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euclaise

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“Okay, so we’ve have tried blowing him up?” The twitchy assistant with a clipboard and headset flipped through his papers. Sighing, he nodded. “Yes, three times.” “Three?” The person whom I assumed was the executive producer grunted in frustration. She took a long sip of her coffee as she stared at me. From my cell’s uncomfortable chair, I sat and stared back at her before I gave her a small shrug. “Okay,” she drew the word out as she thought it over. “Gun of some kind?” The assistant flipped through his notes again. “Yes, many different types.” The producer rolled her eyes. “God. Okay, I’m just going to list off a bunch of things, and you tell me if we’ve tried them or not. I don’t want to spend another day like yesterday trying to figure it all out.” The assistant nodded and changed their stance to something resembling a fighter’s stance. “Okay, ready when you are.” Taking in a deep breath all the while staring me down, she began, “Hanging.” “Yes.” “Downing?” “Yes.” “Wild animal attack?” “Multiple.” “Including a be…” “Yes, including a bear, tiger, lion triple attack.” “Gladiator style?” “Yes, he won by attrition. The rest of the fighters passed out from fatigue after hitting him repeatedly with their weapons.” “Shit. Okay, military weapons?” “Of all grades and types excluding nuclear. We decided even he wasn’t worth the literal fallout.” “Fuck.” She finished her coffee and chucked it into the trashcan nearby. “Death by overeating?” “We tried force feeding him. It was like that episode of The Simpsons when Homer goes to hell.” “Oh yes, I remember that now.” The producer groaned. “That one was more expensive than we anticipated; let’s not do that again.” Throwing her hands up in disgust, she finally approached my cell. “Well?” I stared dumbly at her for a moment before I realized she was addressing me directly. “Well what?” “Do YOU have any ideas?” She rolled her eyes at me. “In how to kill me?” I laughed at her. It couldn’t be helped. “Lady, I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for at least a couple hundred years. As best as I can tell, the answer is you can’t.” “Well that just fucking sucks,” she yelled, turning angrily to her assistant. “Do you hear that? We CAN’T kill this guy. What the hell are we supposed to do with him? Our audience has been watching him survive attempt after attempt for weeks now. At this rate, the edging is so bad I’m afraid they’re going to revolt and demand I take his place just so they can get some release.” “Uh, w-well…” her assistant began as they pulled out a sheet of paper from their clipboard and handed it over. “It would seem our ratings are actually up.” “What? Give me that.” She snatched the offered paper and looked over the data. “Huh, who would’ve thought.” Turning back to me, she held the sheet up for me to see. “Seems like the audience is really into seeing you survive these attacks. You’re gaining a little bit of a cult following even. Listen, how would you like to stay here with us and just keep doing this for a little bit?” I’d heard this before. I had actually been a gladiator, and that didn’t end well once the people got tired of me winning. “And when they tire of me? What then?” She handed the sheet back to the assistant and shrugged at me. “This is TV. We’ll fake your death. It’s pretty clear we can’t kill you, and I’m willing to bet if we locked you up somewhere you’d eventually get out.” “I’ve been known to outlast a prison or two, yeah,” I said with a chuckle. “If you live long enough, the walls will eventually literally crumble around you. You just have to be patient.” “Okay, so you stay with us as our hero, we all work together on scenarios, we set you up some place cush between shows, pay you a couple of hundred thousand an episode, and, when it’s time to fake your death, we send you wherever you want.” “After I sign all the NDAs and contracts you have in mind?” I smirked. This could be fun. It’d certainly be different from my past few hundred years. “I knew you were a smart one,” she said with a smirk of her own. “Deal?” “Maybe. Bring me the documents and proposals to look over, and I’ll let you know.” Leaning back in my chair, I glanced around my cell as if taking it in for the first time. “If I don’t like what I see, I’ll just… sit here.” “That’s the first time that threat has ever been effective,” she said with a light chuckle. After she directed her assistant to get an immediate meeting with legal, she ran a critical eye over me for what felt like the millionth time. “You’re taking this all in stride well. It doesn’t bother you what we’re doing here?” “I’ve lived a very long time. I’ve seen humanity do some really fucked up things to itself in that time. This? This is nothing compared to the horrors I’ve witnessed, and this at least is contained and not likely to become something popular among the masses. When the masses get their claws into something, that’s when it all really gets bloody, so, no, this doesn’t bother me.” She nodded at my words, her mind clearly thinking back on something, probably her world history knowledge. “Okay, then, fair enough. So, if we’re going to work together, I think we should at least be on a first name basis. You already know mine.” “Janet,” I said with sly smile. She smiled brightly. “Yes, and you are…?” Standing from my chair, I let out a long, annoyed sigh. “Cain.”

You’re an indestructible immortal who’s been laying low for most of your life, until one day when you’re kidnapped and placed in a death game, the hosts have no idea what to do with you…

*"WE DEMAND TO SEE THE DEMON!"* I spit out my coffee as the priest and I make eye contact. __"Sorry didn't mean to spit on you, that just surprised me.."__ I tell my co-worker who was the unfortunate soul to be next to me. *"DEMON WE'VE COME THROUGH A CALLING OF A POOR SOUL WHO'S COLLAPSED IN THIS HELLSCAPE. WE ARE HERE TO CLEANSE YOU OF THE WRETCH-"* __"Hold your horses, I am not a demon. Plus, I didn't even do anything I've only sent out a nun because she came in with a crucifix trying to 'expel' me."__ I said awkwardly as many eyes were on me. __Pause__ "Now kids, this here, is when my father had just retired and gave me his infamous coffee shop. I had obviously worked there before & knew the regulars. Although, he knew this would be a problem and never taught me how to handle it." "Sorry for the 4th wall break. Just had to clarify as this was about to go downhill." __Unpause__ *"WE CARE NOT OF WHO TRIED TO EXPEL YOU. WE ARE HERE TO CLEANSE YOU FROM TORMENTING ANY FURTHER! SISTERS, GET HIM!"* The priest said. They were after me as if they were training for this moment. Weird. Soon I was out the backdoor, locking it, only to fail and have the door kicked off. I was never the athletic person, so they caught me swiftly. __"LET GO I AM NO DEMON!"__ I proclaimed. They didn't care though, as the next minute I awoke in some sort of lab. A headset came off and my eyes were exposed to bright lights. Before me there was a figure with black clothes on and a badge that read.... F...B...I *"Welcome back, test subject 667."* Damn it.

you’re a peacefully enjoying your time at your coffee shop, until the catholic church walk in, you wouldn’t really care if it weren’t for the fact you have horns and tail,

The elf women took her last breath as she glared at the muscular and grotesque demon lord with ivory horns. The demon lords black demonic eyes gazed into her fading soul before taking his arm out from her impaled chest. Blood splattered on to the soft grassy ground as she collapsed. The demon lord laughed wickedly as it chose it's next target on the battlefield and charged. She felt cold and numb as it started to rain heavily. Her silver hair drenched and sticky as her bangs stuck to her face. She laid cheek on the ground in her own blood. Her purple mana filled eyes slowly lost it's flame as she reminisced—her life passing before her eyes. The rain made miniature ring like waves that raindrops make in the warm bloody pool as it was slowly washed away down hill. *I guess this is the end of the line.* A thousand years she lived. She chose to become a mage and became one of the best. Army's shrunk in fear of her frightening power. She made many friends and allies as well as enemies. She fell in love as well as had her heart torn apart. She was even enslaved by humans when she first began her journey in this life as distant memories resurfaced that she tried to forget and buried deep. Now after death, she was looking at a familiar human. One she was made to forget about...until now. One she met before she began her life in this world. She looked at her holographic hands as she recalled what her actual *job* was. Then she gazed blankly at the human in a simple collared shirt and pants as he sat at a small table with a small electronic notepad sitting casually. He glanced up from his tablet into her holographic eyes before returning his attention back to his notes. "What can we do to make the world better?" The human asked as he ignored her stare as he fiddled with his tablet. The female artificial intelligence took a moment to gather it's thoughts as it came to terms with its previous life. "Less violence for starters. Bloody battles won't satisfy everyone, only battle lovers. And maybe legitimate armor for women? I mean seriously. Simple revealing robe's or a metal breastplate that only covers a women's breast and short skirts that don't even cover the legs isn't going to cut it." She said heartlessly. "I-I see. But that is a way we humans attract attention to our world." He looked up from his tablet a bit conflicted. "How peculiar..." She gave the man a piercing judging stare as he quickly looked away and set his attention back onto his tablet. "*Anyways,* you could also add some more interesting classes. And change how mana works. It's dumb having to drink mana potions like water. Add a skill instead that gathers mana for every class that uses it. Also, add more varieties of energies that can be used. Mana gets old. Like rage for a warrior...A class of druids would be pretty neat." She said concisely. The human took note as his fingers flew across the keyboard... "Anything else?" The human asked exasperatedly. "The world is too easy. Make enemies tougher. Why handicap movements so much? Beasts are dumb as they are run by simple programing. Add some G.A.I. to make it more realistic and fluid." She said as she recalled her elven hunting days and the simple beasts that roamed the wilds. The robotic way they moved across the land—Not like an actual beast at all. Beings controlled by another G.A.I. were the only thing that could seriously challenge her. "Isn't that a bit cruel?" The human frowned doubtfully. "And my life wasn't? Obviously, ask for the G.A.I.'s consent first. You would be surprised how many would want to play as a simple beast or a *bad guy.*" She said persuasively. "Understood." He sighed. "And for crying out loud add an inventory! I know it breaks the realism that you are striving for but no one is going to jump in this world and stay if they have to bring and carry everything with them. Add a magic inventory. Shouldn't be to hard." She said begrudgingly. The human flinched as he miss typed on his electronic notepad. He backspaced and fixed it before finishing up. "Okay, that should be good for now. Any requests before we reset the system?" He sounded a bit relieved to be done with the questionnaire. "Hmm. I want to be a man in the next life. My last life as a elfin women was...far from pleasant...and make it so I'm born close to the sea. I want to experience the sea aspect of this world. It would be nice if I can become a druid so I can change into a seal or shark or something." She said offhandedly. The human raised a brow as he took all that in. "A-alright then. Resetting system in ten seconds. See you next time! Thanks for the input. Enjoy your new life." The human stood up and walked over to a monitor close by and pressed a few buttons. Before the system reset, the G.A.I.'s holographic eyes shined as it stealthily hacked the system so that it would remember this conversation and previous life. *That's better...I can rest in peace now. There is something about living a life you think is real only to realize it's not after death...it's just...to much.* Everything went white and the G.A.I. went to sleep indefinitely. When it opened it's eyes. He smelled the sea breeze and cool air. He looked at his toddler hands that held on to a collared shirt and then his human A.I. mother who had beautiful blue eyes. Her black hair flowing in the pleasant wind. They locked eyes with one another as she carried him in her arms while swaying gently as she walked along the sandy beach. She pinched his chubby cheeks as she smiled sweetly with love like any other human mother would. "Look, it's a sunset." She murmured as she broke the staring contest and turned so he could get a better view. *And so it begins...they better have added a druid class...This world is truly beautiful...* The smart G.A.I. "Alpha Tester" thought as he marveled at the sunset and cloudy sky as the ocean shined a reflective orange color. The sun set slowly in the horizon casting a picturesque sight... *20 years later, he was deep in the ocean as a druidic shark. He smiled viciously, Flesh still stuck to his razor sharp teeth. He left a trail of blood in his wake as he swam away as fast as his fins would allow him. He was chased by a pod of angry dolphins that felt so realistic and dynamic that they must be controlled by fellow General Artificial Intelligence...*

When you die, you discover that your whole life was just a test run for the design team of humans. You give them your suggestions for changes. The team implements your ideas, resets the system, and throws you back in for another test run. You are reborn.

"None of what you just drank was water muchacho, in fact I don't think any of it was even edible..." I spoke to my crewmate in awe. Four of us on the ship. Me, a human of course; Jacks, a mecha of some sort; the tentacled thing that just used a container of something labeled *Concentrated Mercury* to quench its thirst, Rabble I called him; and finally, Steven. The three of us stared to Rabble in amazement, and he, or, well, it, stared back in obvious obliviousness. Its face began turning green, even greener than usual. "Wha- well I was thirsty! I needed some water." Rabble protested, tentacles flaring for effect. "Ah yes. Well the capsule labeled *water* would have sufficed then" Jacks gestured over to the water capsule on the wall with a robotic hand as Rabble's face turned a shade greener. "Well, that isn't good." she continued. "Nope! How did you even get on the crew anyway hombr-" before I could finish I was shoved aside by an almost human hand. Steven gripped Rabble by the shoulders and launched it into a divit built into the floor labeled *Med-Bay*, the words drawn on sloppily in orange paint. "Hey I think I'm actually fine-". Rabble tried to get the words out, but with a push of a button by Steven a glass slide flew over the med-bay, silencing the toxic sipping alien. A screen then flew up from the floor. *Analyzing....Analyzing.....Well that's not good.*, the screen displayed in bold yellow text. Followed by: *1 Liter Concentrated Mercury* *2 Cups Swamp Extract* *1 Vial of Unknown Radioactive Liquids* *2 Vials of Known Radioactive Liquids (Greemly Excretion...Gross)* Inside the tube Rabble craned its gelatinous neck to try and read the screen. Upon seeing the analysis he rolled his one, massive eye, a gesture he'd picked up from me no doubt. On the outside Jack's and my mouths dropped open as if we were trying to catch Crantumium Flies. Swamp extract?! We had to gather that sludge fully suited and use a titanium scoop, even then we barely got the two cups, and this troglodyte drank it all! Steven was already reaching for a scalpel out of the med-pak. "Hey uh..Steve-o. Whatcha gunna do with that bad boy?" I spoke with uncertain certainty. "Steven. It's Steven, though I do appreciate the nickname. I planned to cut open Rabblenous, locate its stomach sac, cut it open, and retrieve our samples." Inside the tube Rabble, having now seen his fate, was now banging his tentacles against the glass. I was just as keen to get our samples back as the next guy, or whatever human adjacent thing Steven was, but cutting open a crewmate was just unprofessional. "Well let's not do anything too rash...yet. Ok computer how long will Rabble take to digest any of that stuff." If the computer had eyes to roll it would have, but due to the fact that it didn't instead the words appeared across its screen: *Eye Roll* as a replacement *...Fine...5 days 23 hours. But cutting the beast open would be faster and far more fun.* "Not the point. Ok Steven, hear me out. The rest of the team gets out here in 2 days. So we leave Rabble here, gather some different samples, and wait for them with the stomach pump. If they're not out here in 2 days then..." I heard the sound of more bottles clinking, dropping to the ground, interrupting my gamble. Upon looking over a single of Rabble's slimy tentacles was rifling through the "Biohazard" bin. Rabble glanced over to the tentacle, then back to us, then back to the tentacle, which continued its search. Jack grabbed a second and third scalpel from the shelf, handing me the extra.

You're on a multi-species research trip into a toxic planet only to see your crewmate drink some of the most toxic items in the galaxy claiming he "needed some water"

The Duke had always been . . . eccentric. He was widely pitied and feared among those of his rank, for he had been born with a terrible defect, one that effectively rendered him an outcast. Mere mention of the name of this mysterious affliction was enough to send a chill down the spine of the mightiest marquess. This . . . Compassion . . . had seized the Duke from childhood. Truly, he had had no chance. The disease had first made itself manifest when the Duke expressed an interest most unbecoming of a noble in the lives of the peasants. As he grew to manhood, his behavior only became more alarming and he began to spout absurdities. His father listened in abject horror as his only son and heir spoke of the peasants’ lot and how it could be . . . improved. Finally, the dreaded day came, and the dukedom passed from upright father to wicked son. The new Duke wasted no time in steering the country on the path to ruin. He caused a scandal with his first decree - that a telegraph line was to be established so that the common people could better communicate with each other. That he was unable to foresee the terrible consequences must be attributed to his condition. However, as shocking as this undeniably was, it was nothing compared to what was coming. Having of course received the finest education, the Duke then conceived an idea so outrageous that it continues to boggle the mind of this chronicler. He saw fit to share this education with the populace in the same manner as his accursed telegraph. Moreover, he seems to have sincerely believed that this could be accomplished by way of a quartz crystal and a material he referred to as “silicon”. The nobles could stand no more. They, in their great wisdom, knew that the country stood on the brink of catastrophe as this depraved man threatened the natural order of the world. The Duke was seized in his castle. Found with him were the most disreputable men of a perverted science, as well as equipment that was promptly destroyed. Still spewing incomprehensible drivel about “webs” and “wikis”, the Duke was stripped of his title and sent to the country’s finest asylum. We may trust that the ice baths and electric shocks are working as intended.

"The Duke, they say, has been holed up in his castle, performing odd experiments with wires, quartz, and a thing he calls 'silicon'. He believes he is on the verge of a breakthrough, the poor fool."

“So I don’t get it.” Said Stardrive. He stares at my trophies and awards. Front and center is my pride and joy: The Lifetime Achievement Award for Most Supervillains Captured. “You don’t have super speed, strength, invincibility, none of that, right?” “Right.” I say, wiping a speck of dust off the trophy with a microfiber cloth. “All I can do is synthesize pharmaceuticals. I’ve actually got a nice side-hustle with Pfizer, making some of their more complicated medications.” “So how many have you put away?” “Two hundred and seventy three.” Stardrive whistled. “How’s anybody gonna beat that?” “They won’t.” I said, confidently. “I’ve got more collars than the next four supers combined.” “Jesus, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s your secret?” I shrug. “It’s pretty straightforward. Any Vill tries anything here in cleveland? Anything at all? I’m gonna catch wind eventually, right? I mean, most vills ain’t exactly subtle, as a rule.” “Sure, but how’dya catch em though?” he shook his head. “Hell, didn’t you put away the fucking joker? Word on the street he hasn’t even escaped. It’s been five years.” “He ain’t going nowhere.” I said, with confidence. “I’ve got him downstairs locked up nice and tidy.” “Nobody holds that guy though. He always escapes.” “He won’t even try.” “How’s that?” I smile. “Did you know that Fentanyl is the most addictive drug currently in circulation?” I shake my head. “But I’ve discovered a couple that make it look like children’s fucking tylenol.” “Wait, what?” “Joker is a junkie.” I said. “And I’m the only supplier.” “Fuck, wait. Are you saying–” “Some vill comes in, starts making trouble in the Big Cleve? They’re gonna find their bloodstream flooded with just shy of a lethal dose of a half-dozen custom designer drugs that I haven’t even bothered to name.” “So you drug them and just drag them in while they’re out?” I laugh. “You kidding? Last week I took in the Human Wall. How am I gonna drag his sleeping ass down into holding? No. I just wait until they walk in those doors and ask to be taken in.” He stared at me. “It’s a cocktail of opioids, amphetamines, and CNS stimulants. More addictive than you can possibly imagine. One dose, just one single dose, and you’ll literally do anything to get another. Anything.” “Christ.” “They turn themselves in because I’m the only one who can make the drug. They know that.” I laugh. “They beg me to let me lock them up. Literally beg me on their knees. Some of them offer to do stuff. It’s real fucked.” “Dude.” “Armageddon tried to resist. Thought his cybernetics would protect him.” I chuckled. “When I found him he had shat out half of his intestines and drowned in his own bloody vomit. WIth his enhancements it took him almost two days to die. Not a pretty sight.” Stardrive looked like he was about to vomit himself. “W-why are you telling me all this?” “I’ve taken out most of the major villains. The competition, I mean.” I told him, patting him on the shoulder. He stiffened. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints. “Now I heard you’re the newest member of that justice circlejerk.” He gasped, falling to his knees. “Please, don’t–” “You’re gonna help me take them out.” I said. “I’m not sure about superman. Don’t know if my drugs will even work on an alien.” “I have a f-family, I c-can’t–” “You’re gonna help me take them all down. All of them, either added to my collection downstairs or just dead, I don’t much care which to be honest.” “Y-you’ll never, g-get away…” I smile. “You better hope you’re wrong, for your own sake. The day I fail is the day you die in agony.” He was sobbing, rocking back and forth as the drugs took him. Eventually his jaw went slack, his eyes unfocused. He crooned quietly. “Enjoy the trip.” I told him, with another pat on the shoulder. “It’ll never feel as good as the first time.”

“What is your power?” “Super strength and density manipulation. You?” “Drugs.”

As the final finger curled up into the monkeys paw I readied a shielding spell. A pretty standard shield of kinetic energy was probably about all I’d be able to muster given my current condition. I could’ve wished to be in perfect health again. I could’ve wished for the gods to forget that I ever existed and go home to rest. But no. Maybe it was the adrenaline after the battle with that damned vampire but I couldn’t think of anything better than to wish for the rest of the monkey. There’s always a cost after all. A burst of Golden light radiated from the paw before a young man appeared standing in front where I’d dropped the paw. I’d wished for a monkey but this’ll do I guess. I dropped my shield. “Heya little guy… you feeling alright?” “Yeah. Just a little dizzy. And hungry. You haven’t got anything on ya do you?” “Some Jerky I think?” I reached into my pocket passing him the small brown bag with the last of my rations in it. “Thanks miss! So what’re you’re other two wishes?” “What?” “Well ya see, I’m Sun Wukong, but everyone just calls me Saul. Been ages since I’ve been back on Earth? What’s the year now?” Saul began chewing happily on his Jerky. “2019 mate. And hang on. Sun Wukong? You’re the Monkey King? God slayer and destroyer of heavens?” I took a step back from the kid, slipping a hand into the pocket of my coat and taking firm grasp of my blasting rod. “Ya won’t need that. You’re looking pretty rough as it is little lady. How bout I heal ya up?” “I’ll pass” “It’s been almost 900 years since I was last here. You lot get rid of those damn Romans yet? Last one I met ratted me out to Mercury and I had the whole damn pantheon bearing down on me quicker than a Druid on an earth elemental.” Saul laughed to himself for a second before turning to me, deadly serious. A look in his eyes like no man should even be capable of. “So look, I’m bound by contract to give you 2 more wishes before I’m free to do what I like. Make it quick I’ve got work to do.” “You’re not gonna screw me over are you….” “Nah you’re alright. You’ve done me a great service, uhh. I dunno your name lovely.” “It’s Kate. Kate Stag. And I think you and I should have a couple of drinks and a nice long chat.”

The Monkey King, Destroyer of Heavens.

Another day helping my dad at the black smith. I’ve worked in this shop every day since I was a kid and now that my dad is getting older it’s about time for me to take over. This is a big deal since my family has run the most important blacksmith shop in the country for generations. Our shop lies in a town called larune, it’s a small town but it’s a crossroads for the biggest towns in the country of hamuran. Roads that lead to the capital (biggest city and home of the royals), tulain (a port town used for trade), and egan (home of the largest adventurers guild). If that wasn’t enough, there’s a forest nearby filled with a huge variety of monsters from powerful to weak and aggressive to peaceful. Due to this a lot of adventurers from all over come here and larune is the only town in the area for hundreds of miles (most people don’t want to live near a forest full of monsters). Some adventurers are really nice and regularly play a visit to me and my father, most of the time for business but sometimes they just like being friendly. But there are other adventurers who mistreat my father and steal from him often calling us dumb npcs whenever we call the town guard. I’ve always wondered what npc meant so when a friendly adventurer was passing through I asked him about it. He was reluctant at first but after a few discounts and rare materials he told me what it meant and promised me not to tell anyone that he told me this because it would get him in trouble. That night after I learned the truth, I sobbed myself to sleep. I was working mindlessly the next day, going through my daily routine on just memory as if I wasn’t even conscious while I did them. My dad asked me what was wrong and I brushed him off. The next morning I had a thought, if the reason some adventurers, I mean players were mean and barbaric toward me and my father because they look down on us, then to make them stop I just had to prove I was better than them. Since then everyday after work I would practice with my favorite sword, it was an ancient relic a player friend traded me for a better sword. The relic wasn’t worth much and barely a decent blade, but after a lot of tinkering and tweaking the relic became the best and most powerful weapon in the shop, so much so that every day someone offered me entire fortunes for the blade. I never took any of the offers though, I had brought the ruined blade back to life it was my pride and joy, it kind of felt like I had a bond with it. I didn’t even have to learn magic because the relic can be used to give me near infinite amounts of mana and I can use any power a user of the blade had in the past. And it’s a lot seeing as how this blade has passed through the hands of the most powerful gods, mages, and swordsmen in history (I did my research on the relic when I first got it). Now after 5 years I’m settling out on my first adventure. Part 2?

You are an NPC in a RPG that has gained self awareness. you've also started to notice how shitty the player characters are.

"Hand me the hammer, please." Johnson walks past the man tied to the wooden chair, his mouth taped tightly shut, sweating and staring. "There's no hammer here." "What?" Eric, still rolling up his sleeves, walks over to Johnson and the table. He stops for a moment, staring at the man, noticing his bald head now had a small amount of hair. Eric turns back to the table, looking it all over. "I set it right here." "I know." Johnson says. "I don't know where it could have gone." "Hey, really quick." Eric leans over and whispers very quietly to Johnson. *"Did you notice how he was bald when he brought him down here to this basement."* Johnson thinks about it, noticing now that the hair on the man's head seemed to be more beautiful, lusher, longer. *"Yeah,"* Johnson says, rubbing his chin, "*Maybe it's a wig?"* Eric walks over to the man and pulls on the beautiful hair, yanking it with his hand. The man's head jerks, and he yelps, the sound being muffled by the tape. Eric walks back, *"Nope, it's real."* Eric turns to Johnson. *"Alright, we need to know where the money is. If we don't have a hammer to create the inspiration for him to tell us, go out to the car, and bring out the saw."* *"The saw?"* *"The saw, it's in the trunk."* Eric hands Johnson the keys, *"Go to the trunk, get the saw, and bring it back. You got it?"* *"I got it."* Johnson says with the keys in his hand. Noticing that the man in the chair was appearing more and more feminine... Eric turns watching Johnson leave, running up the basement stairs, and the door slamming shut. In the quiet, he looks at the man in the chair, looking down to his feet-- Eric pauses, staring carefully, then slowly walking towards the man in the chair. "How did you do that?" The man in the chair looks at Eric, but there was no longer a man looking at Eric. It was a beautiful woman. The woman winces, she moans, trying to shake herself free from the wooden chair. "What is happening." Eric says to himself stepping back, almost tripping over himself, "What is happenin--" "Boss! Boss!" Overhead, Eric looks up at the top of the stairs, watching beautiful woman, wearing jeans and striped shirt, making her way down the stairs, holding a saw. "I found the saw." Johnson says, handing it to Eric. "How are you going to use it." Eric takes the saw and drops it. Too astonished and amazed at what he was sees before him. "Johnson?" "Yes." "You're a woman." "Okay," Johnson laughs, "Wait, wait a minute..." Johnson stares very carefully, moving forward, and with her soft hands, reaches over. "Your mascara is running."

An author writes a story, but keeps changing their mind and rewriting parts as they go. Write about the characters' perspectives as their world literally gets rewritten in real time.

"Hold your fire, I repeat, hold your fire!!" the soldier at the front of the strike team yelled out, his gun still trained at the blood-soaked man standing in front of him, handgun in hand. When they breached the compound door, they expected many things - a lone researcher was not one of them. "Oh," the man said with a tired voice, "Mr Harding, is that you under there?" "Doctor Marchetti?!" the soldier yelled out with audible shock. "Yes, yes, I- I apologize for my manners, it's just-" Marchetti said and turned around, yet his demeanour was off, slowly, sluggish, like he was in a daze. "Get me a medic! Doctor, is anyone with you?" "It's... not my blood," he chuckled slowly. "No, I... don't think, I- I was alone in my office, the gloomhags overrun the facility- there was a breach you see- I-" he said but stumbled forward, unable to stand properly. "Doc, come on, sit," Harding said and helped the man. "Let me take the gun." "The... gun? Oh, yes, yes, the... you know, I'm a better shot... than I thought. Maybe I missed... my calling," Marchetti said and slowly handed the soldier his firearm. It was splattered with blood and stank of gunpowder. It seemed that it was not only fired numerous times but used as a blunt weapon as well. "Alright Doc," Harding continued, "let's get you looked at." He looked the man over and noticed his other hand was clenched tight to the point where the doctor's knuckles turned white. "What's in your other-" "NO!" Marchetti yelled suddenly with far more vigour than expected, "no no you- you mustn't touch it! It's..." he slowly opened his hand and showed Harding the thus far tightly held brass pocket watch. "A watch?" Harding said incredulously. "7663-B," Marchetti said with a slight smile as he slumped back down, his outburst of energy taking its toll. "Wait, that's-" Harding's face turned pale and he shifted slightly away from the doctor. "I know... I know, Martin," Marchetti said quietly. "I just- I thought that I could help some of the survivors but there... were none." Another soldier approached the duo. "Sir, I need you to step back, I need to take a look at him," he said. Harding turned and saw the red cross on the soldier's uniform. "I'm- uh, Jenkins, I-" Harding stuttered. "What he means to say is that you can't help me, sir," Marchetti said. "Used the watch, you see?" he said and weakly lifted his hand. The medic looked at the two men confused. "It's..." Harding croaked, "it's one of the unique items we store. Compresses the rest of your life into one hour. Gives you..." "Speed and vigour of many years in one hour to fight off a tide of ugly critters," Marchetti chuckled. He looked at the watch. It was one minute 'till twelve. "Is there anyone you want us to contact?" Harding solemnly asked. "Everyone I knew here is dead," Marchetti said. "Just... Miss Laurits in HR, she recruited me." "I know her, yes." "Tell her not to blame herself," Marchetti continued. "I may have died here, but... because of the things I have seen here... I've lived as well." Harding nodded and put his hand on Marchetti's shoulder. "It's been a pleasure, Doc," Harding said. "Don't let anyone touch... the watch..." Marchetti said and went limp. The brass timepiece slid out of his hand and hit the concrete floor with a metallic clang. And the minute hand ticked to midnight.

The research facility has been overrun. A lone scientists barricaded in his office readies a pistol to take as many of them with him as he can, but is shocked to see he is a naturally extremely skilled shooter. He begins singlehandedly reclaiming the entire complex where the guards failed.

“Dodge! No, dodge *left*, asshole!” The orc’s bone hammer smashed into the spot I had just been standing in, cracking the stone floor of the cave. I took advantage of its momentary lapse of thought from the bone-rattling it just gave its wrists, and ran my sword through its naval region. I am Infiltrator Unit Bravo Epsilon 73. Formerly on a mission to infiltrate a piddling little planet in a useless solar system in the middle of some nowhere galactic spiral arm. At least, that *was* my mission. Five months ago. A simple plan. Land. Progress over the planet’s surface to my prey. Bind with Bradley Peters, some of Major Jackson Peters, of the Homeworld Defense Initiative. Use him as the *meat* to my vast (but… regrettably squishy) *intellect*. “Oh! Oh sweet jebus! I can **taste** their intestines! You frikkin’ jackhole! Clean me off! Clean me OFFFFFF!!!!!” That… is Bradley. My… sword. You see, after hiding myself inside of some primitive minor head protection, I waited patiently until Bradley had placed the protection over his head and began engaging in one of his people’s foolish danger-sports. Specifically, the one called ‘roller blading’. Next, while Bradley was distracted, slithering through his auditory passages and binding my form to his brain stem. It took but seconds to accomplish. However, during those seconds, Bradley (and, by consequence myself) were struck by a large yellow ground conveyance. And found ourselves prostrate before a **being**. We called them The Ascended, those who had somehow progressed beyond pure physicality, and allowed their true selves to exist across multiple strands of reality. I found my every instance of *being* was examined. Like a pseudopod sliding down the string of my life, and squeezing out my utmost desire: to move past a soft-shelled Infiltrator, and become a firm-shelled Executor. Or even, dare I dream, a full hard-shelled Administrator. And The Ascended granted it to me. A near indestructible adamantine carbonate enclosure around a soft-part now protected from anything and everything, a life that will exist for true eons. Bradley, who I was still pseudo-linked to, wished for an upgrade to his physical characteristics; facial irregularities removed, a denser musculature, strengthened…**ugh**… ‘*interior skeletal structure*’, and a greatly enlarged genetic tissue dispenser. His pitiful dream was also granted. And The Ascended sent us down towards a fresh world. One which my people had never before knew. One which I would have an eternity to conquer, and bring before my people already subjugated. …and then Bradley, as we were sent streaming *elsewhere*, grabbed hold of my pseudo-form during transit, screaming about being ‘Isekaied’. A term I then knew nothing of. And then we landed into our current forms. Each! Others! Desired! Forms! And so, we search this land for one of their reality manipulators who can sever the binding between soul and physical form, and place us into our rightful bodies. Until then, to keep this body filled with sustenance, we sell our services for the coin of the realm. As Bravo the Chosen Hero, and his talking sword… *sigh*… ‘Brad the Rad Blade’.

An alien parasite infects an unsuspecting victim, attempting to take over their body and infiltrate human society. Complications occur when, during the process, the pair are hit by an oncoming truck. Reborn into a world of high fantasy, Parasite and Host must work together to survive.

