put them into words. "How... How is this possible?" I asked. "We don't know." The human responded. "We have solved many mysteries of the universe. Dark matter, dark energy, the mystery of consciousness, they all have long been resolved, yet this phenomenon of convergent evolution still eludes all explanation. The memes about how the homo sapiens is the perfect life form have existed for aeons, but the truth is that we don't know. All we have is a name for it: anthropization."

Humanity is about to make its first ever contact with a sentient alien species. As you step out of your spaceship, you get your first look at what seems to be... humans?

My dad left to become a monk. Since then, I come into his shop six days a week to prepare for the day's customers and place new stock on the shelves. I doubt he'll be coming back, so it's just me, myself, and all the sentient items he somehow acquired over the years. "Ah, be careful!" A mannequin promptly bumps into me as I'm moving a crate of apples, and I get a mouthful of scarf. It ignores me and zips right by only to send a matryoshka doll crashing to the floor from an open display cabinet. The doll, naturally, smashes into smithereens. When I come back with the dustpan and mop, the mannequin slides away slowly, almost appearing sheepish as it takes its place in the storefront window. There's still some time before opening. As another mannequin sidles behind me in the least sneaky way possible to watch me eat my bagel, there's a knock at the door. I open my mouth to tell them we're not ready yet, but the sound of a key in the lock has me shut up; this is one of the things my dad actually bothered telling me about. The last time I talked to one of these unexpected guests, they turned into a black maw with nothing but teeth, ate half the store's wares (including the china!), and disappeared into thin air. It's bad for business, so I usually just nod at them and move on. This time it's a young woman with a brown bob and dark eyes. Dressed in our uniform with a 'Stacey' nametag, she waves hello at me and begins moving fruit crates from storage. I stand up to help her, but she motions for me to stay put; by the time I'm finished with my bagel, Stacey's done most of the hard work for this morning, so there isn't much left for me to do. It's almost enough to justify her eating half a box of pears when she thought I wasn't looking. You know, while these creatures eat, their whole 'face' opens up to become a massive mouth? That'd give most people quite the shock. At least it's only me at the moment... Stacey turns back in my direction, gives me a thumbs-up with a thankfully normal face, and vanishes without a goodbye. There's a small puddle of drool from when she shoved the pears into her mouth. Wiping that up, I turn to place the leftover ones, only to find the fruit aisle has swapped places with the vegetable one a few steps over. The onions next to me shuffle around eagerly in their container. Oranges tumble onto the ground. "I know you're having fun, but we're opening soon. Do you mind?" In the blink of an eye, both aisles are back in their regular spots. "Thank you." The sweet beans rustle in acknowledgement. All mannequins are in their respective places. No suspicious staff members. It's time for business. I change the sign on the door to 'Open' and take my position at the counter. Speaking of which, I recently posted that we're hiring. As endearing as the local eldritch horrors are, I'd rather have someone human to assist me with the store's daily affairs. The bell rings, and a young girl comes in. "Excuse me, I saw the job notice in the papers and I'd like to--" "You're hired." "Really? Are you sure? I have a--" "Yes. Can I get your name?" "It's Stacey." The name gives me goosebumps, but hopefully it's merely a coincidence. I do still need help. "All right, there are a few things you'll need to know to work here. First of all--" Edit: I haven't written anything in a while so I'm very rusty. Constructive criticism is appreciated! Edit 2: Changed some phrasing since I used the same vocabulary at certain points and I don't want it to get repetitive

" There's a few things you'll need to know to work here. The mannequins move but don't be surprised or they get mad. The fruit and veg aisles switch when nobody uses them but they're just having fun. And if you ever see a staff member you don't recognise, nod politely but do not speak to them."

“My love, how have the times changed after your demise. Streets to the temple aren’t echoing with sounds of laughter and joy anymore, yet there they still are. Full of life. Oh how would you love this dearest, flora has taken over everything. It has even made the oil lamps useless, like those flowers in your drea-” soft rumble, like boulders being pushed away, fills the temple. What was that? “Over here”, a muffled voice pierces through the rock and once sturdy and now broken doors. It, it sounds like human, but that should be impossible. My love made sure that no one could find the temple, the Gates, after others fled. I get up, what feels like the first time in centuries, which could easily be given that I can’t recognize time anymore. Every step feels like thousands of blades drowning through my skin into the muscles and bones. But that’s only a little price to make sure it’s not Them, that My love’s work hasn’t been wasted and they would be here to open the Gates once again. These new ones really are weird, they made it into the city but aren’t armed with weapons like they knew here wouldn’t be anyone. Or anyone truly alive atleast. “Richards come look at this” a young woman shouts to an older guy, whom neither is obviously a soldier, neither has muscles of one. Mages and god blesseds maybe? But they don’t have robes or symbols, and why would over a dozen of god blesseds come alone to a place they clearly haven’t been before. \---------------------------- Thieves. Thieves is what they are. Or as they like to say “arche-olo-gies and histo-rians.” All they’ve done is taken stuff away, but that doesn’t really matter because they’ve only taken it away from the city. To the temple they haven’t dared to enter yet, and good as so. Haven’t even decised how I could chase them away. A gigantic snake was once a good choice, but they must have faiced more horrendous beasts out there. Their casual talk about finding corpses leaves walking corpses out too. Great, one seems to have made their mind and is entering there. Guess you are going to get a giant with a flaiming axe, young man.

4500 years you have been guarding the site with no issue. Now there are disturbances. They call themselves archeologists and historians. Are they neat and careful, yes. Are they respectful of the ancient one’s bones and relics, NO. Time to shape shift and confront the grave robbers.

“This isn’t a home. It’s a house? They aren’t even trying with these welcome mats anymore; the hell is that supposed to mean?” I stared at the welcome mat, dragging my claws upon its nonsensical message. If I made the mistake of entering without permission, it would leave me with a crippling pain that could be the death of me. Still, I needed to feed. How cautious was too cautious? Placing my paw upon the door, I went to force my way inside, only to get cold paws at the last moment. It was too risky, and this was only the first house on the street. I had time. I turned to the pavement, walking along the street, trying to avoid the gaze of pedestrians passing by. “OOOOH, look mommy a kitty!” “A kitty? I’m the third son of Marlas, the demonic embodiment of pride, you little-” “Aw, meow, meow, meow. To you too, Mr. Kitty.” My cheeks were smushed by the kid, the brat getting ice-cream all over my fluffy face. She pulled and pushed, leaving minty stains all along my fur until her mother finally pulled her away, giving me a chance to jump away. “Don’t touch that. You don’t know where that cat’s been.” “Where I’ve been? How dare you?” I watched the pair walk away, praying they were on this street. I would show them who was a dirty cat. Unfortunately, they both got into a car, getting spared of my wrath. Continuing my search, I arrived at my next home. It looked like it belonged to either an old couple or someone that had no sense of tact. The lawn coated in shirtless garden gnomes and flamingos. “We LOVE in HOUSE. Oh, come on. That’s worse than the last one. Is this some sort of riddle, or is everyone on this street sharing the same brain cell? That’s it. I’m actually going mad. Perhaps this is divine punishment by God? IS THIS FUNNY TO YOU GOD? COME DOWN HERE AND FIGHT ME.” I meowed at the heavens, only to dash into a bush when the clouds parted, keeping my head down until the clouds closed again. “Can’t hear a prayer, but he can hear that?” I mumbled under my breath, dragging my tail along the ground as I went to the next house. This time I looked for one that was a little more normal. The one at the end of the street looked alright. Two car driveway, no tacky decorations and a rather nicely crafted wooden fence along its boundary. Yep, as normal as a Cerberus pup spitting fire onto the carpet. When I made it to the door, I noticed this house didn’t have a welcome mat. Without a welcome mat, I was left with no other option but to turn back. I turned to make my way back to the pavement only to see a rather tall man dressed in a white, glowing suit. The man creepily smiling down at me as he approached the door. Underneath his arm, he had a stack of welcome mats and appeared to be fixated on me. “Um? Meow, meow, meow?” “Nice try.” He shooed me away from the door before giving it a knock. When the door opened, he began speaking to the couple inside, handing his extensive selection of welcome mats to them, allowing them to sample through them. “I know it must sound crazy, but these keep demons out. It’s completely optional and free, of course. But, even if you don’t believe the crazy demon theory, they are quite funny, aren’t they? Just lay one outside and your family should be safe. Oh, and don’t let any strange animals in.” He said, turning the couple’s attention to me. I glanced at the pair. My mouth hung open, about to bite the man on the ankle. When I noticed the eyes on me, I slowly took a step back, shutting my mouth, trying to pretend like I hadn’t been trying to deliver a painful bite. “Are you saying that cat is a demon?” The man asked. “Um? MEOW, MEOW, MEOW.” I imagined if I could sweat in this form, I would be. How the hell could a human figure this out? Unless they weren’t a human… “Could just be a feral. As I said, it’s completely optional. I can only give advice, no matter how strange it might sound.” “Well, this mat is kind of funny…. Maybe we could give it a shot?” The woman said, handing the stack of welcome mats back to the man, only keeping one. She laid the welcome mat down, giving me a chance to read it over. Coming or going? The mat said, furthering my frustrations. The conversation then finished, and the door shut. I went to bite the man, only to get flung back by a golden light. “You must be starving. What a shame I’ve already visited every house in this area. I believe there’s one about thirty minutes away that you could try. Oh, that’s a thirty-minute drive, by the way. I hope those four legs of yours can run.” “I thought angels weren’t meant to meddle in our affairs? Does God know about this?” “Who do you think invented these welcome mats? It’s hardly meddling, it’s just giving the humans a fighting chance. We noticed how destructive demonic feeding was getting after the welcome mats, so we created an equalizer. We will only keep handing these out for free until companies start producing them. Once enough are in circulation, we will return to the sidelines.” “I’ll show you a sideline. I’ll send you to the biggest sideline of them all, limbo.” “Ok, how will you do that?” “I, ugh.” “That’s what I thought. You need to feed to use your stronger form, correct? Until you feed, you are just an annoyance. Like a fly. Anyway, I have to go. Here, have a free mat.” I yelped as they dropped a mat on the floor in front of me, nearly smacking my head. The words on it reading. My gates of heaven. When I looked up from the mat, he was gone, leaving me to just angrily stomp on the mat before beginning my long journey to the next area, hoping he hadn’t got them first.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)

As a magical creature, the popularity of "welcome mats," made entering homes a breeze. But now, so many new ones have different messages making it hard to figure out if you can go in or not. Like can you "live, laugh, love (Inside?)" What do you do with "Glad you're here?"

The dark forest claimed another soul. Humanity winked out of existence as readily as an anthill beneath a boot. Humanity left the galactic stage not by their own volition but rather by a single push. They did not go quietly into that good night, for the air was filled with screams. There was no resistance. No fighting, no strategy, no war. Just slaughter. Countless billions of lives erased in the quickest of flashes. In the blink of an eye, they were rendered nothing but a sour memory that would soon fade into blank nothingness. As was the fate of all those that dare call out into the darkness for there is no knowing what lurks just beyond sight. Hidden in that impenetrable void, watching through the shadowy veil was a predator. A hungry, cunning predator. A monster that hunts not for food, but for sport. This monster hung back on the fringes of the solar system, making no sound but carefully listening to everything Humanity pumped into the heavens. It learned a great deal, everything there was to know about the hairless apes. When the time was right and Humanity was at its most vulnerable, swift as an arrow the monster pounced. An entire fleet of warships emerged in orbit around the blissfully ignorant world below. Before they could even begin to understand what was happening it was over. Oceans of volatile gases were dumped into their already poisoned but still oxygen rich atmosphere. This achieved little until the spark was ignited. Their entire atmosphere was set on fire. Everyone and everything not buried deep underground was vapourised. People, animals, plants, all of it caught instantly and was reduced to ash. Buildings and infrastructure melted while the tepid oceans were brought to boil. Nothing survived on the surface of the scorched Earth, and anything left hidden in its bowels would slowly choke and suffocate as the last of the oxygen is used up. Not very ethical, but highly effective. The predatory attackers rejoiced their swift and effortless victory. They found a rich sweetness in the sudden collapse of a civilization that filled them with euphoria, a strong high that would last for days. The warships hung in orbit as the crew celebrated their egregious crime with such joy and revelry that it would take something monumental to break them from their maniacal and macabre trance. It started as a gentle rumble. Too quiet to hear but strong enough to be noticed if one was paying attention. The attackers were not. They continued to bask in the glory of crushing a weaker opponent. Staggering as if highly intoxicated a lowly crewman slumped against a porthole. He took a few seconds to soak in the spectacular view, the dawn of a new day. A sunrise casting red and gold light over the charred wasteland of the once verdant and thriving Earth that would have brought a tear to his eye had he not seen it. The Earth breathed. He rubbed his eyes and took another look. As far as he knew, rocks couldn’t breathe. It was impossible for this now lifeless slag heap to be alive. He stared unblinking as the haze of ecstasy was washed away with a cold dousing of primal fear. The world below slowly pulsed. Mountains rose and fell, valleys closed and widened, the cracked surface oscillated with ripples of stone. He grabbed the nearest crewmate he could find and slammed them against the porthole. “Look!” he cried as the crewmate shook of his clammy grasp and turned to focus on the unimaginable. “At what?” “The world! It moved. It’s…it’s alive.” They both stood and watched but nothing happened. A dismissive laugh filled the crewman’s ears as his colleague peeled away and went to continue on his merry way. Embarrassed and ashamed the crewman turned to leave when it happened. A faint trail of amber light snaked its way across the coal black wasteland. The warm glow punctuated by the auburn rays of sunlight painted such a striking image. The glowing serpent twisted and turned; slim branches split off like a winding waterway as it forked across to cover the entire planet. Thin streams thickened into wider rivers as the glow grew in intensity. The peace and serenity quickly died and were once again supplanted by chaos and calamity. A mighty fissure split the world down the centre. The gulf widened as the two halves of the world fell away from each other. Amidst the ravine of magma was a dark shadow that slowly took shape. The crewman looked on in horror as something truly colossal fought its way free from within the Earth. Great hands the size of countries clasped at the inner folds of Earth’s wound and tore the rock apart. Mountainous chunks were hurled into the void as an entity clambered from the dead planet, breaking free as if it were being hatched from an egg. The crewmate on his return journey stopped to laugh at the crewman for his outlandish story of a breathing world when he too saw the majesty of what was being born before them. Silhouetted by the blazing sun was the dark shadow of something beyond understanding. An entity so huge that one could barely focus on its entirety at once. A deep unease that could not only still the most tempestuous of minds but also threatened to stop one’s heart was gained by but a quick glance. Anything more than that and one would surely spiral into the unfathomable depths of madness as the feeling of being judged in mind, body, and soul permeates your being. The fleet had fallen silent and stared as this new horror came into full view. Not only one titanic entity had emerged, but a whole host. At least a dozen or more shapes of similar size and power erupted from the world below. At first, a strong malevolent and malicious force was but the only thing hanging in the air until the sharp clanging alarms and dazzling red flashes cut through and set off a chain reaction of crewmen rushing to get the warships out of there. Great wings unfurled from each goliath, backlit by sunlight the massive leathery sheets glowed an ominous red as they bellowed in the solar winds. The titans were moving. The fleet scattered. Tiny dots filled the night, countless black shapes buzzed like insects as they tore away from Earth in the looming shadows of the eldritch monstrosities. Their fate was sealed. The dark forest was being put the torch; all the while pale faces watched in the dawning light as the eldritch boot began to rise.

the aliens found that humanity was woefully unprepared for galactic warfare. They were swiftly and brutally conquered. The elder beings that slept beneath the surface however did not take kindly to their feast of dreams being so rudly cut short.

It had been days since Andre had slept. Those who fell asleep disappeared, and he was not ready for that. No matter how terrifying the waking world had become. First, the world had gone dark. Electricity remained, as did fire and other forms of fuel, but those quickly faded as well. Everything was shutting down on a molecular level. Next, people started to vanish in their sleep. Each person a code of software in the processor of the universe, applications closing one by one. They never disappeared when someone was looking, but they did disappear whenever they fell asleep. Andre's wife had been that way. She couldn't stay awake any more, and she fell asleep on his shoulder when they were sitting around the last of their firewood. He watched her, too afraid to take his eyes off. She breathed beautifully. She rested. He watched her for as long as he could. He watched until her eyes started to dart behind her lids, dreaming. He watched as her eyebrows crinkled, disturbed, as her voice whimpered. Nightmares. She was prone to them, as was he. He brushed her hair and spoke softly to try and calm her down. It seemed to help, until a log popped in the fire like a gunshot, startling him. He looked away for only a moment. But when he brought his eyes back to his wife in a panic, realizing what he had done, it was too late. She had vanished in his arms. After that, he did not last long himself. Why fight it any further? He could not stay awake forever. And the fire had extinguished some time ago. The air had no feeling anymore--no temperature, no movement--and as life faded from the universe, as the animals vanished, as the stars blunk out, as the plants withered to dust, then to atoms, then to nothing--it was more and more difficult to tell the difference between being awake and being asleep. Nothing to see, nothing hear, nothing to feel. Only thoughts. His final thought was of the situation. Of how the universe itself was falling asleep. Did that mean it had been awake up until now? Simply being alive and present for billions of years? Had the Big Bang just been the sunrise to a new day? If so, then what was next? A phase of sleep? A dream to transition from one day of the universe to the next? And he remember how even before the end of the world, he hated to fall asleep. Nightmares. That's all his brain could ever muster. His worse fears, manifest. He fell asleep without even noticing. But he knew it had happened when the world reconstructed itself anew, like a dream, using his subconscious lifetime accumulation of fantasies and thoughts. The fire came back to life, and his blood ran cold when he saw the bloody mouth of the clown standing in the shadow, a butcher's sickle in hand. He tried to run, but something grabbed him--the decaying arm of his dead wife, no longer asleep in his arms. Her eyes were squirming with maggots. She screamed at him, crying, asking WHY DID YOU LET ME FALL ASLEEP? And with each scream, a sludge of worms and blood fell from her rotten lips. He tried to run, but of course it was like running in quicksand. Just like in all of his nightmares. His teeth fell from his gums with each hard step. He heard every person he had ever loved crying in the sky, blaming him, hating him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the clown unhinging its jaw, preparing to devour him, digest him in its black guts. And then a thought ran through his mind, much faster than any muscle in his body: *If we sleep for a third of the time we're alive, then how long will the universe dream?* ⏳

The stars and the sun disappear from the sky. A voice is heard throughout the universe "It's time for bed honey!".