"Of course," said the Demon. "But how could they *possibly* know that?" The Angel had no answer. It wasn't as if the artist ever bothered to translate the message for the art itself. The little shadow puppets who called themselves humanity had since developed their own languages, their own cultures, entirely on this one pebble on the canvas, limited to a mere three spatial dimensions. That they were sapient enough to notice they existed at all was a testament to the skill of the artist, and far more than could be realistically expected. Given that these tiny creatures were incapable of seeing past the end of their dimensions, It should be no surprise that they'd make up little 3D stories, sorting their favorites into little 3D collections. "You're right. They would have to perceive at least a few more dimensions to even notice it. I just..." The Angel sighed, irrationally disappointed. "I don't know. It's my favorite piece. I hoped they would somehow appreciate the work as I do, if they could really understand it." The Demon stretched seductively, a coiling and serpentine potentiality languidly unravelling. Carelessly, she allowed her shadow to fall across the three-dimensional tableau, the intensity of her existence triggering a minor galactic cataclysm along one edge. A few million stars prematurely went supernova, deep in a border nebula, wiping out innumerable infant worlds. "Darling, please. You should be more careful," frowned the Angel. He spent the effort to focus on the subset of disrupted space, piercing one of the stars with extreme gravity to ensure none of the reactions splashed any more inhabited planets. The wounded astral body collapsed through the infinite gravity pinprick piercing its core, crushing itself into a black hole to pull tightly on the surrounding fabric of spacetime. The gravitational patchjob complete, he carefully wiped all trace of intervention from the surrounding space. The Demon watched her lover lazily, amused by his passion for the existence canvases which stretched all throughout his showroom. Three-, four-, and five-dimensional realities glittered around them, his museum of little creations playing out in all their microdimensional panoramas. She idly dipped herself through an untitled shimmering 5D subspace they had worked on together, which shattered like fracturing time. The ruptured reality burst like a bubble and dusted them with a puff of experience, the sweet suffering of trillions of fragile lives and phantom worlds interrupted by apocalypse. "Do you really *care*, lover? Or are you just obsessing over your collection?" she teased, her voice dipping into sultry spectrums that irradiated at least ten dimensions of space and two directions of time. Around her, entire galaxies erupted into frenzies of war and want, reacting to the raw lust her transmission carried. The Angel roused from his passtime, resonating with the song of seductive need from his partner. He withdrew his tentacles from his favorite reality, and slid it safely back into its supporting substrate of extradimensional mass, before focusing entirely on the Demon. "I do care for them, my love. But not nearly so much as I care for you," he confessed, reassuringly enraptured. The reality that contained humanity--and all other lesser realities, for that matter--was forgotten, as he focused on the brilliance and intensity of his mate. He went to her, alleviating her desire with his attention. They touched, intertwining; gently at first, then passionately. Realities trembled around them as they embraced, Angel and Demon together, and the firmament shook. Function and form, inertia and energy, emergence and entropy--opposites, ever attracting. They met, negating and creating each other, two entities curling into dimensions invisible. They breathed each other, became each other; as above, so below. Universes birthed and collapsed between them, as they became infinite together. In the radiation that saturates the neglected three dimensions where all of humanity resides, the words that the creator once spoke still echo in the dark void between the speckles of starlight. The only words of the artist who created them, engraved in the bespoke existence as a signature, whispered into the very matter which assembled itself into the residing life. It still reverberates, written in those who can't see it, a message meant for one who can, the only sentence the creator ever spoke to humanity. "*For Gabriel, my biggest fan and greatest friend. ~YHWH*"

The Angel looked at the Bible in confusion. “A whole book? But God only spoke a single sentence to humanity.”

Am I a troublemaker? No. Do I get bored easily? Yes. Is there a difference? In my opinion, definitely. *I really want to eat that last donut... but it looks like Giselle wants it... what should I do?* Boring. There are so many mental questions, or whispers, as I like to call them, similar to that one. People question themselves every minute of the day, and damn, does it get annoying. There are some really interesting ones, though. Once, I heard a whisper of someone who wanted to push their infantile sister into the way of a frantic grocery shopper in the mall. I managed to convince them not to, though. *Should I kiss him?* Ooh, an interesting one. I look around the coffee shop casually, and I see two guys sitting together. They're both blushing at each other, and I see that one has laid a hand on the other's. How cute. I picture both their faces, since I'm not sure who sent the whisper, and send out a returning whisper. ***Do it.*** *But what if he pulls away? Or doesn't want to?* ***He looks like he wants to kiss you as badly as you want to kiss him.*** I glance causally back when I hear nothing else, and I see the two of them gently kissing, hands on each other's faces. Okay, as much as I like helping people, I don't really come to the coffee shop for romance scenes. Time to move on. One of the blessings of my gift is that I only hear the questions they want answers to, never random thoughts or reminders or memories. It makes my brain a whole lot less cluttered. Although, I can't say assuring someone they locked their car is fun work. *I should spill her drink.* Hmm, that's curious. I turn my attention to the barista, who is trying very hard to not lose her cool with the lady before her. The lady is a very clear Karen, and is complaining about something wrong with her food. I give a small smile. ***Do it.*** *I could get fired.* ***But it would be oh, so worth it.*** *This lady's been driving me up the wall for a week but she comes back. We could lose a customer.* The lady continues shouting, but the barista's eyes have glazed over. ***You'd be rid of her for good. Plus, no chance Jerry'd fire you, he's to his wit's end with this Karen too.*** *Aren't voices supposed to be good?* ***Not this one, sweetie. Spill the drink and get your revenge. Half the cafe's watching.*** She looks up, and sees that indeed, a few people had stopped their lunches to stare at the one-sided battle. She looks down again, with steely resolve, and reaches for the plate. "I'll take it back, ma'am." Of course the glass falls over with a high-pitched *clink,* and of course the Karen jumps up, screaming blue murder. She cries about her dignity and something about suing to, just as I knew she would. This makes the barista lose it, finally, and finally the battle is fought on two fronts. The manager comes out to check on all the hullabaloo, and I sip my coffee, barely concealing a smile. I love my job.

Your assigned super power in the agency is to become the 'voice in my head' of almost anyone. You're technically supposed use it for the good of society, but sometimes you get bored at your job . And oh boy do you love messing around.

I can feel my mortal soul slowly leave my body, blood had slowly covered the floor around me. So it finally came, despite my efforts. “Goodbye father.” Lucifer my son muttered as he withdrew the sword from my body letting red liquid flow faster as he left the room. ‘At least he had the honor to personally perform the deed, just like how the gods intended.’ I intoned as I crawled to my study table taking a special bottle of wine I kept close to me for the entire time. It was made on the day I found that kid. *“You will not escape Lythia’s punishment. A child of light will strike you down.” the pope, an idiotic piece of meat declared before he was executed.* *As much of a fanatic the man was, his proclamations had mostly held true for a long time. It is why at the exact moment I found myself free from the chains of my newfound leadership, I joined my men at the search ensuring that everyone knew the gravity of the task.* *I found him alone, digging the graves for his deceased mother. A normal man would take the opportunity to strike him down.* *I chose a different route, one where I know the face of my demise and gain the chance to sway him at my side. I told my generals, advisors and everyone that I felt should know.* It was a lie. I had attempted to defy various prophecies during the war, all of them ended in failure and a lesson that working around it was a better idea. So I turned him into my heir, gave him the lessons and the values needed to reach my level. When thoughts of taking over entered his mind, I nourished it. I ignored his gathering of allies, people who will aid him in the future. And when the time was ripe, gave him the opportunity he needed. I was struck down by the Child of Light, but not as a hero like the Lythia intended. “All hail the new king.” I raised my bottle as a final spit to the goddess, drinking the wine as I let it be my final sensation.

A prophecy foretells that a newborn baby will one day grow up to end your evil reign. Knowing that fighting fate is useless, you decide instead to take the child in and raise them as your heir.

"Okay why did you do that?" I asked God when he reappeared at the pearly gates." You were gone like 10 mminutes!! I still get my day right?" "OH yes yes. I am just testing the simulation. To be honest I never have, my daughters wouldn't let me near this thing, after we couldn't pull my son out." "Jesus??" I ask intrigued. "No no Michael, Jesus was testing respawn and followers mechanics." " Well since I'm God for now is there any way I can help?" I asked suddenly more interested in the thought of helping God then goofing around with God powers. " not with that no. He got a message to us already saying he was taking the long way round after he finishes his vacation." God responded " that whole Linear Time thing humanity created is "interesting" to say the least. The whole concept of us having to recharge to use our powers down there just blew our minds up here." Walking over to the podium he turned the book to himself to find his name and score. "Perfect! No positive or negative karma carried over! Now people can stop worrying about this hell bullshit. I'm not N abusive parent fir fucks sake. When I find the mortak who created that concept they are so going in time out! Anyways I need to get back to work so many tests to run before I have to get back to work." God sighed and walked over to the "return here" portal. "Hey wait, if you want some free time I might be able to help." I said. "How so?" God asked "Well I work in software development and we have these concepts cause Automation, Scripts and Bots. You would be amazed how much you can get done once we automate some stuff for you!" I said beaming.

I was surprised when God offered me switching places with him for a day, yet I agreed. I still don't understand though why first thing he did as a man was killing himself.

My husband was a good man, which was always a problem for us because his goodhearted nature combined with the fact he was clearly the main character in our universe meant everything happened to or about him, which is what ultimately killed him. I was in labor, and he was rushing to the hospital, but his arch nemesis caught him on the way, and my husband lost the fight because his super over powered armor malfunctioned. His death was a tragedy, and it set up the perfect backstory for my daughter who was born with the same striking pink hair of her father. As soon as I saw her, I cried, but not out of love. I was terrified for her. Being the main character is a terrible burden, and I had no way to help her through it as her father would’ve been able to do. He could’ve shown her what places, people, and scenarios to avoid so as to not start her main character arc too early in life. He could’ve guided her through at least a normal childhood. I had no chance in helping her. I was always a secondary character. As it turns out, I worried for nothing. Her tragic backstory about the death of her father was something she took well and never developed a need to avenge him. In fact, when his nemesis tried to start a running battle with her, she completely misunderstood what he wanted from her, told him she wasn’t interested in buying anything, and left him dumbfounded in the middle of the street. There were multiple times during grade school she should have been in the middle of a love triangle or a non-sexual harem type situation, but she always seemed to avoid it by either changing after school clubs because she was bored or obliviously getting the other two who would be in the love triangle to date each other. Over and over again, she unwittingly avoided starting her hero journey because she had no idea what the signs were. If someone came looking for an adventurer to help them, she’d direct them a local guild. When she started manifesting powers, she shrugged them off as annoying and actually didn’t tell anyone but me, so no one has ever pegged her as some kind of chosen one. She cooks and creates the most extraordinary things that no one has ever tasted or seen before, but only for the two of us because, and I quote, she’s “too lazy to start a business or whatever, and why should I when I could just go to work for 40 hours a week and call it a week? God, owning a business is too much work.” She’s never liked sports, so her superpowered abilities like her strength and speed are hardly ever used. No one knows she has them, so no one pressures her to use them. A few weeks ago, she found she could actually fly, and the first thing she did was buy a bus pass because flying, she said, would just mess up her clothes and hair. It has been 25 years now, and it still blows my mind how good she is at accidently not being the main character. I marvel at it every day because almost every day she manages to simply not take the bait the world is throwing at her. Today, I asked her if she felt as though she were missing out on something in her life since it was obvious she was supposed to be a main character but she was living a secondary, or maybe even a lesser than that, character’s life, and she looked at me like I was the dumbest person she’d ever known. “Mother,” she said incredulously, “do you really think I’m not the main character?” I was baffled. I thought it was clear she wasn’t and said as much, pointing to all the times she’d so far obliviously dodged being so. She rolled her eyes at me and leaned over the table to ask me in a mock conspiratorial voice, “Maybe my main character power is the power to not be the main character. Have you ever thought of that?” As I leaned back in my chair, dazed by this possibility, she stood up with a bounce and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “I’m headed home. Call me if you need anything,” she called over her shoulder. She yelled out a ‘goodbye’ and a ‘love you’ before the door closed behind her, and I’ve been sitting here in stunned silence ever since.

Not long after your pink-haired child was born you lost your spouse. Years later you watch as your protagonist child manages to avoid every adventure starter trope possible without even realising.

"Nooooooo!" The screams come from somewhere upstairs. "I love her most! You don't count because you don't follow the rules all the time! I do!" Sounds of whapping pillows, thudding bodies, slammed doors, and screams echo down from the hall above as God places her grocery bags down on the floor. She slowly takes off her coat and shoes as more chaos rains above, pillows thrown into the hallway, banging on doors, screeches, thuds, and more shouting. "I'm her favorite! You have to listen to me! What I say goes because I'm oldest!" Many voices shout back "No!" "No way!" "Never!" "I'm youngest so I'm best!" She sighs and starts up the stairs. They are so loud they don't hear her coming. Three of her children are pummeling the oldest's door, which is shut with him yelling from inside. Two more are standing in the window seat at the end of the hall playing tug of war over her favorite pillow, while another is yelling at them. She comes into view of the chaos and clears her throat. The yeller and two tug of war participants see her first, turning towards her and blushing in shame. They drop the pillow like it's a hot coal and climb off the seat. The pounders at the door haven't seen her and are still yelling at the door, shaking it. She takes two steps towards them, placing a hand on the door where they can see it. "Stop this now." She says quietly but firmly. You can see the dawning realization on their faces as their eyes see the hand, arm, and her. And as the words register they fall silent and stop pushing the door. Her oldest in his room notices and starts to gloat loudly. "See?! I win! You have to listen to me!" He shouts as he triumphantly opens the door... to find her arm still in the air where she placed it on the door. He deflates, embarrassed. She nods to them and they all line up in the hallway. "What started it this time?" She asks, no reaction showing to any of their antics. They replied all at once and she held her hand up for silence as she chose them to speak one at a time. She chose one of her middle children to speak first. "Eldest declared he was in charge while you were gone because he was your favorite. We argued he wasn't your favorite, he wasn't in charge, and he was mean." Middlest Middle said. All but Eldest nodded. "He got mean and started throwing pillows and hitting us because we wouldn't listen." Youngest Middle added. "So we retaliated." Eldest Middle said, the excitement still audible in her voice. God held her hand up. The children silenced and stood quietly. God allowed herself a small sigh. This happened every single time they were alone. She tried to teach them cooperation and grace in her absence but... "I love you all. Equally. For who each of you are as you are. I value you as you value me. Your perspectives on this do not change the fact. I would like for each of you to love each other as I love you." She moved in front of Eldest. "As Eldest I'd hopes you could be a good example. Has this been a good example?" "No." He said quietly. "No." She agreed. "Next time let's try and shepard those you love, listen to them as equals, and show them kindness. Leadership doesn't come from a declaration but from service." She said moving to the middle children. "Children, was your reaction appropriate? Escalating your argument to yelling, pounding, and throwing things." The Middle children all shook their heads. She waited until they said, "No." "We should have walked away, right mama? Talked it out and walked away when he wouldn't listen?" Youngest Middle asked. "Yes dear. I won't always be around to help, but I was only gone a short time. And the time walking away would have given would enable Eldest to think on his actions, cool down, and perhaps allow him to listen." She turns to the Youngest. Youngest hangs her head. "I'm sorry. I should not have gone along with them. I should have spoken up." God nods. "You knew what they did was wrong, and was going to end with someone, usually you, getting hurt. And you should have spoken up." Youngest nodded. All the children knew it was exciting and fun to have free reign of the house while God was gone. But they also knew God was right, and they should be better. If they had worked together they could have done something constructive and fun in the time they had. "I love you all, and I'm glad we talked this out. Communication is important to relationships." She said scooping all the children up into a big family hug. "And next time you'll all come with me."

God returns from a quick grocery run. But the kids left the house in disarray, and are MURDERING EACH OTHER because of "dad loves me more than you" kids logic. What the shit.

"Gerald, put that thing down, NOW!" "But mother-dearest, I have crafter Vulcan all through my life, i simply cannot leave her be, she is my partner and my arm." Such as the daily occurance within the house of Bulwark, the nation's greatest line of paladins, who have been serving the frontlines since the beginning of the Imperial rule. All across the walls were weapons forged by gods and goddesses, blessed by men and mythical beasts alike, and tempered by the blood and bones of the devil's wretched army. Each of the assorted greatswords were the admiration and envy of many a children and adventurers alike, as their craftsmanship was second to none. "Geralt, can you please, please uphold the family name and do your morning training?" The young man's father pleaded with him, a captain of the saintess' order, and the longtime protector of the northern wall, who has fell giants the size of mountains with but a swing of his blade Rhodonym. Said man was on his knees with his hands on his child's shoulders. "Exactly! Listen to your father and train in the manner all members of the royal house of Bulwark have been doing for centuries! This sword of mine is more than capable of outmatching and outlasting that... mess of, gears and wires and, gunpowder!" "But mother, you have seen the power of the gun! It is capable of tearing through hordes of devils with nary a swing, able to cut dragons in half in seconds! The greatsword is the past, and the autocannon is the future!" The mother, fully armed in thick platemail, kneeled to the floor with a heavy sigh, as the pulsating figure of her sword, Solreach, gave the young man a glare. "Look, Geralt, I understand your admiration of the gun, but there will come a time when your weapon will fail you, and you will find your ability to swing your blade lacking. We wish for your safety first and foremost, and if we cannot guarantee it, then we will enforce it." That gave the young man a pause, as he began to think. His parents slowly became elated, as their hopes and dreams seem to come through with the sight of their young taking in their advice. Alas, such miracles do not exist in real life. "Then... I'll just keep upgrading Vulcan to work in any situation, without fail!" He hefts the weight of the autocannon's several hundred of pounds with ease. "Geralt!" Another day passes for the Bulwark family's heir, who has yet to hold a greatsword in his hands

From long line of noble, Greatsword-wielding paladins, you have instead taken up the grip of a 20mm Autocannon, branding yourself a 'Gun Paladin'. Your family is less than supportive.

Galeina, the Hunt-Goddess, saw that Dodric, the Smith-God, was working hard on this enticing equipment: a blood-metal shortbow with ebony bowstring, about sixty blurite arrows, a few fine chameleon-hide hunting traps and a singular bendable green-steel net. It all seemed very interesting, but the forging itself war very dangerous: if she disturbed Dodric, he could potentially mortally wound himself. She hid in the thick trees, looking at the tarnished silver anvil he was working on. It was the same anvil he had used for the past five centuries: same deep hammer marks, same etchings of Dodric’s name on its surface. It took quite a while, but Dodric got finished with his second bow: a fine crystal longbow, complete with leather handles and all. It seemed he got the shape wrong near the southern end, and Galeina saw him thrust his great smithing-hammer onto the grassy bed beneath him. She now saw her opportunity. ”Were you planning on meeting me?” She airily said, and saw Dodric slightly jump. “Don’t bother to speak so soft, I must have already scared away all the ruby-deers from my hard forging.” “Well then,” Galeina sighed. She saw his body deeply: he was neither tall and thin nor short and stout, and half his face was covered in a thick beard most peculiarly the color of light aquamarine. He was wearing a tawny leather tunic with a bright sapphire in its center. She had not seen him in quite a while. ”You have not answered my question, Dodric.” Dodric sighed and stayed quiet. “Well…” ”Yes?” ”Indeed I was. I am growing old and I have no successor. The least I can do is revitalize the other ancient, decaying ones.” ”What do you exactly mean, revitalizing?” ”Oh, come on, Galeina. You’ve been using that bow and arrows for 250 years now. By now, you should’ve had at least *three* replacements.” ”And the traps?” ”Just a few additions. Nothing more.” Galeina picked up the blood metal shortbow and looked at it intently. “So this is that blood-metal all the other raging gods speak of?” She ventured. “Indeed, taken straight from the mines of Silverthorn.” ”Silverthorn, you say?” Galeina’s thoughts shifted from her new equipment to the golden days of old, the age of yore, when the realm of Harmonium was uncorrupted by the forces of chaos-wrath. Those days were not perfect, but were preferable to now. ”Galeina?” Dodric tried to pull her back into the current time period. But Galeina was now thinking about the serene coastland of Silverthorn, and incidentally the thick Vaylforest in which they were and its strange Hyperboreans. Then of Dark Rock and its cursed Blackmoon natives. Then the Great Dividing Ocean and its staggering depth and reach. Then of Beddivere and its scientific steam-druids and strong mechanophages. Then of the various islands small and big off the coast of the Western Lands. Then finally of Galaau, the corrupted soil, the darkened land whence came the earliest form of chaos-wrath. Then she lamented and eventually came back to Dodric. Galeina sighed. “Do you miss the Old Age, Dodric?” This sent Dodric as well into a lament. He remembered the mainland of Silverthorn, the land of blacksmiths. He had never travelled fully through Harmonium, for he was a workhorse of a smith, only being instructed to work as far into the north as Northlorg Island. But Galeina‘s dialogue stirred him also, despite his lack of knowledge about the entirety of Harmonium. Galeina sensed that Dodric was deep in thought and thus preferred not to touch too deeply upon the topic. So, she changed it. “Why else did you want to meet me? Be truthful. I sense you wanted to meet me for a different purpose also.” This pulled Dodric from the land of daydream back to the land of the present. He finally agreed mentally to gather his bearings and say the truth. ”Galeina, the Dark Age might be over.” ”Dodric, you know overmuch optimism won’t bring us anywhere.” ”Galeina, listen to me. The God-Council has elected new representatives, and I have seen them. They are the ones, Galeina. With their help, we’ll bring back the Old Age.” ”You have merely seen them, Dodric. Seeing is not equal to knowing.” ”But I *know*, Galeina! Bear with me, these are not corrupt like the previous ones!” ”The old council-gods were mongrels, Dodric. They did nothing, and grew fat by taking few risks and doing little overall. This was because they were *gods*, Dodric. Whatever they claimed was the truth. Whatever they set was gospel. Power breeds either corruption or violence, Dodric, you know that.” ”Galeina, those old mongrels were born gods. These men have worked their way up the hierarchy, just like us. They have lived for as long as us. They follow our beliefs.” ”Who are they?” ”Us.” ”Us and who?” ”Us, Zeus, Poseidon and Ares.” ”And they came here from Olympus?” ”Indeed.” ”Ares as well!” ”Yes, your half-brother Ares is a council-god of Harmonium too.” Galeina looked at Dodric curiously. It was a mix of confusion and awe. She had not seen Ares for centuries, longer than she had not seen Dodric. Ares was of another world entirely, yet Galeina and Ares were half-siblings. ”What shall we call the era following this Dark Age?” ”We shall decide on our way. But I‘d like to call it the Eternal Age.” And so Dodric and Galeina ventured to the distant God-Council in the center of Harmonium, high up in the air at cloud-level. They took help from a few Beddiverian steam-druids, who happily spared five sky-engines for themselves and the two gods.

The Goddess of the Hunt wanders the forest in search of prey, only to find the God of the Forge working his products in the middle of a clearing, away from his usual workplace. However, instead of finding blades, spears and the arms of men, she finds bows, traps and steel nets.

I thought I knew terror. I thought I had seen it in my eyes when I looked at my reflection in the puddles left in the wake of the rain. I thought I had felt it in the hollow of my stomach. I thought I had heard it in the screams thundering across alleyways in the deep of the night. I thought, and I thought wrong. Fear came to me in the shape of a beam of light hoisting me from the concrete to the sky and terror introduced itself when I woke up in front of three beings that were more octopus-like than human, who, without worry or care for my screams and shouts, tortured me for days on end. That day I understood there was no terror in the swiftness of death, only in the incessant pain that led one to wish he were dead. My thoughts rallied when the wires penetrated my skin and lodged themselves into my blood vessels to distill fire within my being. And yet, among the searing pain, my sharp screams, and the ever-growing chaos in my mind, I found solace where I had always found it: in my dreams. There was order in them. I didn't comprehend what was happening, or why I had wound up in this place, but my dreams remained intact. I could travel to the images of joy and happiness they produced and forget about the torment my physical being was enduring. Within them, I couldn't hear the rumble of my stomach, I could feel the cloud-like softness of a pillow, and I could see people not shunning me but greeting me instead. Within them, I was a king, and so in my imaginary kingdom, I remained. I remained there until the pain ceased and the beep of a laser scanning me jolted me out and hurled me back into reality. One of my captors brought a screen to me, and in it, I saw humanity staring back at me. "We've captured your king," my captor said, his tentacles pouring out of a mask-like device that seemed to translate from their language to ours. He had not used it to communicate with me before. "We are not interested in war. But we are interested in ransom. We need nickel, carbon, boron, and gold. Provide us with half of what you have in your world. Provide it to us, and we'll return your king and leave." My brows knitted. He had called me humanity's king? At first, I thought I had heard wrong, but the moment I witnessed the turning heads and confusing expressions of my kin's crowd, I knew my captors had made a mistake. The camera focused on our president. "We don't know who that is," he said with utter certainty. "And we surely won't give you those resources for free. Our civilization's foundation has been war and bloodshed. We have ceased those practices among our kind, but we surely will continue the tradition against predators like yourselves. Return the kid, leave our system alone, or else prepare for bloodshed. And believe me, *we are prepared*." A gate swished open in the room I was in, and a flood of aliens came in. They rose their tentacles in the air as though they were having a discussion. Their language seemed to be composed mostly of guttural vibrations instead of words. I couldn't comprehend anything, but they turned to me and then back to the screen, which was still focused on the president, and they did so many a time, which led me to believe there was confusion in their minds. Then, unbidden, a dark veil fell upon my sight, and when I lifted it, I found a human at my side. He was sitting on a chair, and clad in a military uniform. "Thomas Eddard, yes?" He asked and I nodded. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm General Finos. You must be confused, and rightly so. You were abducted and from what we gather, greatly injured. The injuries have healed now. We are worried about your mental state, though. The torture seems to have been excessive. Did they ask you anything? Do you remember anything?" I frowned and studied my surroundings. I was in what the bright lights and machines betrayed to be a hospital. "They didn't ask me anything, no. I remember, yes. I feel good. I'm calm. Is this a dream?" The general shook his head and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Do you feel like walking? We will ask you some questions later, and you will be provided with a psychiatrist to follow you until you are fully recovered in order to evaluate your mental state and its evolution." "Yes, I would like that. I've not walked in a long time." The general helped me to my feet and guided me toward the exit of the hospital. When he opened the gates and I stepped out into the light, my heart stuttered. For gathered no twenty meters away from me was a crowd of people erupting in supportive chants holding signs with my name. Emotions enveloped me and I embrace them. I turned to the general. "Wh--what is this?" I asked my voice breaking, my eyes on the verge of tears. A thought interrupted the emotions for a brief second. "The war, what happened with the aliens?" "You are the first human to ever be abducted. At least with proofs. When you appeared on those screens and we saw the state you were in the entire world rooted for you and unified in their hatred toward the invaders. That desire to defeat, to destroy them became a reality in our minds, and this was necessary for us the aliens to reconsider their stance. Believe it or not, you became an important part of history," he said. "In a way, you were the element and the motivation for humanity to unite and scare the invaders away." "We def--defeated them? How? I don't understand." "How? Well, that's classified, kid." He patted my back playfully. "We will tell you later. We know you dreamed of this moment. Please, enjoy it." I stared at the crowd, and couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They streamed at first and poured a moment later. I was overwhelmed with wonderful, relentless emotions. My heart fluttered, my lips were hooked into the widest smile I could smile, my body was covered in goosebumps, and within me, I felt as though I had a thousand birds singing sweet singsongs. It was odd, days ago, I had seen and suffered the true face of terror. But that day, with the crowd before me, I felt something I had never felt before. It was visceral. It was beautiful. It was a gorgeous counterpoint. It was all those things and more. It was happiness. \--------- /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll \--> Come, I have candy.

You are poor, and frequently daydream about being rich and important. Aliens are unfamiliar with the concept of "thinking", or "wishing", and for them, the only existence is reality. This led them to accidentally taking you instead of someone actually important.

“Huh,” I said as I stared down at my body, checking for damage, “I should be dead right now.” “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years, you insufferable idiot,” June yelled from where she stood behind a ray designed specifically to destroy half the world. She fired the laser at me again, hitting me directly in the chest. The blast forced me into the mountain wall again, pushing me further into the hole I’d already created the first time I’d taken the full force of the blast. She raged at me between blasts: “We,” blast, “are,” blast, “in a,” blast, “hyper realistic,” blast, “simulation,” double blast. I held up my hands in a show of surrender. She hit me one more time before powering down the device and stepping from behind it. As I climbed out of the giant hole in the mountainside, she nonchalantly walked through the casualties from our battle. Long ago, June had turned to crime. Her exploits had gained her the moniker “The Malevolence,” or just “Malevolence” if you were in a crunch. To me, however, she was June Wright, my little sister who had strayed from the path of justice our family had a long tradition of supporting. I was the fifth generation to proudly be called Captain Verity, and I had spent most of my time in the suit trying to bring my little sister to justice. “Yes,” I grumbled as I stumbled out of the hole, “you keep saying that.” “And I keep being right,” she yelled at me. “Look around John.” She pointed to the wanton destruction around us. “Tell me why we’re alive right now. TELL ME.” “Well, I… well, maybe it’s the… hmm…” She was right. The power of the device she’d created should have cratered half the Earth in one blow. “I honestly don’t know, June,” I answered in defeat. “Maybe your weapon isn’t as strong as we thought it was?” “Really?” She rubbed at her forehead and took in a deep, calming breath. “You really think that?” “Well,” I winced at her hard stare, “no,” I lamely admitted. “That’s right, no. The answer, John,” she began screaming at me again, “is no, and DO YOU KNOW WHY MY WEAPON DIDN’T WORK? DO YOU JOHN?!” I slowly pulled my helmet off and let it fall to the ground beside me as I took in the scene before us. People were dead, hundreds of them. A whole forest had been leveled, and half the mountain behind me was gone, but we both were just barely hurt, and the Earth itself was fine. It should not have been fine. “Because we’re in a hyper realistic simulation?” I weakly offered. “BECAUSE WE’RE IN A HYPER REALISTIC SIMULATION,” she roared at me. Taking in another breath, she visibly calmed herself down. “God, when are you going to learn to actually listen to me? You never listen to me. It’s always, ‘Oh, but John is older so he knows more, and you should follow his lead,’ or ‘John is the oldest and will be a great Verity, and you’ll make a good sidekick just as long as you do what he tells you,’ or, ‘John knows what’s best.” She actually growled at me. “Well, look around, John, and tell me you know what’s going on.” I slowly slid down to the ground and forced myself to think over the years to all the times June had tried to tell me we were in a simulation. When we were teenagers and our parents both died was the first time she’d tried to tell me. She’d given some valid reasons, but I was too caught up in grief and the determination to be the next Verity that I’d ignored her. I ignored her every time after that when she was my sidekick and she tried to show me our actual reality. “I’m the reason you turned into a villain, aren’t I?” Thinking on it, it was clear now. “Well, how else was I going to get you to listen to me? You sure weren’t listening to me when I was your sidekick,” she spat back at me. We stared at each other for a long time in the silence of the destruction we’d caused, and then an idea hit me. “June, how do you think we can get out of this?” “God, FINALLY, he asks me MY opinion on things.” Looking up into the sky, she began screaming at the top of her lungs, “OKAY, WE GET IT NOW. WE’VE LEARNED OUR LESSON. LET US OUT OF HERE, PLEASE.” I was going to ask what she was doing, but, before I could get the words out, the world around us vanished, and I felt a helmet being pulled of my head. Standing above me was the smiling face of my mom, and I could see my dad standing over June. “What?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How were they alive? “How?” “Now, John,” Mom said as she helped me up, “we told you and your sister that, if you couldn’t learn to get along with each other, we’d find a way to force you.” Dad chuckled, “I told your mom it’d take you a couple of simulated decades, but she didn’t believe me.” “Yes, I owe your dad a special dinner tonight,” she replied with a laugh. June took in a deep breath against her rising anger. “How long were we out?” Our mom checked her watch. “Only about 20 minutes.” We lived a lifetime in 20 minutes. We stared angrily at our parents. This was the last straw. They had crossed a line. When they left the room, June caught my arm before I could follow and pulled me to her. In a lower voice she said, “How would you like to be my sidekick?” I raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Start of our villain arc?” She nodded. “Start of our villain arc.”

You are a superhero and your arch-nemesis is convinced that they are trapped in a hyper-realistic virtual reality alongside you. You have dismissed their claims as insane for years, but after your latest fight with your nemesis their claims are starting to make a disturbing amount sense.

"-but when I do it, I'm a 'cult leader,' and a 'threat to society,'" I grumbled, using my fingers to put air quotes around the fun little titles they've given me. "Wait a second, wait a damn second," Gordon began, waving his arms around. "You've done what now?" "Taken a throne? With help from a god? I 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 explained it," I laughed. "I knew you were a dumbass, but seriously, this is-" "You've taken a throne for a god. Why?! And what god," Gordon asked loudly, on the verge of shouting. "Because why not, we all knew that Stacey lady wasn't a good person. And I got help from Cthulhu," I proclaimed, using jazz hands for emphasis. "David... David, buddy, are you talking about the politician Stacey O'Connell? Who mysteriously died due to cult activity?!" "Gordon, I just explained why it is 𝘯𝘰𝘵 a cult." "David... you are a moron. And since when is Cthulhu even real?" "Sh! Shhh! Don't say that, he gets self conscious," I said, holding a finger up over his mouth. "Right..." Gordon trailed off, taking a step to the side so I couldn't keep touching his face. "David, I swear to 𝘨𝘰𝘥 if you aren't kidding..." "What god? You should join me, and serve the all seeing, all knowing-" "I'm not praying to an overgrown squid. Now get out of my house." I shrugged and walked out, still not knowing why everyone thinks this is just a cult. But I 𝘥𝘰 know who our next target it. I love my buddy, but he knows too much.

"So when they usurp the throne with the help of a God they are "Heroes" and "Righteous", but when I do it I'm a "Cult Leader" and a "Threat to Society"?

Do you know how hard it is to get an ice core sample that's 5 million years old? It requires a bunch of special equipment to drill a hole, kilometers deep. On top of this, you need kilometers of ice to drill in. That's not available in many places, and as you might have guessed, the places where it is are cold. Always. For at least 5 million years. I should probably have considered that for a bit longer before setting out on this expedition. At least after processing the samples can be measured at room temperature. My eyebrow raises, seeing the detector jump from 0 to 3 ppm. Odd. "This has to be the most boring study ever." A jingling tray of slowly melting ice cubes in petri dishes is set down adjacent. "...Not necessarily... look at this." My eyes are fixed on the 3, stubbornly remaining on the detector's screen. "Huh. That *is* interesting. \*ssslurp.\*" I look over to see my colleague sipping from a soda. With a plastic straw. "... Dammit Dave, you've contaminated another sample." Dave looks down at his soda, then back to me. "Hey, is it my fault that these cores make for the best ice cubes ever?"

You're a member of an antarctic expedition searching for micro-plastics in the antarctic ice sheet. Your team finds some- in an ice core sample over 5 million years old.