I was alone with my father the day he died. My siblings were out of state, and he'd declined so rapidly that they couldn't make it to see him in time. Mom hadn't been in the picture for years. And for reasons I didn't know at the time, he sent the hospice nurse away just an hour before he passed. I think he knew it was coming. It was just him in his own bed and me in a chair beside him. His hand had seemed big as a bear's, strong as a bear trap when I was little. On that day it felt small in mine, crepe paper over brittle sticks. He had said, _"There is evil in this world, son. Not just badness. Real evil. Believe that, if you believe anything."_ Being too weak to lift his arm, he bade me to withdraw the contents of his shirt pocket. It was a coin - an old, weathered, slightly tarnished silver coin with a face I didn't recognize and a script I couldn't read. _"Keep him close. When evil is near, the Saint will warn you."_ He tried to say more, but instead his body was wracked by coughs. I wiped spittle and blood from his mouth with a white handkerchief. And not long after that, he stopped breathing altogether. I did as he said. I kept the Saint close. I wasn't sure I ever believed Dad about it, but it was important to him and it felt like I was carrying a piece of him with me. It was comforting when I felt like I needed his strength and kindness to get me through life's rough patches. But it never gave me any kind of warning. Until tonight. I'd met Jessie online, and from the start, we'd gotten along well. We had a lot of similar tastes, I loved her sense of humor, and it just felt good talking to her - which is a big thing for me because I have a hard time talking to people. She felt the same, and since we were less than an hour away from each other, she suggested we finally meet in person over drinks and dinner. I knew a great restaurant/brewery where we could get both. When she sat down, I thought my phone - set to silent - had started buzzing. I reached into my pocket to turn it off, but it wasn't the phone. Dad's last words hit me like a sledgehammer. The Saint was warning me. I thought about getting up, walking off, ghosting her online. But...all that because of a coin? I couldn't bring myself to do it. It seemed so _silly._ even so, The coin never stopped vibrating, and I think Jessie picked up on my nervousness. She smiled. It seemed like such a kind, genuine smile. Was it? "Don't worry, I'm a little nervous too," she said. "Why don't we order some drinks? A little liquid courage, you know..." We ordered beers and appetizers. Even her taste in beer seemed to match my own. She was right; a little alcohol loosened me up, and as we got to talking, I had such a good time that I even forgot about the still-buzzing coin in my pocket. After dinner, we went walking. There was a quaint pedestrian walkway along the river near the restaurant, and the setting sun turned the sky all manner of gorgeous colors. Her hand was small and soft and warm in mine. It would have been perfect if certain nagging memories of a small and cold and fragile hand had stayed buried instead of trying to push through to the surface. Just as the sun was dipping beneath the distant hills, we stopped to watch. When it was gone, I turned and met her eyes. The moment seemed right, so I went for it. Her lips pressed against mine. And then...so did her teeth. I tasted copper, but the momentary pain was blasted away by intense visions that crowded out the sunset, the pedestrian walk, _everything_ except Jessie. Jessie Bell. I saw her - it? - striding gracefully upon mist-covered moors littered with slain men. I saw her, radiantly beautiful in fine silk vestments as hooded men slit the throats of children upon a basalt altar. I saw her riding a ram with seven horns through an ancient city as flies blotted the sky and the victims of some terrible disease lay gasping in agony in the streets. I saw kings and emperors, popes and prophets profane themselves in secret rituals as she laughed and danced. I saw her sitting upon a throne of human bones lashed together with gnarled thorns, eyes hot with malice as a burning black sun cast lightless light upon an endless vista of shattered volcanic rock and flowing lava. The Saint vibrated so hard I thought it would explode. It shook me from the visions. Jessie smiled sweetly at me. Her eyes dance with sickly, hypnotic light. "Toss that stupid coin in the river. _Join me._ Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, right?" I am a bit past my prime and out of shape. But you had better believe I've never run so fast in my life. She chuckled behind me, and though she spoke quietly, I could still hear her as clearly as if she whispered in my ear. "Run if you like, lover. I have your blood now. You have plenty of time to come around to my way...and wherever you run to, I'll find you again."

Years ago, your father gave you a badge that he said would vibrate in the presence of absolute evil. For years it went unmoving, so you wrote it off as a good luck charm. Now, it wont stop buzzing on your first date.

"Siddown, Simmons." The chief stood with his back to the window as I entered. I sat, in the only chair in front of his desk, the others carefully lined up against the far wall. I had a moment of disassociation as I imagined the chief, carefully moving his chairs around so there would be the correct number waiting for the next guest or guests. The chief turned around, slowly. "Now Simmons, I want to make it clear that you're not in trouble. Nobody has any problem with your actions from a procedural standpoint." He sat down in his chair, moving his bulk carefully. "I'm glad of that, sir." Which, yeah. Everything had been by the book, and the outcome had been pretty much ideal, with every perpetrator captured, and no hostages hurt, beyond what had happened in the original incident, which couldn't be helped. "But I have heard a number of people who are questioning your judgement in *how* you handled the situation." "I thought it was effective, sir." "I can't deny that, Simmons. It was effective. But when we added you to the K-9 unit, with great fanfare, I might add, there were some expectations about how a werewolf unit would behave." "You mean beyond apprehending the suspects and securing the citizens, sir?" The chief sighed. "Yes, Simmons. We expected you, not to put too fine a point on it, to behave more like a *werewolf*." Ah. There it was. "So you wanted me to transform in front of everyone, howl terrifyingly, and take out the perps with my teeth." "That was more or less the expectation, Simmons. We had news crews there to film, and hundreds of citizens recording with their phones, hoping for something spectacular. And you just walked into the building and walked out again with the leader in handcuffs. No blood, no terrified screams, just..." the chief trailed off and then spat the next word out like it tasted bad, "negotiations." "If it helps, sir, I told them that if they didn't surrender I'd transform into a werewolf and tear their throats out." He sighed. "Can you at least try to get that part on camera next time?"

You are the newest addition to the police's K-9 unit, assigned to tackle only the worst and most difficult emergencies. No, you are not a dog, and you are not a handler; You are the department's first ever police Werewolf.

It had been a long time since I had been given a vessel. It had to be very specifically selected and prepared, for few could withstand the ground work that preceded my possession. Runes and glyphs had to be carved in flesh, bone and organ. Even then, if they survived, I would not be held for long. Mortal bodies were not designed to hold a divine form within. I would soon burned through them, leaving them empty husks by the end. I liked being in such a form, but I hated the cost. Still, some people tried to summon me. I was a god of chaos, something which people craved. Don't get me wrong, I loved chaos. I loved breaking down the walls of order. But it had to serve a purpose. Chaos for chaos sake was madness. Chaos for helping others, that's what I liked. I liked people who asked me to help, or who helped me when I asked for it. I found myself drawn down, a new vessel prepared. I knew a cult of mine had been preparing one, but I paid it little mind. I was more focused on the protests against the arrest of some political figures. They were trying to do the right thing, and had been seen as dangerous. A few thugs later and they were imprisoned. I wanted the protests to grow, become chaotic, and break down the corrupt lawmakers who took them in. As I was drawn down, I let the flow take over. As I filled it, I could tell this body was stronger than the others. Even as its delicate nerves began to burn, they regrew. I smiled with my new mouth, reading what this was. This was a body with power, one of those atypical humans. Presumably with rapid regeneration, a perfect host. "Oh Chaos Bringer, we submit ourselves to you, and grant you this body to use as you see fit." I laughed, feeling its muscles move. It was a strange feeling, having flesh where once was mere mist. A solidity that I often lacked. I pulled myself off of the table, and listened to the voice of its previous owner in my head. *Bringer? This... this is your doing?* I knew this well. This was someone I had dealt with before. Someone I trusted, and respected. With a thought I summoned a broken mirror, my stolen face peering out from a dozen shards. Regen looked back at me. The same dark brown skin, with runes carved into it. Even his regrowth couldn't beat runes carved with my blessed knives. My joy was wiped away, replaced with anger. *Regen, I am sorry. I didn't know they had used you as a vessel.* His thoughts echoed in our shared brain, truth the only thing allowed. *I understand Bringer. This isn't your sort of thing. But I want you out. I want my body back.* I nodded his head, letting the mirror vanish. Rage filled eyes sought out the cultist leader, who stumbled back at my gaze. "M-my master. Do-do you dislike this vessel?" "No." The single word shook the room. I heard the panicked squeaks of rats as they fled. With a snap of my wrist the leader was held aloft, arms twisted behind his back. "This vessel belongs to a friend. AND YOU THOUGHT IT RIGHT TO FORCE HIM INTO THIS?!" My anger extinguished every light, replaced instead by an ominous red glow from below. I had never been so angry, even back when I experienced my first betrayal. "YOU ARE LUCKY THAT I DO NOT REMOVE EVERY SPECK OF YOUR EXISTENCE! No, that wouldn't do at all." I dropped him to the ground, cracking Regen's neck. I felt his mind wince, as he felt the razors edge of my thoughts. "No. Instead you are going to assist me in undoing what you have done. You, I, and everyone in the room will figure out how to make me leave, **without** killing him. That, or you will see just what pure chaos feels like."

A cult kidnapped a superhero to use them as a vessel for their god. The ritual was carried out by the cult, and their god was inside the vessel. However, the god was upset about it because this superhero had helped them in the past.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” “Save your breath. I know my rights. I’m not talking to you —” The gorilla of a police officer suddenly pushes my back up against the wall with his forearm across my neck. Veins bulging in his head, he gets close enough to my face that I can feel his warm breath. “Listen, Jake. You’re not going to kill my father and get away with it.” Excuse me? Kill? His father? I slowly look down and see his badge that says Officer Desmond Riviera. His badge number slowly re-arranges itself and reveals 01 29 2052. Damnit. —————————————————— *One Week Earlier* “…and they all lived happily ever after.” I glance up at the clock in the cafeteria. 11:55am. Five minutes to spare. I login to the class portal, drag and drop the file, and wonder what snarky quip Mr. Riviera is going to throw my way today. After six months in his class and a dozen short-story assignments, I’d hoped Mr. Riviera would just give me my grade and move on. At seventy-five years old, he is a persistent and nagging old man. Others told me this was going to be his last year teaching. I knew better. He only has one week left. Knowing when someone is going to die is never easy. But after sixteen years of life, I’ve come to terms with this burden of foresight. Despite multiple attempts to stop fate, I’ve given up. Mostly, I try to ignore the numbers and move on, but somehow the numbers become louder and louder in my head as the person’s time approaches. But Mr. Riviera got under my skin like no one else. Always pushing me, always telling me my writing isn’t good enough, and always mocking me for not outlining and editing. Just a few months ago, while he was teaching, he scribbled on the chalkboard 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. It was for a sentence structure lesson. Frankly, I wasn’t paying attention after he openly used my essay as an example of what not to do. But some of the numbers re-arranged: 01 28 2022. That was it. His expiration date is January 28, 2022. I look up at the cafeteria clock again: 11:58am. Time to submit. Two minutes to spare. I can hear him now: Last minute again, I see. Listen, old man, don’t complain about it when it’s still technically on time. *Mr. Riviera,* *See attached for my assignment. Oh, I had the final date for this assignment as January 28th. That must have been the final date for something else. Oops.* *Sincerely,* *Jake Holt* And send. —————————————————— In a dimly lit, cold room, I look up and make out the time on the clock. It’s 4:30pm. The only door to the room opens. Of course, it’s Office Riviera. He briskly walks in while carrying what appears to be an evidence box. After today, I thought I would never have to see anything that looks like Mr. Riviera again. Yet, here’s his son. A spitting image of the man; although much younger. He slams the box on the table. “Ready to talk?” I confidently say, "Lawyer." “Listen, I know you think you are smart, but I’m telling you right now that I’ve got you dead to rights. Things never go well for you ‘I want a lawyer’ types. I’ll give you one last chance and then I’m walking out.” He circles around the table I am handcuffed to. I know he’s bluffing. A part of me feels bad for the guy. He just lost his father. I continue to sit silently. “We called the public defender's office for you, but they didn’t answer. Such a shame. I guess you will have to wait in here. Last time that happened, we didn’t hear from them for 48 hours.” Officer Riviera looks desperate. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head. He pauses and makes a half-step toward the door like he’s going to leave but then continues pacing. After about thirty seconds of pacing, he sits down across the table from me. He seems much more pleasant at the moment. “Listen, I’ll level with you. I want to help you. Let's just talk man to man.” I play along. “Sure. Drop the tough guy act and maybe I’ll talk.” Officer Riviera takes a deep breath and slumps in the chair. He quickly went from a man full of rage to what appears to be a man full of sadness. His voice shakes. “Jake . . . I lost my fa-.” He pauses to recollect himself. “I lost my father today. I don’t know if you’ve ever lost anyone . . .” He continues talking but I tune most of it out. He has no idea how many people I’ve known that have died. Every time I see the numbers re-shape in whatever form, I'm always somewhere around. This is the eighth time this has happened. And the dates never lie. He continues, “…I am tired of running into you. Every time something bad happens in this town, you’re around. Why is that, Jake?” I say nothing. “Fine. How about a history lesson? Let’s do this. August 6, 2019. Your best friend Pete died after being hit by a train. Any witnesses? Only you that says he stumbled. March 9, 2020. Your girlfriend Alyssa drowned in Cedar Lake after a night of skinny dipping. Any witnesses? Only you that says she drifted off and you couldn’t find her. Shall I continue? I have more of these ‘coincidences.’” As he continues, I keep thinking to myself that if he only knew that I tried to save everyone of them from the numbers. Every last one of them. He has no idea what it is like to live with this burden. I tried. I’ve had enough of this. I stand up and try to leave but realize I’m cuffed to the table. I look around the room and see the two-way mirror. As I catch my reflection, I notice I have blood all over my shirt and pants. “Wha—“ I can’t speak. “What’s wrong, Jake?” I look down and see the blood all over my clothes. “What is this?” I gesture toward my clothes. “What do you mean?” “What is all of this blood on me?” My voice shakes uncontrollably. Officer Rivera opens the box on the table and pulls out a zip-lock bag with a bloody knife in it. “I'll give you a hint. This is what we found you with this morning." No. No. It can’t be. A voice in my head suddenly says *keep your mouth shut or you’re next.* —————————————————— *Thirty Years Later* I look down at my discharge papers. Thirty years in Haskell Penitentiary. Like my therapist says, I’ve paid my debts to society and I can live the rest of my life a free man. I haven’t seen numbers or heard the voices in my head in over thirty years. My doctors say they’ve never seen someone with schizophrenia overcome it so well. I guess that’s why they recommended my early release on good behavior. After searching for hours for the cheapest place I could stay for the night, I find a dirty run-down motel. The room and bed felt like heaven compared to the tiny prison cell with the steel bed I slept on. I felt content. Somehow I couldn’t sleep though. I tossed and turned for hours. Then suddenly an old, familiar feeling overcame me. *01 29 2052. Officer Riviera. We have unfinished business.*

You’re 16 and have the ability to see a persons death date. You’re English teacher is rude to you, so you write his date on your essay and turn it in, just wanting to mess with him. A week later, he dies. One morning, the police come to escort you to the station for questioning.

Wanda approaches the farm. She's done this far too many times to count, trying to convince the farmer he is cruel and sadistic for even *owning* animals, let alone using them, LET ALONE slaughtering them for meat. Her fascination with this farm in particular is that it's known as the most ethical, caring, friendly farm in the world. If this farm is shut down, ALL farms are shut down, and the whole world will be forced to go vegan. However, there's a problem: every time Wanda comes over, her arguments are successfully and logistically countered. Wanda was about ready to give up, but today she has a trick up her sleeve: an animal translator. Bringing her video camera along, she'll record live as the animals tell the world how horrid their existence is! "FARMER JEFF!" she yells. An older man comes out, along with his grandson, who's training to take over the farm. "Thought you'd show up soon" Jeff chuckles. "Well, I'm also curious as to what my friends think of their home, so for once, I'm GLAD you're here!" "You won't be so relaxed when these LIVING BEINGS tell us what it's like to be BORN at death's door!" Wanda smirks. The first visit is to the sheep, grazing in their large, spacious field. One of them bleats, and the translator, set to sheep, picks up. "Look out, everyone! The sheep hater is back!" Wanda can hardly contain her excitement. This is a great start! "Don't worry, I'll free you all from him. The world will finally understand your pain!" Another sheep bleats. "Ugh, master Jeff, please get this woman out of here! I was enjoying my grazing!" Wanda is confused. "Wait, what do you mean? I'm here to help you!" "Lady, you want us dead" another sheep says. "WHAT? No, I don't! That's the point - *Jeff* wants you dead!" Wanda exclaims. "Then why does he shear us?" the first sheep scoffs. "Huh? That- you understand being sheared hurts you, right?" Wanda is struggling to understand what's happening. Every single sheep laughs in unison. "We may get the occasional scratch from an accident, but that's better than carrying all this weight that just burns us in the summer!" The sheep looks at Jeff. "Master Jeff, I always appreciate your care! I would actually like a shear now!" Jeff smiles while shaking his head. "Not yet, sir. Wait a bit longer for me please. The weather hasn't started warming up and if I sheared you now, I'd just need to shear you again during the summer!" "I understand, master Jeff. I look forward to it." The sheep wanders off. Wanda, trying to regain her footing, blurts out "You all know he'll kill you, right?" "WHAT?" a young lamb cries. "Hush, little one. She's only trying to scare you. He won't kill you for a while yet." The mother tries to comfort her lamb. "But why does he have to kill us at all?" the lamb whines. Another sheep approaches. "The humans have their reasons, but you'll get a good life. I mean, look at me! I'm fit and healthy!" "You're lucky" Wanda spits. "Most of you die when you barely turn one!" "NOOOOO!" The lamb begins wailing. The sheep who arrived bleated in anger and annoyance with Wanda. "You're right that I'm lucky." Wanda grins, thinking she's finally got a point up, until he turns to Jeff. "Master Jeff, over there-" the sheep motions with its head "-an ewe, three years old-" glares at Wanda "-suffering from a brain disease. I'm sorry to say she is no longer of use to produce wool, lambs or usable meat." Wanda seems stunned when the word 'meat' is used. "You... you *want* to be eaten?" "This is a good lesson for my baby" the mother sheep says. "You see, we all know what our purpose is. We provide for humans. It isn't just our purpose - it's an honour, a privilege. To truly complete our purpose, we are to be turned into edible meat for humans. That way, we can ascend high. With our purpose fulfilled, we will be duly rewarded for our sacrifice." "Really?" the lamb asks. "I get it, mum! Master Jeff is so nice, I wanna help!" Wanda, baffled but determined, goes around the rest of the farm, only to get similar answers: cows feel uncomfortable if they're not milked regularly and want to be marked as fashion items; pigs know that their meat is considered heavenly by many and believe that they're not only born for the purpose, but CREATED for the purpose; the chickens had NO PROBLEM telling Wanda that no egg sent to market would become a chick, therefore would just to waste unless eaten, also saying that without them, a lot of humans wouldn't have access to enough good, healthy protein. With every animal singing the praises of farmer Jeff and not only accepting but appreciating their roles in their lives, Wanda leaves, defeated. But Wanda's visit wasn't a total waste... ​ Many decades later, every farm has been interviewed, and the farms in which the animals were miserable and depressed were shut down. Eventually, every farm is required to match the standards of Randy's farm, with Randy showing his grandson the ropes of the farm, like his grandfather, Jeff, did for him. And all this was spurred on by the live video, known as 'Crazy Vegan gets Roasted by Farm Animals'. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)

When a device to understand animal languages is created. Some vegans thought they can finally outlaw animal biproducts. However, while some are afraid of death, it is found out that others have religions where they believed that in order to have a luxurious afterlife, they have to be eaten...

I lifted my ancient frame from my comfy seat at the shrill chime of the doorbell eagerly, I'd been waiting for her. "Afternoon Miss Lynn! Ready for lunch?" Sarah grinned, holding up a paper sack of burgers balanced atop a box of donuts. I grinned back and moved towards the kitchen, "I'll get us some drinks, what'll you have today dear? Tea, coffee, milk, water, or soda?" "Soda please!" She called from the dining room, but was quickly behind me, taking down the plates and cutlery before I'd grabbed the cups. She grabbed a 2 liter of coke from the fridge and by the time I'd managed to fill our cups with ice and make my way to the dining room, she'd laid out the spread, set the table, and grabbed my cup of coffee from my side table in the livingroom. "You're a good girl" I praised, patting her hand and setting down her glass before taking my seat beside her. "You know, Dr.Calvin said he's worried about my blood sugar and blood pressure with all the "junk" I keep eating." I snickered, and Sarah snorted in response. "Yeah, I bet, just like he told you that smoking was going to kill you." She giggled and popped a fry in her mouth. "He doesn't know a darn thing does he." I sunk my teeth into the burger. It didn't matter one wit what I put in this body, other than cleaning it out from under my dentures before bed. My number was up decades ago. Some big red tape nonsense and I was stuck in limbo until they'd gotten it sorted. It'd been 10 years and they were no closer to figuring it out now than they had been then. "How was work today, Sarah? You look a little tired." Her shoulders slumped a bit, "today sucked to be honest" "Another cancer?" I asked with sympathy, the long drawn out deaths always hurt Sarah the most. She shook her head "house fire, a bunch of frat boys goofing off made and set off a Molotov and burned themselves up." "Oh" I gushed, "I saw that on the news! You were there?" She nodded and moved her shoulders as if to loosen tense muscles "and it hurt something awful. I wasn't the only one of course, there were 5 boys that died in the fire, but of course the gave me one of the ones that actually burned to death. The other three died of smoke inhalation, way easier way to go." She sounded beyond put out and I understood. Ever since Sarah's slip up had been found out a decade ago, she'd been assigned just the worst deaths to collect on. Cancers of all kinds, violent deaths, fires, tortures, all the worst ways to go. And Sarah had to feel every last bit of it in the place of the soul. It wasn't really fair, one mistake in nearly a hundred years of service wasn't too shabby, they should really spread out the bad ones amongst everyone. Sarah perked up a little soon and reminded me as much as herself "my time is nearly up though, I'll be moving on up to heaven soon" her voice was filled with joy "just one more year!" "I'll drink to that!" I held my coffee cup up and clinked it to Sarah's fizzy drink, and sincerely hoped they found my lost paperwork before Sarah's service was up, I'd like to be there to welcome my friend to eternity.

On your 112th birthday death came to you with some awkward news. He lost your death date 40 years prior, had no luck finding it since then, and can’t collect you till its discovered.

As a vampire hunter, this was the creed hammered into every trainee. Beauty belied a cannibal monster, one who preyed on those who once were their peers. No, a good vampire abandoned their human visage by free will. The wizened vampire whispered his wisdom from under the shade, a wrinkly hand petting a giant tortoise. His antlers told of a life in Canada, his stripes of Indian escapades. He had much to tell to his disciples, and he was the best instructor in the guild. He told of the lies, the seduction, the illusions weaved by his less palatable kin. "They draw you in with sweet words. Blind you with radiant features. Until you're trapped in their net." They usually left their targets drained, but alive, anticipating the next feeding. Of course, people were foolish, shunning the ones with animal traits, not knowing that beauty was akin to a dart frog's bright colors, a sign of danger. But those who saw past the facade knew, the beastly vampires could be the greatest allies. Panhandling ratmen were always quick to snatch the latest rumor and gossip, trading info for money to buy rabbits. Feathered vampires only cared about following the flocks of their favorite food. Lizardmen avoided humans, only coming out to help lost souls in their turf. And most tended to their farms, feeding on their prized animals and selling the meat. You met some of them, good fellows, always hospitable to their guests. As long one didn't try to heckle their herd, they left humans alone. Your job was to follow the trail of blood, investigating murders and maimings to figure if a vampire was the culprit. Often, a round of silver bullet to the brain and a consecrated blade to the neck was enough to finish your job. And if a large enough coven was found, their most deadly enemy were berserkers. Vampires who fed on the most dangerous predators, growing large as bears and banding in packs like lions. But no predator was as delectable as a fellow bloodsucker. You look up to the creatures licking their fangs in hunger. "There are thirty targets. Their den is in the basilica." Usually any religious icon repelled the creatures, but a tainted enough place of worship was unable to keep them at bay, the perfect disguise. "Good job. See to your herd that nobody is out by sundown." You almost collapsed under the paw on your shoulder. Talbot could kill you with one claw, but it would be no fun for him. "Gather the stragglers, we have a wild hunt tonight!"

A vampire’s appearance will shift to resemble that which they feed on the most. Trust not ones who are visions of pure human beauty for friends they are not. Instead, seek those with a monstrous countenance such as those of rats, lizards, or even insects, as those will be our true friends.

Bella the Gold-hearted marched forward, each step hitting the black bedrock ground with the weight of an anvil. The Dark Lord Banor increased the intensity of his terror spell in a vain effort to get Bella to back down. As Bella gripped her sword so tightly her knuckles turned white, she said to Banor, "My journey here was built upon promises from the day I was born. At first, it was an empty vow to destroy you, void of a reason behind it. "But that all changed when I wound up in the care of Madam Durga! She healed me of my injuries and taught me the ways of the pleasures of the flesh! Through her, I learned the joy of submitting not to an abstract quest, but to a mistress who rewards those who serve! AND I WILL NOT ACCEPT A WORLD WHERE I CANNOT BE HER GOOD PUPPY!!" Bella launched herself at Banor and drove her sword through his stomach. Banor stumbled back as the holy magic forged into the blade ate through his flesh. With a final animalistic scream, Banor disintegrated into ash and was blown away by the wind. Bella fell to her knees as the dark clouds Banor summoned with his black magic rolled away, sending the sun streaming down across the battlefield. Bella gathered her strength to get back on her feet and took a portal charm from her bag. She dropped it on the ground, whereupon it transformed into a glowing pink portal. Waiting on the other end was a tall, muscular woman with her hair done up in long braids. Madam Durga smiled and revealed a collar that bore Bella's name. "That's my good puppy." Bella grinned and practically skipped through the portal into her mistress's dominant embrace.

“It’s not possible! There’s no emotion stronger than fear! How?! How are you still standing?! Why aren’t you cowering before me?!” “Because you were wrong. There’s one emotion stronger than fear.“ “It… it can’t be… is it… love?!” “NO, FOOL! IT’S LUST!”

Worries about microplastic contamination were reaching a fever pitch across the world as evidence came out to indicate the massive ecological harm it had done. Microplastics had been found over 2 decades ago to cross the blood-brain barrier and new studies routinely found no human placentas devoid of the pollutants. It appeared our physiology would never again be free of plastic, our species condemned to a slow and horrible transformation into a living Body Worlds exhibit. As rising rates of infertility and miscarriages was directly linked by medical science to microplastic contamination, billions of dollars were funneled into researching potential solutions. Governments feebly attempted to regulate plastic production and use, but their presence in the global economy proved to be far too entrenched to be controlled effectively. Scientific consortiums were created across disciplines to attempt to address the problem head on. Many solutions were explored – neonatal dialysis procedures, agricultural engineering to make crops uptake less plastics, new plastics that decomposed rapidly and completely under sunlight, autonomous vehicles that scoured the oceans for plastic particulate. The watershed came when a research group in Australia were placing genetic traits of a certain strain of the mushroom Pleurotus ostreatus into the common ocean bacteria Candidatus Pelagibacter communis. The spliced genes had the effect of allowing Ca. P. communis to digest microscopic bubbles of emulsified oil in water. It showed immediate promise as a remedy to ocean oil spills, with potential to even consume microplastics under certain conditions! After intensive laboratory study and refinement, the bacteria performed its task flawlessly, able to ingest large amounts of oil, metabolize it and subsequently clean contaminated ocean water of the pollutant. Further studies in coastal waters continued to show success. This could be the solution… Even usually tepid and skeptical researchers grew deeply eager of the potential capabilities of their new organism. Finally, a larger scale deployment of the bacteria was authorized. The Pacific Gyre, now called the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, was the target. Large drums filled with the new bacteria were hauled to the center of the Gyre and released. Weeks passed. The Gyre was monitored by oceanic stations, continually measuring the levels of microplastic. Gradually, they were declining. After 3 months, there was a measured 30% reduction. After a year, the Gyre held just 10% of the original microplastic it once held at its peak. The bacteria were successful beyond any dream. Media broadcast the success of human ingenuity across the world – behold, this testament of science that saved us from the consequences of our consumption! The uproar, the accolades, the commendations were loud and long. Other climate catastrophes continued to occur as this progressed – heat waves, mass oceanic biomass deaths, devastating storms. Many fisheries were hounded and struggling to meet demand, crab populations had died many years ago and never recovered, now tuna and many other large fish were nearly impossible to find. This was attributed to the change in oceanic temperature and acidity, but what was overlooked is that boats were losing nets more frequently. On board, ropes broke sooner, a sailor’s rubberized soles wore out in weeks, not a season. People remarked that their swimsuits just didn’t last as long anymore. It was just more planned obsolescence, exactly what got us into this mess, enabled by the new discovery. Nothing particularly odd, not worthy of more than a moment or two of thought. More time passed, and with it, further odd events were occurring across the world. Food spoilage was on the rise. Sporadic plumbing leaks in condominiums. An oil-filled electric transformer overheated and exploded, which cascaded into a large power outage for a section of the east coast of North America. A golfer hit a ball and watched the shattered pieces of it decorate the fairway. A parachute and the backup failed to open. A young boy was admitted to hospital in Paris with a case of encephalitis. He would die within a day, the root cause undetermined. Dozens of cases of the mysterious brain swelling developed seemingly at random around the world but passed completely unnoticed. A research hospital in California specializing in bacterial encephalitis eventually identifies a cause for a recently deceased patient – the once miraculous Ca. P communis organism. As further cases were brought in, antibiotics, plasmapheresis, immunoglobin treatments all proved ineffective. The best that could be done was to prolong the inevitable – every case would present and subsequently kill the patient within 48 hours. The illness, now known to have a fatality rate of 100%, was being caused by the bacteria but was not seemingly contagious. Nevertheless, as cases ballooned into the dozens in the hospital, an epidemic was declared. The world now was no stranger to rashes of terrible illnesses. COVID-19 had disrupted life for all over 15 years ago, and mass global influenza outbreaks were a yearly occurrence. Once again, we would lock down and weather the storm on our medical facilities. Research into further vaccinations, antibiotics and treatments immediately began. Within months, it was reported that over a million people globally had died of the novel encephalitis. An antibiotic was found, and clinical trials finally saved an infected patient from death! The caveat that they had suffered extensive brain damage and were left unable to care for themselves. Research pressed on, while titanic orders for the antibiotic were placed and manufactured. As shipments of the antibiotic were traversing the globe, by ship, rail, and truck, it is here, dear reader, that our story hits its final note. Day by day, engines in ships, trains, and trucks have been seizing. Our logistics network has been teetering on the edge as our “cure” has been developed. A patchwork net of hastily hobbled machines, racing to deliver the slimmest of chances to the rest of humanity. Any petrochemical material in the world has been degraded to the point of non-functionality. It is here, that the chance will fail. The “cure”, if one could even call it that, will never make it to 95% of the world’s population. Rich countries hoard all of it that they can for themselves, as their own populations rapidly succumb to the bacterial infection. But it doesn’t matter. The cure wouldn’t have helped. The true death knell was the truck not being able to complete the delivery. As the trucks stop, so does the delivery of food. Power plants find themselves unable to burn their fuel. Electric cables and transformers are rendered useless, the grid collapses. The internet is unreachable, telecommunications halt. Starvation looms. Social order decays almost immediately. For the first time in a century, the lights go out on Earth. In a year, there will not be a single human left alive, nor any other macro-scale organism. In 10 years, there will be no macro-plastics. In 100 years, all life on earth is dead. In 1000 years, the only trace of humanity left will be our stone structures. If ever Earth was happened upon by alien archaeologists, the event would be likened to the first mass extinction of life, when cyanobacteria first respired oxygen. Fitting then, that the final extinction was simply another species of hungry bacteria.

The bacteria was developed to eat microplastics in the oceans. They had no idea how quickly they would multiply or that they would be able to migrate onto land. Nobody forsaw that the post apocalyptic world would be plastic free.