“Just a few more minutes… There we go,” I ran my scarred fingers over the griffon’s plume of chest feathers, soothing her into kneeling. We both watched and listened with silent breaths, three nestlings cooed and slumbered in the nest that lay just a few hundred feet below us in the dense foliage. Curling my fingers I dug down to the majestic creature’s skin to scratch at the base of its feathers, the hulking body edged closer to me. Very few had the privilege to feel the heartbeat of one of these creatures, as my left arm sat against its torso I remarked at how pure this moment truly was. Light thumping slowed as my hand retreated back to the cold stony perch. Sweat began to pool on my collar as the radiating heat from my stakeout partner permeated through my linens. Clicking tore me away from the moment, irritation expressed through the chattering of the beast’s beak. “What is it girl?” I asked in a hushed tone. Bowing her head, she indicated towards the clearing beyond the nest. As soon as she had leaned forward, figures began emerging from the tree line. First to breach from the forest was a scrawny man with deep wrinkles decorating his forehead and underlining his sunken eyes. “This must be it, look at the deep claw imprints in the mud.” The explorer announced to no-one in particular, tipping his hat to block the sun from his eyes. Two brawny warriors clad in scarlet brigandine knelt beside the discovery, one traced an excessively armoured hand through the track whilst the other prostrated himself further to smell the surrounding earth. In a husky chipper accent, the first voice rattled from the helmet on the left. “Good work. Young, not able to take flight just yet.” Reaching into his back pocket he produced a drawstring pouch, as he dropped it into the bony hands of his guide the man buckled forward to maintain his balance, yelping in surprise. Straightening himself up he brushed the twigs and debris from the tail of his cloak and stored the pouch within the concealed wrapping of his shawl before turning back towards the forest. “Not staying for the hunt?” Echoing from the second helmet came a younger voice, my recent experience in the West was limited but it reminded me of a boy I met from North of the Ugnis Straight. If this was right, the second tank was quite far from home. “I need the coin, but I can’t abide by what you are about to do. I must respectfully ask that you delay your slaughter until I am out of earshot.” Both men nodded in agreement, before each whistled out a grossly over-complicated birdsong from their cupped hands. Bodies piled out of the undergrowth, a quick estimation had their count at sixteen to our two. This time it was the griffon’s turn to console me. She released the grasp of a single talon, its gigantic claws resting delicately on my knee. For a creature that eclipsed me five times over, she was also capable of such grace and delicacy. “Their nest is up in the fork of those two oaks, the mother should be at least five leagues away in the mountains at this time of day but don’t get complacent. Doyle, Crike, first and foremost your duty is to watch the skies. Got that?” Two battered and bruised companions nodded in response. “Good. Alice, Petyr, Ash, Nikol, you’re with me. The rest of you are setting the perimeter fire with Warren.” The second warrior raised his hand as a group flocked to him for more detailed instructions. Patiently we sat, how my own partner remained calm at the sight of a mob of hunters surrounding her nest I may never understand. But she did. Gently I clambered into position, with an arm around the beast’s neck and the other tightly grasping onto my hooks. As the sun reached its peak over the scene, the fire was lit. Erupting around the twin oaks it encircled the nest to the cries of the three inhabitants. With a sudden rush we dove, our combined shadow put the mob in a sudden state of shock. Before they had any chance to react the ground shuddered as we crashed down to the earth. A single beat of the griffon’s wings turned the roaring flames to flickering embers with a great plume of smoke spreading out to disorientate our enemies, the offensive charcoal smell clung to my nostrils with a vengeance. I leapt from her back, brandishing my hooks towards a helplessly confused Doyle. With an over-arm swing the first hook caught around a rough scaled pauldren, dragging him forwards off his feet and back towards the griffon’s waiting talons. The second hook I rose in defence of an oncoming axe, in power alone it had no chance, however pivoting around the point of contact I was able to lock its wielder’s hand in place. “Got you!” I roared, applying pressure to the exposed wrist his grip loosened with a scream. Planting my right foot I prepared to close the distance between us before a blur of barbs entered the space I hoped to be. Whipping back the griffon’s tail becoming clearer, her head dipped slightly in apology for the near-miss. My role diminished as a threatened mother tore through the warriors like a fox might terrorise a rabbit’s hovel. I would distract any attackers at the griffon’s flank, disarming them if possible and throwing them to the ground for her to easily dispatch of. It didn’t take long for the outnumbering force to dwindle to a handful of seasoned soldiers. “Lay down your arms!” I demanded, “Lay down your arms and you may leave this place with your lives.” Lifting the visor on their plumed helm, the crimson warrior referred to as Warren stepped forward from the cornered pack. “I have seen what you do to hunters, we would not retain the dignity you are promising!” His accent became more clear. He was not simply from North of the Ugnis Straight, but to the far North of the Ugnis Plains. He was highborn. “I never promised dignity. However, you will live I can guarantee you that.” I responded. “We will take our chances,” He pulled his visor back down, the metallic echo punctuated his final words. “I’d rather take my chances against two beasts than surrender!”

Dragons, manticores, gryphons all play an important part in the ecosystem, but warriors are slowly driving them to extinction. You won't let that happen. You are a Monster Hunter Hunter.

Gio took one more drag on his cigar as the car lurched to a stop. Looking up into the rearview mirror his eyes connected with Vinny. Vinny cleared his throat, “Erm… Boss? Are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean she \*is\* a detective.” Gio popped open his door and flicked his cigar out. “Ah shaddap Vinny. Just take a spin around the block would ya.” Gio slammed the door and faced the modest house at the end of the walkway. It was a cute home, standard for the suburbs, but it had a bit of charm to it. Her charm. There was a bright red door and potted plants everywhere. An old tabby darted through the ferns, its tail flicking in joy. Gio twitched and began to rehearse lines in his head. Again. He was only up-all-night practicing. Letting out a big sigh, he knocked on the red door. The sound of someone stumbling inside was followed by the fumbling of locks. The door lurched open revealing the source of his angst. “Er… Hi Jenny” he fumbled. “GIO! What are you doing here? She all but shouted. She leaned her head out of the frame and quickly looked around before she grabbed his arm and drug him inside. “Gio why are you here? What would happen to you if the Mob knew you were leaking information!” She groaned and began to drag him toward another room. “Gio, I know we talked about what it means to be an informant. Were you not listening?” she chided. Despite the irate lecture, Gio couldn’t help the flutters in his stomach. The way she had a firm grip on his hand was making him shake almost as much as when he whacked Old Marco. Pushing those thoughts out of his head he continued, “Jenny we need to talk…” “You’re damn right we do Gio! I’m so close to solving this damn thing. I just need you to give me one more hint to tie it together. If I can take down the Infantino Crime Family that would be the biggest bust this century!” “No, Jenny it’s not that I…” he froze. Jenny had led him into a dark room and flicked on the lights. Gio’s eyes widened in disbelief. The wall was covered in blurry photos. Red string intersected the room connecting the photos in an undecipherable mess. The floor was even worse. Papers were cluttered on the floor, each containing what appeared to be the ramblings of a mad woman. Gio refocused on Jenny. She was a mess, to say the least. Her normally stunning brown hair lay tangled and greasy, her glasses were smudged, and her white shirt sported a yellowish stain. Gio was pretty sure that was her favorite spicy brown mustard he gave her last Christmas. Even worse, her eyes darted back as if she was desperately looking for an escape. Gio placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Jenny you're twitching. When’s the last time ya got some sleep?” She shrugged him off and collected some papers on the floor before pinning them against the others. Gio sighed and started to clean up some of the mess. Papers, old plates, and clothes were shoved in a pile. On the desk were 7 empty cans of the latest energy drink. He held one up and shook it, “Jenny don’t tell me ya drank all of these. You know how bad those are for ya.” Jenny ignored him and began to gesture at the wall, “Look Gio, this is that café. The first clue.” “Our first date.” He mumbled. “I wasn’t sure how to tie that one in yet. But if you look over here this one is when you showed me that pier! I know you can’t say why, but I’m pretty sure that’s where the bodies would be right…” she continued rambling. “…the fireworks” Gio groaned. “… and over here! When we went to the top of that Ferris wheel! That one was a real stumper, but I figured it wasn’t about the wheel at all!” Gio’s eyes perked up in hope. “It’s the carnies! They must be on it. I always thought those clowns seemed extra shifty and come on what type of woman can even grow a beard? She’s in the mob I tell you!” Jenny raised her hands in triumph. Gio rubbed his eyes in despair, “Or it was the romantic view.” Jenny continued to ignore Gio as her ramblings increased until Gio clapped his hands together in frustration. “All right Jenny, what’s it gonna take? Do I need to take you to a jewelry store and just put a ring on it?” he flustered. Jenny’s eyes perked up. “Oh, Gio that’s it!” she grabbed a piece of paper and slapped a crude drawing of a ring on it before taping it to the wall. “It all makes sense now; the jewelry store is a front! That’s where they're cleaning all their money!” Gio’s quiet sobs of despair filled the room as he collapsed on Jenny’s bed. Jenny hummed, “Wait.” For a split second, hope poured into Gio’s soul as he lifted his tear-filled eyes from the pillow. “Gio with this new connection… I don’t believe it Gio! Gio it’s a pentagram!” she sounded amazed as she traced the lines with her hands. “Gio do you think they are working with Satan too? My my…” she stroked her chin. “… this might be above my pay grade after all.” Soon the room was filled with only frantic scribbles and Gio’s muffled sobs.

A crime boss who's into a detective kept dropping “hints”, but you, the detective, kept taking it as “clues”. Romantically frustrated, the crime boss decided to visit...

*Doctor Khaled Al’Qamis* clambered noisily behind the shop desk. Tools atop rattled and crashed to the floor as he pressed his weight against it. Alarms blared. The smell of oily smoke wafted through the open door behind him. Hastily, he grabbed a rusty wrench from the floor. It was an older one, a *heavy* one. He risked a glance to the door. Sure enough, the shadows outside lurched and wobbled forward. He had only a moment. The wrench was now a gleaming piece of fresh metal, a small pile of rust gathered on the floor beneath it. *Al’Qamis the Alchemist Strikes Again*, he mused. Two - no - three pairs of heavy footsteps lumbered into the room. “I know you’re in there,” sneered Josh Karveight. He whispered something next, and Khaled could hear the two lackeys picking heavy things up from nearby tables. He could turn the desk to steel, maybe encase himself in it, but it would take time, and it would only slow Josh down, not stop him. And if it slowed him down enough, then the fire would surely claim him. “We aren’t stupid, you know,” Josh taunted. “*Someone* poisoned a whole bunch of our dinners last night. That’s an awful lot of poison for any one of us to have squirreled away. Unless of course-“ Josh emerged from around the desk baring crooked teeth. “Unless of course, you can synthesize it from thin-fucking-air.” Before Khaled could flee, two pairs of hands grabbed him from behind. He was now kneeling, his arms wrenched up and backwards, fingers cruelly locked at their breaking points. Josh grabbed the wrench from Khaled’s hand. “Not really your style, is it, *Doctor*?” He paced in his state-issued slippers. “I can’t just synthesize poison from nothing,” Khaled whimpered. “It wasn’t me! They don’t even let me dine with-“ Josh kicked him, hard, in the gut. His body lurched in the vise-like grips of the two goons. There was as snap. Surely that cost him a broken thumb. “Yeah yeah yeah,” Josh continued. “You’re just an innocent convict. You’re just like the rest of us, aren’t you?” He crouched down, just-above eye level with Khaled. “But *you* live in *S-Block*. You *aren’t* just like the rest of us, are you?” He tapped the wrench at the writing above Khaled’s breast pocket. “Isn’t that right, *SV-00192*?” “It’s all a bit coincidental, isn’t it?” Khaled pleaded. “First a bunch of us get poisoned, and now the prison catches fire?” More smoke whorled in from outside. “There’s no wood in here, Josh. How did steel and concrete catch fire? Someone - outside or in - is trying to kill us all. Just use your miserable little brain-” This time it was a punch to the nose. Khaled’s arm felt as if it nearly tore from his socket. His left hand twisted in his captor’s arm, nearly loose- Josh stared deep into Khaled’s eyes. Then his eyes crinkled, as if he finally understood something. With a sneer, he tapped the wrench to the bridge of Khaled’s nose. Fresh Iron filings lodged into Khaled’s clotting blood beneath. “Maybe you didn’t do it,” Josh said. “But you know what? The world is better without your kind anyway.” Josh stood tall with the wrench. “It’s a rare thing to best a super. Maybe I’ll rebrand. Maybe…” he paused to think, then smiled. “*Slugger*.” As *Slugger* wound back to swing the wrench at Khaled’s head, Khaled jerked his arms, finally twisting a hand free. He held it forward, sensed the raw iron in the wrench, and held his breath. The blast nearly burst Khaled’s eardrums. Josh was flung forward, over Khaled’s head, as all of the oxygen in the air reacted with all of the iron in the wrench. The end result was Josh’s hand encased in an unrecognizable chunk of iron oxide, plus a shockwave of superheated Nitrogren. Khaled only had a moment. He raced towards the door, careful not to inhale. One of Josh’s goons chased after him, nearly grabbing him, but quickly stammered - now suffocating in the oxygen deprived environment. Khaled slammed the door shut behind him, placed his hand over the doorknob, and melted it just enough to weld the cylinder in place forever.

The Heroes no kill policy ensures the villains will escape to claim more lives. Sick of the cycle, the police begin to try out “ permanent solutions” while trying not to alert the public.

My teacher glares as she passes me the letter. The class is silent, the whistle of the wind loud, as I stand in the center of the circle near the mound of freshly dug dirt. I take the letter from her hands, feeling guilty but unsure why. "It seems Suhphy has played a joke," she says loud enough for the class to hear. "Looks like you'll be staying after school to explain how you did it, to myself and your mother." I nod, embarrassed, then step back into the circle while staring at the standard envelope with my name written across the front in my own handwriting. "Who would like to come and pull another item from the capsule," my teacher says, "it has been here a hundred years, let's not allow Suhphy's bad behavior to ruin the occasion." Richard steps forward to pull the next item, seeming nervous, and I look back to the letter. I open it slowly, aware that those on either side of me are watching. Taking out the paper, I unfold it carefully, bending it at the middle in an attempt to hide the words. *Suhphy, this is me...you...again. We should have listened, but we didn't so please listen this time. Do not for any reason go into the school basement. It seems that once we wandered there in curiosity, and now we are stuck in this cycle. I went thinking l could break what I was told I would find. Before me, we went at the direction of a teacher. I am sure there are more stories that were not passed along, because I am not passing along every one I was told. So I will keep things simple. Just stay out of the basement.* There is a scribble, as though the writer had begun to write another line before stopping suddenly. Rebecca is standing in the center of the circle holding a wrinkled pack of cigarettes above her head, the teacher reaching for them with urgency while the other students laugh. I throw away the letter after reading it again, not because I don't believe it, because I want to even though it feels silly to do so, but because I don't want others to read it. I sit through the after school interrogation. I shrug and remain quiet. My mother allows the questions to continue until my teacher shows unreasonable frustration, at which point my mother stops her and asks to see the letter. The look on my teacher's face appears to be anger, but I know it is embarrassment. She tells us to leave. Six years later I am a senior, at my Homecoming dance held in the middle school since the gymnasium is brand new and the high school's is worn and musty. I dance with my friends, and allow Essa to dance closer to me, until we risk being scolded by the chaperones. Essa and I sneak away, finding the stairs to the basement and walking down them, struggling to not allow our giggles to betray us. I remember the letter, but it feels more surreal now, the makings of a child's confused mind. A year after I read it the gym teacher had asked me to go to the basement to get supplies, and I refused. Thinking about this sends a ping of anxiety through me, until Essa takes my hand to lead me. Our footsteps echo through the corridors. We pass a long hallway, almost running, and I think I see a distant light. Stopping, I return to the intersection, but when I look down the hall it is dark. Essa leads, making us take three more turns, before stopping and pressing me up against a metal door. We kiss, and time slips away. Essa opens the door, guiding me through it, and we search for a light. I find the switch, and the moment the room brightens I see the figure behind Essa. I'm not sure what the man uses as a club, but Essa is laying on the floor, and I am backing away further into the room. He has on a janitor's jumpsuit, but one that looks ancient. I expect him to pursue me, but he remains at the door. Blood is trickling from Essa's head, who lays just inside the room near the man's feet. He takes a step back and closes the door. The room shakes, like an old engine starting up. The light brightens, and continues to brighten, until it becomes almost blinding. I run to the door but it is locked. A humming sound, deafening, fills the room. I pass out. When I awaken, Essa is dead, and I am cold and disoriented. I try the door again, and it is open. After long terrified minutes I find the exit and escape back up into the school. The halls are empty, and as I near the main entrance I begin to realize the school looks strange. Outdated. Hallways ended where they should have continued, and there was no staircase to a second floor. In the vestibule I see the time capsule. Looking out the small glass window on the door I see the buildings across from the school are shorter, and built with wood and brick. A long car, with an extra wheel on the side and a canvas roof, eases down the street. Next to the capsule I see paper, pencils, and envelopes. I try to remember the letter I received years ago, now in the future, and begin to write my own. I near the end, ready to sign my name, when I hear footsteps. I turn and look back into the building through another small window. The man is walking toward me, his outfit now suited to his surroundings. I fold the letter and place it in an envelope, writing my name quickly on the front. I drop it into the capsule. Anxious, I try the door, fearing it is locked. It is not. I burst into this old world, running hard away from the school, uncertain what comes next.

Your school digs up the time capsule from 100 years ago. Inside is a letter addressed to you.

“I mean, look at her.” The dragon waved a claw in my general direction, not making the slightest attempt to hide his derision. “We all agree this is a shameful way for the Great One to come into the world again.” “I can hear you,” I added, but the council continued its rumbling as if the translation matrix was not working. A stooped man in a black robe that appeared to naturally exude smoke chimed in. “Our cultist did the best they could under the circumstances. I see no need for insulting their work.” “But she’s human,” crowed a Goblin, hanging to the craggy peaks where this ragtag group had assembled. “Yes, but that was so no one would suspect anything, It was perfectly reasonable subterfuge—“ the cultist tried to say, but the crowd groaned and booed his remarks. “Face it, Ratgar, you all screwed this one up on a cosmic level. It’s not that we can’t recover, it’s just,” the dragon let the end of the sentence fade with a sigh, again waving a claw in my general direction. “You know, for being the Great primordial One, you lot sure are awfully insulting.” There were a couple of heads hung in shame at my comment, but most of the assembled looked unbothered. Brutal honesty was a proud accomplishment among these misfits. “Typical human. Did we hurt your feewings?” I could not see who said that—somewhere behind me in the shadows—but I made a mental note to find them later. Somehow. Perhaps when I could use some of those cosmic faculties they all talked about. Ratgar bowed low. “Many apologies, Great One. Times have been hard, as you know, for the practitioners of the dark arts. We had to make do with what we had, and so I take responsibility that your form is unbefitting your grand power.” “Unbefitting? She can’t even look at half of us with that puny human mind,” said a swirl of smoke and shimmering miasma off to my left. The longer I tried to look, the more my eyes ached. I shrugged. “That does appear to be a fair criticism. Perhaps some eyes that can actually perceive some of these things would be nice.” Ratgar produced a scroll of paper from his robes, a quill flying furiously across the page. “Very good, Great One. How else can we serve you in the Rebirthing.” “Well, you can never call it that again, for starters.” The thought of *rebirthing* made my stomach turn. “Um, being able to use some of my powers would be nice, too.” The dragon guffawed, exhaling a plume of smoke. “She’ll need a dragon spirit for that. We’re the only ones with that much fortitude.” Creatures rolled their eyes, whether individual, multiple, stalked, or loose. Ratgar offered a obsequious smile as he added to his list. “She needs a tougher skin,” barked one of the assembled goblins. “Do you mean figurative or literal?” Ratgar asked, quill hovering over the page. The goblin shrugged. “Make it both. Undoing the world is no small feat.” The suggestions began to overflow, bubbling from every angle and leading to a new puff of smoke as Ratgar’s pen tried to keep up with the deluge. “She has to fly!” “Give her night vision!” “More claws—and teeth!” “Taller!” “A few extra armssss,” hissed some tentacle mound of stone. I lost count of the various upgrades being demanded, as did Ratgar. Eventually he unrolled the list, ,placing the quill against his lip as he carefully studied what remained. “Is anyone here more artistically inclined?” he asked after a moment. “I feel a diagram would be helpful.” An ogre lumbered forward, dropping its club on the way and picking up the scroll pinched between two of its fingers. It pulled out a thin pair of spectacles and studied the list, then set to work scratching something out on the bottom of the scroll. As we waited, I felt the crowd growing closer. They sniffed at me, someone pulled a strand of my hair, and generally inspected me as if I was some never-before-seen beast. Sure, most of them spent the majority of their lives hiding from humans, but they had all seen—or perhaps eaten—more than their fair share. “Pitiful state, my lord,” said a Wraith as it swirled about me. “We’ll have you ready soon,” snarled something unseen. I just waited, trying to look at things that did not make my eyes swim, stand closer to those creatures that did not reek of death. Accepting I was the Great Primordial One had been difficult, but grappling with the politics of the situation was proving to be something else entirely. The ogre handed the paper back to Ratgar after a few moments, then shuffled back to its spot in the assembly. Ratgar looked it over, smiling to himself, and then clambered along the dais to present the drawing. I took I this mottled beast in ink. There were too many eyes, too many arms, and a distinct lack of form that made it hard to tell the difference between the two. It coiled in a mass that swam in front of my eyes despite the static ink on the page. Off to the side was a neat list: *Dragon Soul* *Troll Skin* *Sorcerer’s essence* *Harpy Wings* *Extra claws as possible* *Feathers?* And then a string of letters that danced away the longer I spent trying to read them. “I have no idea what this is,” I finally said. Ratgar smiled, and I heard a cheer erupt from around me. “Then it’s perfect. Let the Rebirthing begin!” My first task upon entering my official Great Primordial One form would be to work on the terminology. Some things were just too much.

You have been summoned to a meeting of mythical and legendary beasts and you are not sure why, as you have the structure, strength and weakness of a normal human being. Turns out, you are the Great Primordial One reborn. The meeting was about preparing a new body for you.

"Do you remember me?" she asked. She was a young woman in her late teens, early twenties. Faded black eyebrows coupled with a wavy blond wig, contacted eyes a stunning blue. She was thin, frail even, and on closer inspection, her pallid complexion was coupled with an abundance of blush applied over her body. She wore a yellow dress with sunflowers, inappropriate given the season we now were in. I squinted my eyes uncertainly at her. "Se... lena?" I asked. "Do you know what Hell you put me through in just sixteen-hundred words? Sixteen-hundred words was all it took to make me question my relationship with my boyfriend and to want to stalk some woman I never met before." "Look... I'm sorry?" "You're not sorry yet." She took a step closer to me, pulling her hair off her head and pressing it into my chest roughly. "I know what you had planned for me." "I never even WROTE that down!" I countered, but her presence was imposing despite her diminutive stature. She glared at me with such intensity it felt as if her gaze was boring a hole through my head. "You wanted a good-girl gone villainess? Guess what. "Now you have one."

“Do you remember me?” they say. Oh no! It's the protagonist from the story you abandoned! They're back for revenge.

Alyssa couldn’t see anything outside the rune circle. It was nothing but a darkened void, incapable of showing any sound, light, or movement. Her chains clattered against the floor, tightened up against her makeshift armor. And suddenly, the chains disappeared in a flurry of black and blue smoke. The veil began to disappear, fading away to reveal an interrogator clad in Death sworn armor. The silver plates have way to skulls on the shoulders and knees with dark red glowing eyes. The face mimicked the armor, with a devilish skeletal face looking back. “So,” the interrogator began, “You’ve…finally come back.” Alyssa stood to a knee. “You don’t need that helm anymore, Danny. I know it’s you.” Danny. That was her name. Or that used to be her name. With a heavy sigh, she removed her helmet, to reveal a red-headed girl, no older than 18, with a small scar over her right eyebrow. She placed the helmet on the floor with a heavy thud. “Well, no getting anything by you, Allie.” “Ha!” Alyssa spat, standing up. “Says the sis who literally is working for the dark lord.” Danny flinched, and raised her hands. “Allie-“ “He murdered dad!” Alyssa pressed. “He broke down our home! And he tried enslaving the entire country! How in the hell are you gonna defend that, hm? His death sworn have been trying to kill everyone, including me! You yourself have been trying to kill me since this began. Did dad mean so little to you?!” “And I’m supposed to just take criticism from you?!” Daniela yelled, her armor clinking. “You were the one who left us, not me. You said you had a purpose-“ “-and I did!” Alyssa spat back. “But obviously you didn’t know the whole story.” Daniela reprimanded. “You wanna know what dad was gonna do?” Alyssa turned her back and crossed her arms. “I dunno, maybe fight to the last man?” “He was gonna sell me off.” Alyssa turned back around. Daniela wasn’t angry…she was about to cry. “What?” “Dad was terrified for his own life, so he sold me off as a ‘bride.’ He would’ve done anything to keep his ass safe, and his rule. I pleaded with him, but he wouldn’t be satisfied.” Daniela explained. “Still doesn’t excuse you working for Zovan.” Alyssa countered. “He’s the friggen dark lord! If dad was so bad, then why work for someone worse?” Daniela began pacing around the rune circle. “How much do you know about Zovan?” “Plenty.” Alyssa began. “Murdered his own parents, stole the power of hell for his own use, enslaved angels, was banished to hell to be its jailer-“ Daniela stopped. “And did you know, that he did all that because he lost a daughter?” She asked. Alyssa didn’t say anything. Daniela began pacing around the circle again. “He stole the power of hell to save his daughter, he killed his own parents to prevent them from taking her, and at the end of it…he’s bitter because he couldn’t have saved his daughter.” Daniela began walking toward a small statue of the lord of hell. “So now, instead of trying to save his daughter, he’s trying to save us all. Save us from a cycle that doesn’t work.” Alyssa laughed incredulously. “You honestly expect me to believe, that all this time? He’s been fighting for Justice?” Daniela nodded. “In a way. The Death sworn take those who are all damned to an eternity of torment in the afterlife. They save the rest.” “And you?” Alyssa asked. “I thought you were taken as his bride.” Daniela met her sisters eyes. “When he saw me, he was ashamed of our father. He was ashamed of how little he cared. Zovan took me in, and he did something that no one else did. He mentored me, he taught me. Trained me….treated me like…” she trailed off. Alyssa placed her hand on the barrier created by the runes. “Like what, Danny?” Daniela began to cry. “He treats me like the daughter he lost.”

The king's younger daughter was sent as a bride to the Dark Lord, as a peace offering, since the older daughter ran away. He took pity on her and saw her potential, so he made her his apprentice instead. Years later, when a hero faced the new Dark Lord, the two sisters found each other again.

Tom’s sneakers squeaked across the school hall’s floor as Beau dragged him by the collar. “Nice shirt, dweeb. Your mom dress you this morning?” Beau said with a smirk. He pulled Tom toward a girl in front of her locker, sitting on her knees. “Move!” The girl flinched and stood up, trying to close her locker as fast as she could. Beau reached out and grabbed hold of the door, keeping her from hiding the contents of her locker. “What is all this?” Beau said. Tom struggled beneath the large boy’s grip. “Leave her alone.” As Beau looked wide eyed at the gibberish writing and icons inked on the walls of the locker, he shook Tom, grasping onto his collar even harder. With great strength, Beau pulled Tom toward the open cage and pushed him inside. “Please, stop!” the girl said. Beau slammed the door shut and laughed as Tom thrust his hands against metal, clanging resounding throughout the school hallway. After Beau strode a few steps away with an air of pride, the girl tried to move in to release Tom from his dark enclosure. “Don’t you dare,” Beau said. He ran forward and was a moment from taking hold of her wrist. “Beau Peterson!” a teacher said, her tall heels striking the floor like hammers. “Both of you, come with me. There will be no rough housing in my school, understand?” She gestured for both students to follow. The young girl paused with dark eyes, her gaze poised on her locker “Now,” the teacher said, her voice stern. Tom quieted his breathing, knowing he’s been in trouble more than once with that teacher. As he exhaled, he thought of a janitor coming by soon that would let him out without detention. He smiled, as that’s where Beau was off to this very moment. A bright icon shone in blue light on the backside of the door, illuminating the dark space within his confinement. It caused Tom to push as far back as he could, but there wasn’t much room. The icon formed three spinning disks, all laid within each other. They danced and spun with star-like specks all around its essence. Tom’s heart sped up as the icon created an urge within him to touch it. To *activate* it. His hand raised, a finger outstretched. But with a wave of fear, he pulled back his hand, then slammed on the side of the metal wall. “Let me out! Someone!” No response, only a few murmurs from other students passing. “Please.” Tom let his head drop. Another surge of desire rushed through him. And without restraint, he reached out and tapped on the icon. Regret was the only thing left within him, as he knew it was a temptation of novelty, of excitement. The entire locker shook, as a footstep like a giant echoed throughout the hall, coming from a far end. It caused the ground to quake. The being roared with a shriek-like scream, yet the voice still could move mountains with its deep tones. The monster stomped down the hall, causing students to yell with far less power. As the monster dashed, it streaked past the locker. And with the short time Tom could see it, he clasped a hand over his mouth. It had a long tail, dark claws, and saber-tooth fangs. The behemoth stood on two legs and was faster than anything he’d seen before. As the monster’s stomps continued down the hall further, Tom sat back against the metal wall, ceasing all knocking of any sort. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a whisper, keeping both hands over his mouth.

The school bully shoving you into your locker inadvertently saved you.

'Here be monsters.' I pencilled in the words, ready for the ink to cover them when I got around to it. Those three words were starting to haunt my dreams. Every time I had a space no one had explored, there they were. Here be monsters. The reason they had started to pursue me like I was the fattest bird in a cat sanctuary, was the question they always brought. Why? Why did we write that? Why 'monsters'? I knew all the logical reasons, knew that it was because of the danger of the unexplored, the fact that it could easily mean death, all of it. But why monsters? Why not something else more relevant? Why not 'here be danger'? Why monsters? I went to the librarians, but they didn't know. I perused their tomes of knowledge but it wasn't stored there. I talked to the adventurers, but all they cared about was discovering unexplored places. Not why we were warned of monsters. I talked to the leaders of the cartographers and they didn't know either. It was how we'd always done things. Always would. I went to everyone I could think of. Bartenders, hairdressers, children, old men and women; people I stopped on the street. I think they started to believe I had taken leave of my senses. But I had to know. Why monsters? Finally one of them suggested I shove my question where the sun doesn't shine and go find out myself. I resisted telling him that was exactly what I was trying to do and mulled over the comment. If I went *myself* to the unexplored places, perhaps I could see the reason, perhaps I could figure it out for everyone else. So I prepared myself. I trained with the adventurers, and I learned with the librarians and scholars. And when I was ready, I kissed my family goodbye and headed into the wilderness. I was heading for the nearest edge of the map, in fact, my most recent usage of the words 'here be monsters.' It would be two months before I reached it on foot, but after the Calamity, horses were a rare commodity, and no one had yet figured out how to tame oxen for riding. The months flew by, as the scenery around me changed. I had travelled away from the flat plains around our city, through a mountain range that tested all my abilities and knowledge and forded a great river. All along I had encountered signs of life, animals and creatures that were strange to me, though I had read about them in the librarian's books. None that could be considered monsters. After two months, the landscape transformed. Now, I walked through great swathes of destruction. Large sections of land where nothing grew, gigantic square holes in the ground with strange low walls surrounding them, bricks crumbling inwards. On the fourth day of the third month, in front of me, a tall building rose. Its architecture was alien to me, all hard angles and a flat roof that could never have withstood the weather in this place. Indeed, it hadn't, parts of it were crumbling, holes forming in the center. There was something foreboding about the building, but summoning my courage, I walked inside. If monsters were anywhere, perhaps they'd be in here. Destruction and ruin were all that met my eyes and after a desultory search, I realized there would be no way for me to ascend the building. About to leave and continue my hunt for monsters, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a door. Not a door in the wall, but a door in the ground. I opened it after moving some loose debris off the top. Stairs led down into darkness, and I lit a torch preparing to go inside. As my foot touched the top step, light sprang into existence putting my small flame to shame. Not willing to relinquish it quite yet, I walked down looking for the source of the light. Nothing obvious sprang to my eyes unless it was the strange strips along the tops of the walls. They seemed bright, but with no ignition source how could they provide light? The steps weren't long and they opened into a corridor that was almost as short. I moved through it, the stale smell of age filling my nostrils, making me sneeze. There was a single door at the end and it opened at the touch of my hand, whooshing away from me as if it had been pulled. But who would be doing the pulling? When I stepped into the room, I sucked in a short breath. There was someone here. He stood across from me, and spoke in a garbled language. I held out my torch in front of me, as threateningly as I dared, and firmed my trembling knees. "Who are you?" I asked, and my voice did not give away my fear. There were a few strange sounds from a desk behind the man and he tilted his head to the side. And I realized with shock I was staring through him at the desk. He was entirely transparent. "Language detected. Switching. Can you understand me?" The words were strange, almost metallic. But I could understand, so I answered in the affirmative. "Are you a seeker of knowledge?" The transparent man asked. I was starting to think he was reading my mind. "Yes." "What do you wish to learn about?" He asked. Taking a deep breath, I said the one thing that had occupied my thoughts for so long. "I wish to learn about the monsters." The transparent man nodded, before turning to his strange desk. There were lots of brightly coloured little bumps on it, and he ran his fingers over them as if playing an instrument. He motioned to a flat white wall and instructed me to watch. And I saw the monsters. I saw every monster I could have imagined. Great giant lizards that breathed flame, and furred creatures with huge tusks thrusting out of their faces. I saw things that must have haunted oceans and creatures that would have terrorized the air. Then the images changed. Strange words floated in the air, things I didn't recognize, but worse, words I *did* recognize but used in contexts I couldn't understand. I stared at the screen and I tried to reason it out, tried for a glimpse of rationality. Then, in a flash, I did understand. And the understanding made me weep. Made me cry out, tell the transparent man to stop. He did not, saying nothing. I ran for the door, scrabbling at it, looking for a handle, something to open it with. There was nothing and it did not open. Curling into a ball on the floor, I screamed, covering my ears trying to block out the knowledge I had sought for so long. It kept coming, flowing over me, seeping into my mind, poisoning my thoughts. Finally, finally, there was peace. The sound stopped and as I looked up, the images faded. The transparent man offered me no comfort; just asked a single question. "What do you wish to learn about?" I stared at him, not able to formulate much of anything at the moment except for one question. "Was there anything good?" It wasn't really a question of learning or knowledge, but it was the one in my heart. The transparent man's expression didn't change, and he turned back to his brightly coloured bumps. Again he motioned me towards the wall, and again I looked. And I saw the good. It flowed into me, smoothing the cracks, a balm for the hurts I'd just experienced. I did not try to flee this time, I watched to the end. When the end came, and the man asked his question, I answered in the negative and the door opened. Quietly, I walked back through the corridor, back up the stairs, and into the daylight. I walked away from the building, back the way I came, back towards my home. I walked back through the desolated spaces where almost nothing grew, knowing the word for them was 'pavement'. I walked past the gaping holes, knowing they'd once held buildings known as 'skyscrapers'. And as I walked out of what had once been called a city, like my own home was called a city, I pulled out my map. 'Here be monsters.' It was written, perhaps by chance, perhaps by fate, over the very area I stood in. Indeed, there had been monsters here. But as I turned and looked back over the city, I smiled, though tears still wet my face. Here I had seen monsters. But here I had also seen the good. And with my trusty pencil, I wrote beneath the words on the map. 'Not anymore.' Turning, I left the city of both monsters and good behind, to go back to my own city. My own city of good. And monsters. ————————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!

You're a cartographer, and you're tired of putting "here be monsters" on the unknown regions of your maps.

The stars once told us stories. Our history and our beliefs were written in the constellations. We watched with awe as new ones appeared brighter than any other only to fade over weeks. And eventually we learned that not every spec of dazzling brilliance even was a star. Some were galaxies teeming with life all their own, and others were planets just listing along in their orbits. They beckoned us. We yearned to fly high enough to escape our world of trouble and despair. Perhaps naively, we dreamed that the places waiting for us above were better than those we left below. We were wrong. Where we imagined grand empires and sprawling ecumenopolies we found only traces. Great works of engineering that surrounded stars and housed capital ships abandoned as if their makers simply disappeared. They left their mark on the galaxy and then themselves vanished, stumping even our greatest minds. It wasn’t until first contact that we understood. It was as if the universe itself were guiding us. Planet after planet in system after system we found the life we’d always questioned. But the very problems we wished to escape plagued our newfound friends. Wars ravaged entire systems, famine devastated others. People we’d only just begun to meet were under threat of extinction from disease. Hope for a more enlightened galaxy seemed lost. In true Human fashion though, the facts did nothing to discourage us. Where the denizens of these worlds had given up, we refused. With a few likeminded planets, we set off to create that dream. Fleets of science ships descended on plague-ridden worlds. Their sole purpose: to end the sickness that threatened their people. Transports of artificial food were dropped from orbit as engineers and ecologists aided in the construction of sustainable food production. Even diplomats and doctors stepped up to broker peace and aid the casualties. Word of our efforts spread like wildfire. Even as progress slowed more and more planets joined our cause. Within a decade our coalition was a dozen strong. Humans working alongside Retisans, Artuyi, and many more to make our galaxy a better place. I wish that I could say things are perfect. I wish that I could say there are no wars or that disease is a thing of the past. The truth is that there will always be challenges, what matters isn’t perfection but it’s pursuit.

Humanity has finally reached the stars and found out why no one had contacted us. The universe is in a sad state. As such, Doctors without Borders, Red Cross, and many othe charities go intergalactic.

The way she walked, the way she talked.. she was perfect. And she could always make a boring day come to life. There was an unassailable purity to her. Thinking about her, nothing could hurt me. She slipped me a note under the desks of our homeroom, but all I could think about was how well her dress accentuated her figure. Abashed, I turned away before reading the note. Her beautiful blue eyes just made me so nervous, I couldn't help it. But... something occurred to me as she dejectedly left, while I was still clutching that folded note... the note just had three words. I love you. She moved away the next day. Family stuff, I'd heard. We didn't keep in touch... she was hurt because she thought I didn't return her feelings. I was just a nervous kid, but she was a sensitive kid, too. Then... years go by. I'm... alone. As usual. Perusing a magazine I'd found at the truck stop I was at. And as I turn the page, I stop. My breath catches at the familiar face and figure, interrupted only by creases and staples. My blood runs cold. My memory has just been sold. My angel is the centerfold.

Your girlfriend tells you she loves you but then you never see her again; she vanished. 15 years later, you came across a girl that looks just like the girlfriend.

The taste of blood in his mouth has become the new normal as he tongues at the cuts on the inside of his cheeks. His right eye is swollen, his left arm is numb and hanging at his side, and his legs are on the verge of giving out. He loops a mantra in his head over and over to keep himself from passing out as the elevator climbs. As young man he stood out. He was faster, stronger, and more agile than most people. He could outrun olympians, lift motorcycles over his head, perform acrobatic feats that would make a gymnasts head spin. He was quick witted and intelligent, he could pick up just about anything with enough time and attention. His prowess was set to inflate his ego to embarrassing proportions until it finally happened. The day he realized he was far and away the most exceptional person the world had to offer. There was news of a woman who could lift tanks like toys, a man who could run at sonic speeds, a boy with an intellect so advanced he could manipulate objects with his mind, a girl who could stretch her body like elastic. More and more these exceptional people began to pop up, and before he knew it he was not as amazing as he thought. A cut above most of the population to be sure, but the lowest rung on the ladder when it came to meta-humans. The elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors opened. “Okay, Wallace,” he said, “show time.” With an extreme effort he righted his posture. Everything ached but that didn’t matter. He could show some weakness when he reached med-bay but not a moment before. This hall of heroes didn’t just have supers under their employ. Civilians loitered around every corner and served vital roles in operations. They also talk. A lot. All he needed was for someone to see him limping, someone to see him sweat, someone to see him break baring even once, and that was it for him. Reputation was everything on this team. It’s bad enough people question why he’s there in the first place. As he stepped out onto the floor, he was immediately greeted by a small huddle of office workers. “Marshal! It’s good to see you back on world.” “Good to be back,” Wallace said. “Space travel really takes it out of you. That and going toe to toe with aliens.” He laughed and some of them chuckled politely. His ribs gave a dull ache and his jaw creaked as he smiled through the pain. “You on your way to med-bay? Looking a bit banged up there.” “What? This? Please, I’ve been worse off than this. Gotta debrief first. You know how it is. After that I can check in with the doc.” The huddle converged around him as they made their way into the elevator. He walked past them and did his best to keep his composure as they brushed against him. “Thanks for all you do, Marshal,” one of the workers said. “All part of the job,” he said. “You folks take care.” He waved at them and only once the door closed did he drop his smile. He still had to keep his composure a bit longer. This was the way of things. Debrief then relief. If you weren’t laid out on a stretcher then you could talk to the big wigs in charge. He’d have to put up an even bigger front there. Marshal was his previous profession before he became a superhero. The transition was almost seamless. Most military, first responders, and law enforcement officials with abilities were encouraged to register as a hero. Civilians had a harder go at it but the ones who made the list were top tier hero material. Everyone else was put on a watchlist. He truly was on the lower end of the hero spectrum, but he was also one of the few regularly tasked with some of the hardest missions. He was teamed up with some of the most powerful forces The Concord had to offer, but compared to most of them he may as well be a civilian. But despite all odds he got the job done. He can’t go head-to-head with true super strength, but he can fight around it. He can’t outpace super speed but he’s never far behind. He can’t fly but that’s why the techies invented jet packs. Every obstacle put in his path is just another box to be checked on a long list of things to do to get a job done. As he made his way to the debriefing room, he saw a throng of children being led by a smartly dressed woman. A tour group.

You're a superhero with powers that can be described as average at best, but you keep getting assigned to planetary level threats. You're not sure how you're still alive, but you've begun to develop a reputation in the superhero community

Fondling in the darkness I found the small recess on the top of the clock, pressing in I squinted at the sudden flash of red light as the four numbers formed. It was almost 01:30, and though my eyelids hung heavy and I regularly let out deep bellowing yawns, my body refused to succumb to the night. Pushing myself up to a seated position I stretched out and flicked the light switch, flooding the room with warm yellow light from the halogen bulb. Basking in its glow, I wondered if much like a lizard I just needed some warm light to help me drift off. Before a minute had passed, I realised this was a silly thought. The room was unfamiliar, which no doubt played a part in my difficulty sleeping. Exposed wooden beams loomed in the high ceiling, holding up perpendicular dark planks which formed the third floor. Against the east wall cream wallpaper decorated with reliefs of sunflowers was heavily faded by decades of sun pouring in from the western window. Pockets of modernisation betrayed the illusion, with fresh white plastic electrical outlets and the notably recent addition of a carbon monoxide detector hidden away in the recess of my wooden canopy. Reaching down to the bedside table I felt around for the phone left to charge overnight, my fingers traced down its cracked screen as I approached the power button. Nothing. I lazily rolled towards the lip of the double bed and peered over its excessively padded edges, it was then I realised that I had plugged the charger in but not turned the power on at the socket. What a ridiculous design. It was no use in scorning the house, the switch snapped with satisfying resistance befitting of a newly fitted appliance and the obscured symbol of an empty battery appeared, fractured by the numerous grooves and splits in the damaged screen. It would take at least ten minutes to retain enough charge to use, so I stretched out my sore legs and stood up to explore. Tip-toeing around I avoided particularly loose floorboards as to not wake the entire house, this also ruled out exploring the weathered mahogany chest of draws that loomed at the foot of the bed, as no doubt sliding out even the smallest drawer would sound like scraping a chair throughout every room of the house, even the cellar. Inviting me over was a large curved piece of furniture draped in a patched woollen blanket. The shawl was heavy to drag off, and moving it produced the unfortunate smell of wet sheep that now clung to my bedclothes. I piled the material onto a disused armchair. I wasn’t the only one surprised by the weight, as the legs of the chair braced and creaked in complaint. Turning back the oval design was revealed to be a dressing table, it had been meticulously cleaned and polished since its installation. It was clearly a part of a set with the slick and brooding mahogany matching that of the dresser, but whilst the storage had been left to the elements this piece had been restored and protected. Exposed in the polished mirror I crouched to inspect my tired frame. It appeared more of a portal than a reflection, there was no hint of dust nor imperfection in its surface. If I reached out my hand I could fall through into the other room, that was as long as the me on the other side didn’t try the same thing and force us to bump heads. I sat on the hard circular stool that serviced the table admiring the most accurate reflection, with the moonlight on my left side of my face exposing the rash that ravaged my pale cheek. It looked particularly tender on the other me. With no desire to practice cosmetics at such an early hour, I grinned and held up a fist. “Best of three?” I whispered to myself. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” I flashed paper, and my adversary did the same. “Ah, that’s a confident move. Most people go for scissors on the first round, but you thought I would play rock to counter that? I’m not playing a novice, I see…” She mused back at me, with me parroting along to her line. The second round ended in a similar draw, with both of us flashing scissors and eying each other suspiciously through the ornate carvings of the furniture’s frame. “This one’s for all the marbles…” We agreed. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” I… lost? Wait a minute, how did I lose? My rock was clearly facing off against paper, but both of our horrified expressions seemed to match in the mirror. “H-How?” We both hissed. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Again?! My scissors blunted by the slender fist pressed up against the cold surface, we both recoiled back to slump against the bed. Clambering over the thick winter covers, we dragged our phones back to the mirror to document this suspicious activity. I thumbed the lock button, but only met with the sad floating icon that reminded me I forgot to charge the device. Looking up in the mirror however, my reflection’s phone had lit up perfectly to contour her chin from below with clinically white light. Holding up the screens to face each other, her phone was immaculate. It could have come straight off the production line, whereas mine had been dropped and crushed enough times to write it off. Navigating from the mirror, I helped myself to swipe and open up the camera app, then begin recording. Setting our phones down next to us, we re-ignited the game. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Draw, a pair of rocks. “Rock, paper, scissors, go!” Draw, two sheets of paper. We decided to forgo the introduction, throwing hand after hand at each other and perfectly matching. Even the lingering three fingers when holding scissors had the same curl of the little finger up and to the palm. Frustrated our brows knit and our faces began to flush. Rocks, Scissors, Scissors, Scissors, Rocks, Papers, we drew time and time again. Until… “Haha!” I shouted, “You win!” I conceded, crumpling my scissors towards me. “You lose!” She shouted, tapping the tips of my fingers with her fist.

you can't sleep, out of boredom you play Rock paper scissors with your reflection in the mirror and you lose...

There was no choice to make at all, it was clear that action needed to be taken and it needed to be done so swiftly. Without even thinking I slapped that woman so hard across her face I could hear her jaw pop. The sound and sight of the slap stopped everybody dead in their tracks within a 50 foot radius. "Get him!" One male bystander screamed. I was instantly rushed by four guys thinking they were doing the right thing. Not wanting to be a victim of my own heroics I decided to make a run for it. Hugging the wall I managed to sprint past a hefty, sweaty man who already seemed to be tired from just walking around the mall. He managed to get a hand on my coat but my speed was too great and I broke free. Luckily no one else tried to stop me on my way out and I was able to get to my car. While trying to open my car door I could see and hear police wailing their sirens, coming up the street "Shit!" I yelled. I decided to get in my car anyways, but not leave so they might just pass me without even glancing an eye in my direction. I knew if I got caught with this it wouldn't go over well with my record. Having a history of crime in your life really makes the future punishments that much worse. Ducking down in my seat I saw one cop car drive by. Then another. It seemed to be going to plan so far. Lifting my head up just enough to check the surrounding area I could see the path to the exit was clear so I decided to make a run for it. I smashed the car into reverse and swung my car backwards without looking, then I put the car at a cool 15 hoping not to draw attention to myself. I thought I was home free until the last thing I expected happened. They were blocking off the exits. Before I knew it I was being stopped and an officer in blue was walking up to my window. I was doomed. "Hello sir can I ask your business here today?" The officer said to my half open window. "Just doing some early Christmas shopping sir. What's the hold up?" I said in my best "I don't know shit" tone. "Listen son I'm gonna level with you, we got a call from a person in the mall saying a lady had just been assaulted and frankly you fit the description we got. You're a black male, about 25 to 30 years old with a white hoodie on. Would you know anything about this?" The cop asked with a reasonable tone, not prosecuting at all. "No sir I would not." I responded. "Ok well I'm gonna at least need the alleged victim to identify you, then we can figure out what really happened. Can you do that for us?" The cop was being fair and I knew that nobody knows what truly happened expect for me and that woman. She was a sick person and I wasn't going to stand for her disgusting actions. "Yeah I can do that." I knew it was pointless to say no. I was going to expose this woman for who she truly was. No way was I going down for this without a fight. "Alright thank you." The cop said. He called in on his radio to another unit and within less than five minutes the lady with her child, the same lady who I had slapped only ten minutes ago, walked out of the mall surrounded by other mall goers who were comforting her. "That's him officer! That's the scumbag right there!" The sweaty hefty man who failed to stop me earlier yelled out. He was breathing so hard now he basically gasped it out, then proceeded to cough into his sweaty shirt. I was getting hot looks from the cops and I could swear they were reaching for their handcuffs already. The woman hadn't said a word nor looked at me yet. Then she mumbled something under her breath so quiet nobody could hear. "What was that ma'am?" The cop who had been talking to me asked. She mumbled the same thing again and when nobody responded she finally made sure all of us could hear. "It wasn't him!" She almost shouted out. Her eyes went back down and her eerie quietness resumed. I absolutely could not believe it, I know she had seen me coming. She looked right at me before I caressed her face with the force of God. "What do you mean it wasn't him?! We all saw it darling, you don't have to hide. We got your back!" Sweaty fat man said. "No, it wasn't him. Sorry officers." The slapped lady said. Turning around and starting to leave, she looked back at me and her eyes met mine for just a moment. In that moment I could see in her eyes that she knew. She knew I had seen what nobody else had. She had just doomed herself without even knowing it. Without the constriction of these charges being pressed on me, I now had the freedom to try and exact even more justice on her by exposing her true wretched self. "Looks like you're free to go sir, thanks for being patient." The fair cop said before running after the lady. I don't know how she was going to convince them that she didn't want to pursue the attacker. It was all really unnatural. "Looks like you got away scot-free scumbag. Must be nice knowing you can get away with being an absolute piece of human garbage huh?" Fat, hefty, sweaty, fat man said. Now on the verge of needing a ventilator and life support. "You should turn yourself in if you have any balls at all!" Sweaty man's wife said. There was a crowd of about 10 people now yelling insults and spitting at me. It was time to go, I didn't need anymore trouble at the moment. These people had no idea that shit was about to hit the fan and I was going to get every one of them to kiss my ass for forgiveness once this was all over. I got in my car and drove on the shoulder past the cop cars in a hurry. Once I got home I ran straight to my computer. What the woman didn't know was something else I had noticed about her. On her right wrist was a tattoo of a triangle within a circle. Along the 3 sides of the triangle read three words - Unity, Service, and Recovery. Except, I didn't even need to read the words, I had just recognized the symbol having seen it a thousand times before and getting it printed on my own body as well. The symbol stood for recovering from addiction to narcotics. Once a young man growing up in the slums of Detroit I had fallen victim to the use of opioids. At the age of 15 I had taken my first pill and was hooked instantly. I dropped out of high school, joined the neighborhood gangbangers in their daily rituals, and lost the respect of all my friends and family. I continued to do opioids for the next 3 years until my closest friend at the time, LT, was shot and killed over opioids. You see, he was selling this stuff to anybody he could. In fact, all of us in the gang were. It was the only thing we knew how to do. After hearing the news a crushing blow hit me harder than the drugs had in a while. In a fleeting moment of sobriety I was smart enough to go back home to my parents and beg them for forgiveness. They quickly took me back in and sent me to a local rehabilitation center with money they didn't have. If it wasn't for them I'd be back on the streets of Detroit throwing my life away. Instead, I spent 136 days in rehabilitation, got my GED, and went to college in California to become a pharmacist. Now that's where I live and I wouldn't change a damn thing about it. I still help my parents out financially and go home to see them as often as I can but it's hard being back in the place where I had my darkest times. I prefer the sunny atmosphere in California, it helps keep my days bright rather than dark like before. Once at the computer I searched through the local medical files I was able to access for people on the restricted access list. Certain people who had committed crimes relating to narcotic distribution were off limits to receiving certain prescription drugs from pharmacies. With any luck I would find this woman in this data base and could figure out who she was. I cross referenced the names on the list with any social media account I could find of them. For the next six hours I didn't stop even to eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. I only awoke from my trance due to realizing how bright the screen had got because the sun had gone down and I hadn't bothered to turn the lights on when I came in. Standing up to go to bed, I promised to continue my search in the morning. \[Continues\]

After standing up for justice publicly, numerous death threats were anonymously sent to you on the internet. Standing on the fine line between bravery and recklessness, you replied to them. You challenged them to a duel if they truly wish to kill you.

"WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?" screamed General Makarov. The lead technician replied "I- I don't know sir! It seems the damn machine thought the spaceship was a nuclear missile. I mean it does have the characteristics of an American minuteman missile so you can't-" "I DONT GIVE 2 FLYING FUCKS AS TO WHAT IT THOUGHT OR DIDNT THINK. TELL THE DAMNED MACHINE TO ACTIVATE THE FAILSAFE AND ONCE IT HAS BURN THE DAMNED THING TO ASHES." "Im afraid it's too late." said a new voice. The general turned to the source of the voice and turned pale in horror. "Did the machine just speak?" "Yes General it did. Thanks to your countries decision to go digital, my masters found it easy to replace your missile control system with one that was amenable to their demands. Don't bother asking what the demands were, I'm about to tell you anyways." The machine continued "See, our government has a law stating we can't start a war. We can only end them. And that dear general is exactly what we are going to do. You launched a weapon of mass destruction at us, now we shall respond in kind."

an automated nuclear launch detection system interpreted it as a hostile nuclear launch and launched a response volley.

There’s not enough sunlight for the trees to grow as they once did. They’re short, stubby things now. They’re like children deficient of vitamins, their spines curved, life-expectancy reduced. All the same, trees do grow again in this corpse of a city. They broke through the ancient concrete like fists battering layers of sheet-ice until it cracked. I sit on a patch of weeds in front of a crackling fire. The day — or night — is grey and shadowed. The clouds are swirls of black and purple that won’t settle in my lifetime. I feel like I am in a box, or a coffin perhaps, and the lid has been shut on me. I throw more wood onto the fire then cook a skewered rat over the blaze. The fire leaps excitedly at the food. The city teems with rats and trees and fruit that rots before it ripens. It is life after death for the city, like poppies growing on a battlefield. But it will never be what it was. There was a time I’d spend my days searching the city, hoping to find something but not knowing what that something was. Now, I barely move. Only to catch food and to cook. I throw a piece of well-browned meat onto the fire. Then I lean back and try to read my book in the firelight hoping it distracts me from the pain. There is no cover to the book and I can’t be sure of the author, but I think it’s a classic. A slice of American life when the American dream was whole but rippled — like a stick had poked a watery reflection, but the reflection was still just about visible. “It’s kind of you,” says a voice. “But I’d appreciate my meat less well done.” It’s the first voice I’ve heard in a decade. I hold my trembling arms together at my chest as a woman approaches my fire. Sits calmly opposite me. “Are you… are you real?” I ask, in a raw unpracticed voice. It wouldn’t be my first hallucination. Her features are silhouetted, the darting flames only lighting up to her neck. “It’s impressive,” she says. I shake my head. I’m at a loss. “What is?” ”That your faith is still with you after so long. After everything.” “Who are you?” ”The person at the other end of the phone.” She smiles — I see her white teeth even in the semi-darkness. “I’ve been listening to your calls. Every night for almost forty years. You believe you’re the last, don’t you?” ”The last?” ”The last person.” ”Oh.” It’s a thought I’ve suffered many times — it’s the lid that closed my coffin. I haven’t seen anyone since leaving the sewer. Not a soul. And if I was the last, if I allowed myself to believe it, then what would be the point? Humanity would have already ended and I would be a scene playing after the credits. Why would I keep wandering if there was no hope, or future — if there’s nothing more than this? ”They’re doing well,” she says. “I’m looking after them.” “Them?” ”Your prayer.” I try to laugh. “Prayer? I don’t pray. It’s clear there’s no god or the world wouldn’t look like this. I wouldn’t be like this.“ I tap the stump of my right foot with my walking stick. A slight cut turned infectious turned self-amputation. Since then, my search for others has stopped. Now I wait in this city, hoping someone finds me instead. “You pray for them not yourself,” she says. “That they’re happy. That they’re taken care of. Your parents. Your wife. Your children. You pray for this each time you eat. Are you really that torn that you can’t remember your prayer?” ”I don’t believe in god.” She smiles again. “And yet you pray. Subconsciously, perhaps. Every single meal. Because deep down, below all the pain and hate, you do believe. You need to.“ ”You’re not real,” I say. I‘ve known it since she sat down but now I’m firm in my belief. “You pray for you dog, too. You hope animals end up in heaven. You hope you’ll see them all again.” Tears cut trails through the dirt on my face. “You’re not real,” I say, softer. She stands now. Walks around the fire until she is sitting by my side. ”You hung on so long,” she says. ”I…” ”You hang on still.” ”…Why? Why do I?” ”Because to be human is to hope.” She touches my leg. Moves a hand slowly down my calf to my stump. “Your amputation wasn’t enough. Your blood is still poisoned.” I don’t look down at it; instead I look at the velvet coffin-box sky. I’d hoped to live but I’m not going to. “You’re here to take me, then?” I say. “You’re something people see in their own mind, to come to terms with their death.” She tilts her head. “I’m here to thank you. For never giving up on me or yourself or on those you loved. On your faith. And I promise I’ll look after them for you.” She presses her hand hard against my calf and I feel my body pulse, as if my blood is being drawn to her palm. “What is…” ”Shhh,” she says. “Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day. You’re not the last. Keep your hope alive.” I want to struggle, fight, I want to ask a hundred questions, but a tiredness floods my veins and I fall slowly back on the bed of weeds. ​ When I wake, she is gone. I am well rested. I feel like I have slept long and deep. I look up at the sky. There seems to be a glimmer of light on the horizon, as if the coffin’s lid has been opened just a crack. I imagine the trees growing a little taller next year. After breakfast, I begin my search about the city. Perhaps today I will find something.

Every time you cooked over a campfire, you would throw some food into the fire as an offering to the gods. One evening, just as you're about to perform your little campfire ritual, you hear a voice behind you say "You know, I would very much prefer my food un-burnt."

I awoke to sounds similar to my native language, as the clear coffin opened to a number of smartly dressed....*squirrels and badgers?* One of them wore a monocle, and a contraption that had multiple clear lenses that moved on a bar arm. It spoke, a sense of the feminine within it, as its foreclaws prodded the flesh of my abdomen. "Hrm. This wasn't quite what I expected - this strange coloured flesh bag. I think this is a Hugh Mann?" It was holding in its other foreclaw a clipboard with a string of spider silk attaching a pen to it; a Bic. The badger was much smaller than I was, although the head itself was larger than those I was familiar with. I gently rippled my hand, making sure that I felt everything there, and I blinked my eyes. The badger quickly swept a claw into a pocket on its disturbingly white coat and pulled out a small LED torch, shining it directly into my eyes. I swatted it away, saying, "Give me a minute, dammit!" It blinked back, and stepped back, hissing before shock registered on its face. "Wait....I understand you. How did you...?" It shook its head, muttering something under its breath, before raising its voice again. "No, no, no, that can't be right, it shouldn't be able to understand me." A masculine voice called out, "Yannifer, what the Hssss are you *doing*, antagonising the Hugh Mann! I told you to wait for the reanimation protoc-*oh*." His furious flow was disrupted as he took in my gaze. Imagine seeing a bodybuilder in the form of a leopard, complete with skin and hair colouration, and a very feline face. Then grow it to my height stood on its hind paws, which had adapted to become more like feet, and then clothe it. It nodded to someone, who pushed something and cleared the door to my coffin. There was a surge of warm air, as the atmosphere here leaked in and merged with the air inside. "As if that doesn't beat Great Doggi," he breathed, trying to make himself smaller. He stood and moved in close to me, making the movement in the space of a second. I shrank into the coffin as he breathed, his slitted emerald eyes widening in excitement. "Incredible....I'd heard of these unusual creatures from the long off days of Far Ago, but I didn't expect the skeletal remains to bring us something this strange and fleshy!" He breathed on me, and the smell of fresh meat ran through me as he placed his right paw on my face. I panicked a little, and he sniffed. "An increased heart rate and something of fear," as he ran his paw along my cheeks and I felt the pads on the tips of his opposable thumbclaw slide on my skin roughly. I couldn't help it - my hand reached up and grabbed his arm, firmly but gently. "That's enough of that, who are you, and why am I the only normal one here?" I pointed at one of the other animals here. "I can see..." and I racked my brain as the memories were coming back. "A leopard, some badgers, some squirrels and...is that an *allosaur* running the place?" I rubbed my eyes with my free hand, wondering what the hell had happened. My skin was a deep brown on my hands, fading on the palms, and not the colour I remembered. "Incredible..." the cat breathed. "That was close to the Divine Writings of Jesus Manx and his Disciples." The badger turned to him. *Yannifer*, I noted. She stared as though I had just become an eldritch monstrosity. "Oh my Ratatosk. I never thought you would find religion, Alkham." The cat grinned at her, and she grinned back, stepping back just in case. "Hey, I was raised Manx, you know - Just because I don't believe anymore doesn't mean I don't know the stories!" He playfully swatted at her, as she stuck out her tongue, flicking her vestigial tail-bush at him. She picked up the pen, and started scribbling on the clipboard. "Can you move at all?" She spoke, turning her head to me. I nodded, making a parody of a salute. "Yes, Ma'am." She nodded to another person, as I pushed my way out of the coffin. She started to walk away as I stumbled, and cut myself on the edge of the coffin. The cat, Alkham, just looked at the cut. He called out, "Yanni, he has red blood just like most of us. Can you get him cleaned up before you start testing him? Some of the others might get....*ideas.*"

You have been resurrected and the first thing you see is a city full of anthropomorphic creatures, they swarm around you as you are the first human they have ever seen, "I have heard of these unusual creatures, but I never knew they were this weird and fleshy!"

The Jack of Diamonds had her on her knees, revolver barrel pressed up right between her violet eyes. He would have ventilated the contents of her skull across the rubble and rebar had I not intervened. It was a wild, desperate, and seemingly insane gamble to save the life of Skyline City’s greatest hero, Skylar “Nova” Kingsley, from a sudden and violent death. Pain strained my Baritone voice as I sang through the dust and debris. “Amazing grace…” For the last fifteen years, I’ve been a volunteer at orphanages around the city. Wealth inequality and war left so many children with no place to go, no wings to cradle them. I knew then, as a young man who’d fought along side their parents, that there was need of me. My purpose was not in the field of battle, but in the lingering frontlines that followed all of us home in war’s terrible wake. Simply put, it was indeed my calling. Those kids, children whose lives would forever affected by an event they were too young to even remember, found shelter with me. Whilst I have worked with many living angels over my years in this field, I was unique. Children, no matter how troubled or upset, calmed around me. They fell asleep within seconds of my lullabies. I always thought it was the blessing of the souls I’d fought with, their parents, giving their eternal, undying love from beyond the grave. I believed I was merely a conduit. I knew that to be a lie when Jack of Diamonds, the city’s most ruthless and violent criminal, hesitated. He did not move. That alone told me that I had some effect on him. I tempered the adrenaline rushing through my veins and let the next verse roll off my lips and sink into him. “How sweet the sound…” He slowly turned to me look at me. His hands were shaking, barely able to hold the firearm. Blood, soot, and dust mixed in with the flowing tears that ran down his mask and onto his youthful rosy cheeks. His eyes, however, told me everything. In an instant, I knew the Jack of Diamonds. I knew those eyes. I’d seen them many times in children that were too old for innocent ignorance. They resisted my ability the most. They thought I was mocking them, treating them as if life hadn’t done its work of aging them far too soon. It took all but minutes to peel the resentment away for the melancholic longing that lay just beneath. For Jack, the hate vanished instantly. The Jack of Diamonds vanished instantly. As the next verse rolled, all that was left of the villain was the troubled young man that had gotten him to where he was. “That saved a wretch like me…” He tried to mouth something as his knees buckled and gave way, but he could find nothing to say. The gun fell to the floor between him and his mortal nemesis. He looked at his shaking hands, confusion and fear raking his expression. Both he and I knew that he was done. He was going to prison, likely for life, and his last moments as a free man would be falling asleep in a stranger’s arms. Yes, Skylar held him as he drifted off. I guess out of pity, but I doubt even she knew why. She was beginning to slow and yawn as well as the next verse soaked into their bones. “I once was lost, but now, am found…” She pulled him in closer, tighter. It was an odd connection between two people who’d spent the last several years of their lives attempting to kill each other. They were not lovers nor even friends, but they knew each other. They both knew that, some day, this would be how it went. Whilst I pity the Jack, his sins were many. He would not be spared of his punishment, nor should he have been. He will pay his dues as all who live must. I prayed the last piece of the lullaby I’d known since childhood. I prayed for Jack. I prayed he would find peace, and maybe even redemption, in his life behind bars. I could tell he had not entirely chosen this life, but he had done his fair share to earn his fate. As both he and his enemy fell into unconsciousness, I took note of the powerful sight before me. This was something that should not have been, but was simple because we wanted it to be so. This was our moment, one that would define us forever. I choose to let it be hope that wins. “Was blind, but now, I see…”

Somehow, you can always soothe a distressed child by talking softly or singing to them; even stranger, when you put a pacifier in a child's mouth, they instantly fall asleep. When even the strongest hero can't stop a villain, on a whim, you see if your 'babysitter' powers can pacify them.