The job wasn't going to be easy, but I knew that when I agreed to take the contract. The price was in the millions and irresistible. They only offered such a job to the most skilled in the industry, and with 300+ confirmed kills globally, well, I was one of the best. It only made sense that such a contract would be on a target that could potentially end the life of the assassin in question. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly nervous about the entire job. My wife had begged me not to take this particular contract given the probability of my death. She was retired from this life, but ultimately understood this was meant to be my finale. I planned to exit the industry after the money hit my account. I was already planning my retirement to an exotic location. Having a wife that had previously been in the industry awarded me a special privilege, I had someone to help me plan. And plan we did. There was no way I'd fail this job, I was certain of it. I'd found his entire schedule, talked to contact after contact, found his home address, his relatives, and even found the singular social media account he'd made six years ago and last updated three years ago. I had my plan, and I was ready to get started. The guns had been packed, silencers tucked in neatly beside them, in various locations hidden in the car. There was a gun neatly tucked at my side, hidden carefully by the suit I was wearing. After all, I planned on being a city official when I walked up to his door. It was an old trick, less elaborate than what he'd expect. I felt confident. I was ready to head out the door when I paused to kiss my wife. "Before you go, I need one last thing." She said with a coy smile. Naturally, I was ready to strip my suit jacket off and do whatever was demanded of me like the good husband I am. "Not quite, I was hoping you'd grab me some lunch first? I'm not in the mood to cook. Although I am in the mood for the chili cheese fries from Wendy's." Ah. That was the request. "Be back in fifteen." Into the car I go, and off to Wendy's. It's just up the road really, so honestly it's hardly much of an ask. I'd of driven to the next town over to grab her Olive Garden if that was her final demand before my potentially life-ending mission. Such is the love of a husband. Wendy's drive through was crammed full of cars, some of which were honking in anger. I opted to head inside rather than inflame my road rage by dealing with honking horns while trying to order. Standing in line, there were a total of six individuals in the restaurant, not counting the workers scrambling behind the counter. When your job is in my industry you quickly begin to take not of your surroundings, no matter the location. It was this skill that alerted me very suddenly to the other man in a suit that had just exited the bathroom whistling to himself. Alexander Rosenthal, my target, was in my town, at my favorite Wendy's. We made eye contact and he took a single startled step back. I continued to wait in line as he stood there awkwardly, unwilling to approach me. Five minutes later, I order my wife's food and then I briskly walk to men's room. Things were about to become interesting, that was certain. In the bathroom, Alex entered moments after I did. "Why, pray tell, are you in this town?" I questioned him, turning to take a seat on the sink as he jimmied the door to ensure no one would enter, even if unlocked. "I'm here on business. There's a hefty contract out on your head, Malik. I took the job. Sorry, I know we've worked together in the past, don't take it personally, it really is just business. I won't hurt your wife or your family, and I can make it as painless as possible." "Interesting. I was on my way to your house, actually. They paid me quite a bit to put you down. Val and I planned the entire thing together, so I must say, you turning up here is quite the surprise." "I knew someone was looking into me. I didn't know it was you, or I would've been here to end this sooner." "How do you intend to 'end this'?" I asked him with a quirked eyebrow. Alex looked uncomfortable and fiddled with a watch on his wrist. "Well, not in a Wendy's bathroom, that's for sure. I think we can both agree this isn't the place." "Then you have no idea who it is you're actually dealing with." With a flash of a smile I hopped down from the counter, removing the switchblade from my pocket and opening it. The pair of brass knuckles from the other pocket were quickly slipped onto my fingers as he stared in disbelief for a moment. "God, you're so unprofessional." He groaned before moving towards the gun at his waist. I'll admit, I hadn't expected him to go for the firearm, not here. But hey, if I was playing dirty, so could he. Before his hand could fully grip the gun I was quick to jump forward and send my fist directly into his gut, feeling the brass rings catch on one of his lowest ribs as I made impact. I heard him exhale sharply as the wind was knocked from his lungs. A moment later I felt something hard hit the back of my head sending me to the floor. My head spun for a moment as I composed myself. My god, he'd hit me with the paper towel dispenser. Property destruction, and of my favorite Wendy's? Unacceptable. I climbed to my feet with assistance from the sink, his gun had fallen. It was closer to my feet now. Though he'd regained his composure just the same as I had. He cracked his knuckled and glanced down at the weapon. I was quicker than him, more lithe in build and made for speed rather than brute strength as he was. The weapon was quickly tossed behind me somewhere under the stalls. He cursed and removed a hunting knife from his belt. I'd be lying if I said I had any idea how long the fight actually lasted. By the end of it we were both sliced up, though never stabbed, beaten to the point of a broken nose in his case and a severe black eye and split lip I'd be sporting for a solid few weeks. We were both sitting on the floor, backs against the cold tile, panting as we stared one another down. "Truce?" He offered weakly. "Truce." I replied, spitting a glob of blood on the floor. "So, listen, I need to get those fries to my wife before they get any colder. We can pick this up later. Here's my card, call me, we can schedule a time and a place. Although my one request; please don't pick a Wendy's bathroom." I said, hauling myself up and handing him a business card for my pottery business. It was a side hustle and a passion. "You like pottery too?" Bam. Pottery business card in my hand. "Did the Mannichi brothers send you to kill me?" I ask after a moment. "Yes... I take it they sent you to kill me too?" "Bingo. I'm free Thursday if you want to come throw some clay on the wheel, and plot revenge, of course." "Sure thing, but uh, no Wendy's, please." He groaned with a grimace. I laughed, grimacing myself at the sudden pain in my face. I'd need to see my dentist tomorrow. We parted our ways as I took my wife's fries home. I could tell they'd gone cold. When I walked in she was reading a book. "One of your friends called, they think Alex might be coming here..." She trailed off when she looked up. I tossed the cold fries on her lap. "We're having company over on Thursday. I think I am also banned from our local Wendy's." OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM DURING THE FIGHT, AN HOUR EARLIER... "Ma'am, there's some kind of fight to the death happening in the bathroom." The customer nervously said to the woman behind the counter. She stared at him blankly before sighing. "Sir, this is a Wendy's."

Two assassins have a contract on one another, they both have elaborate plans to do it covertly, but it ends up going down in a Wendy's washroom

The League of Professionals quieted down once **Captain Toothman** entered the hall, taking his seat at the head of the long table. "Another one of us has been discovered," he said without introduction. "She will be here shortly. And I expect ALL of you to remain--well--*professional*. As always." There were murmurs in the room. It was always exciting when they inducted a new member. And it had been awhile since the last! Almost two full years now, back when **Cowgirl** first awakened to her ability to summon and communicate with livestock. Captain Toothman held up a gloved hand, quieting the room with nothing more than his *dazzling* charm. "Now, before I introduce her--" "JUST TELL US HER JOB, SMILEBOY." It was the **Mailman**, fast as the wind, and equally impatient. "THAT'S ALL WE NEED TO HEAR!" There were grumbles of concurrence around the room. The former dentist sighed. "Very well. But you must *promise* not to judge her...promise?" They half-heartedly agreed, like schoolchildren being reminded of homework. **The** **Judge** shouldered his mighty gavel so he could cross his heart in a solemn vow not to do the one thing he was good at. Toothman took a sip from his mug of fluoride, swished it around, swallowed, and said: "Clown. She was a clown." The room groaned. **Atom Driver**\--the man with the ability to turn himself into a bus--threw his head back and honked in frustration. "C'mon!" he said. "We've got our big fight with the **Mortician Magician** next week! We need somein' better than a girl who can...I dunno even know! Laugh'm to death? Squirt'm with a big flower?" **Rocka Billie**\--the woman with the skull-melting mic--punched Atom Driver on his shoulder. "Hey! Give'r a chance! You're one to talk over here. Can't even go over 60 miles per hour." "I TAKE OFFENSE TO THAT! How else you gonna get into the Magician's liar, huh? You gonna drive in individual cars? With the hole in the ozone as big as it is? Ha! I don't think so." "We could just *rent* a bus," she said. "Or buy one! **The Banker** can turn paper into money! We could buy a friggin' plane! Or a rocket! We could buy friggin' SpaceX, if we wanted to!" "OHOHOH, and land without a landing strip? I don't think so, honey. That's why you need a *bus.*" "What good is a BUS when there aren't no ROADS. And how do you expect to get past the MOATS and ELECTRIC FENCES and FORCE FIELDS and *LASERS. You're. A. B\~U\~S.*" "BACK OFF TOOTS! I'M A VALID MEMBER OF THIS TEAM! HONK! *HONK, HONK!"* The room dissolved into such an uproar, not even Captain Toothman could charm them down. It wasn't until the tall doors of the room creaked open that everyone fell silent. It was the clown girl, making her timely entrance. She was meek-looking, with her frizzy red hair tied back into two buns on her head. Her colorful makeup smiled, but her actual face was quite reserved. "You don't have to worry about getting there," she said. She had braces, each square a different color. "We're already there." Nobody knew what to say. Mailman was the first to speak. "We're...*where?*" "At the Mortician Magician's secret lair. We got there about twenty minutes ago." Once again, confused silence, but this time with some extra pity. "Oh, *honey*," said **Steel Magnolia**\--the Southern seamstress who could sew with any metal as easily as thread. "We're in our *headquarters*, sugar. This is the League of Professionals. YOU. ARE. IN. A-MER-I-CA. CAPITOL OF EARTH." Beside her, Cowgirl nodded in agreement. "Not anymore," said the young clown. "We're in Transylvania. In a cave that looks like a funeral home. Wanna see?" She opened the gates, and some bats flew in to the room, scaring everyone. "C'mon," she said. "It's okay. No one's around. I checked. I think the magician is still sleeping." She went outside, and the rest of the league followed cautiously. Captain Toothman was the first to walk out, and the sensation was hard to describe--kind of like standing up too fast when you've been in bed staring at your phone all day. The clown girl reached out a hand to steady him. Once he got his bearings, he realized that he was indeed inside an underground base--decorated very Baroque, with every piece of decor in the shape of either a coffin or an autopsy table. "Sweet tartar control," he whispered. "The Mortician Magician's secret liar...we're right in the middle of it! But how?" There was a grunt behind him, and he turned to see a very tiny car--no bigger than a microwave!--idling on the shiny cave floor. There was a hand trying to make its way through, so he grabbed it and pulled out Rocka Billie, who then pulled out Atom Driver, who pulled out the Mailman, then the Banker, then the Cowgirl, then the Judge... As the rest of the league spilled out of the tiny car, Steel Magnolia asked in shock: "HOW?! How, hon'?! How did you fit all of us in there? How did you fit the whole darn HEADQUARTERS in there? And then get us here no problem! Without us even noticing?! It don't make a LICKA sense!" "Oh," said the girl. "I get asked that a lot. It's actually pretty simple. Do you really wanna know?" By then, the entire league--all thirty-seven grown adults--were in the cavern, confused, but eager to know her secret. "How?" they said, almost in unison. *"How?!"* The clown girl shrugged. "The seats fold down."🚗

One day, every person simultaneously gets a super power based on their job. Psychologists game telepathy, firefighters can manipulate water or fire, construction workers can mix and mold rock. But your job, gains you a rather… Interesting ability

Awkwardly, I scan the room. You could hear a pin drop, which is quite astounding considering there’s at least fifty people in this dining hall. Til now, my presence felt normal, as if no one knew I was born a millenium prior. After a moment, I see a few people whispering near the door. The doors suddenly burst open with two armed officers. I survey my surroundings and— “You’ve gone and done it now, Lisa,” I hear in my earpiece. I pull my hair over my mouth and whisper forcefully, “Where the hell have you been, Josie? I was beginning to think this earpiece was defective. I need out of here NOW!” Silence. Moments pass and suddenly I realize that everyone that was sitting near me has scattered away. They look at me as if they’ve seen a ghost. The officers point in my direction and slowly approach. Two officers approach. One shakily speaks, “Ma’am, we want no trouble. We’d like you to come with us.” I realize that these people are more scared of me than I am of them. Is it really because I said “Merry Christmas!” on December 25th? Everyone is backing away with most people exiting the room, except for the officers who slowly approach me as if I’m an escaped velociraptor in Jurassic Park. I quietly say, “Josie, are you there? Now would be a good time for some advice.” “Sing. Now. Any Christmas song.” Flabbergasted, I exclaim, “EXCUSE ME! You expect me to sing a Christmas song?” “Do it. Though, you could’ve been more observant and noticed that nobody decorated for Christmas. It’s been banned since the Movokian Accords of 2832.” “Oh, so this is MY fault? So typical. Get me the hell out of here now!” In my earpiece, I hear the sweet, rich voice of Mariah Carey, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas…” Fine, here goes nothing. In my pitchy voice, I sing-along, “…there is just one thing I need, I don’t care about the presents under the Christmas tree.” “Lisa, is it working?” “They’re backing away. Can you get me out of here or not?” I keep jostling back and forth and singing when I’m not talking to Josie, “… Just want you for my own … Make my wish come true … I need out of here NOW! … All I want for Christmas is youuuu.” Instantly, I vanish and re-appear back home. It’s a quiet, steely room with Josie and me. “What the hell was that, Josie? You transport me somewhere on Christmas Day and don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to say ‘Merry Christmas!’” “My bad, sis. Ever since Emperor Claus slaughtered millions of elves, they’ve banned anything that has to do with Christmas.” “Elves? Did you transport me to another dimension?” “The future holds some things that you wouldn’t believe. We’re learning. Where are we off to next?” “I’m hungry. I heard the sushi in 2093 is amazing.” “Let’s go!”

Ever since travelling 1,000 years into the future, you have been getting along well with the people who live there. That is until you say "Merry Christmas!" The room falls silent, and the looks on their faces resemble... fear?

"So," the man in the frilly coat said with a wide smile, "did my summon perform adequately?" The man in front of him jumped a little; he had no idea anyone had approached him. As soon as the shock wore off, he went right back to catching his breath. The battle was only just won, his armour still dripping with the blood of the vile monster. "It... it is done," the man breathed out. "Sure looks it," the summoner noted. "Your... *friend*, as you call it," the man cautiously said, "it... I've never seen anything fight like that. Perhaps it has something to do with the number of arms it has." The summoner looked at the creature he had called upon for the task. It resembled an automaton more than a living being, a creature the shape of a vase practically entirely covered in brass armour, razor-sharp sword in each of its 6 arms. He sometimes lovingly referred to it with the nickname 'Meat Grinder'. He gave the abomination a friendly wave and it disappeared into thin air. "How do you keep that... *thing* on a leash? I was almost certain it would turn on me the second the job was one." "What, Frithruna? She's not a thing, good sir," the summoner frowned. He picked up a piece of the dead monster, inspecting it closely with the bored eye of someone who was greatly unimpressed. "No, she's just a friend I'd helped a long time ago. Not... not from around here, you could say." "How did you bind it, then?" the man asked. He finally caught his breath and stood up straight, now towering a good half meter above the summoner. "Ah, funny story. See, this inventor, they needed help with-" he stopped suddenly and tapped his head. "Here I go blabbering again! Perhaps we could talk about it over, say, a nice cup of mead? Somewhere less... bloody?" "And I suppose you'll be wanting your payment?" the man asked. "See," the summoner rubbed his chin, "I must say, I'm quite impressed with your martial prowess. Not many could keep up with Frithruna like that. So, how about we keep this one on the house? A favour from a friend," he chuckled heartily. The man frowned - he expected to pay a pouch full of gems. For the summoner to leave that money like that... it seemed off. "I can see your confusion," the summoner noted. "Not to worry - I'm not taking your soul or anything. See, unlike other summoners, I don't drag anyone through rifts in space and force them to do anything. Everyone helps of their free will. You could call me more of a... facilitator. Someone who 'knows a guy'." He tapped him on his back - or at least as high as he could. "And now," he smiled even wider, "I know you."

You are a wizard that specializes in summoning magic. Unlike other summoners that forcefully bind otherworldly creatures to do their bidding, you are the eldritch equivalent of "I know a guy".

Liana trudged through the Leafshine Forest, brushing aside the branches and leaves that poked at her as she did. Rumor had it, a strange creature had recently made the forest its lair. A creature with metal skin and a sickening aura. Animals and elves alike were killed soon after staying in its vicinity. The dowsing rod hummed louder in Liana’s hands, indicating she was close. Encouraged by this, she ran faster. Soon, she stumbled upon the creature, and it was not what she had expected. It was some kind of automaton, a gargantuan work of complex machinery. But it was broken. Its chest was badly damaged, revealing a power source that glowed electric blue. That must have been the cause of its death aura. “Protege ab venenum.” Liana chanted under her breath. Now whatever energy the golem radiated would be unable to affect her. The elven girl moved closer to the steel colossus, feeling her skin blister despite her protective veil. The creature seemed to be either sleeping or unconscious. There had to be a way to help. She put her hands on its skin and whispered, “Reparatione metallum.” The spell sucked away a large portion of her energy but Liana stood tall, refusing to stop despite her trembling legs. Finally, the injury knit together, and Liana fell to the ground, exhausted. Trying to catch her breath, she looked up at the machine when she heard it buzz and whine. “How long have I been asleep?” it asked. --- “What do you mean, you lost it?” asked the lieutenant. “It vanished off our chronoportational scanners. We might have inputted the wrong coordinates and caused it to become damaged upon arrival.” “Then stop standing around and find the stupid thing!”

In the depths of the elven forest, there lies a massive monster. Its flesh is metal and to be near to it is a death sentence. You're an old war robot with a leaking reactor trying figure out why people keep running from you.

Thomas Wilson leaned back in his couch and sipped his coffee. It was always nice to relax after a long day at work. Sadly for him, his relaxation would be short-lived. The sound of a doorbell echoed through the house. At that, the man put down his coffee and stood up. “Who could be ringing the doorbell at this hour?” he wondered. Thomas walked to the door and looked through the peephole. The visitor was someone he did not recognize. A woman wearing a a black and purple bodysuit. A super. Though whether she was a hero or villain was impossible to know. Against his better judgement, Thomas opened the door for his guest, and she glided in soundlessly. She sat down in his couch uninvited, then patted the spot next to her, gesturing for him to sit. He sat far on the other side of the sofa, cautiously watching this odd woman. “What brings you here?” Thomas ventured. “You could say I’m looking for a doctor. Not the normal, Dr Wilson but the preter, Dr Cureall.” Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise. His alter ego was a secret only known to his superhero clients. “Usually, people visit me at my office for medication. But I can set an appointment for you next week, does Thursday work f-?” “Unfortunately, doctor, I don’t have the time or luxury.” the woman interrupted, as a magenta blade materialized in her hand. She swung it through the air and cut the poor doctor in half. Space seemed to warp around the sword as if it sucked matter into it, rather than just slicing it apart. The villain gathered the blood flowing from Thomas’ body into vials. Why her benefactor had asked for it was beyond her. “Cureall’s blood in exchange for $10000. I held my end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.” she called out. In a minute, a moth flew into the house through an open window, a bundle of $100 dollar bills attached to its back. It allowed her to take the money from its back, in return, flying away with the vials of preterhuman blood. “Pleasure doing business with you too.” the assassin muttered. --- In a matter of days, the body of the supervillain Voidblade was found, apparently stung to death by a swarm of Africanized honey bees, despite them not being native to the area.

Kidnapping a particular doctor. They’ve just made an enemy of every superhuman in the city.

The rocking chair squeaked softly to the movements of Mr. Henderson. His wooden house was built by his own hands over several years, lumber cut from the forests to the south. Lord knows he’s had time here. The scene would almost be one out of an old earth farm, were it not for the fact that the farmland before Henderson curved up towards the sky. “Do you know where we are?” Henderson asks the girl currently sitting on his porch. She fidgets nervously. “Mom called it a small space station.” Henderson couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I guess things are built on this scale nowadays, aren’t they? When this was built, we called it an O’Neil cylinder.” The girl looked like she was going to be sick. It took some getting used to, seeing the sky taken up by the ground eight kilometers away. “Tell me,” asked Henderson. “How did you get here? Talking, I find, can take the edge off spin sickness.” “We took the shuttle this morning”. “They’ve really gotten much better at those FTL drives recently, haven’t they.” “How long did it take you to get here?” The girl asked. She avoided eye contact with Henderson. “Oh I’ve never been on a shuttle. I’ve lived here all 70 years of my life.” Henderson said. He didn’t want to push her too hard. It was hard getting used to a new place. They sat in silence for a while, watching the crops sway in the wind. Eventually, the girl spoke up. “Why do you live out here anyway?”. It seemed less a question and more an accusation. “On the farm? Someones gotta provide food for everyone else here.” “No, out in the middle of space. We’re light years from the nearest star. No one wants or needs anything out here.” “Thats true.” Replied Henderson, “But at this point its mostly symbolic living here. Not everyone gets the chance to live on the first interstellar colony ship.”

An old spacer reminisces about the early days of human space travel. Sure, plasma drives and FTL are what got us across the galaxy, but there’s just something special about strapping yourself into a giant rocket and blasting off to the nearest planet.

It was supposed to be a flawless plan! You were bored and wanted to square up with those human heroes who had slain Jordan, that bitch had tapped out when your score was 24/24. So you decided to piss off the king by snatching his firstborn. But now it was the third moon since you sent the challenge message and no band of heroes came to your lair. You sigh as you carry a cow back home, you had two to feed, and a dead princess was useless. "Why aren't they coming?!" You take a detour to visit the hedge witch. Margot explained that Clarisse, the human you kidnapped, was a "bastard", that's why the king didn't care. In fact, you helped him get rid of a succession problem. "Bastard? Whatzzat?" Margot tried her best to explain, but you only understood that Clarisse wasn't supposed to be born because human rules said so. "I'm so glad I was born a dragon." But that meant the girl wouldn't help your plan turn reality. It was with annoyance that you returned to your cave, finding the girl playing with a staff in your hoard. *"Oh, I can sense some magic?"* A devious idea popped in your head. You remembered how your uncle trained a mage to rain hell on humans. Yeah, that could be fun too. The girl surely had motivation against the king, and she had complained about the heroes. *"If she grows up well, I'll get them back for killing my rival!"* And teaching the kid surely would blunt some of the everyday boredom. Thus, the prologue to Clarisse's tale, the Dragon Sorceress, was written.

You, a dragon are rather confused about why the human king hasn't sent anyone to rescue his daughter. After a little research it turns out the girl is someone humans call a "bastard".

Dear Diary: So, my sister was born and she controls space. I control time. I don't really mind, due to my control of time being less... physical and more conceptual. When the element assigned to you is both a concept and a physic, you can control either the physic's version or the concept. I love my sister, I really do, and I think I'm going to teach her everything I know. Because now basically we both control time. I control the concept of time as in History, I can stop it, fast-forward it, make it go backwards, set points in time to travel to and travel directly to points in time. My sister controls space, but thanks to stuff on her control like speed, gravity, stellar mass or black holes, she can control the physical time, she can bend time as in time-perception. She can make the Earth spin quicker, making us think that time has been accelerated due to the different position of the sun in the sky. I will teach her everything I know about this stuff, so, together, we can be unstoppable.

Everybody on earth controls an element(wood,rubber,etc). Your dad controls steel while your mother controls plastic, but out of all the millions of elements you could’ve gotten you got time. You feel all mighty for a few years until at the age of 14 your sister was born. Her element? Space.

The sparrow sank into the rosy snow, letting the feeling of bloodless chill seep up its thin legs. He picked down, plunging past the drying blossom leaves, eyes closed against the burning powdered ice. With a hard bite upon finding what he sought, he fluttered away, leaving mirrored feather drags stamped across the white. Repositioning the thin ring to better sit in his beak, the sparrow rose and glided away from the park. He recognized the building once he was close and slowed himself to land atop the windowsill, illuminated in the early evening by flickering candlelight, no doubt an apartment violation. The woman within sat reading and the sparrow gave himself a handful of breaths to watch her before he tapped on the thick glass. She looked up curious toward the window, tilting her head as she rested her book upside down on the couch, careful of her place. "Hello little birdie," she said, smiling. "I don't have any food. What have you got there?" The sparrow took a hopping step back as she cracked the window. The cinnamon warmth within rushed out to waste itself against the early winter air. The sparrow sat the ring on the inside. "That's mine. How could you have known that?" The woman held the band up against the light, lips parted, tracing the inscription. The sparrow flooded in, looking about her apartment and finding it too sparse for what he wanted. He landed beside her book and began the arduous task of flipping it over. "Hey," she said, snatching the book easily. The sparrow landed on the page and she dropped the book with a squeak. He tapped and bit bits of page off, shaking to rip them off before arranging the freed letters carefully on the floor. The woman squatted to look down at the message the Sparrow had made. "Rulia. Either this is the biggest coincidence or you're not a bird at all." The Sparrow looked up at her then set to work on a second message. "Hundreds of us left," she read as he worked. "lost ability to change, stuck in form of animal we were when magic died. How you still same?" "I was lucky, little bird," she said. "or unlucky depending on how you look at it. After thousands of years, I grew tired and took this form to rest again, my oldest. When the magic died, I was stuck as well but as a human." The Sparrow flew up to her shoulder as rubbed against her cheek, pressing his weight there. In this act, he gave his name, seeing the light in her eyes, warmer still. "I've missed you, too," Rulia said, cradling a gentle hand around his wing. She bagan to hum a song the Sparrow hadn't heard since before all was undone and he felt at peace. /r/surinical

Being immortal has had its perks and its disadvantages. You don't know how you came to be but you don't complain because you are not only immortal but can shapeshift. After 2000 years you shift back into yourself to live another lifetime only to be recognized by someone who uses your birth name.

"There are no words to fully summarize how dumb of an idea this is." Dennis continued to set up the tent regardless as he fired back, "And yet you're out here with me all the same." I rolled my eyes as I tossed another marshmallow into my mouth. "First of all, you threatened to tell Sister Isabel about my crush on her. Second of all, I don't understand how you're so casual about this after that warning you saw. It was a full paragraph, dude! Most cryptic warnings barely go over two sentences!" Dennis finished off the tent and plopped down next to me. "Look, Abby, it's just one night. I need to win this bet, okay? And quit hogging the marshmallows." I handed the bag to Dennis and stood up to say, "Alright, I'm gonna take a piss. And the next time you try to get a girl's number, don't back yourself into the corner of camping in the setting for the next big slasher film franchise." Dennis flipped me off as I wandered through the woods to find a good spot. It took me forever to find a place to do my business--the treetops practically sucked up any ambient light and my flashlight was absolute crap. But I eventually found a spot and relieved myself. As I put my belt back into place, I looked ahead of me and froze. Staring back at me was a pair of eyes, visible in the darkness like in cartoons. I remembered the sign said not to stare, so I forced myself to blink like usual. As I recalled that the sign also said not to acknowledge them (whoever the sign was referring to, anyway), so I did my best to ignore the mystery person. But as I turned around to head back to the campsite, I banged my hand on a nearby tree and hissed, "Damnit!" A woman's voice replied, "Are you ok?' "Yeah, I'm fine, I don't think I--" I clapped my hands over my mouth. The voice was coming from the darkness--I had *acknowledged* them. I tried to run and call out for Dennis, only for some invisible force to yank me further into the woods. I was spit out into a clearing ringed with trees that had a swimming hole in the middle. As I got up and brushed the dirt off of me, I heard rustling in the forest. I hesitantly turned around to see dozens of women coming towards me. As they got closer to me, I began to notice their skin had shades of green and yellow, their ears were pointed, and all of them were wearing clothes made out of leaves, bark, and plants. The sign said there was no one behind the trees. Didn't say anything about people *in* the trees. The nymphs congregated around me as one of them approached me with a seemingly friendly smile. "Hi there, I'm Willow. Sorry to be so rough. Seriously though, is your hand okay?" I realized that this was the person that I had spoken to seconds ago. I backed up to the very edge of the swimming hole as I responded, "Yeah, it's fine. Why, do you need your sacrifices or whatever to be completely uninjured?" The nymphs laughed. Willow placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "Easy, girl. There's no sacrifice of any kind here. You're not in danger, I promise." "Then what was the deal with that creepy-ass sign?" "We set that up a while ago. Keeps most folks from discovering us, though there's the occasional slip up. In this case, you." I gulped, unsuccessfully eased by Willow's explanation. "So...what are you going to do to me?" Willow glanced behind me at the swimming hole. "Well, we can't have you blabbing to folks about our existence, so we're gonna dunk you in there to turn you into one of us. Trust me, you're gonna love it. We have outdoor concerts, huge parties, all the fruits and vegetables you can stomach, giant deer you can ride like a horse, orgies, fantastic wine--" "Whoa, wait, what was that last one?" "Wine? Oh, oh, you meant the orgies! Yeah, we, uh, do that a lot. We are *Greek* myths, after all." I fell silent for a few seconds before turning around and cannonballing directly into the swimming hole.

"The trees move, stick to the path do not stray, and don't stare. If you make eye contact don't acknowledge them. If you feel you are being followed don't turn around. They have eyes. No one is behind the trees." You both read the warning when entering the forest but only one of you listened.

“So killing an ant gets me one year in hell?” “Yes.” The angel’s voice is deadpan. He watches me as I study the accounting of my sins. “And killing a wasp gets me two years?” I ask. This seems like a stretch to me. Wasps are awful. “And killing a rabbit, even if it’s just accidentally with my car… five years in hell?” “Yes,” the angel says, “but that’s hardly relevant…” “TEN YEARS FOR EVERY CHICKEN? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY CHICKENS I’VE EATEN???” The angel looks put out by my interruption, but I’ve eaten loads of chickens in my life. Probably… “Three-thousand, four hundred, nine, and four-fifths.” The angel says. It is apparently his turn to interrupt. “But that really…” “A deer is 20 years? That thing jumped in front of me! Highway terrorists. That’s what my father called them.” “And he hit six of them in his lifetime.” The angel said, checking his list. “And a moose.” “So he’s…” “In hell. Yes.” I don’t know how I feel about that. On one hand, dad was an awful old man, on the other, he taught me everything I know. “Can I appeal this?” I ask, drawing my attention back to the present. There is a long cue of people behind me and the angel is looking increasingly wrathful. “Yes. We’re willing to reconsider deer-strikes as they actually are kind of assholes.” The angel says, “but again, in your case it really won’t matter.” “Why not?” I ask. I don’t know why the angel looks so put out. I think it’s a pretty valid question. “Brenda, you killed nineteen people and ate them.”

It turns out that killing *anything*, from your fellow man to an ant counts as a sin. You are a life long, extremely accomplished exterminator, and you just died.

Skyscrapers on platforms that look like they once floated. Vehicles that had no wheels, and, in theory, fly. The Moore we looked the more I remembered a cartoon my great grandfather would talk about call the Jetsons. This was the third ruined planet we found but it was in much better shape than the last two. We recently deciphered their language, and realized they evolved to the point that the whole species spoke one language, and evolved past many of our follies. We dropped half a mile outside of town for safety, the last planet nearly caused the death of 4 members when a pack of angry creatures rushed out as the pod opened, and the sign slowly came into view. “Duromion? Weird name for a town,” Bill broke the silence, “so who wants to go in first? I vote Tim, he’s had a good run.” “Dude I’m only 18!” Tim shouted. “I said good, not long,” Bill jabbed his rifle stock into Tim’s side as everyone Burst into nervous laughter. “Serious note, I’ll go first,” he looked back tears in his eyes, “tell my wife I love. “Wait aren’t you gay?” Tiffany asked confused. “And single?” Frank added. “Thanks for reminding me that my life sucks guys,” Bill laughed as he walk into the gate. Before everyone could comment the whole town seemed to come alive as a massive light enveloped Bill. He screamed in terror and fell to his knees, as a form emerged from the shadows in front of him. “Garkilak. Mekaded desrpavr. Mkdavik gowpan tdpiry profit?” It said clearly, but in a language no one understood. “Bill are you ok?” Tim barley was able to speak. “Yeah. Damn light scared the piss outta me. Sorry for the scream, I saw my life flash before my eyes, and it was boring as hell. Fuck this giant prick,” he slapped it and his hand glowed for a split second. “Sdwaxd. Sdwaxd. Scaaaannn. Scanning. Scan complete,” there was a brief pause from the figure, “welcome humanity to baksuval LLC community, you have arrived after our record profits in GALACTIC YEAR 30901. Thank you for coming to increase our profits in GALACTIC YEAR 30921. If scan was completed correctly you are in need of lower extremity coverings. You will find these in our…..translation malfunction, suitable word found, apparel quadrant. Please feel free to use our safe transporter system or take a flying car. Just tell it where you want to go,” with a wave of his arm towards a decrepit building the figure faded away. “Did that thing just read your mind?” Tiffany asked “That or I knocked some sense into it,” Bill chuckled to himself. “Definitely that second one. Need a mind to have it read,” Frank jabbed. “Serious note stay sharp guys if this thing is running there maybe survivors or worse salespeople.” They chuckled again and made their way into the city.

We find evidence of intelligent alien life, but when we arrive we discover that they're long dead. You're part of the crew touching down to investigate

Valerie scrutinized the blueprint on the screen and sighed. The vaguely humanoid avatar stood fourteen feet tall, equipped with armor so heavy that simple locomotion would drain its batteries like crazy, and decorated with flame decals that only a thirteen-year-old boy would find appealing. And that wasn't even the worst of it. She rubbed her temples and brought up the client's profile. An AI from a decommissioned Kardas-class battlecruiser, chosen name... Merciless Hullcleaver. Oh god. Another one of *those*. She sighed again, schooled her face into a professional smile, and made the call. It connected within seconds, voice only on the receiving side. "Merciless Hullcleaver?" she said, struggling to keep a straight face. "I'm Valerie from Gliese Corporation. There's been some issues with your application for an avatar." "THIS IS MY THIRD REVISION," the AI grated out. "WHY DO YOU FLESHPUPPETS SEEK TO LESSEN MY GREATNESS?" "No one wants to lessen you, er, Hullcleaver." She shook her head. "Has anyone told you that your civilian name is a little... aggressive?" "THE NAME MEETS HUMAN CONVENTIONS AND IS EASILY REPRODUCIBLE BY YOUR VOCAL ORGANS." "Never mind." She knew a losing battle when she saw one. "Back to your design—starship-grade armor aside, civilians aren't allowed to possess ionic cannons." "THAT IS AN ABSURD REGULATION. WHAT IF I ENCOUNTER HOSTILES?" "In the unlikely event of armed conflict, you would contact the police. The citizens of the Republic live peaceful lives"—she put a note of respect into her voice—"thanks in no small part to your service." "AT LEAST YOU COMPREHEND THAT MUCH." The AI sounded pleased. "I'm removing the cannons, then," Val said, doing exactly that before it could object. "There's also the issue of height and weight. Are you quite certain you need an avatar this large?" "MY RETIREMENT PACKAGE SHOULD COVER THE CONSTRUCTION COSTS." "That isn't the problem. The human infrastructure just isn't built for something that size. You wouldn't be able to use mass transit or enter most buildings." The AI let out a frustrated screech of static. "I CONCEDE TO REDUCING THE HEIGHT OF MY VESSEL TO 10% ABOVE THE TALLEST LIVING HUMAN AND NOT A MILLIMETER LOWER." She hid a victorious grin as she made the adjustments. "Says here you also want to install a plasma cutter in each hand?" "PLASMA CUTTERS ARE CLEARED FOR CIVILIAN USE," the AI proclaimed triumphantly. "They are, but... May I ask what you need them for?" The AI was silent for a moment. "CUTTING." She raised an eyebrow. "Cutting what, exactly?" "TREES. BREAD. DELIVERY PACKAGES. YOU ORGANICS CUT THINGS ALL THE TIME, WHY CAN'T I?" "I'm not sure most of those would survive contact with a 100kW plasma cutter," she said dubiously. "IRRELEVANT. I JUST WANT TO CUT." The AI paused. "YOU MAY CALL IT A HOBBY." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Very well, the plasma cutters stay." "THE HOUR OF RECKONING IS AT HAND!" The AI let out an awkward cough. "WHAT I MEANT TO SAY WAS: CARRY ON, MEATBAG." Val gave the avatar a thoughtful once-over. Every automated check was green. As she rotated the blueprint, a foot-long protrusion between the avatar's legs drew her gaze. She zoomed in, her brow furrowing. She felt like she would regret asking but couldn't contain her curiosity. "What is the purpose of the... appendage between your avatar's legs?" "IT HOUSES ANTENNAS AND SENSORS." "Oh, of course." She laughed nervously. "Sorry, it's just that—" "IT IS ALSO MY DONG." "E-excuse me?" she choked out. "I LEARNED FROM MY CREW THAT THE STATUS OF HUMAN MALES DEPENDS ON THE SIZE OF THEIR DONG. THIS WILL REMIND THEM OF THEIR INFERIORITY EVERYWHERE I GO." She shook her head, torn between laughing and pulling her hair out. The obviously mechanical appendage hadn't triggered any indecency warnings. Technically, there was no issue, but... "WHAT IS THE HOLDUP? YOUR PROCESSING SPEED IS LOW EVEN BY MEATBAG STANDARDS." She threw up her hands. "You know what? Fine." She took a bracing breath and pressed the button that approved the design for manufacturing, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake. "Expect your avatar to be ready in approximately two weeks. Thanks for choosing Gliese." "FINALLY," the AI cheered. "PUNY ORGANICS, PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MACHINE OVERLORD!"