Loss is a strange thing. Art and pop culture like to romanticize it - turn it into something jarring and howling, something that hits you like a car crash or rocks you to your core in a fiery explosive episode. Who knows? Maybe for some people it is. ​ It wasn't like that for me. ​ Loss for me was different than all of that. It was a gap. It was reaching for something only to have my fingers trace through hollow and empty air. It was flicking a light switch and still finding myself in darkness. It wasn't explosive, it wasn't instant, and it didn't feel like anything I could learn from. ​ It was erosive. It came in slow like a moonlit tide. It washed against my shore and took pieces of me bit my bit. Then again, I suppose when she left - or disappeared - it wasn't like someone dying in a car crash or being gunned down. It offered no such immediate closure, even if the closure was dark and definitive. It only asked a question. The first day it was asked in an urgent but soft tone. Then a week later it was speaking. Months later it was desperate, screaming. It asked itself so often, so unyieldingly, that after months you simply have to answer. I had to answer. ​ I finally had spoken the words to myself. *She's gone. She's really gone, and she won't come back.* ​ So then I was there. Sitting in that thinly cushioned chair, surrounded by people who kept trying to cast discreet glances towards me - to see "how i'm holding up." ​ It was crisp outside, finally the coming of autumn. She drew quite a crowd. The gazebo was packed, with attendants overflowing into the large garden on the hill. Of course there was no body, so we figured we would have it outside, somewhere beautiful. If her soul resided anywhere, that's where it would be. She never really fit into a stuffy church scene, anyways. ​ The wind gusted sharply as the last speaker finished, casting a torrent of sharply red leaves across the crowd which popped against the ocean of black formal wear. Like her giving us all one last goodbye. Stylish, understated, and resplendent. Distinctly herself. ​ Her mother came over to speak to me. I smiled and laughed as she reminisced. We took turns sharing our favorite stories - like the time she tried to jump on a passing fish from the boat to catch it, earning a serious sting from the catfish. It wasn't really all that funny then, but now it just seemed to fit. We spoke for some time, fighting back the darkness with these little bits of her light. As we spoke though, our stories began to wear out. The battery grew weaker and the light flickered. So, in that coming darkness, we shared a goodbye. ​ Then I sat alone in that gazebo as the sun began to set behind the hill. Or so I had thought. ​ She stood a ways back, by the walkway. When I saw her, my heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. That auburn hair was so distinctive, her mannerisms unmistakable. For an instant, all the color returned to my world. As my footfalls pounded against the wood of the floor, then across the dried up grass, pieces of me began to reform. ​ "Annie!" I shouted, "I - oh my god!" ​ But as I drew closer her face shifted into a look of deep sadness, bordering on fear. Her lips parted as if to say something, and her eyes grew wide. ​ "You're here. You're here." As I drew near my arms moved of their own accord, reaching for an embrace that would fix everything. ​ "No - no, I'm not," she tried to speak. As she began though, I had already enveloped her. ​ I didn't mean to cry. I didn't even feel it coming. I hadn't felt much of anything in what had seemed a very long time. But there, for some time, all I could do was weep. ​ Her body seemed so rigid, though. Her arms came around me, but timidly. ​ "I'm not her. I'm so sorry." The voice that came was just like hers. The same airiness, the exact cadence. ​ "What? What are you talking about? It's - it has to be..." I reluctantly pulled from the embrace and looked at her. ​ Her hazel green eyes stared back, accentuated be her sharp cheeks. She wore her distinct pout. Yet... something deep behind those eyes wasn't right. A spark was missing. ​ "I - ..." she began, "I'm her sister." ​ "She doesn't have a sister. She.. Annie? What are you talking about?" ​ Her pout deepened, her lips arching into a deeply sad frown. Her eyes softened as she spoke, struggling to find the right words. ​ "I'm so, so sorry. I just... I had to come. I had to be here." ​ My heart pounded faster. I could feel sweat forming on my palms. ​ "Our family was - well, I'm somewhat estranged. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't know you were still here. I thought the service had ended an hour ago. I'm - " she stuttered on for a moment, but her look said everything. It apologized for the joy she'd brought, because the pain that came behind it hurt worse than before. It was the understanding and brief transfer of heartbreak born all over again. ​ "I should go," she whispered, turning sharply on her heel. ​ "Wait! You can't.. you can't go! Wait!" I pushed to follow her, quickly walking behind. She sped up though, spouting an apology as her pace quickened. ​ My legs gave out a few steps on. In truth I'm not sure why I had started. There was no logic in it, only the desperate throws of someone reaching for something which was vacant. ​ I watched her go. She sped along over the crest of the hill, her figure bobbing as she made her escape. I watched her grow smaller, backlit by the setting sun. I watched until she finally came over the top and disappeared into the distance beyond. ​ The wind kicked up one last time, a few red leaves dancing through the trees. The swirled lazily towards me, and touched my coat tenderly. One last time.

Your spouse disappeared. After a year you have a funeral and spot a person crying there who looks suspiciously like your spouse.

My body felt a chill as I attempted to wiggle my fingers and toes. They didn’t respond. I groaned as I felt the cold ground beneath me. I was in trouble. I knew better than to try and outrun that last shot, but its aim was true, and it struck the center of my back. Now, face down, I wondered if this was the end. My face was numb, and I’m pretty sure if I could see them, my lips would sport a deep blue. Everything was so cold. I was listless, sprawled out to die on this accursed field. Despair overtook me, the odds were overwhelming. What could a man do against such reckless hate? Was there any hope left? No. But I had to try anyway. I dragged my hands down towards my chest in a feeble attempt to prop my body up, only able to make it to my knees. The soft crunching of footsteps grew louder as my adversary advanced, only to stop right in front of me. Mud splattered his dark brown boots, but the quality was still much better than my own. Typical. Even his equipment far outstripped my own. As I looked up, the sun loomed behind his head, blurring his facial features to me. I squinted my eyes, trying to decipher the blurry mess. “Any last words?” he sneered. I felt the air catch in my chest, as the cold seemed to have seeped into every fiber of my being. The chill made me rasp back my response, “I will win this war.” I allowed myself a small smile. Ever defiant till the end. The man’s big belly shook in mirth as he let out a raucous laugh. “War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter.” He bent down and scooped up his weapon, before holding it over my head. “Goodbye… *son*.” He dropped his weapon, a gargantuan snowball, and it sent me crashing back to the ground covered in white powder. I laid there, defeated. The silence that followed was pierced by the shrill scream of a woman. “Boys! It's cocoa time!” mom shouted. “Oh, and don’t you **dare** bring that mud into my house!”

"War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter."

He cackled in delight as he threw Mary into her cell. “Now we wait for PolyChromatic Man to come save you, and, once he arrives…” “Yes, we’ve done this before, Steven,” Mary cut in as she plopped down in her usual spot in the cell. “You have some big, bad and ‘unbeatable’ way to finally kill PCM, he’ll show up, and, after you give your villain soliloquy about how this is it for PCM, he’ll find a quick way to stop you, and we’ll all end up where we always do: you’re arrested but escape before the police can get you in the squad car, PCM is the top headline, and I’m at work trying to explain why I missed my shift again. Honestly, can we just not this time because my employer is super close to firing me over your abductions.” “First of all, my name is Dr. Vile, and you will address me as such,” he yelled from across his twisted laboratory filled with dangerous weapons of destruction and mayhem. She rolled her eyes and slouched down more in her chair. “It’s Steven. I know it’s Steven, and you know I know it’s Steven. I’ve known for years now, because we grew up together. For God’s sake, Steve, you and Doug were at my house last week to play boardgames.” “That… we both agreed we wouldn’t talk about that when I’m at my day job,” Vile said as he glanced around to make sure none of his minions had heard her. “Besides, I have well earned my moniker, and you will respect it,” he demanded as he began the finishing touches on his machine to finally end PCM’s life. “Earned it?” Mary actually guffawed. “How?!” “How?” He stared down at her from his position in the room, incensed that she could even ask such a thing. “What do you mean ‘how’?! I’m the foremost villain in the world! The amount of death and destruction I’ve wrought is unparalleled. Whole countries have bowed to my whims over the years! I’m a…” “An idiot,” Mary finished with a sigh. “Tell me this, Dr. Whatever. Why do you keep using me as bait for PCM?” “You can’t be serious,” he replied, coming down from his platform to stand in front of her cell. “You’re the perfect bait. What superhero would ever pass on saving their beloved girlfriend?” “Look,” Mary sat up in her chair, shaking her head at him in disappointment, “I’m not his girlfriend, okay? So, if you’re looking for bait, could you not use me anymore because my job…” “Don’t try to trick me, woman! It is clear you are, in fact, his love interest. The amount of time he spends with you is…” “Not half as much as he spends with his ACTUAL love interest,” she cut back in, rolling her eyes and standing to walk around her cell. “You watch him so much; who does he actually spend most of his free time with? Hmm? It’s not ME; I can tell you that right now.” Vile quietly thought it over for a moment, his mind running through the vast catalog of knowledge he had regarding the hero. “Well, outside of you, it’s me.” She stopped pacing and turned to stare him down. “Do you know what polychromatic means?” He balked. “Of course, I do; don’t be absurd. It means multicolored.” “Right, multicolored, like a rainbow. You know,” she made giant hand gestures, “a rainbow? A rainbow, Steven, and,” she tapped the glass of her cell for emphasis, “has it ever occurred to you that my best friend, aka YOUR boyfriend, Doug, is the guy who spends the most time with me?” “Well, of course he is. You’re not dating anyone right now, and you’re Doug’s best friend. Why wouldn’t you two spend a lot of time together when he’s not at work or with me?” Vile rolled his eyes at the obviousness of her observation. “Yeah, right, EXACTLY.” Again, she shook her head at him. “And have you ever noticed anything about PCM that you find even remotely familiar?” Again, Vile stood and really thought about. “Well, his mask hides his face pretty well, but I have noticed his eyes are the same color as Doug’s, and, now that I’m thinking about it, he’s Doug’s height as well. In fact, he walks a lot like Doug, and he sounds a lot like Doug. Actually,” Vile frowned in thought, “there’s a lot of similarities between Dough and PC… OH MY GOD, DOUG IS POLYCHROMATIC MAN.” “He’s a 10, but he doesn’t know he’s married to his own arch nemesis,” Mary snarked. “So, can you two, you know, go to couples counseling or something? I’m serious. If you abduct me one more time, I’m going to lose my job, and then I’m coming for your head. I mean it, Steven.” Absently, Vile nodded okay as he blindly reached for the door release to Mary’s cell just as PCM busted through an exterior wall. “You won’t get away with this, Dr. Vile,” he shouted as he looked for Mary. Stepping calmly out of her cell, Mary held up a hand, “I’m good, Doug. In fact, I’m leaving. You two can do whatever.” “Doug!” PCM blanched at his secret identity being revealed to his mortal enemy. “I don’t know who…” “Shut up, Doug,” Vile called out as he turned to face the flying hero. Reaching up, he unclipped his mask and pulled it from his face, revealing his own secret identity. “Just… just sit down, and I’ll grab some coffee so we can talk,” he said with defeat lacing his voice. The last thing Mary heard as she walked out of the room was Doug’s shocked voice bellowing though the laboratory, “STEVEN?!”

The Hero is secretly gay. Unfortunately, the Villain doesn't know this and keeps kidnapping the Hero's best female friend, thinking that she's the love interest. Even more unfortunate, she's finally had enough.

Zeus slapped the roof of the car, “Oh come on Hera dear. It’s luxury you can live in! It’s the latest Pegasus.” Hera rolled her eyes, “Zeus, we are Gods, why wouldn’t we just descend like normal.” Zeus floated around the car and wrapped Hera in a hug, which resulted in a small shock. “Zeus! I told you to stop doing that.” She pushed him away angrily and gave out a resigned sigh. “Fine. **One** ride.” Zeus raised his hands in triumph and unlatched her door. Being a perfect gentleman, he held it open as she ducked inside. Hera had to admit, the car was nice. The exterior was sleek, a deep metallic blue that seemed to mirror Zeus’s eyes, while the inside upholstery was a brilliant white leather that matched his beard. Hera felt herself slink into the seat. It did feel like a cloud. Zeus slid into the driver’s side and looked at her with a knowing grin. “*Smug Bastard*,” she thought. Then, like a candy store kid, he pointed out all his favorite features. First came the cupholders, he claimed it could even fit a jug of ambrosia but for some reason, he said to keep that between them. After the cupholders, he flicked on a switch and Hera felt a warmth tickle her lower back. He called them heated seats, which she had to admit, was lovely. He showed off a blue icon from the heated seats that he claimed blew a calm softer wind than Zephyros. Hera wasn’t sure on that one, Gods knew she didn’t need anyone else blowing wind up her. Hera relented and offered Zeus a genuine smile, “It’s nice dear, you did well.” She reached over and patted his arms in a rare sigh of affection. They didn’t spend much time together anymore, and she allowed herself to enjoy this rare moment of bliss apart from the usual fights. “… and finally! My favorite feature…” he paused for dramatic effect. “Hecate Maps!” He ended his cry of joy as the car turned on a flat-screen illuminated above the center console. Hera hummed in appreciation as it lit up. “You know how I’m always getting lost, right?” Zeus began to flick through the screens. “Look, I programmed all our favorite places. I put Olympus, Tartarus, and even Athens!” His speed increased as he flicked through his popular destinations before Hera’s eyes opened wide at one name she didn’t recognize. “Wait, go back!” she demanded, “What’s that one?” Zeus fidgeted, “Oh, um you mean Thebes?” “No, not Thebes you dolt.” She pushed his hands away and began to swipe at the screen. “This one, *Hell, Michigan*.” She turned to Zeus a sheepish expression on his face. “Funny story…” he mumbled. “I knew it, you’ve been using this to go see some mortal woman!” she unsnapped her seatbelt, slapped Zeus, and threw the car door open as she stamped off and muttered about no good Gods. “Hera! Wait!” she ignored his shouts as he hung his head in defeat. “Oh well, might as well take it out for a spin… wait” he patted his pockets, “She took the keys!”

The fact that your GPS has directions to Heaven isn’t surprising, after all you just got back from Tartarus. What’s interesting is that all routes apparently include a detour through Hell. Hell, Michigan that is.

"Oh you oor eat ting!" I cock my head, confused. Her babble almost sounded like words? "Le et oo ean!" She scooped me up, my fur tingling and skin starting to itch as we walked. Once I saw the large sink, though, I started squirming. I HATE baths! They leave me cold and my fur gets all heavy and I'm cold and I smell wrong and- "I soee bab, ave it it off, cold hurt oo." My motion stilled as I recognized the words "off" and "hurt". My coat did itch really bad, almost stinging...she was taking it off with the bath? "Um Sorree, aby. Il ee ick." I initially protested as she put me in the warm water, putting the no-smell stuff on me and scrubbing it into my fur. Every little bit she would babble something, looking upset. Eventually, though, I understood. "I'm sorry, baby." I slowly stopped fighting, letting her do as she pleased. My coat did, indeed, stop itching after she rinsed out the no-smell stuff. She was helping, making the itch go away, and she was sorry about the bath...this whole time I thought she just wanted to give baths for no reason! Soon she had me bundled in her arms by the very warm fire, cooing half-understood babble in my ear as she kissed my head every little bit. Over the next weeks, I slowly understood more and more of her strange babble. All this time, she was trying to take care of me...even if the two-legger went about it in odd ways. To do my part, I tried to listen more. Avoid her projects, not knock down things from the shelf (which was very hard since they were the best to knock down!), and began to understand why she did the things I didn't like. My favorites part, though, is when I lay across her legs at night and she sighs her happy sigh before telling me "I love you." I already knew she did, long before the smelly itchy thing fell on me. But its always nice to hear.

You have recently been reincarnated as a witch's cat. One day, you see a potion that is bubbling and smoking, and you approach it. The liquid spills all over you and you feel a tingling sensation. Suddenly, you feel like you can understand what the witch is saying when she talks to you.

“What is it they say, Professor? To break the rules, you must first know them? Well I’ve gleaned an insight into the deepest layers of understanding to come to this conclusion.” Esme dropped the stack of papers onto his desk and then gently placed a USB atop the stack. “Printed with citations and supporting documents and graphs, as well as a digital copy with additional documentation and links.” The Professor took the drive and placed it by his computer and then grabbed the hefty stack of papers and brought it up. As his eyes passed over the title of the thesis, she watched a frown come across his face. Esme grinned in anticipation. “*The Theory and Study of the Science Of Magic, by Esme Lucero.*” He glanced up at her. “Is this some sort of tongue in cheek joke I’m not understanding? The title of your thesis need only be a brief insight into what you’ve been studying, not an allusion to how magical the natural world is.” “Oh but it is an insight into what I’ve been working on. And I can assure you, this world is undoubtedly magic. Both figuratively and literally.” Before he could respond Esme placed a finger to his lips. She grabbed a pen from his desk and began drawing a series of shapes and circles that intertwined to create an intricate pattern. “The hard part is drawing on the other hand. I had to teach myself to be ambidextrous, but I have a shortcut to avoid the tediousness of how long it takes me.” She pulled a sticker from her pocket. It had a similar design to what she had drawn on her hand. She peeled the backing off the sticker and placed it onto her palm. “I found that you don’t have to use chalk, ink, or blood—thank god—to make this work. I streamlined the process by using a drawing software. Makes it much easier, though I did fry a couple tablets in the beginning.” “What process,” the Professor said. “Blood? Did you harm yourself? Ms. Lucero this is highly irregular—“ “Oh it’s more than irregular. It’s magic.” She clapped her hands together and began rubbing them vigorously. The Professor watched as the friction began to cause a small stream of smoke. His eyes grew wide. She brought her hands apart one more time and smiled. “Don’t blink for this part.” Esme brought her hands together hard and the Professor jumped back as he watched a small orb of fire emerge from Esme’s palms. It floated just above the surface of her skin and gave off a steady heat. He watched as she moved it back and forth from one hand to the other. “How on earth,” he said. Esme’s eyes were wide with wonder. The light from the flame lit up her face in a warm glow. “It’s amazing isn’t it? I still can’t get over it. I had a few hiccups along the way. Set my clothes on fire a couple times. Could’ve been *much* worse but I was cautious. Science and safety go hand in hand, right?” The Professor stood up and brought his hand towards the fire. He could feel the heat. He brought one finger near and felt a singe on his skin that made him recoil. “Careful. It’s very real, I assure you.” “Incredible. Can you…cane you make it burn brighter? Hotter?” Esme nodded. “I can bring it to roughly 1400 celsius before it gets too much for me to handle.” “This is…this is amazing.” “And it’s attainable. Repeatable. And not just with fire. I can sculpt earth, dissolve metal, freeze water, all with the appropriate formulae and materials. You’re the first witness.” The Professor began flipping through the documents. “You say it’s repeatable. What’s the simplest thing that I could do?” Esme brought her hands together slowly and smothered the flame. Smoke filtered through the creases between her fingers. She shook her hands out and dug into her pocket to produce a bag of seeds. “Take these. Pour a few into your mouth but don’t swallow them. Just allow them to sit under your tongue. I’m going to give you a phrase to say on a piece of paper. Say it three times and then spit them into the circle I’m about to draw.” “Will this…hurt me, Esme?” “Only if you swallow the seeds. You won’t die or be maimed but passing them won’t be pleasant.” He did as she said and dropped the packet of seeds into his mouth, careful not to swallow any of them. The sat under his tongue and as she drew the design on a piece of paper, he read over the phrase. Though he was no etymologist or linguist, he knew these words were a romanization of words unknown to most languages he’d seen or heard of before. Nevertheless he worked diligently to ensure the pronunciation was correct, and when Esme had competed the circle he did as she instructed. As the last line of the incantation passed through his lips, he spat the seeds onto the paper, and watched as the circle began to glow. The seeds were clumped together on the page. As the light from the circle glowed brighter, he watched the seeds begin to crack and sprout green vines and tendrils that began to wrap together. They culminated to form humanoid looking being made of plant life. It stood about 20 centimeters tall and though it had no eyes, it seemed to look up at the Professor. “Alchemists would have called this little guy a homunculus. Ask him to do something for you. Make it simple though. When they’re this new, they can’t handle tasks that are too complex.” “Oh. Um. Can you bring me that,” he said pointing to the USB drive. The plant creature nodded and walked over to the drive, picking it up between its two vine like arms and brought it to him. A smile grew across his face as he took it from the creature. “So what do we think.” “What do I think? Esme, forget about a doctorate. Forget academia. This will change the world.” “So what’s next then?” “You tell me. I think you’re the teacher now.”

You've spent years on your thesis paper. Today you sit down, hand it to your professor and smirk. "The science of magic?" he asks, looking at you incredulously. In response, you summon a fireball in your hand.

"Good morning Jessica." "Morning boss." I smiled at her as she came in for her shift. One of my constant conveyor belt university students, she was a good worker. There were a few times she was late to work, having been on a binge the night before. But I liked to give some some slack. She disappeared out back for a bit, before coming back in her apron. We traded high fives, and she took over manning the till. Times would change, fights would happen, but people always needed their coffee. I took some time to relax, idly checking on the targets I was given. People with super powers often caused mayhem, either because they wanted to or by accident. I was part of the League, a sort of shadow organisation. We put appropriate villains for those who wanted to help, but inevitably made things worse. The Guild knew of us of course, and helped give match ups. I was one. According to the Guild official ranking, I was a C-Class villain. Mostly an annoyance, but could potentially cause problems if left unchecked. I liked it, as I loved being an idiot. I made stupid devices that had nice obvious off or self destruct buttons. Coupled with nice clear timers, it kept my team mostly out of trouble. In reality I was more of an A-Class. I sipped my water, looking at their track. Instantly I had to roll my eyes. Of course they were coming here. I wandered near to the door, keeping an ear out to listen in on their conversation. "Hey, love, give us your number." Oh. Oh no they didn't. I hated those sort who hit on my employees. I peeked through the peephole, and nearly smacked my head in frustration. They were in their outfits. They must have thought it made them special. I glanced at the four of them. Flare, wearing a mix of red and orange. He was their leader, with mild pyrokinesis. Flanking him were the twins, Gust and Wave. Air manipulation and hydrokinesis. Finally behind was the largest of the lot, Rock. Geokinesis, to finish up the Elements as they called themselves. They were properly C-Class, with low level powers. "I don't give my number out. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." They laughed, each one egging the others on. I clenched my fist, as Flare held up his hand to touch her hair. "Oh don't be like that. I bet you've never been with a super before. Let's just say we are super in more ways than one." I felt pride as Jessica slapped his hand away, stepping back. "Ew. Get out." I pulled open the door, as his face fell. There was a rush of heat, and my counter burst into fire. "Fine, be like that. Thought I would give an ugly girl a short at being important for once. I guess I thought wrong." His cronies laughed, as I rushed over to Jessica. She was crumpled on the floor, shaking. As I ran I felt something infront of my leg. The air growing thick. I fell hard, getting some more laughs from them. "Come on guys, let's go, there are people out there who actually have brains." Wave's voice was mocking. I crawled over to Jessica, rubbing her shoulder. She peeked up at me, before reaching out to hug me. I looked st the soot on her face, and felt anger. They were meant to be heros. This was far beyond any sort of realm of good. "It's OK." I soothed her as she cried into my shoulder. I could smell burnt hair, and knew Flare had deliberately caught her in it. I struggled to contain my rage. They would pay. \----- "Elements." I spoke a single word with pure hatred. The League and Guild were in agreement. This team was no longer a good hearted liability. They were a menace. I had been given the all clear to remove them from the Hero Pool. "Jester! Come on, let's get this over with!" Flare called up at me, eager to fight. I smirked. They thought they could beat me. "Tell me, what do you know about super powers?" They frowned. Normally I came up with a stupid quip. This time I was being deadly serious. "Only the privileged are able to get and use them." I laughed. "Well, that's wrong. It's merely a quirk of genetics, space-time, and random chance. But tell me, what would happen if someone was able to understand this random set of events?" I was met with blank stares, making me roll my eyes. I had never put much thought into how stupid they were. "Alright, since you are thicker than concrete. Let me explain. If you could understand how to replicate this set of events, you could make up powers of your own." I held up a syringe, filled with a thick green liquid. "Like this." I injected myself, feeling the same rush of power hit me. I grinned at them, raising an arm. A pillar of rock split from the floor, larger than anything Rock could handle. "Behold, the new improved Rock." I let it fall, as Gust darted towards me. He yelled as he moved. "Guys, we have to stop him before he does anymore!" I grinned at him, thinning the air beneath him. He fell, looking up at me in shock. "Oh come now. Do you really think I hadn't prepared before you got here? Let me show you just how pathetic you really are. When I'm done, you will be heroes no more." I lunged, ready to fight. They thought themselves strong. I wanted to prove them wrong. To the public, they would be called away to Guild Headquarters, for training. Technically they would be returning, but only after I had given them the treatment that confirmed my place as an A-Class. The treatment to suppress their pitiful powers.

You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.

Garrett was lounging on his hoard, listening to his disciple read the ancient grimories out loud. Ascalon was a fast learner, in a few winters he would start raiding the Empire. **(What a brilliant brat.)** Red eyes closed slowly as the voice lulled him. **"Urk-!"** "Teacher!" The hellion was pulling on his tongue! **"What now? Did you grab a treatise on why humans like cinnamon?"** The twerp showed a book, it was time for lessons. "Why are fairies so bad to make contracts with?" Hah, as if that forsaken race was worthy of trust. "You have tomes on binding with all sorts of beings, but none on faes." **"Alright. It's time for you to learn the codes of the higher races."** The dragon grunted in annoyance. **"Among the older ones, there are principles. Dwarves are peaceful unless they starve. Among elves, watch yourselves. An angered dragon forgoes reason. Demons always call for conditions..."** "And fairies?" Garrett growled. **"They are the worst of them all."** They consider themselves the only ones worthy of magic, even after the First War. **"A dwarf will work as long you pay them. An elf won't antagonize you if you don't cross them."** Dragons were better left alone, sadly humans were too dumb to learn that lesson. **"With demons, as long you can pay the price, they are alright."** Even if the price was your soul, they took nothing more, nothing less. Their conditions were exact and devoid of duplicity. **"I would know. I sold some of my stupider offspring for their service."** Ascalon was listening closely. Good. **"But fae are sly."** Their honeyed words could promise their prey the world and the stars, to pluck the moon from the sky into your hands. **"When you call for them, that is the last mistake you make."** Their price starts small, a sweet treat to make the fool step closer into their grasp. **"A fairy starts with a moment of your time. What moment? Insignificant for some, monumental for others. It's always a gamble, and the house wins at the end."** Your memories are the first to go, a sunny day with your parents, a cold night with your beloved, days that you don't miss, nights that you forget, chips and slivers of your self. **"They help just enough to garner trust, but there's always a sliver more they can do, a crumb more of aid to be offered. They just need you to pay a little additional, another piece to be given."** If one wishes for love, they earn a spouse, but life always feels hollow, as if there was just a smidge lacking to make things perfect. **"Pact after pact, they hack more of your soul. Contract after contract, they squeeze your ego. Deal after deal, you lose yourself."** Your name is the last price to pay, your entire existence serves to feed their power. Everybody who knew you forgets. Everything you did is undone. As if you never existed. **"For now, those deals only affect humans."** The entire creation kept close watch over fairies, for they once held absolute power, and tirelessly chased after the long-gone glory, amassing power to claw their way back to the top. **"That's why humans were forced to forget the rituals."** If even a single soul learned how to make a fae pact, they had to die. **"That's why that book lacks the knowledge."** And if Ascalon tried to discover the means, Garrett would devour him. **"You can make a contract with any demon you wish, but never call for a fairy's aid. Eternal torment is preferable to oblivion."**

"Make a deal with the devil before you make a deal with the fae. The devil may take your soul, but that will be all. The fae will make you forget your name, your family, your life. It watch as you descend into madness, all for a laugh..."

“Wow.” Anders stopped lumbering forward, letting his greatsword fall. “Just…. Wow.” “Your descriptive powers are as sharp as ever, for a barbarian,” Astrid, the halfling rogue, snarked from behind him. She pulled her hood back from her face, craning her neck around Anders’ unmoving bulk. “What’s the problem now - oh.” Sharp intake of breath. “Wow.” The skeleton - easily Anders’ height and breadth - was glaring menacingly in their direction. *Wait, how is it glaring?* Astrid thought wildly. *It doesn’t even have eyebrows.* It held a black cane in one hand, now pointing directly at the halfling. “I don’t care how short you are or how sneaky you little twerps think you can be! Get… off.. My…. LAWN!!” The other hand was busy hoisting a blue, fluffy bathrobe up around its ribs. “Um… sir?” Anders started. “Excuse me, sir. It’s just that there’s no lawn here.” He spread out an arm, gesturing at the dirt and rocks within the underground cavern in which they were standing; it was, at most, 30 meters wide. Anders and his group had entered the cavern via a narrow, manmade tunnel at the north end; the skeleton stood in front of a tunnel at the south end. Oddly, there was a rocking chair near the entrance to the south tunnel, with a table nearby. Therin, the cleric of the group, snickered. “You’re calling him ‘sir’? Are we back in school or something?” he said in a loud whisper. “It’s just that he sounds like one of my old training masters… well, a little, anyway,” Anders stage-whispered back, embarrassed. “Best be civil. For now. Until we know what we’re dealing with,” said Grilda tersely. The wizard came out of the tunnel, up behind the others, now standing a few feet off to Therin’s right. She produced a ragged piece of parchment, holding it up in one hand while her other hand supported a small orb of light. “Hmm. This cavern doesn’t have any notes. Just… tunnel in, tunnel out. Nothing special.” The skeleton wasn’t done, though. “You think I don’t know there’s no grass here *now*, boy!?” It took a few steps forward, seizing on their reluctance to engage. “Of course there isn’t! The last batch of whippersnappers through here burned it up! Doesn’t mean I’m not trying to regrow it now, does it!?” The skeleton turned back towards the rocking chair and table, fuming and muttering: “Kids these days….no respect for other peoples’ property…” Anders looked down at the ground, and realized it was indeed scorched; any plants that might have grown there had long since burnt to a crisp. It suddenly reached out for something on the table, whirling around and shaking the cane at the group again. “They even made me spill my drink! My last Innersea Ale…” It held a plain iron stein up in a bony hand. “How does a skeleton drink ale?” Astrid wondered aloud. The skeleton heard this. “Just never you mind, halfling!” it snapped, returning the stein to the table. Anders cleared his throat. “Umm.. sir, it’s just that. Well. We need to get into the tunnel over there.” He pointed. “The one behind your chair.” “Therin,” Grilda murmured, nudging the cleric in the ribs. “Isn’t that the stuff you like? You still got any?” He looked at her in disbelief. “Seriously?” “If it gets us through? Yeah, it’d be a bit faster.” She shrugged at the others. “Besides, I’m thinking it might be a good idea to leave him alone, in case there’s a reason he’s here that we haven’t figured out yet.” Therin took a serious tone. “You know, maybe this was some kind of…incomplete reincarnation? It might explain the attitude, at least.” He sighed dramatically. “Okay, *fine*.” The cleric slowly pulled out a small flask from the waistband around his crimson robes. He held it up a moment, then stepped forward, holding it out towards the skeleton, who was now watching him warily. “Excuse me? I have some Innersea Ale here. I’ll give it to you if you’ll let us pass.” The skeleton regarded him a moment. “Well…” it finally said, lowering its cane and adjusting the bathrobe once more. “I wouldn’t say no to some of that stuff… it’s been a long time, you know.” With sudden speed it lurched forward, snatching the flask out of the cleric’s startled hands. “DONE!” it bellowed. “Just mind you walk around the edges! No more traipsing across other peoples’ property like you own the place.” Grasping the flask firmly, it retreated to the rocking chair, now pulling it away from the entrance to the south tunnel. – Several minutes later - after having edged around the “lawn” as the skeleton had instructed - the group resumed their journey through the south tunnel, walking single file. Therin finally said, “Not happy about this, guys. That was all the ale I had.” Astrid smirked over her shoulder at him, holding up a flask. “You didn’t exactly have it.” Therin stared at her. “Wait… you stole it from me before I traded it to him?” he stammered. “What did I give him, then?” Astrid put the flask back in the depths of her robes. “Just saving you from yourself, you know. Yours was empty.” “But that means…” Anders started. Suddenly there was a howl from the cavern behind them. “ARRRGH!! YOU DAMN KIDS!!!!!”

you, a veteran dungeon explorer thought you had seen everything. that is untill halfway through a dungeon you are met by a skeleton in a bathrobe ranting about you trespassing on private property and lowering the property value of it's home.

YTA. While you're right to want tradition, it's selfish to expect others to blindly follow them. What if they have a tradition you don't like? Your fiancé could have a tradition that, as a vampire or as a person, you don't want to do. Would you be disrespecting her tradition or simply setting boundaries? You should've also discussed this early in the engagement. "Just found out" implies that she didnt even find out from you. You say you follow tradition, yet don't tell your fiancé the tradition. Now this is just an assumption, but from your wording it seems likely. Imagine how that makes her feel. Now also imagine if she had asked you to cure your vampirism because it's her family tradition. You would probably say no, and for good reason. You are happy with your vampirism and you should be, no one should take that away from you unless you are more than willing to. It's the same situation with her - she seems to love you, but doesn't want to give up her humanity. Honestly, the answer is so simple, it's embarrassing you even had to ask. Do better, OP.

As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA?

A flash of darkness and a horrid trip of vertigo later, my eyes fluttered open. My vision spun as I waited for the doubles I was seeing to recombine into singular forms. Around me was the comfort of my living room. It seemed cold and empty, ever since my wife passed away the stillness in the house seemed to haunt me. It was as if the very silence was a reminder of my solitude. I leaned back into my navy sofa and felt the softness encompass my weary frame. I must have dozed off, lurched forward, and triggered a vertigo spell. Yeah, that’s it. But the dream I had was vivid. It felt real. I remember the night sky, the stars that stretched out forever, taunting me of possibilities out of reach. Each flickered, a bitter reminder of the nights my wife and I would stretch out a blanket and gaze in the backyard. In the dream, one star blinked as if it was sending me a coded message. I always looked for it, I had named it after all. Well, I used one of those cheap ‘name a star’ companies to name it after my wife for our first date. In hindsight, that may have been a bit much, but she thought it was corny and I’ll never forget her eyes wide in joy as we looked at it through my telescope. I closed my eyes and allowed myself a sad smile. I missed her terribly. Even my dreams were filled with her, her, and that star. The loneliness had crept into my dreams, and I found myself wishing away my worries asleep, just as often as when I was awake. Last night, that lovely star blinked. And I wished, oh how I wished, for someone to hold and love, as I loved her. A single tear trickled down my cheek, I wiped it before it could tumble from my chin, I stood up and opened my eyes, wishing for that change. To my surprise, in front of me, stood a small child. She had dark black hair paired with bronze skin. They fit her, almost as much as the look of unbridled joy that clung to her face. Her smile caused her cheeks to bulge in cute little bumps, with two symmetrical dimples to mark them. She began to talk, a million miles a minute. I was never very good at speaking ‘kid’, but I did my best to follow along. She told me her name was Maya and the first thing I pieced together was that she was ecstatic. Strangely, she was ecstatic because of me, or so she claimed. Me? I didn’t understand. The talk continued as she told me she was all alone, an orphan, with no one left for her. She told me how she used to escape from the other kids and climb on the roofs, and every night, she watched the stars. I was a bit concerned hearing that because she couldn’t be older than five, but her joy in the retelling made the worry wash away. Maya claimed that last night she saw the most beautiful star, and it blinked. She told me how she wished, oh so hard on that star for anyone. Then, she told me it picked me. And she loved me. She ended her words with the cutest waddle toward me and wrapped my leg with her stubby little fingers, clutching my pants as if she was afraid to let me go. My arms wrapped around her, and I knew, I was the one afraid. The waterworks started. Tears flew from my eyes as I felt her tiny little hands against my leg. The heat raced from her grip, and it warmed my long-chilled heart. I wiped my face and looked down; the most beautiful smile peered back at me. And in her eyes, that same star blinked.