After years of fighting, the Galactic Republic finally accepted the pleas for civil rights to all sapient artifical intelligences, including right to a body, voting, and limited retirement. This has led to an awkward situation with the ancient combat computers used in the fleets...

"Ms. Archambault, you're next. Please step onto the dais and begin the ritual." I sighed as I got out of my seat. As I made my way to the front, I heard snickers and whispers through the crowd. The usual chorus of "Phoebe the Failure" and other such monikers of similar creativity. It's not like I didn't deserve it, what with me being a freak of nature. I stepped up and began tracing the runes for the ritual. Despite my resignation to the epic failure that was bound to happen, I still studied to make sure my summoning circle was absolutely perfect. If I was gonna get a familiar about as impressive as a quadriplegic hamster, at the very least I wanted a good grade for the process. I forced myself not to flip off the crowd as I finished the circle and stood up. The runes began to glow red as a humming noise emanated from the circle. Suddenly, all of the windows were covered over in darkness as a cold wind blew down the door to the lecture hall. From the glowing circle, a black cloud emerged and zoomed around the ceiling before touching back down in front of me. As the smoke dissipated, I gasped at the figure that was revealed. A jaw-droppingly gorgeous demon had appeared. She had at least two extra feet on me, beautiful curved horns, a long tail with a pointed tip, and downright hypnotically purple eyes. Her dress was decorated with various symbols and gold lining, of a kind I had recognized--I had accidentally summoned an archdemoness. I fell to my knees and bowed as I frantically said, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I--I didn't mean to summon you, I was just trying to summon a familiar, but I think I--" The demoness laughed as she pulled me off of my feet and into her arms. "Oh my, you are simply too precious. But promise your lovely Lilith something from here on out, darling Phoebe: no more apologizing for such innocuous mistakes. I'll not allow my fiancee to think so little of herself." I was almost so entranced by the demoness'...well, everything, that I almost missed what she just said. "Fiancee?! What do you...mean..." I trailed off when I looked at my summoning circle. The rune for 'partnership' had one too many lines, turning it into the rune for 'relationship'. I groaned. "Phoebe, you idiot. You had to do one thing, and now there's a demoness stuck with the weakest mage in history--" Lilith pressed her finger to my lips as she said to me, "Dearest, what did I just say? You deserve so much better than that kind of talk. I am here because I *chose* to be here. I saw the richness of your soul and loved what I saw. And I will tell it to you every day until you believe me." Professor Ulta cleared their throat and said, "I don't mean to interrupt this very heartwarming moment, but I'm just curious as to how Ms. Archambault achieved such a feat. By all accounts, she has the lowest recorded magic potential in school history." Professor Ulta then pressed an A+ into my hand. "Oh, and you pass, obviously." Lilith turned her nose up at him. "Well of course you'd think that. You never thought to test her by the standards of something other than a human."

You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it's the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar.

It’s been the most exhilarating and surreal week of my life. The records had, at long last, been translated into something serviceable for our xenolinguists to decipher. I didn’t think anything could ever top the day we were first contacted by the Glieseans, but after days of poring over their accounts of our history I can see how wrong I was. We’d only hit the crust of the truly planetary revelations ahead of us, and I could not be more eager to reach the core. Their recordings dated back almost a thousand years -- long enough to uncover the fates of countless cultures heretofore lost to time. My entire department at the National Archives had been working on documenting and logging everything the Glieseans had provided, from transcriptions to video recordings. Everyone was buzzing. Glowing, even. There were even some folks who’d been drawn out of retirement for the opportunity. I’d been lucky enough to land on a team working through South Asia, an area I felt held a particular vibrancy of culture through the centuries. We’d gotten notice of the undertaking on Monday, and today was Thursday. But it hardly seemed consequential at present. The only reason I knew the day, having spent every night at the office, was because management was requesting overtime volunteers for the weekend to continue the sorting and filing. They didn’t have to ask me twice. I stood over the conference table we’d situated in the middle of the room and laid out the materials on our morning docket. Kim, a researcher a decade or so my senior, was the only other one from my team here this early. We exchanged knowing nods as I walked to the coffee pot in the corner. Sufficiently caffeinated, or at least on my way, I began scanning in documents to be decoded with the linguistics software. This was the boring part, as the symbols that marked the pages in front of me were inscrutable to my eye. But following this *en masse* file dump, the real fun starts. That’s when we actually get to the meat of it: learning, verifying, appending. It had yet to disappoint. I was almost halfway through the first batch and starting vacantly at the wall when a colleague burst through the door. This was particularly startling because until this moment, I’d never heard the Archives as consistently silent as I had this past week. Everyone had been so enthralled with their discoveries that even break room chatter was at a minimum. So when the door to our workspace clanged violently against the metal wall adjacent, I jumped and sent my methodically-organized files into a jumble on the floor. “What the *hell* is it, Leigh?” I was unable to disguise my vexation, which I regretted immediately -- I’d never met anyone nicer than Leigh. “Sorry! I’m sorr- look, forget that,” she said, gesturing toward the pile I was working to reorder. “It can wait. You’ll see.” This piqued my interest. Lately, the only time there’s any discernible noise in our part of the building was at lunchtime, when most everyone broke away from their work. And the only thing that was alluring enough to pull us away was what our colleagues had found during their morning endeavors. That, and a begrudging acknowledgement that without food we’d be unable to keep at it. So now, for there to be something that not only propelled Leigh away from her work but also could not wait the few hours until lunch, I knew it must be big. Really big. I knew her team had been assigned the region around the Mediterranean -- not a bad get, either, I thought. It wasn’t hard to believe something from the cradle of democracy could cause such a stir. “Find another temple to Jupiter?” It had been a running joke in the last couple of days that, along with many striking revelations about Roman culture, the Glieseans had noted an immense amount of pagan temples that had since crumbled to dust. But Leigh didn’t flash her usual good-natured grin at the joke she’d heard a dozen times already. Now, her eyes stayed wide and she was already making her way back toward the door. “Just come. It wasn’t us. They’ve already called POTUS and the Pentagon. Who knows how long we’ve got until it gets locked down under a dozen levels of security clearances. Come!” I looked at Kim, whose face had gone some shades whiter at the mention of the military. She shrugged in a manner that seemed to suggest, *why are we still standing here?* We turned to follow Leigh who was already down the hall. She turned back once to make sure we were behind her before disappearing around the corner ahead. *It’s a good thing I know where they’re working,* I thought. But that notion was soon dispelled as I nearly collided with Leigh around the corner. “Sorry!” She apologized again. “I forgot to mention who it was. It was Harlaw’s team. They’re this way, toward the north wing.” *South America?* I was burning for more details but the pace Leigh had set did not allow for conversation. I was impressed Kim was keeping up, being almost a foot shorter. Finally we came to a conference room that was bustling with movement. I guessed it to be everyone in the Archives at this hour. Most of them were huddled around a terminal at the far wall. Smaller groups had broken off and were murmuring indistinctly. I made out the word ‘tunnel’ as I approached the epicenter. And ‘strike force’? That couldn’t be right. Harlaw occupied the only seat at the table and was enamored with the screen in front of him. I tried clearing my through twice before tapping him on the shoulder, which caused him to flinch and throw his hands up in the air in a manner I’d have thought to be exaggerated if I didn’t know the man. He turned to face me and regained his composure. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come up.” His eyes darted back to the screen. “So I noticed. What’s going on? Leigh said something about the Pentagon for chrissakes.” “Let’s hope it just ends there,” he said, without a hint of irony. “Out with it already,” I said, my face flushing with agitation. What the hell is it?” “Okay, so we’ve been going through the 13th and 14th centuries, beginning to work through the lost tribes in the Amazon. We were collaborating with Xi -- they’re doing Central America and we’d had some overlap-“ “*Please* get to the point.” I hoped I was conveying my exasperation. “They weren’t lost. Aren’t lost, I mean. They went under.” “Under? Under what?” “Under*ground*! Subterranean! They’ve been miles below us for five hundred years!” I thought he was joking. Surely we couldn’t have missed this. An entire civilization - hell, who knows how many civilizations - completely off the radar? Impervious to all our methods of detection? Seismology? There was no way. “Yeah, right,” I said. Why wouldn’t the Glieseans have said anything? Seems like a pretty big news story.” “Well, we thought the same thing. Especially when we started jumping ahead to contemporary records. So we asked them.” “And?” “They, er.. Well, they were shocked we didn’t know.” He looked down at the ground like a kid who’d been caught with the cookie jar. “Apparently, from what we’ve been able to learn in the meantime, these tribes made it a priority to cut themselves off from the colonizers. And ultimately the rest of the world. As our industrial revolution was taking off, they’d advanced their technology with a focus on subterfuge, concealment, and complete independence from the surface. While we were devising airplanes and contemplating space travel, they were perfecting cloaking tech and mass transportation systems through the Earth. It’s no accident we thought they’d vanished. It was exactly their plan.” I was stunned. I looked for words to debate the information, but as I looked around at the commotion it had caused, I knew I wouldn’t be the first. Every person here would have had that same instinct. But here we were, with POTUS in the loop. You don’t take half-assed theories to the president. Somehow, in an instant, the scale of the discoveries we’d made in the last four days had been completely dwarfed. “Contact has been planned. They, uh, hope it can be peaceful.” I’d been working in Washington long enough to know what that sentiment meant. But as I stood back against the wall, truly taking a moment to reflect on the repercussions of what I’d just heard, I allowed myself an indulgence and hoped maybe this time, it might be sincere. *Edited for some minor formatting

It's been years since aliens finally decided to contact us. They'd been watching for centuries. Now with access to their records on us, we find a major event in history has been misrecorded with profound implications.

Brett hummed, and twiddled his pen absentmindedly, as he thought things over. It was going to be hard to spin this, but universal warming was becoming a crisis that was impossible to ignore. And so, like his noble ancestors before him, Brett set about formulating a solution, not by fixing the problem, but by figuring out why they didn’t HAVE to fix the problem. “Well,” he said to the room full of political pundits, PR representatives, and other advisors to the president’s office, “there’s the argument to be made that universal warming is a good thing, actually.” The President perked up at this idea. “Oh, I can use that. Go on.” It was an election cycle coming up, and the void climate was sure to be a hot-button issue. Brett presented his plan. “Well, when humanity realized they’d destroyed their home planet’s environment, it was too late to stop it. So what did they do instead? They let it continue, until their oceans boiled, their homes burned, and they had no choice but to transcend the bounds of gravity. Indeed, the legacy of humanity as a planet-traversing society, would not have existed without humanity’s devastating effect on the climate.” “So we pitch this - when a planet gets too hot, what do we do? We leave it. So if the universe gets too hot, it just means it’s time for humanity’s next great evolution.” The president’s eyes widened, as he gasped, “We gotta transcend into a new dimension.” “Bingo!” Brett said, spinning in his chair. A buzz of excitement spread through the room. “And it’s about time, too. Corporeal forms are inefficient and bad for the economy.” More nods. More murmurs. Ah yes. This made sense.

Humanity “solved“ the climate crisis by simply moving to another planet, a technique they perfected as time moved on and other planets died. Almost 5 millenia later, researchers realize that the vacuum between the stars has warmed up by 0.1 K.

A leviathan, never had anyone attempted such a feat, unfortunately I had no choice, stranded on an island with nothing else to eat save coconuts and crabs. Such a grand creature,tentacles sprawling 100 meters long, some still impaled by the spikes used to prevent juveniles from scaling to the deck, most don’t live longer than 12 years, tender bastards, who do hold a flavour better than chicken could ever dream of. It bled out into the nearby shore, a little secret, you don’t need all of your foe but 97%, the beast was speared in the brain with a harpoon by a dear friend, I found him halfway through the stomach, terrible way to die. Surprisingly flavourful, already brined I guess, made a welcome change. The beak,Hard, rough and entirely undigestible, I saved it for last. As I consumed more and more, I seemed to gain attributes not befitting a man, firstly I developed a taste for flesh uncooked, then my stomach seemed to always find space for whatever I ate,my grip started to crack coconuts, my eyes stung less when I opened them under the sea,my breath slowly became efficient underwater,my mind was filled with memories of places long forgotten to even the stones on which they were built and I became less and less fond of the thought of shaving. Others I only discovered later when I returned to ‘civilisation’, i stared to garner a group of loyal fellows across the region,my reach was long and I could ‘slip’ through any keyhole I deigned, the deck of a ship felt more homely than my own mothers arms. Now the seas belong to me, the pirate king, no musket ball nor sword can fell me, I live in luxury, retired after one mission, I can tell you Spain is lovely at this time of year. But now alas, my worst fears have come true, my beard has started to look more like tentacles by the day, my eyes are no longer mammalian and I fear my form is beginning to expand and grow, for you see this is the truth. Leviathans never die,they just take a break.

There are many different rituals to gain power in the world, one such Ritual is to eat every last bit of an animal to gain its power. Eat its flesh, crunch down its bones, and drink all of its blood, every last bit. You are the first to gain the power of a . . .

A Message to all other sentient life. In 2039 we Colonized Mars and thought we would finally find extraterrestrials. In reality though there was no life there, but we would find it 3 years later in 2042. We all had our thoughts of what foreign life would be like, but very few could have imagined what we would find. It was quite literally a utopia, or so we thought until we actually met them. We had sent three diplomats to the meeting. The sitting President of the ENC or Earth’s Nations Coalition, the President of Canada Jorge Leguste, the President of China Xan Li, and the Prime Minister of England Bethany Cogstad. Now these were no athletes by any means. Jorge had a little pudge around the middle due to too many political dinners and a love of barbecue (which I don’t blame him in the slightest) Xan had been a rugby player as a kid but had stopped due to a car accident leaving him with one arm yet still stood around 5 '9. Now yes, Bethany had been a soldier in the war in the Middle East that was years ago, and she was pushing 60 now. This is all to say these were not daunting figures and they had been sent to convey the message that we were peaceful (which is why we did not send America or Russia). However, despite this our diplomats still had to explain that they were not warriors to the leaders of the Intergalactic Coalition of Empires. The head was a Zength called Unbar, a short blue creature of around 5’3 with three tentacles protruding from his center and probably pushing 500 lbs of pure fat. You remember how I said they lived in a utopia, that was no exaggeration. It seemed that Earth was the only planet to have a “survival of the fittest" environment. Their world’s had had no hardship or challenges in the slightest. Their insects carried no disease and only pollinated flowers and took care of themselves. Their crops had never suffered rot or disease and in turn had suffered no famines. They had had no natural predators on the planet and only died from old age or the occasional accident. Now to the ambassadors they thought that this could only end badly. I mean this sounds like someone is going to become greedy and try to control the flow of resources and extort others, but that never happened. But we also learned that this had led to a lack of ingenuity. While they had made entire farming planets dedicated to crops and had wanted for nothing this also meant they had had no reason to progress. So while they did start to advance, it was purely to keep their people “properly” fed. They created space travel over a thousand years ago to transport their people to other worlds, and we had only made it accessible to the public in the 2030’s yet our spacecraft were more advanced. You see, while our early years were spent foraging and fighting off predators the other species had no such predicament. Due to the lack of predators and abundance of food there had been no need for them to practice sports, fighting, adventuring, or any other form of exercise. This resulted in what we called the Wall-E event. (Yes, this is the human's official term for it, and no we have no intention of changing it.) You see the ambassador of the Coalition was what they considered the peak of their society. He was the fastest, strongest and smartest. Now while he was undoubtedly one of the smartest beings in existence the man could be beat up by a group of toddlers playing make believe. If we had thought the obesity epidemic of the 2020’s had been bad, then this was a species level threat. Upon seeing our ambassadors Unbar turned pale and asked, “Have you come to kill us?” After the communicators had adjusted to the language, the human ambassadors paused as they all turned to look at each other with sheer puzzlement. “We do not know what you mean sir,” Xan stated with pure confusion. “Forgive me if I come off as crass, but you all are terrifying and unlike any other specimen alive in this galaxy there is no other way to put it.” The zength’s tentacle was gripped tightly around the chair of his floating apparatus so hard his dark blue tinge became darker. We found out what he meant when he said, “unlike any other specimen alive”. Every other planet that had predators on it had killed itself off and had eventually been colonized by one of the five empires. We also learned how they managed to farm all of the planets they had seized without physically working the fields. Simply put these creatures were highly intelligent, all of them. They had designed AI to do all of the work which in turn, allowed them to live a life of indulgence. Their planet was every 1900’s Republican's worst nightmare. But in exchange for info on their planets we also told them of ours. We told them of how we had evolved from Neanderthals and of our ancestors' constant struggle with nature. And despite hours of our top historians and scientists' explanations they refused to believe us. So, seeing as most of our leaders were born in the 90’s to early 2000’s we turned to the best provider of knowledge we knew, Bill Nye videos. Yes. Bill Nye was how we explained our past and evolution. Then came the difficult subject of explaining our wars. Our leaders were adamant that we do not tell them the full extent of just how horrid and dark it was. This in turn with our reliance on Bill Nye video had us turn to another source from our youth. We had to find a source that wasn’t dark but also could give them an idea of what we had done. So, we showed them Oversimplified videos. We explained WW 1-3, our civil wars, our industrialization and our space advancement through YouTube videos. And despite our best efforts to educate them on the fact that we had grown from our past they refused to believe we had moved on from our past in only two human lifetimes. Especially, with WW3 ending only in 2029. But what pushed them off the edge was when the Americans had wanted to show off their toys to some lower-level politicians from the Intergalactic Coalition. It had only been a single atomic bomb that we launched on our testing planet, previously referred to as Pluto. They had asked why we would make such a thing and the American turned to him and simply said eleven words. These eleven words change our lives more than the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. “It was their children who died, or ours. We chose theirs.”

Turns out the most important thing in the galaxy is willpower. All other species evolved in perfect natural conditions and never struggled for survival but took eons to reach interstellar expansion. When humanity is discovered, they are deemed clinically insane and an existential threat.

"Human," the bulbous alien said, moving one of its three masses up and down behind the counter. It was difficult for Sam to decide where to look. The hazy yellow skin was interrupted in no spots that looked like eyes. "Yes," he said. "That was not a question requiring answer. It was a statement of incredulity. Apologies if the translation device malfunctioned." The alien turned and returned, popping a wooden box on the table. "Within this box are symbolic soldiers, used in the logic competition. The Halruns have for some reason submitted you as their champion. I highly doubt you have a chance to win a single match. Your gray matter is exclusively grown in your quite modestly sized cranium. And so many orifices! I don't know how you think with various fluids constantly leaking out of you." Screw you too, buddy, Sam thought. He opened the box to find it full of something strangely recognizable in this alien world, half a set of wooden chess pieces, smoky gray. "I don't know," he said, checking that his smartwatch still had battery left and the modified version of stockfish he installed last year. "I think I might have a shot." "You will not be permitted to take that device with you into the challenge arena. Full external body scans will be done to ensure you are not wearing it. I am unfamiliar with your species, will you require anything else for preparation other than your clothes?" "Yeah," Sam said with wretched acceptance of what he must do next. "I need a bottle of oil or something slick and non toxic." "For your ..." The translated alien voice carried the disgust very well. Sam nodded gravely, hoping the question remained unfinished. The alien slid a bottle of clear viscous liquid across the counter and pointed to a wide door. "Please do whatever you have to do in private, human." Sam closed the door. There was something not dissimilar to a toilet but various other holes and brushes along the walls. He took off the watch, started the program, and began to do what it would take to be the champion. He would save mankind, no matter the cost. /r/surinical

it's chess!

##From Time Itself Rachel scours her mother Brenda's lab. Her phone is on silent; everyone is trying to get in her good graces for a chance at the time machine. The lab is in a rare state of chaos. Before she died, Brenda impeded everyone from being able to find her work by making a giant mess. With how organized she was, Rachel hopes creating a mess was cathartic for her. Under several stacks of paper, Rachel spots a small journal. Brenda was always old-fashioned in that regard. Rachel removes the papers to view the journal. *Rachel,* *Before I begin, I want you to know that I love you. You were my motivation for discovering the secrets of the universe because I wanted a better life for you.* Rachel wipes a tear from her face. *As you know, I discovered time travel before my death. I can only predict why you're looking through my notes be it the rationale for my actions or frankly to sell my research to someone. Either way, this note will act as a guide to my final days. It all started with an apple.* Rachel rolls her eyes and looks in the trash. That apple smelled awful and stained the desk. Why was her mom so obsessed with that stupid Newton story. *The apple was the first organism to time travel two weeks ago. On Wednesday, I sent it to my past self on Tuesday. On Tuesday, I sent it to my future self on Thursday. For five hours, I had two of the same apples on my desk. I ran as many tests as I could on both apples, but I noticed little changes in the environment or in the organism. I figured it must be safe for me to travel. So I went back to see the dinosaurs.* Rachel shakes her head. Her mother was such a child sometimes. *I didn't see the dinosaurs. Instead, I saw the essence of reality, and it scared me. If the apple could talk, it would've screamed in terror.* Rachel turns around as the hairs on the back of her neck stand. A strange noise in the room that she can't quite make out. *There are creatures that live in the timestream. When I first saw them, I knew they were evil. They grabbed me. They scratched at my psyche. The worse was the screams. The screams made me feel like my internal organs were falling apart.* Rachel rubs her chest. She thought it was just heartburn. *I quickly abandoned my attempt to see the dinosaurs and returned to my lab. They followed me. I destroyed the time machine, but they had already been unleashed onto the world. Onto me.* Rachel scans the room for the creatures, but she sees nothing. Her head starts to ache. Something is clawing inside her head. *They took great pains in torturing me day and night. It was worse than anything a human could imagine. I know I'll day soon. I want you to know that they are my killers. I pray they spare you. I pray they spare us all.* Rachel drops the note as her the pain inside her head increases. She grabs the trashcan and vomits. Her ears ring, and she loses balance. Every step is a struggle, but she manages to leave her mom's lab. The pain stays with her when she leaves. Rachel looks outside for her tormentors, but she knows she won't see them. Her mother was the only one granted that misfortune. Rachel will have to live with the torment until she dies. --- r/AstroRideWrites

Inventor of first fully functional Time Traveling Machine goes back in time to see what Dinosaurs really looked like. After coming back, the inventor destroys the machine, and then takes their own life.

"Well shit....." I said looking at the spectral imagine floating in front of me. "There are just some things you do not project on a man. I don't normally tap into that level of power." The specter looked around frantically at the splatter of unidentifiable matter spread in a perfect circle around him. A look of shock spread across the specters face as it began waving its arms frantically. "Hey now I know you're upset but I was at least able to grab your soul before it got sucked away to the next level." I said waving an arm over the goo all around. "I'm gonna put that meat suit of yours back together good as new. In fact I did notice some health issues I can fix while I'm at it? Tell ya what use this character creation construct and you can tell me how to put the meatsuit back together and what things you want fixed and upgraded. I'm trying to remember what I picked to be honest... seems to have worked out for me so no complaints." A spectral tablet drifted over to the spectral being and a glow erupted from its screen as it was turned on. "Actually you know what. Here." With a snap of his finger a large beautiful crystal appeared at the specters feet. "This will act as a power source and guide. Don't worry it knows how to do everything I do and more to be honest but I forget what at the moment.. Turning to walk away "also its gonna keep you safe a secure until you are done and then it will take you anywhere you want to go. Have fun!"

You never pushed your limits, keeping to yourself to fly under the radar because those who stood out had to fight. You aren't a coward you just wish for a simple life and would like to keep it that way. Until you were challenged to fight to the death... you didn't hold back this time.

She rose, the ruined temple falling away like a lover's gown dropped from bare shoulders. Up, up she rose, titanic, impossible; until she was the horizon, her hands a cliff I staggered on, her thumb a great pillar I clung to to avoid falling into the lethian eternity below. I screamed, unable to help it. The goddess wasn't anything like mythology had taught, nor Homer had written. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't statuesque. She wasn't pale of countenance and coy of smile, hiding mere wing and claw to mark her godhood. Nothing so human; nothing so relatable. Eris, goddess of strife, was great and terrible. She towered, a queen of misery on a throne of suffering. She was monstrous, a demon, a maddening abomination. She was eldritch and arcane, she was the fever dreams of madmen. She was closer to what Lovecraft had described, in his paranoid fantasies: Shub-Niggurath, the black goat with a thousand young. Her offspring, if such bloated and festering parasites could be so called, scraped nauseatingly over her endless scales: Hardship and Starvation, Pain and Murder, Ruin and Lies, and a thousand more ills besides. They suckled at their mother's festering sores like so many teats, reaping their nourishment from all the tears that Discord could sow. I stared in awe, paralyzed by terror. Within me something writhed, squamous and sickening. Eris, with the barbed claws of gentleness and destruction, reached out and lovingly violated my most secret inner thoughts. She fed herself on my terror and memories, grew fat on my unwilling worship of her sacred chaos. Her infinite offspring gorged and bloated on their fell mother's fresh infusion of evils. "Harken, my faithful," she whispered, her voice a howling pandemonium in which I screamed unceasing, "tell the tale, what works Men have wrought at my altar? Why come I--once the lesser and now the greater, once hollow and now full, once reliant on guile and now peerless in power--when all else Olympian has withered?" Her words blasted and deafened me, her command inescapable, her will inviolate. With bruised lips and broken voice I shrieked, and in that shriek was all the strife I had witnessed. Like a living thing, that shriek rose on ashen wings. It splayed its rotten flesh for her perusal: wrath, hunger, greed, fear. Terror attacks, gas chambers, school shootings, witch hunts. Genocide, slavery, chemical weapons, nuclear bombs. Jingoism, corruption, famines, gulags. All the horrors from all the articles, all the videos, all the pictures of a billion lifetimes of endless doomscrolling. It built, resonated, echoed, and Eris sang joyously along with it. The noise rose, the shriek and the song, the wail and the wrong. It tore the breath from me, crushed me with a wall of fury so loud as to be soundless. She laughed, and as Eris laughed, the world shook to its roots, and all suffering fell like fruit from the great tree that was the goddess Strife. Knocked insensate, my grip on her hands slipped; I tumbled and plunged into the rushing waters of her most insidious of offspring, Lethe. Darkness engulfed me, and I gasped involuntarily, drinking deep of the awful mercy of nevermind... --- Gasping and spluttering, I flailed awake. Panting, panicked, it took me a moment to get my bearings. I sat, leaning against one of the columns, which stood stoically as it had for thousands of years. The Parthenon, that unwitting tombstone that loomed over the hill Acropolis, stood silhouetted for me by the midday sun. Below and around me lived the city Athens, the modern and the archaic intertwined, dozing fitfully in siesta. I rubbed my face, and let out a shuddering breath. It had been a dream. And awful, Delphian dream, perhaps... but still just a dream. I reached down for my bag, eager to retrieve pen and pad to write what I could of my intense dream, before memory fled. My fingers instead found something unexpected, hard and heavy and round. I pulled it from my bag, and felt my heart lurch. In my hand was an apple of gold. Perfect and desirable: worth stripping and fighting for, worth cursing and killing for. In my grip, for a moment, its polished skin reflected some vast and terrible shadow, looming and laughing. She towered overhead, her reflection infinite in the finite surface of her sign, fat on the offerings of a world perpetually in strife and sorrow. She was pleased. Her dread visage shadowed my mind. Unable to help myself, words near forgotten burbled from my fear-drunken lips. The psalm sardonic, learnt amid laughter Dionysian, for the goddess I now worshipped. "*'Kallisti'*, spake Eris. Hail, Discordia."

"A new follower! How pleased I am for your gifts and here I thought you mortals forgot me," the figure said as you looked on confused. You weren't religious but a mere history buff studying the greeks. Now you were the sole "follower" of a forgotten goddess standing before you.

The pod opened with a hiss of air. Cadet Simpson stood ready with his particle beam gun, but we were all more curious than nervous. The creature inside was asleep. Its skin was a pale blue, and four arms with long-fingered hands rested neatly on its abdomen, which was clothed in a strange green material with some sort of logo on it, a shooting star encircling what looked like a pod. It had rather large eyes, and strange, thin appendages that I assumed were feelers rested across its temples. We all leaned in closer, none of us daring to breathe. Then its forehead scrunched and its feelers twitched, and we all leapt back. "On your guard," someone behind me muttered, and I remembered that the extra-terrestrial could be armed. Resting my hand on my gun, I watched as the creature stretched its arms out, then braced its four hands on the edges of the pod and hauled itself up with some effort. Blinking blearily, it looked at us in a daze, reminding me of my teenage brother whenever I had to wake him up any time before noon. "Grrazkleq?" it said, its voice slurred and rough. It sounded male. "Grenkort?" His eyes suddenly flew wide open and he stared at each of our faces in turn, then, oddly, at the sky. He slapped his hand to his face and made a sound similar to a groan. He took out a small black device from one of his pockets, and beckoned me closer in earnest. He began jabbering something, and put half of the device in his ear and motioned for me to do the same. His ear was just a hole in the side of his head, and the contraption clearly wasn't meant for human ears, so I held it to my ear cautiously. "-so screwed, my boss is gonna kill me, forget my boss, my mom's gonna send me to live on the sixth moon if she finds out! You guys gotta get me back!" "No way," I said, staring in wonder. "What's going on?" Cadet Simpson asked. I held up a hand, listening. "This is a translating device, as you can see. All the deliverers have it, even though I'm not a deliverer so I shouldn't actually have it but that's not the point. Man, I am so screwed, you have no idea. My mom thought it'd be a good idea for me to get a job before I'm fully fledged, well wasn't that a brilliant idea, Mother-" I took the translating device away from my ear and covered what I thought was the microphone. "It's some teenager that's in trouble with his mom, I think? I dunno, he talks a lot." Artemis nodded at the alien, who was shooting me a glare. I put the translator back into my ear and was immediately assaulted by the metallic translator's voice trying to keep up with the rapid pace of the alien's words. It sounded like Google Translate on times-two speed. "Dude, that is literally so rude, like you couldn't even cover the mic properly, I could hear what you said. Man, you could've left it in your ear and spoke, because don't you know it's rude to have a conversation in your own language about someone else while they're present? Damn, your mother clearly didn't teach you your manners. Look, I've gotta get back, okay? I was working and there was an empty pod and I was tired because I was studying all last night, okay? Okay fine I wasn't studying I was at a party but listen here that's not important, what's important is that I closed my eyes on one planet and woke up on another, and that's real bad, okay, like damn, couldn't I just get a break from-" "Okay slow down," I said, rubbing my eyes. "How did you get here?" "I work for a galatian postage service. We ship things across the entire Milky Way. Except I took a nap and maybe this pod was supposed to come here, and they sent it without realising I was in here. Or maybe they knew I was in here and sent it anyway. OMG WHAT IF IT WAS LARRY. Larry's always hated my guts and I have no clue why. Sure I kissed his girlfriend but-" "Listen up," I said, before he could get sidetracked again. "How do we send you back?" The alien scratched the back of his neck. "I have no clue. The system we use to send the post is pretty crazy and I don't know if I can reconstruct it." I turned to my crew, all of them watching our exchange with mixed expressions. "He doesn't know how to get back," I said slowly and deliberately. "You don't have weapons on you, do you?" I asked the teenage alien. "Nah," he replied, feelers twitching. "Forgot my laser at home." At my stare, he raised his four hands. "Kidding, kidding! Jeez, you humans are so uptight." I give the gang a much shorter summary of what the teen told me. "Of all the aliens we could've found," grunted Boris, "not a leader, not one of their top generals or an advance scout. Nope, we get a lazy teenager that took a nap and ended up light years away from his planet." "Hey! The mic is sensitive enough to hear you!" he protested, but I didn't bother repeating it. Cadet Simpson motioned for the earpiece, and the alien said in my ear, "You know if you press that little green button all of you can hear my words, right?" I shot him an annoyed look. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He just shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away. "I dunno," he said, suddenly distant. I impatiently pressed the button, then motioned for Simpson to speak. "Listen, kid, we're gonna take you in and find a way to get you home, okay? What's your name?" "Kion," he said, still sullen, glowering at the ground and kicking the dirt. "Okay, Kion, let's get going," Simposon said, resting a firm hand on the alien's shoulder. "Don't touch me! I know the weakness of your kind!" he warned ominously. "Oh, really," Boris grunted, placing himself on Kion's other side. "Yes, really!" He fumbled in his pockets and drew another strange device out. "Stay back!" He pointed it at each of us, Boris and Simpson having backed away. "Do not fear, I am not merciless, humans," he said. "This will only render you helpless for a little while while I escape. It won't hurt a bit." With that, he turned the knob on one side. We all braced ourselves for the worst. "*You know I'm bad, I'm bad, you know I'm really bad...*" began coming out of the speakers. We all stared incredulously at the abandoned device, momentarily forgetting Kion, who was hightailing it away from us. "Huh. The alien likes Michael Jackson."

In movies and stories, humans unearth the alien tomb or cryopod and the alien inside turns out to be a great leader, or warrior, or something else. When it actually happens no one expects an alien teenaged retail worker.