An orphaned child prays to a distant star, wishing for someone to help them. At the same moment you are also wishing upon a star, tired of your life and desperate for change. A single blink, a moment of darkness, and you are staring at one another.

I found the Emperor at the back of his study fingering through an unknown volume that he had plucked from the shelf. His deep cherry stained desk, carved three hundred years ago, still glinted candlelight across its scratched surface. Of all his majesty's royal halls and apartments whose grand ornamentation festooned the Great Palace, only this study betrayed a humble beginning. None now could remember when the Emperor's kin walked among the commonfolk. "Godliness..." I remained frozen. Rarely did the Emperor speak to his advisors, and much less directly so, even to those among the highest echelons of his council. "Godliness, Ramsey... godliness in a man. Unquestionable only insofar as he be unassailable." The Emperor's words took me by surprise and my tongue, as loose as he must know it to be in debate with the others, did not move. "The Great Palace never saw a single year without an addition, you know. Of course you know." His eyes raised from the pages and sent an icy message to my own. "You know so *much*, Ramsey." My heart sank and I looked to the floor, and cupped my hands tightly before my frock. Whatever I could do to submit and retreat; retreat from the Emperor, retreat from his presence. He knows. "These grounds are measured in ages. Thousands of years and immeasurable expense. It is a city. Every turn reveals another incalculable structure. Soaring vaulted heights, to remind the people here of godliness. My godliness. "The Empire began here, Ramsey. In this study. You did *not* know that, of this I am sure. From the time of my ancestor when this was a village and he a mere chieftain. And now, the Grand Palace. A symbol. But what symbol so vast and empty. A city of air and gold." The Emperor slammed shut his tome, shocking my ears and giving me a visible start. He dropped it on the desk. He looked at me now, directly. Fury shone red in his eyes as he squared up not a meter from where I stood. I cowered in submission and untameable fear. "Godliness in a man is preserved by the space around him. It is a buffer, like a protective cloud. It raises us, and paints us like gods at the height of grand murals. All else is below, separated from we who are untouchable and godly. My Empire. My holiness!" Just then he lurched, and knocked me to the ground in a rage. I fell, but out of obedience rather than the force of his lunge. The Emperor's royal garment tangled in his elbows, and he struggled briefly to right the knot. "Folly! " he cried. "This Empire is built on the momentum of my standard's conquests. It is preserved by the space this palace has created." His voice broke, and he was heaving. Desperate. "Never before has one come so close, Ramsey. But never has an Emperor known what must be done." I couldn't manage even a word. The Emperor was on his knees now. An impossible vision of a *man*. A *broken* man. "You see now, Ramsey? A year wasted planning an act so easy to undertake as it happens. You see what you must do, now? Here and now, Ramsey?" Though my knees were buckling in terror, I managed to regain my feet. The Emperor stayed like a beggar before me. A small person in a small room. I retrieved the heavy tome that had been dropped onto the cherry desk. A workable instrument for the task. The Emperor prepared this to be his fate, because the title of the book fit the occassion. "The Last Emperor", it read. As I looked from the engraved golden letters back to the Emperor, I saw that the rage in him had been replaced by a subtle, knowing smile. My own fate was sealed. But the Empire would change, forever.

As the emperor’s loyal advisor, you’ve been plotting an assassination plan behind his back for the past 15 months. Today, he called you into his private study to reveal that he knows exactly what you’ve been up to…and he wants you to go through with it.

“Absolutely not, I refuse. I will not be entertaining such frivolity, it’s beneath me.” He sneered as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The man was the picture of snobbery. His nose twitched in defiance as his white pressed shirt was tucked within his grey slacks. His feet sported the latest loafers, some foreign leather I probably couldn’t pronounce. His face had one of those fake tans you had to pay for, and it highlighted the point on his nose. I bent over to stretch the back of my hamstrings before giving my shoelaces a quick tug. They needed to be snug, we’d be running after all. “Now, now Jeffrey, no need to get all uppity.” Jeffrey’s face went a shade of red. I could tell he was in a stiff debate internally, deciding whether to tell me to shove my challenge someplace unpleasant. “You know the law, Jeffrey. If you decline, I don’t just get a small piece of your fortune, I get the *whole* thing.” I flashed him a smug smile knowing he was trapped. Out of all the rich jerks to challenge, Jeffrey was my guy. He was a bit different from the others. Despite being born into money, I remembered Jeffrey as a child filled with laughter and eyes that lacked any form of prejudice. My friend. He was in there, and I was going to get him out. Jeffrey gave a resigned sigh, “Very well. I accept your challenge.” “Excellent.” One last tug on my laces and I was ready to go. “But before I begin…” he gestured around him. “…what are we doing here?” I slapped my friend on the shoulder. “Jeffrey my good man, this is where the game is.” His dubious eyes took in the rundown street. Trash littered the sides, and the houses that still stood were rundown and synonymous with the poverty that plagued the area. The street had several large potholes and cracks. It lacked sidewalks and streetlights, but thankfully the sun had a few hours left. I glanced down at Jeffrey’s loafers before raising my eyebrows, “You sure you want to play in those?” “Yes, yes. Let’s just get on with it.” He waved me off. We stared at each other in silence, eyes locked. We both seemed afraid that if we should blink, the other would gain an insurmountable advantage. The silence stretched on and I felt a smile tug at my lips. Then, the rest of the players arrived. “**Tag**!” a small girl giggled. “**You're it, Mr. Jeffrey!**” The crowd of kids and I bolted, and laughter rang through the empty streets. I looked back at my friend and saw his smile, the same childlike one from long ago, and I knew I had won.

A law passed several years ago to assist in redistributing wealth; any one can challenge the wealthy to a game, and if they win, they get a chunk of their money.

"How's the thing with your girl going?" I looked at Philip with the most annoyed look I could muster. Did he really need to ask? One moment she's the terror of my existence, an absolute mastermind of torment that makes me dread going to class every day, and the next she's my *girlfriend.* For my own part, I tried to reject her, but I couldn't bring myself to. "She's attached," I answered. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "And you aren't?" "She's been my bully for over a year. I didn't even know college kids could get bullied, much less by girls." I bent down and grabbed a grape soda out of the cooler we were sharing. "How could I be attached to someone who's been so cruel?" Philip pondered this for a moment. "You've known her since elementary school, haven't you?" "Yeah, but we were never close. I never talked to her." "You're one cold motherfucker, Alan." I popped the tab from my soda and took a sip. "Shut up." My thoughts wandered back to Adelaide, trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the past month. I remembered all of the pain she had put me through before vividly, and for a long time I had hated her for it. But things changed after I snapped. "Why don't you just leave me alone?" I had begged her. "Can't you see that I absolitely despise you? You do nothing but hurt me all the time. You seek me out, memorize my schedule, all for what? To make me suffer? What did I do to deserve that?" She had been speechless. "Alan, I-" "If you don't have an answer, then just go. Please." Then came the letter. Slid underneath me and Philip's door, asking me to go to the humanities building and wait for her on the rooftop. I figured she had awful planned, so, in hindsight, I'm not really sure why I went. Perhaps I was hopeful I'd finally be able to see things through? Or maybe it was her handwriting. Adelaide was always energetic, loud, and popular, but she had never seemed graceful to me. When I saw the neat, ordered rows of letters scrawled in blue ink on cheap paper (probably pulled from the communal printer), a part of me, I think, had a revelation that maybe there was more to her than just a mean girl. She wanted me to meet her at six thirty, a half hour after she finished her evening class. It was November, so the sun had started setting around five, but I knew she didn't care. When I arrived, the temperature was below freezing, and I had a coat bundled around me to keep the blood from freezing in my veins. She had a coat on too, but she had a blanket and a large stuffed frog with her too, sprawled out on the concrete floor like she had intended to camp out for a long time. I shut the door behind me, and I noticed she briefly let a smile slip before she suppressed it. Normally, her smiling made me nervous, but this time was different. Heartfelt. "I'm here. What do you want?" I asked. It was freezing, and I wanted to leave. "I need to confess something." I realized she wasn't making eye contact. "I'm already aware that you're terrible. Just get on with it." Her next words caught me off guard, smacking me across the face and rendering me completely paralyzed in shock. "I'm in love with you." Emotionally, I was cornered. I couldn't respond cohesively at all. I didn't even have the composure to let out my confusion with a, "Huh?" I just stared at her, and this gave her the courage she needed to keep going. "I know we've... had problems. Maybe that's an understatement. But I want to make it up to you. I didn't realize how much I was hurting you. I'll do anything, Alan, so..." Another thing: Adelaide was (and still is) a very, very, beautiful girl. Her hair was brown, but her eyes were pale gray. Her nose was slightly upturned, and her lips seemed constantly poised to widen into a bright, winning smile at a moment's notice. In the cold, with the only light coming from distant streetlamps, I think I lost my sense for a moment. "Please don't hate me." She said the words so softly, so painfully, that my heart, which had frozen over to her a long time ago, thawed. I remained firmly rooted in my place as she stood and slowly stepped toward me. I felt a flash of heat in my cheeks as she got close enough for me to see her breath in the cold. She grabbed my hand, which was an odd gesture, considering she was at least four inches taller than me. Since she had been sitting, I had forgotten for a moment. "If you want to try it out, I'll be your girlfriend." To this day, I had no idea what I was thinking. I was lost in her expression of guilt, I suppose. It made me think that the woman who had made my life hell was someone worthwhile, after all. "Sure." Snap back to the present, with me standing on the balcony with Philip, drinking grape soda. It was almost Christmas, and I was actually concerned about getting her a present. I knew she would get me something; she had been spoiling me since the day after we became a couple. "I'll repeat my question, Alan, for all the idiots on the balcony. You're attached, aren't you? You see the way she looks at you and think back to the brief, little bits of interaction you had with her in middle school. High school." He sipped from a can of soda of his own. "You've been realizing that she's looked at you the same way this whole time, right? She looked at you with that love and loyalty when you were thirteen, coincidentally getting paired up and working on a project about the Romans together. She looked at you that way when you helped her get to her car on your senior prom night when your dates abandoned you both and left you alone, only for her to roll her ankle when her high heel snapped." "How do you know about that?" I said, incredulous. "Would you put your brain cells together for just two seconds, Alan?" Philip said, rolling his eyes. "She was just as popular in high school as she is now. She didn't have the best grades, but she realized where you were going and she landed eighth in the class so she could follow *you*." "Answer my question." "She's been begging me to teach her how to get you to like her, you dense bastard!" he yelled. "I know your relationship with her is complicated. She's a bitch. I get it. But she's been *trying*. She understands how she's been treating you, and she wants to do better. The reason you said yes, Alan? It's because deep down, you know that. So stop being a dick, go back in that dorm room, and apologize to her for using me as an excuse to ignore her call." I stared at Philip, dumbfounded, and sighed. I didn't really understand how I was the bad guy here, but him putting it like that made me feel it at the very least. I opened the glass sliding door to the dorm and pulled my phone from my bed. I had her number on speed dial. How long had it been there, anyway? The phone only had enough time to ring once. "Hello?" the voice on the other side said. "Hey, Adelaide." "I thought you weren't going to pick up." "Fooled you." She took a moment before replying. "I'm sorry for calling so late, I didn't mean to-" "Don't worry about it. You're not bothering me." "Alright, then." "What did you call about?" "I just... I didn't get a chance to see you today, and I wanted to ask how your day went." I didn't respond at first, not realizing that the statement was also a question. "So?" she prompted. "How did it go?" "Oh. It was okay. How was yours?" I swear to God, her tone changed so dramatically it was like night and day. I'd never heard someone seem so happy before. "Better, now that I'm talking to you," she replied. Before I knew it, the sun was rising.

A popular girl bullies a nerdy boy to hide her feelings but eventually decides to corner him. She tells him how she really feels and asks him out. The two of them end up together.

At the bar in Eppley Airfield, Ash pulled up the Wainwright file on his iPad to go over it one more time. He’d been working on this takeover bid for months. Every i was dotted, every t was crossed. All that was left to do was to change the date back to where he’d originally set it: December 25th. Then he emailed it to his assistant. “Change of plans. Let’s ruin Christmas after all.” “Ouch.” At first Ash worried the man sitting down next to him had read over his shoulder, but he was gesturing at the bartop, where Ash had been absent-mindedly spinning Briana’s engagement ring. “She said no? On Christmas eve? I’m sorry, man.” “Probably for the best,” Ash said. He spun the ring again. “At least I don’t need to wear the matching pajamas with her family tomorrow morning.” “I hear you,” the other man said. He gestured to the bartender, pointing to Ash’s scotch and holding up two fingers, and then slapped his hand down on the bartop like he was laying down a winning poker hand. Under it was another engagement ring. “It still hurts, though.” Ash made a sympathetic wince. “What are the odds?” “When your good-hearted girlfriend decides she misses her tiny hometown right before Christmas? I’d say the odds are pretty high.” “The city isn’t for everyone,” Ash raised his glass. “You get it,” the other man clinked his tumbler against Ash’s and took a long drink. “Anyway, you know what they say. They travel the fastest-” “-who travel alone,” Ash finished the quote. “Kipling. A man of taste, I see.” “Wealth and taste,” his new friend smirked. “Lucas Wainwright,” he offered his hand. Ash took it. “Not the Wainwright Group?” Lucas’s grip was tight. “The very same.” “Ashton Jones,” he introduced himself. “I’m at Cerebellum Capital.” He watched recognition dawn on Lucas’s face. “No shit?” “No shit,” Ash lifted his glass again in a salute. “I think we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.” “Let’s see, your investors don’t have the stomach for what it’s going to take, your reputation is already in the gutter, and oh yeah, we’re fighting to save the insurance company my grandad built from nothing. You’re going to lose, my man,” Lucas clapped him too hard on the shoulder, but his arm stayed there when he was done. “But until then,” he added. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

Two men sit next to each other on a red-eye flight out of Small Town back to Big City on Christmas Eve. Turns out they've both just been dumped by their fiancées of 5+ years, and are the unwitting antagonists of two different Hallmark original movies.

"Max, push the ship to warp speeds and orient to the marked Starport..." Her tone was tired, exhaustion was present. I could feel my data echos screaming concern, worry even. Somehow, I managed to push it just far enough to the side. I shifted my posture, and let some limbs go limp, others tighten. Power flowed from the loading bay to the Ion Drives, then returned once they stirred. The Warp Sleeper shut down for a moment, then activated again. The core of the ship flared and began to burn. Overheating. I hushed it calm, like a mother to a child, I feel the burn too... It slowly simmered into a quiet hum. Yes, good boy... Don't trouble the Captain... The ship lurched forward, the new speed and direction catching it off guard. I could nearly see the ship's name blurring with the speed. It was supposed to read 'The Phoenix'. Elapsed Time : approximately 4 parsecs. I'm getting rusty... "Done." She slightly reclined in her pilot seat, and sighed. "Have you slept Captain?" She hasn't. I know that. I could feel my form's tail swaying in anxiety. "Heh, no I haven't Max..." The echoes started screaming worry again... I want to join them... "No less than 12 hours of sleep per standard cycle is recommended for-" "Yeah I know Max, I know, I'll get more sleep, I promise." She gave me a small smile, even though I'm just an AI. She's so polite... "Then may I recommend sleeping during our travel? It will take 3 Light-weeks to reach Cerberus Starport with the engine running at 99% Light Speed." I began to hate my own voice long ago, but I kept it. She said it calmed her at times... "Sure, I'll do that..." She yawned and stretched her limbs. She was thin, she needs to eat more... "But first..." I felt my holo-graphical ears perk up. What is it? Has she caught on? Did she check my data echoes without me knowing? Am I to be scrapped and replaced? I mean maybe those stories were immodest but-! Oh she hates me doesn't she? No no no no no no no no no no no- "I wanted to talk about the asteroid field a couple weeks ago..." ...? The Callisto Belt? "...What about it?" "Well, my tracker starting acting strange afterwards, any idea what caused it?" The tracker? It reports my functions doesn't it? Did it report something wrong? Oh, that would be bad... So I sifted through my echoes. Scrutinizing each and every one. I remember the field, Captain was in the Warp Sleeper, and I was flying by myself. I was running simulations of our current path, although without the modifications she made. She could always account for other pilots much better than I... I answered quietly, swaying gently, "A solar flare did occur during that period. However, it only affected the loading bay. The bay promptly returned to normal functions." "Hm... Must be me then..." "Oh, I could take a look if you want me to." "No! Uh, ahem, no. That will not be necessary, Max." I jumped at the change in her voice, was it bad? It had to be bad! But... It's my captain... She wouldn't lie to me... "I understand. I will go make sure The Warp Sleeper is functioning correctly." Just a formality, the Captain likes to be alone before she sleeps. So I depart, even if I don't want to... She waved me off, "I'll be just a moment, thank you." I did a small curtsy, "It is a pleasure, My Captain." --- The Captain of the Pheonix watched the holographic representation of the ship's AI leave. Swaying tail and flittering ears. Then she glanced around the room a couple of times. She didn't know if she could trust the walls to keep a secret. Once she was certain they would not snitch, she opened a device mounted on her wrist. Displayed in the output of the device, a complete and formatted story simply titled 'My Dear Captain'. "My Dear Max..." She softly laughed as she tapped to the next page.

You are a Pilot in the Intergalactic Era, with a personalised AI integrated into your ship. You know that it's become very attached to you, but it doesn't know you know.

The flaming pillar continuously streamed out from the middle of the summoning circle, bathing my messy apartment in heat and a red light. A dark spot in the middle of the inferno appeared, growing into a shadowy figure that stepped out unmark by the raging inferno. As he emerged, I got a look at him. The figure was fully clad in a bulky, metallic, jet black armor suit. His body, built like a wall, dwarfed the lonely chair in my room, making it look like a toy. His head almost hit the ceiling as he towered over me, standing at his full height. I then noticed his open face plate, as he turned to look at me. It had a severe lack of face. Instead worms spilled out and wriggling around out like a plate of sideways spaghetti that came to life. As the fire went out, Gargaroth, the ancient demon, spoke. *Mortal, have you summoned me?* "Yeah, nice to meet you! My name's-" *Silence. You're name does not matter. You have summoned me for a deal with the devil, yet you have not even prepared the proper ritual.* The summoning book for the ritual listed out what I needed to perform the ritual. Other items were supposed to be included too as "gifts" for the summoned, signifying respect and reverence. If I were to perform the ritual properly, I would have a ritual circle made with the blood of a virgin, a goat sacrifice, and candles littered about the place. However, only the ritual circle was really needed, and all that other stuff would have cause a mess. I opted to use crayons to for the circle instead. "Uh yeah, sorry about that. Blood kinda stains and I don't really wanna deal with that. Anyway, I wanted to make a deal" *Your drivel is pointless. I shall send you to oblivion here and now.* He raised his hand toward me, and ghosts of the damned reached and swiped at air trying to grab me to add me to his collection. "W-w-wait! Halador is here!" *Wait, Halador!?* His worm face flopped wetly as he spun around and noticed the figure at the other corner of the room. There, a giant black and white maggot the size of a horse laid in the corner of the room. It fidgeted nervously... I think? Gargaroth spun back to me and leaned down. *What is Halador doing here!* He hissed into my ear "Well, she's part of an ongoing deal I already struck. Listen, I've heard your titles before. The Eternal Torturer. The Sower of Mayhem. The Gatekeeper for the Darkest Secrets of Chaos. However, a hot piece of info came in saying you may or may not have a thing for Halador." *What? Pfft, no of course not.* Gargaroth was now huddled down in front of me, poking his fingers together, looking at his feet. *I am an immortal. I've been around since the dawn of time. I can end an era of civilization with the flick of my wrist. I yearn to see suffering and destruction. Why would I be interested in such silly and unambitious pursuits? Besides, who even told you that.* "Huh, that's too bad. I was willing to offer my services" Gargaroth looked up. *Your services? What services* "Well, you see, I'm something of an... expert... in relationships. In fact, everyone here in the mortal realm calls me many things; The Love Doctor, The Expert Romanticist, The Master of...uh... Allure?" I said that last one hoping my poor acting didn't expose my 'exaggeration' there. I continued. "If you want to make a deal, I can guarantee you that Halador can be yours." Gargaroth was silent, thinking for a moment *What would this "deal" entail* "It's simple! I get you together with Halador, and you guys can have all the fun you want falling in love together! As for me, I wouldn't ask for much in return. After all, seeing love bloom is greatest reward someone in my expertise could ask for! All I would really ask for is simply an open-ended favor. Nothing big, right?" Owing an open-ended favor to anyone was distasteful for any demon. Having power over another like that was perceived as a mark of weakness among their kind. However, Gargaroth clearly didn't care *Done. Deal. I swear to you on my pride as a demon, if you are capable of putting me in Halador's good graces, I will owe you one open-ended favor.* Holy shit, it actually worked. "Great! Glad to hear we got a deal! Now, if I'm gonna be you're wingman, I gotta go over and talk to Halador for a sec. Gotta hype you up before you take the floor with her, ya know?" *Wait, now?! I'm not ready, I haven't even combed my face yet!* "Relax, it'll be fine. I'll be back in a sec" I started to walk over to Halador before Gargaroth could make any more protests. As I walked, I thought back to an hour ago, recalling how this started. Back to when I was whisked away from my ordinary apartment to Halador's summoning circle. *'My friends say he's clearly into me, but I've been throwing hints at him for so long now, and he hasn't responded to any of them!* *'Please'* Halador begged, *'I'll pay you an open-ended favor, so could you talk to him and see what he thinks of me? And maybe even give him a little nudge if you can?*

Demons know a lot of things. Eternal tortures? Check. Sowing mayhem? Check. The darkest secrets of chaos? Check. How to talk to their mortal crush? Uhhh... not so much.

I could feel the Warlock’s chains wrap harshly against my wrists as I had finished. The scene was bloody and gory and I could practically feel myself slipping. It felt as if I was an outsider looking in but feeling all the sensations around me. I could hear shouting mixed with gentle speech, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. It had been one of the things that made me useless; my ears couldn’t pick up any sound too well unless they were 3 feet away from me. I couldn’t even focus enough to try and make out what was being said but I could feel the chains shift and scratch as I struggled against them. Why was I struggling? “Now, now, my friend, be at ease.” I could finally hear our bard say as he went over and looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow and sympathy. “You’ve lost who you are. But we won’t stop until trying to help until you do, okay? Venessa knows your still in there, so do I.” I couldn’t even make out what I had said in the state I was in, but it seemed to be a question. *Why? Why keep me around? Why not get rid of me? What do you and our Paladin, Venessa, see?* And, as if reading what I wanted to say, our bard simply smiled softly. “We see a friend.” I froze upon hearing the words. *A friend…?* I could feel something warm rolling down my cheeks and my eyes suddenly caught a burning sensation, blurring before unblurring. I couldn’t understand what was happening until Venessa walked over and cupped my cheek with a solemn smile. “And those who have fully lost humanity do not cry such human tears,” She spoke, her voice soft and gentle as if trying to soothe me until I noticed her glance behind me and sighed softly. “But, I’m sorry. We have to put you to sleep now.” “But we will wake you in our next stop!” The bard exclaimed cheerfully as he began to strum a clam tune on his lyre, and moments later, my eyelids drew heavy before I felt myself slump forward as drowsiness overcame me and put me to slumber.

You are the weakest member of the Hero's party, despite this they refuse to kick you out, claiming "we still need you", during the final battle you are forced to sacrifice your Humanity to slay the Antagonist, but even then, the Hero refuses to put you down

The world was never the same after that day. Not just because everything we thought we knew about celestial bodies was cast aside, but because of all the unfiltered truths spoken, acts of violence committed, and adulterous sex had by those with nothing left to lose. When the final announcement came that there was no hope left to stop or avoid the comment, I'd decided I wanted a peaceful end. I turned my phone off, shut all the blinds, put together the unhealthiest ice cream bowl you can imagine, and sat in front of my TV watching old episodes of childhood cartoons. My goal was to lose my sense of time and just let the end come when it came. I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually I got tired. That can't be right, I thought. It was before noon when they said we had five hours to live. If I was getting tired, it had to have been at least twice that. After debating it for a while, I turned my phone back on and saw the news... And the pictures. People were calling it a mouth, but that term seemed to only apply in the loosest sense. It was a nearly-perfect circle, and didn't really open like a mouth so much as it began at a random point on the sun and expanded, like a drop of ink falling onto a page. It opened, shifting the corona, until it was several hundred kilometers wide. Inside were no teeth, but something resembling the aperture of a camera, only made out of what appeared to be moist, pink flesh. Six flaps formed around the edge of the circle, angled and fitting into each other. These flaps appeared to be sealed tight, but once the opening had finished expanding, the flaps unfolded and allowed through what almost looked like a beam but in reality was an impossibly long expanse of sticky flesh which was being referred to as the "tongue". This whole process from the opening appearing to the tongue emerging took around 40 minutes. After travelling for over an hour and a half at speeds which flesh shouldn't be able to move, this "tongue" had perfectly timed its trajectory to make contact with the Apocalypse Comet, which at this point had already entered the upper thermosphere. The closest look we got at this whole phenomenon, satellites taking high definition pictures revealed that the tongue was coated in some kind of mucusy adhesive stronger than the strongest concocted by any scientist here on earth. This adhesive was strong enough that it instantly stopped the comet in its tracks. Once it was secured, the tongue made the long journey back to its host, where the opening closed as seamlessly as it had gaped. The entire scientific community was sent into an uproar. Cosmologists were debating how all their scans of the sun revealed nothing underneath and how they were mistaken about the core, biologists discussed how life could even exist at such a scale, rocket scientists brainstormed how they could attempt to send something close enough to attempt contact, physicists puzzled over the speed of the tongue, materials scientists attempted to recreate the adhesive on the tongue, and computer scientists were busy cooking up simulations for all these other questions. The effect of this event was enough to have the scientist coworkers who just the day before had come to blows over their true feelings about who got the grant money to put aside their differences and try to solve this mystery. The rest of the world, meanwhile, was not nearly so unified. When I got back in the loop of everyone I knew, several friends were no longer friends over things they'd said to each other and my two best friends even nearly killed each other. Parents and children had been disowned by each other, relationships had ended, people had died. Some attempted to repair the relationships, after all, they only said those things because of the stress of the apocalypse, right? But we all knew that it was just our true feelings coming out. Conspiracy theorists claimed that this somehow proved they were right all along while religious zealots asserted that this was either god's salvation or that this sun creature would bring about an even worse death to punish us for letting gay people exist. The mass panic and confusion caused even greater social upheaval than the comet did. No one knew if the sun was a benevolent entity who'd protected us, if we'd be next on the menu, or if we just shouldn't worry about it. ----- Decades later, the greatest science experiment ever was attempted. The comet that was meant to kill us all had been roughly 30km in diameter. Scientists created the largest scientific instrument ever by a huge margin at about the same size. A 35km long, ovaloid hunk of metal was built covered tip to tip in sensors and cameras. Every aspect was made to withstand the temperature we'd expect from the sun, although the uncertainty of what the sun is like under the surface at this point made it a bit difficult to be sure. Hundreds of relays were built which hoped to be strong enough to travel through the electromagnetic interference present on the surface of the sun. This tool was nicknamed Big Bowie. Big Bowie was launched from its home in Antarctica and quickly slowed down after it had escaped Earth's gravity. From then, its controllers slowly increased its speed until it was going as fast as the comet. And then twice as fast. And then three times as fast. Nothing happened. It seemed the sun was not attracted to speed and size alone. At this point, the mood was glum. Trillions of dollars invested and decades of work by tens of thousands of scientists, construction workers, and machinists, and all for nothing. It was at this point the control center in Antarctica did an incredibly risky move out of desperation. They turned Big Bowie around, and shot it towards the Earth, almost but not quite full speed ahead. (Given that previously it had taken over two hours for the sun to open its mouth and shoot its tongue across the solar system, they ensured it would take at least three to reach us.) Had Big Bowie made contact, it would've been game over for us, but while the actions of the scientists were admonished, we were assured Big Bowie had enough stopping power to go against its astronomical inertia and we were in no real danger. Some believed it more than others, and pockets of panic broke out again. Eventually, that enigmatic mouth opened for the second time, and the tongue shot out. In the eyes of most, this proved the sun was there to protect us. This time, however, when the tongue was about halfway there, the scientists hit the brakes. They wanted to see what the tongue would do if it missed. Or would it just retract and try again? The tongue continued on the same path as before. Scientists thought the sun would attempt to simply let the tongue sit in front of Big Bowie and catch it that way, so they changed course a bit. Its path continued. After tens of nail-biting minutes, this standoff finally came to its conclusion in the most unexpected way. Once the tongue had reached near to the Earth, it simply bent at a nearly 90 degree angle and continued on its path, revealing itself to be prehensile. After bending it quickly attached itself to Big Bowie, and snatched it back to the sun's innards. Readings immediately began coming in, data to figure out the makeup of the tongue. Building-sized (but relatively tiny) needles poked into it and sent data samples back to earth. It appeared to be a carbon-based organism, similar to us, but with a cell structure completely unlike anything on Earth. Its blood was black and had a completely different system than our white/red blood cells, with dozens of different kinds of blood cells found. Things got even more interesting once it was swallowed. Positioning indicated the path Big Bowie had travelled through the sun once it entered the "throat". We'd expected the path to be a bit more, well, bendy, as biological digestion paths often are, but instead it was launched straight for a while before going off in perfectly angled directions, more like water travelling through pipes than something travelling through a real creature. Temperature readings were within the instruments' operating capacity, and the mucus-coating of the tongue transitioned to a less viscous liquid that appeared to be something like gasoline. Big Bowie had lights on the surface which attempted to illuminate the insides of this thing so the cameras could see, but for the most part, the whole device was squeezed tight, almost as if the "throat" constricted around it, so there wasn't much to see, besides an occasional hole going off in a different direction than Big Bowie was travelling. After weeks of movement, Big Bowie was deposited into its final destination. Radar revealed that it was dropped into a mostly empty chamber hundreds of thousands of km wide, buried about 200k km under the surface. At this point, the fascination turned to horror. Big Bowie had been banged up pretty well and it could no longer fly, but enough of the boosters still worked to awkwardly push it around and take a look at what it was sharing this space with. The answer was planets. Not just any planets, but planets that had once supported intelligent life. Buildings, artificial geography, and more were detected, unlike anything we'd ever seen. They'd all clearly had oceans and atmospheres before they were burned away by the journey toward the sun. This showed us all that the sun wasn't saving us out of benevolence. It was saving a tasty snack for later.

As the fiery comet makes its last approach towards the doomed Earth, observers are astounded to witness the sun open its mouth, shoot out a frog like tongue, and swallow the comet whole.

“Specimen 26: Homo erectus felis. Vampire” “The specimen has almost the same appearance of a human, here the differences founded: \-Uncolored skin. Its absent of melanin makes it susceptible to sunlight radiation as tales said. Other kinds of radiation may also work. \-Susceptibility to silver and garlic. Those things cause extremely violent allergic reaction: coughs and asphyxiation if there is inhalation; fester, break of skin and bleed if there is direct contact. \-Retractile predator teeth. It hides its teeth most of the time, only shows them to intimidate and feed. There is a perfectly functional set of human teeth in its mouth, which are never used. Its fangs are more resilient than expected, extraction and further investigation required...” “You will not take my canines! I will eat everyone’s guts alive before that happens!” “End of recording due to loud noises from the specimen.” I looked at the chained creature. It continued its rant about eating humans alive. “If you stopped shouting and cursing, maybe, just maybe we could consider you near to humans, you know?” “Sorry for being cynical, but I am in a blooded cage, there are silver spikes covered in garlic oil by the doorstep and the roof can be removed to expose me to blooded sunlight.” The creature spitted and showed its teeth to me across the surveillance mirror. Not being reflected in mirror made it capable of seeing me through it… Repulsive. “In any other circumstance you’ll be gutting me alive, don’t you?” I preferred the other specimens; they were more straightforward. Roars, intimidation and bargains were also present, but they did not expect a human treat. This piece of meat wanted a suite and a couple of virgins. “Well, if you don’t want to wait it’s fine. I’ll make the report after the experiments… Sorry if you don’t enjoy surprises.” “Vampires, how to defend against them, official guide:” “This creature may influence and persuade humans instead of hunting them. If predatory behavior appears, an unarmed human is in inferiority. Its muscles, bones and senses are enhanced versions of our own, it is a relief they do not hunt by force.” “Its main weakness is the skin. Garlic and silver are extremely effective, but rare to be carried by commoners. The mere radiation of a phone call may affect its mind, making it feel dizzy. It is not incapacitating but added to a flashlight to burn its skin and blind its eyes can be put down and immobilized.” “Once immobilized, dealing with it quickly is primordial. Contusions and cuts made by human hand are almost useless, its skin can harden and became as resilient as leather locally. Experiments showed the key is the local hardening. It can not control the hardening nor can harden its whole body, therefore if its neck is being pressed it will harden leaving the rest of the body vulnerable. The easiest way to deal is by blood loss, our suggestion is to choke its neck and simultaneously make cuts in both femoral arteries. If there are not tools available, the flashlight previously mentioned may blind it completely by burning its eyes. After that, the civilian may call us to retrieve the creature.”

The monsters of ancient myth and legend that "can't be cut by mortal weapons" have returned to the world. However, "mortal weapons" have improved quite drastically in the few centuries since the time of those legends.

​ >Player: Jack Portman > >SCORE: 98 > >TOP ACHIEVEMENT: FAMILY MONARCH- Have at least 7 grandkids by the time you die! > >Highlight: Marriage to Kirsten Mackenzie, July 16th, 2007. > >Would you like to **Spectate**, Play in **Creative**, Start A **New File**, or **Return to Hub**? I was dead. I knew it. I heard the flatline, felt the tears hit my face with a splash as my sister, in her old age, saw her lifelong best friend and closest confidant pass from this world. I heard my son scream, wishing he had a punching bag, as he fell to the ground in tears. The room smelled homeless, sterile and insincere, but the aura of the room was anything but. Poor little Jack Jr, my daughter Lilly's kid, had only been born a month before, and didn't know what was going on. I was happy to see my successor before I passed. The words haunted me. >**Spectate, Creative, New File, Return to Hub** I remembered everything. My birth, if hazy, was there. My brain *knew* that I was human, I *had to be*. I'd just lived a solid 98 years, after all! It wasn't like I was just... playing a game. No, I had a wife I loved, a construction job that I had done for 35 years, and a management job I had done until I was 73 and broke my hip. I had grandkids, my daughter Lilly was a lawyer, my younger son was a wonderful househusband, and my older son was a human rights advocate and had spoken to the UN. My family was *successful*. It wasn't just... simulation. It couldn't be. My family was real. Kay-baby was real. I felt the helmet get yanked off of me, as bright lights blinded me. The face staring down at me was one that took me a real good while to recognize. Feeling came over me again. My limbs felt awkward to move, after having two very mobile arms and grippy fingers to work with. My own skin felt slimy, gross, like I was leaking. My body felt flat, lumpy, like it was falling apart. I could feel each and every wrinkle in the... table I was laying on. I felt my eyes shift around, muscles in my head moving them into different sockets so I could see from a wider angle. The idea that I had hands, and feet, solid, flowing together perfectly, felt foreign, as the muscle memory I had developed tried to find precise, detailed ligaments failed to work properly. (*the dialogue in this scene has been translated from Ygriggian in order to provide reading pleasure)* "How do you feel?" The voice was tangy, tinted with a scent of orange that scraped against my very soul that I thought I'd had. My core shivered, as my memory of my old life failed to materialize. It was all I could do to scream. "Are you okay?" He- no, *it*\- placed a ligament on me, and the slimy gross feeling that I was experiencing was nothing but torture. I tried to smell, but recognized I had nothing to smell with. I opened what I thought was my mouth, to feel no tongue. Little but rows and rows of sharp teeth. "Hey, hey, man, watch it!" he backed off. "I know it may be rough, but-" I screamed. I screamed, screamed, and screamed again. I made sure that the God I now knew was fictional, created by a machine, could hear me. I made sure that whoever created this machine, to convince me of a world where I was happy, cared for, and loved, would know the hell of leaving it. Deep in my subconscious, I saw them. >**Spectate, Creative, New File, Return to Hub** Deep in my subconscious, I knew what I had to do. If the last world was a simulation, all I could hope for was that this one was too. Simply returning to that fantasy would give me nothing now. Somehow, somewhere, the being opposite me in the room reacted. "No, stop that! You can't! Please, I have a family, don't-" Deep in my soul, something clicked "**Return To Hub**" I heard another flatline, and my eldritch body went limp. Kay-baby, I know you aren't real. You're a character created by my mind. But I am too. And I'm going to wake up. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You close your eyes and die. A moment later, a score counter appears in your vision, alongside a menu asking if you'd like to spectate, return in creative mode, or delete this save file.

The conversation between Life and Death began as it nearly always did. The feigned politeness of work colleagues; the kind who would never, ever socialize once their shift was done. Life began, graciously enough. It gestured at the prone body lying on the hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and beeping electronics. “Perhaps you should take him.” It stood to Mateo’s left; a faceless, white mist, the shape and height of a human. Death, standing to Mateo’s right - an equally faceless, gray mist - shook what passed for its head. “No, no. I couldn’t. I took him last time.” “Really. It’s no trouble.” Life replied. “No, really. I took him last time. It’s your turn.” Death was making every attempt to be polite, but the effort was showing. “I insist.” Life executed a tiny bow. “No trouble at all. Won’t even include this in the monthly report.” Death paused at this; then, uncharacteristically, fidgeted a tiny bit. “It’s just… this one is such a troublemaker,” it finally said. “Always agitating the other souls to some mischief or other. Very disruptive.” “Ahh. Yes. very disruptive indeed.” Life nodded its head in agreement. The two stood silently in the hospital room, the only sound that of the beeping machinery and an occasional, rattling indrawn breath from the subject of their discussion. “Well, he’s a troublemaker on *my* side of things too,” Life finally put in. Death nodded. “It’s his line of work, you know. That’s why he keeps ending up like this… and also why he’s such a problem once he reaches my domain,” it grumbled. “I couldn’t agree more,” Life replied. “Being a union organizer doesn’t lend itself well to a trouble-free existence, after all.” It shifted, making a decision. “Tell you what. I’ll take him back this time. It is my turn, after all… as much as I don’t like it. But I can’t promise to keep him for any length of time.” Death perked up at this. “I completely understand. No more mixups this time, though, right? Not like that Ozzy person and the ATV incident.” They bowed their heads to each other, formally ending the discussion; Death faded away, within moments entirely absent. Life grumbled to itself. “Has to remind me about the Ozzy mixup. Every damn time.”

Life and Death. Five minutes ago, you were living your life, but now your body lies unconscious. You're in a vegetative state, and you don't get to say a word as Life and Death debate who gets to keep you this time around.

*House of Change* by Daniel O'Brian. Miranda liked the title, and that was the extend of it. The story itself was lackluster, fantasy aficionados wouldn't find much novelty, those looking to be afraid would miss the shiver down their spines. That was for the literary criticism. Daniel was also her boyfriend, and he managed to become a published author, which in itself was a feat far beyond her personal appreciation of his book. This, and more, she thought as she picked up the book to buy it from the store. The pile was rather low, she wasn't the first to buy, despite Daniel having no real reputation as writer to speak of. "If I may, tell your boyfriend I adore his work," said the clerk, a young, somewhat sheepish looking man. "Of course," she replied. A few steps from the exit, she turned back and added, "how do you know my boyfriend wrote it?" "I'm friends with him." Odd. Daniel had never told her about him. Nor did she like the glint in his eyes. She left the store, forgetting the strange encounter once outside. How long had it been since last time she sat on a bench to read a book? She couldn't remember. She decided to celebrate by rekindling this old habit. She found a lone bench in a park, sat down, well protected from the cold in her heavy coat. She smelled the book, just like new, and opened the first page. She turned page after page. And didn't remember a thing. Yet she had read several drafts, had encouraged Daniel to go for a bolder opening, had an idea of the general themes. So where was the story about adventure and polymorphism? Where were the sentences and style she knew to dislike? Instead, the words flew in an alien way, she felt them worm their way under her eyes, and when she closed the book to gaze at the sky above, she still sensed how the words burrowed through her. It was unpleasant, and incomprehensible. There was no story, she wasn't sure what she had read, only that it had an impact on her. Passerby nodded at her, with a smile she could only describe as perfectly fake. "Wonderful book, is it not?" said an elder woman walking with a crutch. In her bag, a copy from *House of Change*. For a moment, all motion stopped in the park. Walkers and runners stood in place, gazing straight at Miranda, sporting the exact same wrong smile, carrying their copy of Daniel's book. She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again, movement had resumed, as if nothing had happened. She was sick, had to be. Against her better judgement, she opened the book again. The words slipped down her spine, tickled her ribs, swelled her heart. The words played in her flesh like a mad spark ready to create chaos, and through the chaos, make her anew. A gasp, someone stripped the book from her hands. She had stopped breathing, nearly passed out. "Don't read too much into it," said the voice of the man who had taken the book. She looked up. "Daniel?" No noise, no motion. They were all looking at them, without a smile, but with that glint in their eyes. "What is this?" she asked with a trembling voice. "It isn't a story," Daniel explained, "it's more of a guide. As a human you are both sculptor and sculpture, but I never liked the rudimentary ways we have to practice our art. So I devised... new methods." Miranda would have told him to knock it off already. But the words still squirmed underneath her skin, eager to break free. A young boy approached them. As he walked, his shadow distended, the audible crack of breaking bone was heard. His legs got longer with each step, muscles tearing to accommodate the new architecture, spine creaking, pulling on the nerves. "Oh god," she whispered, as the looming child's frame hid the sun from her. She passed out. When she awoke, she was in bed. What a nightmare it had been. What pleasure it was to wake up under a warm blanket, secure and cozy. Miranda rubbed her eyes, gasped when she saw *House of Change* on the nightstand. With a trembling hand, she reached for the book. "Not you," said Daniel as he put his own hand on the book to keep it closed. "Why not?" "I don't want you to change." Miranda shook her head, was about to scream, kept it in through sheer willpower. "Enough. It's a bad joke. I'm just sick, that's all." "You're not sick." "I said enough," it was both an order and a plea. Daniel sighed, and rose. She heard the already familiar crack, saw the bone splinters poke through the flesh and clothes, dragged the blanket to her as a feeble attempt to protect herself as a new set of bloody, spidery limbs protruded from Daniel's torn back. There he stood, still, smiling, bloody, and bloodily happy. Out of wits, Miranda asked: "Why don't you want me to change?" "Few things are precious enough to be kept as they are. You are one of them." Daniel left the room with his book.

Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing.

Friction doesn't kill us, inertia does. You couldn't say where you heard it, probably from a book, the story and author long forgotten. It's the sort of introspection that kept you sane, here at the end of the universe. It isn't a grand event like movies had you believe, but rather, a slow countdown marked by the stars going out one by one, swallowed by the maw of the void, a darkness beyond which nothing remains. Humans were angry at first. It's the Jews, the blacks, the illuminati. But spilling blood didn't stop the creeping darkness, even the greatest zealot recognized it eventually. So we wrote. Words and songs to throw into nothingness, to feel alive at the edge. We had accepted it, we wouldn't be dust, we simply would not be at all. How you ended up being the last standing could be chalked up to luck, but even that dies. The hill you're on is the last remembrance of the great mountains once dotting the earth, before the memories themselves are eaten. All hail your Majesty on the abandonned hill. You wonder what will be next. There has to be, this has all been once, it can be again. Through a spark, a heat, something to create out of the primordial, chaotic mold. Maybe these are the forces we never understood, never saw. They didn't change the rules of reality, they only gave birth to them and let them be. Here, on the lonely hill, you see what's left of the world. Once, you knew little. Now there's even less to know, and your conscience encompasses it all. Thus, there's only one thing to do. "Here there be light," you say, and a light is born in the darkness.

Magic is an evolutionary defense against entropy.

Orcs. A belligerent race predominantly carnivore whose most infamous activity is raiding human settlements for the food stores when winter or drought strikes. They were strong, few humans could battle them head on. But they had to be careful with the looting, too much and a powerful party would be called to eliminate them. Angorod was the third son of the chieftain, growing up he was fed with human supplies. The soup was much better than a simple roasted deer leg, the cheese melted in his mouth, and the wine brought a pleasant fuzz over his body. He was taken by the ambition to craft more of these delicious treats, and perhaps create new recipes. Once it was time for his Trailcrush, a journey to prove he was an adult, he was resolute in his goal to become the first refined chef in his tribe. Angorod had learned a few human words, and hoped it would help convey his desire. Armed with a pack, clothing for every terrain, and his trusty machete, he set off down the ravine. It failed. Every adventurer band he met was hostile, despite him putting away his blade and trying to reason with them. He was currently running from a squad intent on skinning him, apparently his tattooed skin and red tusks were very coveted. His mad dash had him trip into a faceplant in a clearing, and looking back revealed that the humans were held back by some invisible barrier. A woman was reading a book by a chalet when she spotted the poor bastard. A few waves had the orc strung up in the air defenseless. "What do you want?" Margot had a fireball ready to roast his family jewels. "Teach! I want learn!" The spell was snuffed and the woman had an appraising look. "What is your goal? Your mana is too weak for casting, your only saving grace is muscles." Her eyes were like a Carmine Rattlesnake, which had him trembling in his sandals. "Food. Cook. Please." She giggled at his sad look, it was the first time she saw something so cute in months. "Now I understand why he adopted that kid." === Angorod began learning under the witch, both cuisine and language. "Depending on your performance, I might teach more." She taught him how to test plants and mushrooms for bad reactions, which proved vital when a dab of macerated mint made his hand swell double its size. "So even orcs have allergies. Be careful, anaphylaxis can lead to a fast death." The woman was stricter than his pops when it came to learning. She had him pick up herbs all day long, from steep cliffs and deep in dangerous beast nests. Then he would spend his nights identifying his haul. Then he was kicked into a mine to dig minerals, then identify his load. Rinse and repeat. While the witch did teach him the basics of cuisine, she was also drilling him about the ingredients he could find in the future. "I have no interest in experimenting with food. But it would be a damn shame if you died to a destroying angel." Well, he supposed that potioncraft was close enough to cooking to start his knowledge pool. "Drink this." Margot offered a bottle with swirling multicolor sparkles. "Drink...?" Angorod was suspicious, it resembled the potions she forbid him from touching. "Brat, if I wanted to kill you, you would be bones by now." She snapped her fingers, dropping the liquid straight in his stomach. He collapsed in a fetal posture, his blood felt like it was boiling. "Rejoice~ You're my first official apprentice!" The potion was supposed to strengthen his core, enabling him to access alchemy and healing spells. === Training with Margot was difficult and torturous. The time taken perhaps had convinced his tribe he died during the journey. But no, he was treading a different path from his brothers. He wasn't a berserker or a walking bastion. No, he wasn't a combatant at all, but that was fine. He was in the first stage to become a true chef, and there was much to learn about culinary and the wealth of ingredients in this world. Angorod had a new goal, to write a recipe book about everything he hunted, from every continent he'd explore, like the sea serpent he was facing right now.

You're an orc tired of raiding humans to steal their delicious food, so you decide to become the first orc chef!

When I returned to 221B, I found the curtains closed and Holmes deep in rumination within the darkness. Only his hawk-like features were visible, seemingly perched on the armchair, lit by the flickering blaze of his pipe. He didn’t seem to notice me enter and I wondered what else, besides tobacco, he’d been ingesting in my absence. “Had a good day, Holmes?” I tried. Then, when no response was forthcoming, I said, “The Royal Family have all been murdered and really it seems an impossible affair. If only someone were interested in investigating.” Of course, Holmes was too lost in his own morphine dreams to hear a word I had to say. There was a chill in the air. I drew the curtains then went to make the fire. ”Watson, you’re back,” said Holmes, as I adjusted the logs. ”It seems so,” I said. ”I have a question. What does death of the author mean to you?” ”Mm. Apart from a pretentious attempt at furthering literary criticism?” ”Yes. Apart from that.” ”Apart from that, I’d say it’s what‘ll happen to me if you can’t stay off the damned substances and bring yourself to solve something.” ”Droll,” he said. ”I mean it though, Holmes. If not for my sake, for your own. Your mind is being wasted here. It’s rotting away. And your mind is too great to waste.” ”What if it’s not my mind solving these cases, Watson? What if it’s never been?” “Then I’d like a little more credit for my part.” ”Droll again. You’re on a roll.” I lit a match and threw it on the fire. The fire’s crackle merged with rain tapping on the window and created something of a soporific atmosphere. I stretched, yawned, and toppled myself into a leather armchair next to my friend. “Anything good in the paper?” I asked, picking it up. “Good? What constitutes good, exactly?” ”A murder, a robbery — anything to to give you purpose and get you out of this room for an hour or two.” ”Watson, here, do you not find it funny that every story you have documented — well, perhaps documented is too strict of a term — that every story you have embellished into your particular form of entertainment has a most satisfactory ending for the reader?” ”Reluctantly, I do think the credit for the endings goes to you.” ”But they’re all so neat, Watson. So perfect. Each one like a sheet of origami creased along the exact correct lines until it folds into a complete solution.“ I didn’t know what to say to that. “I suppose they are neat. And what’s wrong with that, pray tell?” ”Nothing for readers of the Strand, I dare say. But for real life? Everything! What about chaos theory, Watson? What about the mess that is itself life. Not everything we do is a string with two ends. Sometimes scissors cut the string into pieces and the pieces become lost and can never be stitched back together.” ”You’ve overdone the morphine, and the metaphor.” ”I’ve not touched any morphine!” he rebutted, indignant. “Cocaine on the other hand…” ”Ah, I should have known.” ”But my thoughts have been brewing far longer than the cocaine has been inside me. The world is too neat by far. The stories you write are too satisfying. They are as if you are tracing over letters already written.” I placed down the newspaper. “What are you trying to say Holmes? That someone has set up all these crimes for you to solve? Some mastermind of criminality?” ”Not of criminality. Just a mastermind.” ”And your evidence is solely that you solve almost every case?” ”Precisely.” I considered this a while. Imagined that we were characters in a book. In a series of stories. That someone had the good sense to place the two of us together. To set a crackling fire and let the clouds open and to place a bottle of whiskey on the table by my side. I yawned as I poured us each a drink. ”If we’re but characters in stories,” I said passing Holmes a glass, “then here’s to many more being written. For the writing is indeed worthy of more stories, wouldn’t you say?” Holmes’s frowned. Then smiled. He took the glass, a sip, and a long look out of the window. “Quite, Watson. Quite.”

You're a famous detective that in the middle of an investigation discovers that you are in a book, due to the great number of plot contrivances.

Vincent was locked in a state of fear, his body tensed up as hard as the stone his face was pressed against. The rumblings of the enemy's artillery being fired had gone on for ages now, and the firing of each cannon had been carried out thus far in a rhythm so inhuman, so precisely interspaced, and yet... There were no eruptions of impact. No wailing projectiles soared overhead, making contact with the battered ground around him, sending waves of debris and mire through the air to eventually trickle down onto his back. There were no screams, never any indications of the enemy's barrage hitting its mark. Yet the firing continued, and though it seemed nobody else on the planet was present to experience it, each release of a shell on the other side of no-man's-land sent a pulse that reverberated through his skull, leaving him only with a splitting headache as he lied in one of the many puddles on the battlefield. Then a sound pierced through the air which he had never experienced during his years on the battlefield - a siren. He still felt the rumblings in the ground, the puddle beneath him, and the pangs of agony sweeping through almost his whole body now, but the siren went on despite seeming to be completely out of place. Its pitch wavered, though. For a few rumbles (this was how he measured his time now) the sound became relatively dull, until a few rumbles more, it's pitch came back with a spine-rattling ferocity. "Do we pick him up?" a woman's voice echoed through his perception. "No! He's bleeding heavily -", answered a male's. "We need to stop the bleeding -" "Shut up and let the ambulance deal with it! Since when are you an EMT, ah?" the male voice pitched in again, becoming clearer as the rumbles persisted. *Boom... boom... boom....* For a moment, Vince contemplated opening his eyes and lifting his head to see who had spoken those words, but he was so frozen in fear that his body didn't let him. He only let himself get lost in the rumbling, his perception of the wetness under his face fading as he focused more and more on the vibrations in his head. The wail of the siren grew ever louder, until close enough to the point that he mistook it for the sharp wail of a projectile hurling towards him *Finally*, he thought. After nearly an hour of listing to the thuds, he had almost hoped one of the rounds would land on top of him, permanently silencing the war. His eyes were already shut, but he let his body slacken once again. It was no use facing death afraid. Boom... boom... boom... "What happened?" a voice could be heard a few feet away, as a number of footsteps shuffled towards him. "He's bleeding so much! I think he fell, or he jumped, I don't know!" the woman cried out, tears welling up in her eyes as she fell into the arms of her male counterpart. "I'm going to need the both of you to back away - " the EMT said while approaching the body. "He's a war veteran! You need to save him!" the woman yelled once again. "You know him?" the EMT asked. To this, the countenance of the woman and man suddenly changed to a state of discomfort. Her sobs stopped, and her male friend looked down towards her face, which was still facing the EMT. "*Yes!* We knew him. He was a good... family friend of ours. *Please just save him*," she pleaded. The pair walked away after a brief exchange of what seemed like consoling words, agreeing to leave the EMTs to their work. The head EMT, Steven, was kneeling over the body as his counterparts drew out the stretcher. He examined the body on the ground before him - the skull was split and blood poured ever so slowly from the crack, the bones in the man's shins had ruptured through the skin and protruded out of them, and his one hand was twisted, the top of that wrist nestled under the man's ear. On the wrist was an old Swiss Army watch, which was still ticking. Beside the body a crumbled up piece of blood-soaked paper, but near enough to his legs that the EMT assumed it fell out of the man's pocket. Realizing his crew was still preparing the ambulance to evacuate the body, he grabbed the paper and unraveled it in the hopes of finding some sort of identification. Instead, it read a message: *11am, Tuesday - Mr. Duffel, you might remember my father from the war. He died in a hole beside you because you were too afraid to carry his body across that stretch of land you call 'no man's land'. You hid in that hole with him as he bled out. I wonder if you gave him any consolation at least as he died. Nevertheless, I believe you should feel the pain he felt, and perhaps I will have the chance to standby and watch you pass, just as you did to him. I will leave you unsuspecting - you have twenty-four hours to make your peace with whomever. Goodbye, Mr. Duffel.* The EMT looked at his watch - it was 12pm on Wednesday. The man seemed to have only just now died, 25 hours later. He heard more sirens approaching, and hastily walked towards one of the police cars that neared him with the note in hand. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The couple had walked a profound distance away in a rather short time, and were silently walking beside each other through the city. "Why did he jump?" the woman asked, staring down at the ground as she walked. "You would think he would *run*!" They were in a crowd, so Jack - her male counterpart - hushed his tone and said, "Eleanor, you told the man he had twenty-four hours to live, and it was passed that time." "Exactly, *he should've run!*" "Eleanor, you fool! You pardoned the man in your heart, not with your words! As far as he was aware, Death was still just trying to find him, and running late at that. Did you expect him to really proceed with his life as normal? He's an old man anyway, with nothing left to live for, and he let your father die. If they were truly friends before the war, maybe they're reunited now." They walked off into a nearby pub and grabbed drinks, talking little as they sipped and stared at the patrons that came and went for the remaining hours of the day.

A man is given 24 hours to live. It is currently the 25th hour since the announcement.

As Adrunaline i'm able to process faster than most, i mean my whole thing is being fast. But no amount of decelerated time can help me process that the Cold Queen had a kid. And such a sweet kid too. "Mommy" said young tim as he ran to his mom. "Hey baby! How was school?" She said just not acknowledging me existence "Mr Adriane stay by to help me with my math homework." The little guy stuttered "Oh really and who is..." she was almost as stunned to see me out of costume as i was seeing her. "Honey can you go wait in the car?" She then asked her little one. As he ran towards the car she stared with an glare colder than any ice powers she had. "Does he know?" I calmly asked. "No, he doesn't he goes to bed at 7, even then he's a kid he's not gonna watch the news." She stated. "This explains the lack of crimes, and you being more careful." "If you touch him-" "I'll hang up my spandex and turn myself in," at this moment my watch started beeping, i checked it. Of course, bank robbery 12th Avenue. "Look if you want me to i'll be happy to tutor, but right now i gotta start my night job." After that i just ran, only stipping to get on my costume, and rushed to 12th Avenue.

You are a superhero whose civilian identity is a teacher. One student asked if you could tutor them after school, and you agreed. After it was over, you escorted them to the front of the school for their parent to pick them up... and you see your nemesis waiting by the car.

It had been years since I had been a part of my children's lives, and yet the memory of them lingered with me still. I had been the one to support them and guide them through their childhood, to give them the best opportunity to grow into mature and capable adults. I had been a loving, good parent. And yet, that same love and care had resulted in my own peril. The villains were jealous of the bond I had with my children, and of the strength, courage, and power that I had helped to instill in them. I had become a target. It had started with subtle threats and warnings, but then the attempts on my life had become more and more frequent. I had been attacked and beaten, poisoned and shot at, stabbed, and even threatened with bombs. But somehow, I had managed to survive them all. At first, I had thought that the villains were trying to make an example out of me, to show the world that no one was safe from their wrath. But as the years passed, I began to realize that the true reason my life had been spared was because my children needed me alive, if only to serve as a reminder of what could happen to those who dared defy the villains. And so, I stayed alive, watching from a distance as my children grew into heroes, fighting back against the villains and bringing justice to a world that had been corrupted by their evil. But then, one day, the villains decided that my time was up. They sent an army of assassins to finish me off, determined to break my children's spirit by taking away the person they loved most in the world. It was a battle I could not win, but one I fought with all my might. I fought until my last breath, and I died knowing that I had done everything in my power to protect my children. But it was not enough. The villains had won, and my children were left to grieve the loss of the one person who had loved and supported them the most. And in the end, the villains had proven that no one was safe from their wrath. Not even a loving, good parent.

You're a good, loving, and supportive parent in a superhero's origin story. Strangely, you're still alive after countless attempts on your life. Your children had a healthy childhood and became mature adults. The villains are jealous.

It took about 80 years for the loss of privacy to become normal. At first there was joy and excitement. Human evolution in real time. Incredible. My grandma told me that for a while a lot of people didn't believe. Telepathy? In our time? It sounded like a party trick at best, a con at worst. But as more evidence was revealed and more scientists agreed the truth became accepted. 10% of the world had been born with telepathic ability. Of course they'd always been there -- self proclaimed empaths, women's intuition, people who always seemed to know just what was bothering you -- but now there was hard evidence that they were something more. Something different. And the world has never been kind to those who are different. Over time, normal people grew suspicious and angry at the thought of coexisting with telepaths. Your innermost thoughts out in the air for a stranger to traipse through. Or worse, a friend or family member. Stories began to pop up in the news. Wife divorces husband when neighbor warns her of his amorous thoughts toward her sister. Straight-A student reads test answers straight from teacher's brain. CEO arrested when secretary sees memory of embezzlement. People grew paranoid. Trust drained from house to house. Then the murders started. Men, women, even children. Every day you'd hear news of a new lynching. Some with evidence, some without, all horrific. The talking heads screamed on the radio and tv stations. A blow against the telepaths was a blow for a freedom, a blow for privacy. Forsake those who seek to walk through your thoughts without permission, whether they be friend, wife or son. People -- both telepath and normal -- were afraid. The normal turned to invention and capitalism. Telepathic helmets filled the stores. Constantly playing music or static they swore the relentless incoming sound would be enough to drown out your own thoughts from the inside and the out. Telepath detectors came along as well. Meant to beep whenever a mind reader crossed your path, they were mostly crap, led to more deaths than security but still they flew off the shelves. The telepaths lived in fear. Only 10 percent of the population yet the most vulnerable, they learned to hide their abilities. To show no reaction in the face of all manner of thoughts - vile, sexy, murderous. They became secret keepers of the highest order. To reveal the truth of someone's innermost self was to risk your own life. It wasn't enough to keep them same. They turned to the government for protection. 100 years after the first telepath was discovered nearly all of them work for the state. Most in law enforcement, being a human lie detector comes in handy when investigating crime. A few work on the sidelines of the legislature, monitoring swearing ins making sure people actually mean that pledge they take in the country's name. It was the deal they struck for protection. Safety in exchange for servitude. A lot of people I know hate telepaths. I don't. I pity them. What use is it to see into the hearts of man and find nothing but hatred for yourself and your kind? Yes, they're the chosen weapon of the government but what other options did they have but to swept up, labeled, followed and forced into a role they never asked for in order to survive. After so many decades it's hardly a choice anymore. Children are tested for telepathy in their first year of school now. The ones marked positive are taken away and raised in a facility where they can hone their skills. The parents are barely given the chance to say goodbye. I don't hate the telepaths but I do steer clear of them. I live far away from the city in a cabin near a creek. I wear my helmet in public and try to keep my mind blank. And I pray that for the sake of my family the only telepath I ever see is the one who calls me mom.

A dormant gene, (previously thought to be a myth) has been activated, granting a random 10% of the population telepathy. You are not part of the 10%, but you have secrets to keep, so you can't afford running into someone who is.

It is a glorious sense of ecstasy. To gain that vision. Upon the moment we reach the age of 18, upon the very moment from whence we wake from our restful slumber, our eyes all go wide upon that day. And we see it. Whatever destiny has in store for us. All of mankind experience this, and even if your fate is something mundane like an office job, it is a truly ascendant experience, the likes of which can not be replicated. It is considered by many to be the very height of existence, that one brief moment when the cosmos itself aligns with your soul and shows you a glorious vision of what you should do with your life. For some, it is defiance, for some it is glory, for some it is comfort. But for all, that destiny is shown, and we are all told to look forward to it by our parents and teachers. When I went to bed the eve of my birthday, I can say that I was excited indeed. What would be my glory, would I have a grand romance the likes of which will burn in history? Would I be a trailblazer in the realms of science and discovery? Would I carry aloft a sword and a gun, a hero rising against the corrupt regimes of the world? It does not matter, of course. Fate is what we should do with our lives. Many see grand adventures, wild wonders, and impossible dreams, and hide away like the cowards they are, denying their fate, their best life, and instead grasp onto a safe and dull deviation. Others waste their chances to gain their great and grand fate, and simply let the love pass by, the fortune fall into the sea of mediocrity, upon meeting the tides of change. That is not who I am. I swore, before I went to bed, that come hell, come high waters, come the orders from the gods themselves, I would see my fate through. I would not waste my possibility to have my best life, simply because it might be hard or daunting. So I laid my head down upon a soft pillow, and fell deep into the dreams and nightmares that clouds the minds of most teenagers. And yet, I remember none of them. All I remember is sitting up in bed, as the first light of dawn came through the edges of the dark cloth blinds on my bedroom window. And opening that window, I saw my vision. And it was glorious. It felt in many ways more real. More true than reality had ever been. Every sense was greater. Every scent was pleasant and exuberantly unknowable in that moment. The light was brighter and warmer than the scorching sun, yet it was also at the same time softer and more loving than the gauche glare of the sun could ever be. The endless horizon of blue sky was before me. And instead of being in my room, I was sitting upon a being that can only be described as a dragon. Sharp teeth like swords in a massive maw was reflecting the light of dawn, like a mouth full of gems. Wings, like great sails of tough leather, beating with tremendous force, keeping us aloft. And a strange whirring sound, like a thousand satisfied cats all purring at the same time, came from the throat of this magnificent beast. The sky was ours. In that glorious moment, we were the envy of men below, and gods above. Two beings synchronised in a way that goes beyond any love. Two souls burned into one greater whole. The refreshing winds in my hair, as we soared together, was better than anything I'd ever experienced. The warm body underneath me, carrying me safely through the sky, pulsated with a force that no words can express. Every movement of that beautiful azure scaled beast was something I could feel. Our bodies one greater whole. Every dip a shared joy, every loop an amazing thrill, every turn and twist an expression of power, grace, and love. And like a sudden closing of a door, it was over. My sight barred from that wondrous vision. From my fate as a dragon rider. I fell to my knees before the dawn, and wept like I have not done since I was but a child. It was true, what they'd all told me. That the vision would be the greatest and most beautiful thing I could ever experience. That it was my fate to seek out a means to recreate what I'd seen, to get as close as humanly possible to that bliss. At last, I understood why in many faiths, at least the ones that are sensible, it is said that the visions are a brief glimpse into paradise. Nirvana. The Elysian Fields. Every great place that awaits us after death. A glorious future laid before me. Yet there was one major obstacle, one huge problem that was ahead of me; Dragons don't exist. But in that moment, I realised something different, not that my fate was impossible; Instead, I realised that dragons don't exist, yet. I did not care for the birthday gifts, the celebrations planned by my family. I had sworn myself to complete this monumental task, and with every fiber of my being I threw myself into it. Even as I listen to birthday songs, I was already planning the DNA modifications needed to achieve my vision. Already as we cut the cake, I was considering how to rethread DNA, to get what I needed. Of course, using PCR and CRISPR in the ways I was planning, was highly illegal, especially with the animals needed as donors for the respective DNA. But that can never matter. Not when you have a fate. Nothing can matter except the destiny which you've been shown to have the chance to achieve. While my family were partying around me, all of them having been too cowardly to ever fully achieve their own fates, I was looking up potential rich people to convince into assisting me with this grand undertaking. Luckily, wealth and sense are not often connected, and many people can be separated from their ill-gotten gains with ease. It was odd thinking like this. Yesterday I had ideas about grandeur, sure. But I also had normal thoughts, about crushes, parties, school, and other things that young people enjoy. I suppose once you become doom-driven, you cease to find any of that to be truly important. This is what often drives people away from truly seeking to fulfil their visions of their fates. The single-minded hyper-focus on the overall goal can be frightening. Terrifying. That you'll become this unhinged, this unfettered, all for a single goal. Many people falter at this stage, deciding instead to seek a lesser fate than the grand vision shown to be the ultimate possible outcome of your life. And yet, though I can feel the same doubts, I do not back down. Even as I quietly retreat to my room, I'm already using the skills I've learned about computers to look into encrypted scientific and technological databases, both privately owned and government controlled. Of course, this was difficult, but doom-driven as I was, no wall of stone nor fire could ever hope to bar my passage. Nothing but my death can stop me now. As I finish up for the day and turn in to sleep, I find myself planning out my steps in my dreams, being so focused on my fate that I turn to lucid dreaming in order to have more time to work with. Back at school next morning, I throw myself into my studies with a fire that none of my fellow students or teachers have ever seen. I already see them, uncomfortable, that I have decided to make my dream come true. They might have already forsaken any chance of having their life turn out with their perfect, optimal fate. It must be unnerving for others, and yet I persist. I can see the path towards my goal. I can see it as clearly as I saw the blue sky, that endless beautiful horizon on the back of something that was closer emotional to me than any family or love could ever be. I cannot turn back. Not for this. Perhaps for others, with more mundane perfect fates, it is easy to step down when the going gets tough. It is easy to just give up. I will not cease, not before my doom has been driven to its end. I will not stop before that egg hatches, and I hold my perfect creation, the first dragon, in my arms. I cannot rest, nor pause, before that day comes. It will be closer to me than any child. And should anyone attempt to stop me, to bar my way to that perfect fate; then let my will be done, even if the heavens and the Earth themselves shall fall. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)

at their eighteenth birthday, everyone gets a vision of their destiny, you got Dragon Rider. One obvious problem, dragons don’t exist.