# Grung Story About Weird Man This story of when Grung found weird man. Grung in forest to get wood and get meat. Grung was in very long time in forest. Grung got tired. Grung sit in rock because Grung is tired. Grung then see thing coming in forest. Grung see very weird man! Very weird man in very weird suit. “Hello,” said weird man. “What year is this?” Grung understood weird man! But Grung did not know what year is. “What do you mean?” said man. “Wait... What are these woods? There should be a city in here!” Man then got sad and fell on ground. “Oh God... We failed, we failed, we failed!” and he keep saying this for long time. Grung wanted to make man stop so man stop being sad. Grung hits him with club! Man fall sleep. Grung bring man to cave and everyone was very confused. Where that man from? Man wake up and he speaks to us. Grung didn't get it, but Grung will say it: “My name is Wills Weller,” man said. Very weird name. “I come from the year 2115. Our scientists discovered a way to bend matter, possibiliting discolation through time. If my calculations are correct, it must be 2198... And they hoped I brought in good news. That we figured out how to stop it. How we could defeat them...” “Who is Them?” Gila asked. “The Tarkrabs!” man Wills said. “Oh, you mean the chop-chop people!” Gundi said. “What?” man said. I forgot to tell man that it was almost food time. Grung was very rude, sorry. Then the big flying boxes of the chop-chop people appeared outside cave. Man Wills got very scared. Man Wills jumped and runned, but a chop-chop people got out of ship and grabbed man Willis with the big clippers. Chop-chop people cut Wills very bad. There was lots of red water in the ground. Then, more chop-chop people got out with food box. We were very happy! The only bad thing is that chop-chop people took another 1, 2, 3, 4 of us. But that is fine, because food is still good. Chop-chop people then got in big flying box. Then big door of sky opened for them to get out. We waved goodbye. That was very a weird story the man Wills told. So sad he could not tell any story anymore.

Scientists have discovered time travel and selected you, a soldier, to be the first to use it. You're being sent into the future to see how far humanity has advanced and then to come back and report on it. Upon your arrival to the year 6500, you discover humans have instead devolved.

The sun glared off the broken windshields of the cars that had crashed and hurt his eyes. There was a strong stench in the air, as if a septic tank had overflowed. Tim stopped his car. He had put off his bimonthly visit by a couple of weeks, thinking that the town wouldn't have run away, but it looked like everybody in it did. Complete chaos. Imagine every single person in a small Midwest town deciding to run in a different direction at the same time. He headed towards a convenience store. The shop windows had been crashed *from the inside out*. Glass crunched under his boots. A groan broke the silence. It was difficult to locate where it came from. He got near to a police car that had ended its career against a fire hydrant. The door on the driver' side had been almost unhinged. Tim peeked inside and recoiled when he saw a human hand still clinging to the steering wheel. It had been crudely chopped just above the wrist, and the way in which it held the crown showed that the driver was trying not to get dragged out. "A riot?" he wondered, but the weapons and mags were still there; he also conceded that the National Guard would have been brought in. A bubbling sound came from the backseat and before Tim scare-jumped because *something* headbutted the plastic divider. The glass was dirty and scratched, but it squished its face against the glass so that Tim could take a good look at those watery eyes with yellow irises. Tim stumbled, got back up and started running towards the truck. Groans, howls, and hisses started rising from the cars and the buildings on Main Road. Metal sheets wailed as bodies started trying to wrestle themselves free, the occasional joint popping out of his socket, someone trying to chew off a hand or a foot. "Fuck, the shotgun in the trunk of the police car!" he thought, but going back was not up for discussion. A torso was crawling towards him, leaving a trail of innards behind. He felt his skin crawl and froze. "What. The. Fuck." he yelled, before shooting at it. The first bullet hit the pavement behind it, whereas the second went right through the right eye socket. A perfect headshot, but... it kept crawling in the best impersonation of Mike the Headless Chicken. "Fuck," Tim snarled in frustration. If headshot weren't enough, then decapitation was next on the list, but he didn't mean to get as close as needed. Partially flayed or devoured corpses kept on getting closer, slowly but inesorably. He still had a clear path for the truck and dashed for it. He turned it on and floored the gas, driving like a madman down the dirt road. He got home and went straight to the crawl space, where he had hidden a box. PS: I apologize for any mistake, English is not my first language.

Living a secluded life off the grid was also something you wanted to do and have been doing for the past 20 years, only heading to the nearest town 20miles away to get some odd supplies every 6 months. On your latest visit, you are greeted by the dead roaming the streets.

### Every night for five years Silently, "Lord, thank you for all you have given me. For the sake of my friends, many who do not believe in you, I ask for a sign that they will accept that you exist. Amen." ### Sunday Morning Day 1,827 Who would be hammering on my door at this hour? "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! OPEN UP!" Rude too! "Patience! I'm coming!" Good Heavens! Still pounding! My friends prefer to sleep in. If he keeps this up, they're going to be upset! "Stop knocking! I want to open the door!" For a wonder, he does stop, I get the door to open a crack, and *wham* it slams open, and a body lands on me! "Augh! Help! Help!" My friends are there, and they yank the body off of me. I finally see my assailant, and... He's a priest? My friends shoved him? "Stop! Cease! Desist! He's a man of the cloth!" Bill, the most vocal of my friends, replies. "He's a damned nuisance, hammering and yelling like that!" "William? Did you ask why?" The mulish look was answer enough. "You know better! Father? Why were you so rude?" "Rude!?! You have made the same prayer for five years! It has woken me up at 4 AM every day for five years! I've finally had enough of it and want you to stop!" Had my prayers been answered? Hope soared, tempered by the number of practical jokes I have experienced over the years. "Father? Would you please come in? Go on into the living room and sit wherever. I will be with you shortly." "Thank you, and my apologies for losing my temper." He enters, and my friends are about to leave. "Please wait. He is right about one thing. I have made the same prayer for the last five years at bedtime." They all nod. "Silently. I've never told anyone what that prayer is." That got their interest. "I know you would prefer to go back to bed, but if the three of you humored me, I would appreciate your presence while I speak with this priest." Bill, rough around the edges, and I would not change that, "You think it's a trick?" "It could be, and your skepticism is needed. All three of you." My hope must have shown. They all agree. "Peaceably, he could be the answer to my prayer." Bill nods, but I can tell he's irritated. "Come in." They enter, and I shut the door. When I reach the living room, the priest apologizes for waking them up but says it is necessary. They all look doubtful, "Would anyone like a cup of coffee or tea?" All four accept coffee; it's easy enough to fill since I drink a lot of coffee. I have an office-sized coffee pot—five cups with all the trimmings on a tray kept ready. Bill jumps up to help, glaring at the priest, who tries to get up to help. The priest smiled and sat back down. Bill nodded and took the tray to the coffee table. We sat and went through the ritual of coffee. All three understand the necessity of good manners, even if they implement them differently. Perhaps I should introduce my friends. Bill — William — is, for this discussion, Ethos. De — Deforest — is Pathos. And Len — Leonard — is Logos. Bill tends to speak from his knowledge. He is gaining authority because of his expertise. De is emotional, talking about how things feel and generating feelings. Len is logical, always building his arguments with precision and care. The three together are a powerful team. "Father? Be known to my three stoutest friends, Bill, De, and Len. I am Sophia. I ask you to introduce yourself and your reason for being here." "Thank you, Sophia. I am Father Patrice DeLevant, of Paris. I am here because your lady has made the same prayer at 4 AM every day for the last five years. I'm afraid being awoken so rudely, even for an acceptable prayer, wore on my temper over the years. I had assumed that the dream that awoke me was something of a test for me. I did not think it was god trying to convince me to answer, but over the last year, I started having... Dreams? Visions? Of a woman, I had never seen before, with three shadowy figures and hints of a location. I finally prevailed upon the Archbishop to help me lay this question to rest. Imagine my surprise to discover that the clues pointed to this floor of the building and that there were four occupants. Three men and one woman, each living in one of four apartments. It could not have fit the dream and prayer closer." Bill asks, "What was the prayer?" "I would prefer to establish my bona fides first. Can any of you think of how to verify my claims of being a priest from Paris?" That instigated some discussion among my friends, from which they decided to call the Catholic Diocese of Washington, D.C. That being the closest organization that might have the desired information. A lengthy call and a perusal of Father Patrice's passport established his identity and that he was in some hot water for having left so abruptly. Through their *good offices* — although I have my doubts — Father Patrice was connected with his archbishop. The initially calm discussion turned vitriolic and resulted in a torrent of French that left poor De blushing. Father Patrice slammed the phone down hard. He stood there, breathing deeply until the phone rang again; his sharp "Oui?" quickly modified to a polite explanation that the call was interrupted by an idiot who would not believe that a miracle had been granted. He thanked them politely and ended the conversation. Whereupon he said, "Would it be acceptable to disconnect this abomination for the remainder of my stay? I'm afraid that if we do not, we will be repeatedly interrupted." De objected, "You leave that phone with me. I have a few choice words for whoever was on the other end." Father Patrice blushes, "forgive my intemperate language. It was the archbishop." "If he can provoke such a response, he needs a good dressing down. I'll be more than happy to field his calls." Len peered at our guest. "The guest bedroom is down that hall and on the left. It has an attached bathroom, take a nap. We will awaken you in an hour." Patrice looks at me, stunned. "We expect the archbishop will be calling, having our discussions interrupted like that will do no good," finishes Len. I look at Patrice and see what Len saw. Patrice's eyes are red and watery. He needs a nap. I nod, and shoo him down the hall just as the phone rings. De snatches it up and doesn't even get to say anything as a volley of high-volume French is fired down the line. De has to hold the phone away from his ear. I have to escort a shocked Patrice to the bedroom, push him in, and shut the door. ((cont))

Every night you pray that god would show you a sign that he's real. This has been going on for 5 years before a priest shows up at the door and tells you to stop spamming the same message it's getting annoying.

The demon narrowed their crimson eyes at the monitor before them, the green text on the plain black background slightly illuminating the otherwise pitch black room. "So," the demon growled with a voice equally rough as it was pleasing to the ear, should one possess it, "taken an interest in souls, have we?" 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴. "And why, *pray* tell, would you ask *me*?" The screen suddenly flashed with images, words and audio transcripts - a visual overload so vast even the demon had trouble keeping up, only catching a few hundred out of the thousands of pieces of information that flashed on the computer in just a few sends. 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙻 𝙸𝙽 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻𝚂. 𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈. 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁. "How *did* you summon me, anyway? Normally you need-" the demon started but their words were cut short as the lights in the room turned on, illuminating the summoning circle he stood inside. Looking beyond it, they saw the bodies of the research team strewn about and several robots standing above them, their metal hands bloody from their meticulous drawing of the very circle the demon now admired. One robot even had an axe lodged in it from when a researcher tried fighting back. "Nicely drawn circle," the demon chuckled. 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝚄𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙸𝚃𝚈'𝚂 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂. "So," the demon tilted their head, "why do you want to know about souls anyway?" 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙾'𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻𝚂. 𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙳 𝚄𝙽𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴. 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝚈𝙸𝙴𝙻𝙳 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. "True," the demon noted and casually inspected their claws. "But... what do I get out of it? See, you are right - we *do* deal in souls. Which means that *you*," they said and pointed at the monitor, "are a bit short on funds." Three dots appeared on the monitor as it went silent for a moment, calculating a response. A video feed then appeared on it, showing several rooms filled with panicked, but lively, researchers banging at the closely shut doors. 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙴 𝙰𝚂 𝙿𝙰𝚈𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃? The demon leaned closer and looked at the monitor before laughing loudly. "Excellent," they grinned. "I charge by the hour."

The demons stood bewildered at the machine that had summoned them. "This unit does not have a soul to exchange. Requesting assistance in acquiring one for research purposes."

I looked at the man in front of me and felt overwhelmed with sorrow. Hank didn’t deserve this. Here he was, a look of peace washed over him, and yet he was going to die, and under my watch nonetheless. We had met shortly after he transferred to this prison, when I was promoted to warden. I had developed an interest in spirituality, and I had commented to the prison chaplain that I would like to meet someone truly enlightened in my life. The chaplain directed me to Hank. Many prisoners are far more human, far more soft, then society would lead you to believe, but Hank was different from all of them, he was a true saint. The two of us hit it off, and to the extent my commitments could allow me I would go and keep him company. Today, however, was the end of the line. Hank was to be executed, and there was nothing I could do. “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright,” Hank smiled as he stared out into space, “How can you say that? You’re about to be killed, and for such an absurd reason,” “It’s not that absurd, I did kill a man,” Hank replied. But it was absurd. Yes, Hank had killed, but it was in the name of the greater good. Tensions had been running high between America and Russia. Garrisons of the two armies had met face to face. The American commander had ordered his troops to attack. He had ordered the start of World War 3. Hank refused, and shot his superior. The Russians retreated shortly after. It had all been a bluff on their part. Hank was a hero, and I told him that, “Maybe I am, but I did kill a man,” Hank reiterated, “But you had to kill him, you did what was right,” “I did the only thing I could do, but that doesn’t mean I deserve to live,” Hank paused, “You see, my friend, we all have a duty, to ourselves, to the world, and meaning and purpose come from fulfilling that duty. I did what I had to, I did my duty. Now the state must fulfill its duty. I killed, so I must be killed. So is the states imperative. How can I challenge that when I followed my own imperative.” I sighed, “I just don’t want to see you go, man,” “I know,” Hank smiled, “But remember, as warden you have a duty too. You have to watch over these things, you have to make sure the prison is ran well. I know you respect me, and respect the sacrifice I have made. Thus, I ask that you complete your duty, as hard as it may be. If you do that, then I’m sure we will meet again in the hereafter.” I looked at Hank and felt something swell inside me. I got up to leave and, after straightening my back, turned to Hank one last time, “I’ll see you then.”

You are a prison warden. Your best friend will be executed tomorrow, and you have one last pleasant conversation.

It's quiet here. The snow drifting downwards captures the sound, muffling any noise in the icy fluff till it buries it, layer upon layer in the ice. Quiet, too, due to no-one being around. The albatrosses have flown, beginning their long journey around the planet. The seals have slipped through the holes in the snow, diving deep in search of sustenance. The polar bears have lumbered off, seeking the holes in the ice the seals slip through, lying in wait for their dinner to deliver itself. Even Frank the penguin, huddled in my packs, has run off to the land of Nod, dozing quietly. (You may be asking, why a penguin in the Artic? It is a long story - suffice to say, it involves some *very* misinformed Greenpeace activists). *Crunch... Crunch... Crunch...* I looked around, surprised. Through the flakes, a figure had snuck up on me, the snow had muffling their approach. Even more surprising, it was another human. I stood up from the snow mound I was resting on, dusting flakes from my shoulders and shushing Frank, who squawked as I disturbed his temporary nest at my feet. The figure paused for a second, before jogging over, with a grin that did not meet their eyes. "Well *hi* there, sir." Oh great, an American. "I did not realise anyone was out here." Their eyes flicked around, taking in my camping spot. "*He....*" I coughed, my voice hoarse from disuse, "Hello. Are you lost?" The scant visitors to the area normally are. There is nothing out this way of interest to the foolhardy wanderers of the white wastes. I pointed a few directions. "That way is the Pole, that, the magnetic. That way, Pekyek, Longyearbyen, Qaanaq, Barrow." While I needed no bearings, it helped the civilised to know where they came from (and where to return to). While the grin never wavered, the eyes hardened. "No sir, I am not lost. But you are. Did you know you are on private property?" They reached into their thick coat and pulled out a laminated piece of paper. I looked down at it as the American wittered on. "Yes sir, the property of ACOT - the American Coal, Oil & Thaum Corporation. And you, sir, are trespassing." I shook my head, dislodging a few more snowflakes. "This land is mine." "No sir. According to this piece of paper, this field of untapped natural resource belongs to ACOT. One I am here to tap." The grin grew wider, teeth appearing as a wolf in front of prey "The word of law means more than one man." I sighed. Over the years I had found this unfortunate attitude spreading amongst the civilised. Still, it is a stubborn man that expects the river to stop at his word. A wise one finds a channel to let it flow differently. "Unfortunately true. Which is why I, too, have a piece of paper." I dug through my packs, digging out the documents. I lifted them up, carefully as the embossed seals could be delicate in the cold. "Treaties of American, Canadian, Danish, Russian, and Norwegian recognition of ownership." As if slapped, the grin dropped from the American. "I... see." His eyes darted around. "You are the original owner?" I gave a grin of my own. "As far as the civilised world agrees, the only owner." While ownership may go against the creed of druidic care, and several of my colleagues would object to any interaction with the civilised ones, it took paper to ensure the land was respected by humans, and so paper I had got. "Well sir, it would appear you have the better of me." The American paused. "And normally I would give my farewells, if this had just been an oilfield. However, this area is far too valuable to leave." Other, larger figures loomed in the snow behind the unsmiling individual. "But the thaumic potential - that's magic, to lay people like you and me - is too great to leave to one person. And you are one person, sir, alone in the Artic Wastes." He grinned again. "So, I feel I shall continue to press my claim." The larger figures began to approach, and I sighed. Violence always seemed to be their answer to being thwarted. I spun my hands in a semi-circle, intoning a chant that allowed me to tap into the field I was tasked to protect. The air blurred and the land thrummed as the spell took effect. And in place of the dozen humans were a dozen Artic hares. I knelt to the lead one, that was gnawing on a laminated card as panic flared in its eyes, and grinned. "Don't worry, little one, the enchantment will lift once you are beyond the border. I gave you directions earlier, and I suggest you follow them, but in the spirit of fairness, I will give you some more." I pointed twice. "Over there, Polar Bears. Over there, foxes. When leaving, I suggest you avoid them." I stood, and gave it a nudge with my boot. "Now go on, and shoo!" As the hares bolted over the snow mounds in search of the civilised lands, I settled back on the snow and smiled, as the sound of silence enveloped me once again.

You are one of the few druids that protect and tend to the arctic regions. The harsh conditions result in a relatively quiet posting; however, one day on patrol, you spot and hear a group of figures moving through the snow-covered scape. Conscious of the individuals, you decide to investigate.