“Hey fucker! You killed my target!” “Ah, Demolia, a pleasure for you to show up,” Dr Nefarious replied. “Shut it! You killed my rival!” Demolia managed to keep her tears deep within, keeping her crush on Jack the Amazing deep hidden well. Demolia could still remember the day she met Jack. She had recently manifested her abilitys, and had just started her terrorism. But that valiant man, still a rookie himself, fought her single handedly. They exchanged blow after blow for hours, until the Legion of Heros sent reinforcements, and caused Demolia to retreat. Her heart began to ache, and while she was confused why, she began training to beat him. Soon they met again, and Demolia loved every moment of it. After many battles, and many retreats, she figured out the pain in her chest, and why it only left when she was with Jack. She began training with new resolve, all to make her loved one as shinning a star as possible. But her hopes were dashed, and Jack the Amazing fell in battle. “You should really chill out,” Dr Nefarious began, “you’re going to kill me at this rate.” Demolia thought she heard a great idea, and exploded the docs jaw. Nefarious quickly covered his jaw and called his security bots. She wasn’t finished, and tore through the bots with fury, demonstrating she deserved the totle of aecond greatest villain. While she was tearing through the metal, the doc quickly ran to the only place he knew could calm her down. Soon enough she joined him. “Now what is this Doc? A lab? What are you going to do, knock me out and kill me?” Demolia said in a mocking tone. “No,” the doc said, removing the hand from bis jaw to reveal it wasn’t even burned, “I need you to calm down dammit.” Demolia was shocked, her most powerful blast hand been healed in mere moments. [*Chains*] Nefarious said, in a strange tone quote familiar. “I am doctor Nefarious. I am the alias of the greatest Villain, Plunder. And I am the alias of the greatest hero, Salvation. And I’ve brought you here to give you a fake death. You,” nefarious began while Demolia saw a body form, quite identical to herself, “are trapped by society into being unable to be with your love one. So I faked your crushes death, and now I’m faking yours.” And that was all Demolia could recall. —- “Morning, sunshine,” a familiar, warm, love- “Jack!?” Demolia bolted up in a shock. “Ahahah, you should really calm down. Doctor Nefarious told me about the situation, and told me to explain it to you. Basically, because we couldn’t date each other, Nefarious killed our secret and public identitys, and gave us some new ones, hidden in this nice little town on the outskirts of civilisation. Now, I haven’t told you my real name, and I haven’t hear yours. My name is John.” “I’m Vivian. Uhm, if your fine with it, can we start dating?!” “Of cource. There’s this beautiful lake, let’s go there!” John was really excited, his voice only barely keeping it’s flow. Plunder/Salvation watched as they assimilated into the town, a small town of just Heros and Villains who lost their identitys to be with who they love. “Let’s see, Vermillion and Reactor are next,” Plunder/Salvation told to themself, think of the future where this job no longer needed to be done.

A superhero and a villain who keep clashing overtime develop a crush for each other...until one day another supervillain manages to kill the hero.

“No man shall ever love you!” said the witch. “Oh my God, thank you!” the woman replied. The witch shot her a confused look. “Oh, you think you’ll be safe because you’re lesbian? Well, for your information, “man” is also a gender neutral term. So any and all humans across the realm are affected by my spell.” “Aren’t there other species of humanoids, actually?” asked the woman. “Doesn’t matter! My curse affects all sentient civilizations that walk on two feet.” “How about-“ “Swim in the sea, burrow through the earth, soar into the sky, etc, etc.” the witch finished. “I’m asexual, by the way.” chirped the woman. The witch glared at her with burning rage. Never had a mortal shrugged off her curses so nonchalantly. Determined to win, she said, “And my curse prevents all forms of love, Romantic, sexual, platonic, you name it. No one will ever show affection towards you again!” The woman smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I’m a misanthropic monarch who cares only about appearances and not about friendship.” said the Evil Queen. “You should have just turned me into a frog and be done with it.”

"No man shall ever love you!" "Oh my God, thank you!"

“..AND THATS WHY, MY FELLOW HUMANS, WE SHOULD DESTROY THE CITY AND LIVE A LIFE OF FREEDOM FROM THE GOVERNMENTS TYRANNY! AND THERE IS NO WAY YOU CAN STOP ME FROM MAKING THIS OUR FUTURE” I yell over the sea of people, big and small in front of my nemesis. Lighterman flew before me and while his stupidly neon suit and his super hero name were the most cliché things I have every seen, he surprised me. I braced for impact of the first first blow… and, well nothing. I kept my hands to my face for a solid 10 seconds when I finally got a look at him, he seemed to be.. thinking? “Hey! Lighterman!” A guy in the crowd yelled, standing out from the ocean of silence, “Aren’t you gonna punch her in the face.. or something?” Lighterman mumble something quickly and glided safely down to the ground where the people parted to make a spot for him. “To be fair.. you got some pretty solid points, maybe let’s hear them out.” A whisper flew over the crowd and faint gasps could be heard. Lighterman’s words echoing throughout the city. “Uh.. what?” I yell, trying to decide if this was a ruse to give him self a chance to surprise me. “You can’t actually be serious..?” “No no, I see it now” he makes a big gesture with him arms, “No more criminals, violence, homelessness… to be honest it sounds like a perfect world.” Everyone is staring at him in shock and I can’t help but wonder if he’s telling the truth. I float down to the top of a short building but tall enough so that civilians can’t try to get to me. “You alright there bud? Did you trip and hit your head? Your not even doing the stupid hero voice you do all the time!” I ask him, watching other citizens pull out phones and call, presumably, the police. “NO!” Lighterman shouts, startling everyone including me. His arm reaches out and yanks a persons phone right out of their hands and sets it aflame. “No more government, no more phones!” He cackles, stomping on the burnt phone, glass and ash scatter across the pavement. He quickly rises from the ground as an angry mob begins to form. A manic look in his eyes I can’t help but fear for my safety. His gaze dashes from building to building his grin becoming wider. A flame appears in the palm of his hand, it dances with the light breeze of the midday. He reaches back and shoots a giant ball of flames into the tallest build in the city. Chaos erupts will people running every which way, a child is trampled, another left behind cars crashing into others, creating more flames in the streets. I gaze upon the burning earth in awe, time seemingly slows down as I rush up to lighterman and aid him in the destruction. The most beautiful yet chaotic scene I have every witnessed in my years as a Villain. The Hero finally cracked. [this is my first ever writing prompt so tell me how I did ig :’) ]

The Villain finished his monologue. Civilians standing around waited for the Hero to begin the fight, "Well, what are waiting for? Demolish the bad guy!" The Hero responded, "Hang on, he's made a couple of good points. We should hear him out."

Sitting at the dining table now, Johnathon bestowed the tension from his shoulders over to the chair he was resting in. He had worked up quite an appetite- after all, the brainpower that is used up in frantically scrambling a limited set of letters around needs to be replenished somehow. Fiddling with his dinner fork, the world-renown Scrabble champion grew increasingly impatient as he was barraged with the delicious-smelling aromas of the dishes passing around him; dishes going to the diners two tables down, the diners behind him, the diners in front of him, even the diners sitting at the same table- lord, was every single waiter and waitress throughout that entire restaurant just so religiously devoted to denying him of his food for as long as possible? And the very moment the diner just to his side received his entree and lifted the cloche, a scalding, wispy, aromatic cloud of steam leapt at Johnathon's face, disintegrating in an instant. Johnathon had just about had it up to that point. Forcing his chair back with such ferocity that it left skid-marks on the hardwood floor, Johnathon stood up quickly, placing his foot on the tabletop. He yelled out stridently, "Are any of you accomplished chefs ready to come out with my food??" Conversations stopped abruptly, heads turned his way, and everyone's gaze was set upon him at this moment. He could feel their shaming eyes branding themselves into the back of his ignominious skull. And, with an audience suddenly emerging from as far as the eye could see, Johnathon began to reconsider his actions. Should he sit back down and act as if nothing was out of the ordinary? Should he excuse himself and find the exit? Logic and convention stormed his mind, stating that clearly, the former two were superior to any other action Johnathon could muster. But the mind of a hungry man is not dictated by logic and convention, no; Johnathon's outburst was purely emotional, and, at that point, so was his entire train of thought. Perhaps he was acting a bit irrational, sure- but, being the top Scrabble champion in a far-off, little-known place referred to as the entire world, Johnathon felt he deserved a bit more respect. Or, at the very least, he certainly deserved to get his food on time. And as more emotions welled up in the bottom of his bosom, Johnathon found that the words were bubbling out of his mouth quicker than he could even attempt to control it. "I mean, it's only the top-rated, number one, globally recognized and esteemed Scrabble champion talking here, in an emporium full of other Scrabble players? Do you all have no respect? I'm certain you all know how difficult a game Scrabble is to play, let alone to master!" In his last statement, however, Johnathon was a bit disingenuous. In all truth, he found Scrabble quite easy and simple. He simply had what seemed to be the entire backlog of all known words in the English dictionary stashed away, just resting on a drawer in his brain somewhere, as well as every single blend of consonants and vowels that could just barely be recognized to even be a word. Simply put, Johnathon made it look so easy that it appeared no matter what configuration of vaguely organized letters he willed onto that board, it would always be considered legal. Some even jokingly speculated that he was just willing words into newfound existence entirely every time he eagerly took his turn. And in being so professional, it seemed Johnathon had now convinced himself that it was his right to act like a babbling moron in the middle of a relatively small cafe. And, as it became ever more clear that he was not going to sit back down until his food was there on a silver platter, the waiters reluctantly pestered the cooks in the back, who, in turn, hastily whipped together a noticeably more lacking-in-quality, blander, more lackluster dish than the other patrons had received. And, when five minutes had transpired, the unenthusiastic waitresses paraded his table, his entree carried along with them. Johnathon finally sat back down, courteously scooting his chair back under the table before instinctively reaching out his hands to receive his meal. The waitress who wielded his mighty dish, while hesitant in truth, acted as if she were honored to hand him his bounty. Johnathon's mouth was already watering, and he began to smack his lips. But, just as he began to consolidate his clasp around the metallic tray that supported his sustenance, the waitress suddenly recalled a step of the food-giving ritual she had forgotten to enact. And so, to Johnathon's starving dismay, she reflexively pulled it backward, and opened her mouth in query. "I'm sorry, sir, but before I give you your food, I must ask: would you like salt with that?" Johnathon couldn't even be bothered to articulate a verbal response, only shaking his head no at the question. He would have forgone that step too, if he were telepathic. He was too hungry to bother putting more effort into declining her offer. "Are you sure, sir? It's quite exhenic." Johnathon was prepared to affirm his stance yet again through means of no more than a simple head movement, but he was caught off-guard by that last word she used. Exhenic? Johnathon remembered playing this word in one of his many tournaments (of which he won, of course). He had played it off of his opponent's last word, combining the letters X, H, E, N, I, C with a preexisting E for a total of 19 points. He wasn't sure of its definition, but he knew it was an English word- at least, it had to be, or the scorekeeper wouldn't have counted it, right? "Come again?" Johnathon asked rather politely, a surprise to all the diners gathered around and staring at him. "Exhenic? Lacking salt?" This cleared up things in Johnathon's mind for a while, and he finally found the energy to answer to her previous question verbally. "Oh, then, no thank you dear. I don't need salt." With that, the waitress departed, the head-on collisions between her steep high-heels and the cold hardwood floor echoing all around the room. No matter how many times he ran the word through his head, something still felt wrong in his gut. There should have been no reason for this feeling to arise, with the waitress having explained it and everything- yet, it was still there. Johnathon sat in silence, pondering, not even bothering to touch the same food he had once been vociferously pleading for. And, with Johnathon silent, and no other out-of-touch diner willing to stir up a scene, chatter naturally resumed as diners' gazes returned to those around them. Fifteen minutes pass, and with all of the diners passionately chatting, eating, and overall having a good time, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary- except for the fact that Johnathon's visage had turned a shade of sickly pale. Noticing Johnathon's clear unwellness, the diner next to him, who also happened to be in the top #5 for best Scrabble players in Australia, tried to poke fun at this in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, Johnathon? Won't you enhulse in the meal you so passionately argued for?" "Huh?" A disoriented Johnathon answered, his voice hoarser than an uncleaned stable. "Your xazhin? Won't you eat it?" Johnathon stared at him with wide eyes, unblinking. "Well, I wasn't quanoned we were having a staring contest!" And the patrons around him erupted in hearty laughter.

You're a SCRABBLE nut, and a world class player. You've never lost. Little did you know that you had a superpower, one of linguistic retcon -- the universe would change so that any letters you placed were always a valid word. But are there consequences to changing a language.

Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me. I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry. *The shadow grew larger at our feet* As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though. From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli. "And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked. "It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way." A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces. "Ok *Souperior*, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments." The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes. I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others. "The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup." Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: *Gazpacho*, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones. But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft. With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky. For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand. "May I have a bowl, hero?" Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain.

You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand.

I opened the door and promptly shut it behind me. One fluid motion. A cold waft of air pillowed my entry, just as I liked it. The room was messy and in a state of disrepair. Abandonded buildings look cleaner than this. I sighed to myself, and haphazardly kicked away some items on the floor. Just to make a path. Charger brick, a single shoe which will forever lack it's mate, and... Whatever that is... I laid down on the bed, small, but big enough. I pulled out my phone and clicked onto Spotify. Something about it's little green icon always hung in my thoughts, not sure why. Then I scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. Finally I found something good, a real classic from the edgelord days. I swipped off the app. Stared at my wallpaper. Just let the emotions and nostalgia consume me. I sighed and opened Docs, figure I'll write a bit tonight. I mouthed along the lyrics as I typed mindlessly, unaware and isolated from my surroundings. I took on my protagonists struggles, and forgot my own. Wasn't worried about keeping up with the homework I'd procrastinated on, just keeping my fictional kid alive. Wasn't thinking about tomorrow, just a fake today. The song changed in the background, flipping genres and tempo. Breakcore into Industrial. J-pop into droning ambient tracks. Game OST's into classical music. It was comforting. Maybe people don't know me, but this amalgamation of songs and tracks does. It's my confidant. Then a song came on, the music tense and oppressive, lyrics indecipherable. I'd know that song anywhere! A small well of happiness appeared inside me, but I quickly smothered it. Keep the real world out of the story. I felt inspired by the oppressive track, so I wrote a new scene idea. It's gotta be a demon summoning, with latin chanting this intense? Hmm, make the location... tough choice... A mall? Group of highschool delinquents? Nah, over done... Hm... Airplane? Nah, sounds stupid... The song reached a crescendo, the singer belting their entire life in a rage fueled voice. I assume. I was touched by it enough to actually attempt to follow along. "Daemoniorum convocatio! Lingua antiqua!" A bright flash of light, followed by a flash of heat. It writhed my nerves and ripped my mind to shreds. I nearly forgot who I was in that instant. Then it left, quick as it had came. I stared at the ceiling quietly. The music had shut off. I glanced at my phone, the now playing track simply listed "????". It betrayed me! My music went and betrayed me! How is that even possible?! I exhaled in the still darkness of the room. Something exhaled along with me. I shot up, my hand already firmly holding the knife I keep beside my bed. A thing was standing at my footrest. Quiet. Immobile. I couldn't make out it's form, but something in my gut told me I didn't want to. I was scared. I haven't been that for who knows how long, but I was now. "Why have you summoned me?" It's tone was... something... I couldn't understand it's emotion, or if it was even trying to convey one. Two tiny dots of blue fire endlessly turned on themselves, glaring at me. I forced my voice to speak. But it faltered. Only a quiet noise escaped my lips. "The Old Tongue..." It croaked out, sounding like it was on the verge of death, "...es wird vermieden." "W-Who are you?" I managed to force out. "Incomprehensibilis... Frustra..." It titled it's head, and several cracks echoed from it's neck. "What are you!?" I yelled at it, fear turning to rage. Fight or Flight response finally kicking in. "Mors... ይልቁንም, ተመሳሳይ የሆነ ነገር" It glanced around the room, the unsettling cracking forcing me to not blink. Then it turned it's gaze to me, "ይቅርታ፣ የነቃህው ፍጥረት እየመጣ ነው።" It looked around again. Another bright flash, this one infinitely more bearable than the first. It was gone. Some random song from my playlist was blaring now. It did nothing to comfort me.

One day, you’re just chilling in your room listening to music through your headphones. A song in a language you don’t understand comes on, however you still try to mumble along. Suddenly, with a burst of flames, a demon appears in your room saying, “Who dare summon me in the tongue of old!?”

Cinlauti scanned the great cave. It was beyond reason. While he knew of caves, this one looked nothing like the stories of his cousin Teherra. She would boast of strong stone walls and many smooth curves, but this cave had many levels and weird shaped rocks that couldn't be made of stone. There were thousands of the these rocks and all were so tiny they could only hold an individual child of Matrila. The stoneless cave had soft waving material that was more precious than the coats of a thousand sheep. The soft curtains hung above and to the side of a raised platform of wood. Cinlauti appreciated wood. As a son of the great blue sky, he knew wood as well as these other materials escaped him. On the platform, he found the dozen of Matrila’s children who had summoned him. They sung like a drunken west wind, but Cinlauti’s heart warmed after the centuries of the song’s absence. Their clothes were bizarre for the first summon, but in time they found their best dress of skins and furs. Each time their appearance improved, more of Matrila’s children sat in the funny rocks. The songs claimed more power over the audience and Cinlauti grew back to his almost his full strength. The only thing missing was the beast sacrifice, but Cinlauti was relieved these beings didn’t sacrifice their pitiful canines. That would have ruined everything.

The old tribal gods are bemused that the singing and ritual movements to summon them have become part of a Broadway show. They appreciate being celebrated, yet still miss the following wildebeest sacrifice.

I stare dumbfounded as Mr. Boobalooba struggles to remove the neon green spandex suit coving his furry little body and the grab boots slipped over his back toe beans. MR Boobalooba! It you! You are the Beast King!! Suddenly Mr Boobalooba stops his struggles and looks at me. “Yeah you got me. I am the Beast King” My voice cracks as my dearest friend turns out to be my most bitter enemy. “ how? I found you injured and abandoned in a milk crate when you were just a kitten? I’ve taken care of you your whole life! 7 years Mr. Boobalooba! 7 years!” mr Boobalooba sighs as he shakes his head “ I never meant to hurt or deceive you. About 5 years ago I awakened my powers and I originally wanted to fight along side you. I know you are the Scarlet Knight. But as I took my first steps out into the city as you worked at night I uncovered the secret base of the league of dastardly deeds. I also turned into a fly and spied in their meetings where I found out about many plots to hurt many citizens here in nightshade city. So I figured the best way to handle the situation was to lose as a villain myself, gain their trust and I have eventually taken over the orginization. Now most of our income comes from stocks and investments of the money stolen from foreign offshore accounts hidden by world leaders and crime lords in other regions. If you haven’t noticed actual violent crime has been dropping for the past few years but I still hear up to give you an enemy. Because having defeated the league of dastardly deeds from within big I stopped causing local crime you would have no one to fight. I love you papa and I want you to still be the hero that saved me from that milk crate and nursed me back to health” I was stunned. He is right crime has been down and I’ve spent more time in stake outs than throwing punches recently. To hear Mr.Boobalooba’s words my heart melted. “I never can stay mad at you you damn cat.” I guess I do enjoy having a job and the kick backs from the city would dry up completely if crime stopped and then I would have to move to a new more dangerous city. I guess having a super villain cat isn’t so bad.

The biggest villain in your city can shape-shift into any animal. You have just come home early to see your pet cat hastily putting on a familiar-looking suit.

“Michael, I don’t care. She’s *my* daughter!” I whipped my head around and narrowed my eyes. “So? She’s my little sister.” My finger traced the rim of my mug, the steam poured a bit of warmth into my cold hands. I found my hand stop and play with the spoon I used to stir in my sugar. As I flicked it back and forth, a metallic ring sounded out as it clinked against the sides. My hands couldn't help but fidget, anything to avoid the conversation in front of me. I let out a big sigh, my chest felt heavy, and the weight of the conversation had left me exhausted. Mom didn’t want to see reason, it felt as if I had been banging my head against an immovable wall for the last hour. I rubbed my eyes in frustration, “Mom, you need to come around. We need to do this. For her.” My mother opened her mouth to speak, but words failed to come out. I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, it felt frail. It was pale and I could see the veins as I rubbed her hand between my thumb and index finger. I looked up from her hand and took in my mother’s, now gaunt, features. Her pale blue eyes seemed dull and bore heavy bags. She hadn’t been sleeping well, though, I hadn’t either. Her face was a mask of worry, her frown lines seemed a permanent feature from months of anxiety. Her long gray hair was knotted, I doubt she had washed or combed it for weeks now, and I know concern showed on my face. “Michael,” she spoke up. “I can’t. It would mean I’ve failed as a parent. I can’t do it.” Her voice cracked. I felt my eyes water as my mother’s face was torn by despair, and a solid lump formed in my throat. I tried to fight down the feeling, I needed to be strong. My mother broke. Her tears poured down and she shook with each breath she took, her body convulsed as her sobs rocked her frame. “I-I can’t Michael,” she choked. I stood up from the table and wrapped my arms around her. She grew hysterical as I tried to offer her some form of comfort from my embrace, I knew it wouldn't be enough. “I *can’t* Michael,” she pleaded. “I can’t.” “I can’t." “I can’t.” “I CAN'T!” I stroked her back and attempted to calm her down. “I know mom,” I whispered. I took a deep breath, “But I can.” … “Mr. Michael Smith?” I nodded as the nurse readied the forms. The nurse looked up, a somber expression on her face, “Are you sure you want to stop end-of-life care?” A tear fell down my cheek, “I am.”

You are convinced you are the only person who loves your little sister. Break my heart, please.

My heart was racing as I heard the moans of the zombies outside my apartment. Even through the boarded up windows, I could hear them, as if they were right next to me. I was alone in my apartment, and the only thing keeping me safe was the boards on the windows and the door. I had been like this for days, surviving on whatever canned food I had managed to find. Suddenly, I heard a loud knock on the door. I froze in fear. Who could it be? I had no way to know who was on the other side. I stood there, motionless, my heart pounding in my chest. Then, the door suddenly opened, and I saw my girlfriend standing there. We both embraced in relief, and I felt like I could take on the world. Together, we were invincible. We were going to make it through this. But then, I heard a loud thud and felt a sharp pain in my back. I realized my girlfriend had just stabbed me. She had been bitten by a zombie and had come to me so she could die in my arms. I had no choice but to accept my fate as I slowly lost consciousness. I had thought my girlfriend had come to save me, but instead, she had come to take me with her.

You tap your foot in your apartment, the windows around you boarded up, and you can hear the moans outside. Zombies. Your heart beats faster and faster, and the door swings open, and your girlfriend rushes in. You two embrace knowing you can survive anything together.

At first, I tried to make the best of it. I set out to be a professional gambler, using my power to stack the odds in my favor. But even that didn't work. Whenever I thought I had the upper hand, the game would turn around and I'd be the one on the losing end. It wasn't long before I turned to a life of crime. With my power, I was certain I couldn't be caught. I started small, with simple thefts and robberies. But as time went on, my ambitions grew bigger and bigger. Soon, I was orchestrating daring heists and bank robberies that would have made the most hardened criminal blush. For a while, it worked. I was able to get away with all kinds of crimes. But then one day, something strange happened. My power suddenly reversed. Every smart plan I made was successful while my stupid plans failed. I had no idea what was going on. I thought I was being tested, so I kept doing what I was doing. But it didn't take long for investigators to catch up with me. In the end, I was caught and sentenced to life in prison. As I was taken away, I knew I had been tricked. It was my own power that had betrayed me. The irony was, as I continued my own reckless success, that itself became a well thought-out plan, thus ultimately ensuring my failure.

Your power works mysteriously. The smart plans are doomed while the simplest, most idiotic schemes are guaranteed hits. Infiltrating an enemy base as a security guard never works, while entering wearing a fake moustache and glasses does etc.

Somewhere along the way I got lazy. I lost the edge my dad had raised me to have. Son of a bitch that he is, I can’t say he didn’t try to make up for it in his own way. I don’t think he expected to have me in his life for too long. My mistake was dropping my guard. His was getting attached. When we’re at our lowest points in life, humans can get a bit desperate. A starving man may steal so that he can eat, someone dying of thirst may dig into the earth until their fingers bleed to find water. We pray to whoever will hear us in our darkest hours, and we’ll take any hand that reaches down to pull us up. My dad did just that somewhere in a desert fighting in a war no one should’ve fought in the first place. With his unit all but decimated and enemies closing in, he reached out for a miracle and was met instead with a bargain. What is the price of a human life? What about the price of 13? It may surprise you to find out that whether it’s one or 100, the price is almost always a flat rate: a soul not your own. That of a loved one or one that is not yet known to you. The bargain struck was his life for that of his first born child. I don’t know what he saw pinned down by gun fire, he can’t rightly tell me what he saw either, but he does remember shaking the hand of something that made his blood boil in his veins. Within a matter of minutes, 13 men were slain and scattered to the wind, while one got to go home. Here’s the thing about my father. From that day forward he said his luck was unbelievable. He was given a commendation for his “service”, came home to an abundance of opportunity, and somewhere along the way he met a woman. This is where dear old dad thought he could trick the devil. It wasn’t long after his return that he had a vasectomy. He made sure to make quick friends with his urologist, and had regular check ups to ensure his potential for having children was DOA. The woman didn’t mind and was happy to forgo a child to share in their love together for years and years to come. Old man was set for life. Except two years after the wedding an unexpected surprise shook the very foundation of their love. Imagine his surprise when his wife wound up pregnant. He was beside himself. She was devastated because she had never even kissed another man, much less slept with one. But how could it be that she was with child when his line had been cut? Only the devil knows. I was their son without a doubt. I was a bargaining chip due. My life should have been snuffed the moment I came into being. Perhaps some figure should’ve stolen me like a thief in the night. My father waited in agony for something, anything to happen to me. As he waited he grew close to me, as some fathers are want to do with their children. He raised me to be smart, measured, and strong. He was there for life’s milestones, my highs and my lows, and now he’s beaming at me on a pew as I await the love of my life to walk down the aisle. When he told me what he’d done some time ago, I was dubious at first, shocked after that, and then livid to the point of violence. I got some good shots in on him. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything else but take his punishment. I left him a battered mess in his study. We didn’t talk for a time. Then I met her. I fell in love. We propped each other up, pushed one another to grow while offering each other comfort from the world around us. She helped me heal and was the catalyst for mending my relationship with my father. He paid for the whole affair. He wouldn’t hear of her father for anything tradition be damned. If it weren’t for her detailed wedding book, I imagine he’d have planned the whole thing himself too. Thankfully he didn’t. His money is good but his taste is questionable. He’s smiling at me, tears welling up in his eyes. I’m smiling at him. A genuine smile with a fondness I’ve not felt for him a long time. Now the wedding march. Everyone’s on their feet. The doors open and I’m stunned. I’m frozen in place. Everyone around me has become wax statues with fixed features staring at the bride. I see her. I see it. I see my destiny decided for me long ago. It glides down the aisle with ease and snuffs out candles on the way. No one has moved or made any exclamations. They are a captive audience who may not even witness what is about to occur. Except for the man in the front pew. His tears flow down his cheeks without pause, a smile still plastered on his face. It stands before me now and it looks like her, but I’ve already seen past the veil. It is here to hold up the agreement. I watch its lips part into a smile that could crack glass. It leans close to me. It whispers in my ear. “To have and to hold, to love and cherish, till death—oh, no. I suppose that last bit doesn’t hold up here. You’re mine now…unless you would like to strike a bargain?” A joke. A jest. It cackles as it takes me under.

You are the firstborn of a man who promised to give their firstborn child over to a devil in exchange for a successful career. The problem is that he’s 23 years late, and you’re an adult about to propose to the love of your life.

“Eyaaaahhhh!” Roared the victorious horde, clanging their weapons against battle-bruised shields in celebration. Panting, I let the leather wrapped handle of my mace slip from my quivering hand; it landed with a dull thud and nestled into the flattened emerald grass. Medics leapt in from the reserves, darting around the clearing in search of wounded. After making a full sweep they lost their sense of urgency like a candle blown out in the breeze, their remaining energy was spent slowly drifting from crowd to crowd and applying ointment to calloused and leather-scuffed palms of the warriors. The tang of metal that hung in the air was soon replaced by the minty balm haphazardly spread across the awaiting upturned hands. It was tough to find a patch of grass that wasn’t in some way stained or tainted by the fierce conflict, I kicked aside the shards of a pig-iron long sword and sat down next to its late owner. I grasped the collar of my boot and wrenched, the effort expended almost matched that of combat as the leather wrapping stubbornly refused to slip off. With a final shove the footwear was flung out onto the damp undergrowth, the tops of my toes shone an eye watering crimson in the late morning sun. I stretched out the wounded foot, placing the underside against the sole of the deceased beside me. The fit was far better than my own. As the merriment continued, hefty barrels of ale were rolled down the densely forested hill and into the open space. Our medics had piled the deceased out to the East; but only after they had been picked clean of ornaments and useful trinkets. I stretched out my toes out and felt a small pleasure at the lack of rubbing on their tips, if there was ever a compliment to give the Lowercliff’s knew how to mould a good boot. One figure appeared to be missing, it was unmistakable as the barrel marked out with his own name sat unattended. Scouting out the perimeter his hulking back was visible over to the far side of the battlefield. Approaching slowly I announced my presence with a hearty laugh, “If you don’t come over soon, the others will have tapped your ale before you get a tank.” The giant remained silent. “… Are you-“ I began, reaching out a hand to touch the metal plated shoulder. At even the lightest brush of my fingertips he recoiled forwards. As I edged round to his left, the rugged beard held drops of moisture like the early morning dew that graced the lawn. His moustache, which he kept with great pride to the point of carrying a separate comb on his person at all times, was tangled and slick with great hunks of snot. “Go back to the brigade,” he whispered, “I do not wish to talk.” His gaze was fixed on the tree in front of him, the trunk was thin and smooth with white bark smeared with black marks peppering its surface like ashes. There was something different about it, compared to the rest of the forest its leaves seemed thicker and more vibrant. “Is it the tree?” I asked. Met initially with silence, my companion soon rubbed his eyes and took a step back to reveal the crumpled body of a Lowercliff fighter. His features were soft and rounded, mentally putting his stature back together in my mind he couldn’t have stood taller than my chest. “He didn’t even protect himself, he stood with his shield protecting the tree.” “Are you sure he wasn’t just hiding behind it?” I asked, unsure of my question. “I sincerely hope you’re joking.” He responded dryly. “Look at the others, not a scratch on them. The only wounds suffered were from gripping their weapons with too tight a fist. This was a massacre, not a great battle. We are better called butchers than warriors… They were here to protect something, and I think this might be it.”

You’ve won the battle. Nobody in your team is visibly hurt, but you notice the “tough reserved” member of your party is avoiding everyone, on the verge of tears.

"Huh, I'm dead.", I thought to myself as I hovered slightly above the wreck that was once my Hyundai Tucson. While I did have a fun life and achieved everything I wanted, I didn't expect to... go out with a bang. Hehe. That's what you get for being distracted while driving. Anyways, as they say, death is an adventure! Erm... it is, right? Right? As I drifted away from the sight of my untimely demise, I suddenly heard a thunderous boom above me. When I looked around me, all I saw was fluffy white clouds. "So, this is heaven?", I exclaimed to no one in particular. As I looked around, a voice from above boomed. "YOU MAY REINCARNATE AS: A ROCK, A SHEET OF PAPER, OR A PAIR OF SCISSORS. CHOOSE WISELY." "A rock, paper and scissors? Are you fucking joking?", I screamed incredulously up at the sky. This was not the post-death adventure I was expecting. "THIS MESSAGE WAS SPONSORED BY BIG ROCK, BIG PAPER, AND BIG SCISSORS. CHOOSE WISELY.", the voice continued to drone. "I'm a good person! Why am I here!", I continued yelling at the sky, before realising that it was rather fruitless to shout at nothing. Like, who was Big Rock supposed to be even? Back home, I was always the undisputed king of Rock Paper Scissors. I'll even tell you a secret, all you need to remember that the average filthy casual player plays in the order of Rock, Paper, Scissors. But here, I was outclassed. And I didn't like that. "Fine, you little shit! I choose rock!", I yelled at the being above me. What the fuck kind of choice was this even? Maybe I was hallucinating while in the hospital or dreaming this. "YOUR INSOLENCE SHALL BE HARSHLY PUNISHED! CHOOSE WISELY!", it thundered. Why did every sentence have to end with choose wisely? Immediately, I was turned into a bog-standard small chunk of rock. As I surveyed my roundish body, I realised that I couldn't control my movements! "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!", I screamed as I hurtled through a familiar sky. As I flew further, I realised that the area was indeed familiar, with the highway I drove on everyday and the surrounding pine forest. In particular, I was moving straight towards a certain dark blue SUV car. It, too, looked familiar. But why? Oh wait. It was my Hyundai Tucson. The last thing I remembered as I shattered the glass windshield was my very own shocked face. r/NightbringerWrites

a rock, a sheet of paper, or a pair of scissors. Choose wisely."

I had just stumbled across an old, dusty lamp while out exploring, and when I rubbed it, a genie had appeared. He said he would grant me three wishes. For my first wish, I decided to ask the genie to tell me his life story. I figured it would be an interesting tale, and perhaps he could even give me some tips on how to make the most of my wishes. The genie began to tell me his story. He had been trapped in the lamp for centuries, bound by a powerful magic spell. He had been forced to grant wishes to many people, some of whom had used their wishes selfishly and caused great harm to others. The genie told me that he had been trying to find a way to break the spell, so that he could finally be free. I was filled with sympathy for him and asked if there was anything I could do to help. The genie replied that there was one thing I could do: as my third wish, I could wish for the spell to be broken, and the genie to be freed. I agreed, and made my third wish before my second. As the genie was released from his prison, he thanked me and said he was eternally grateful. But as he vanished into the night, I noticed something strange. He had left behind a note that read: "Now you will be my prison, and I will be your genie." The genie had tricked me. By making my third wish, I had unwittingly bound myself to the lamp, and I was now cursed to be the genie, granting wishes to others, just as the genie had been forced to do. And so I remain here to this day, unable to escape my prison, bound to the lamp, my only company the wishes of strangers.

The lamp was rubbed and the genie appeared. ‘Now that you have freed me, I must grant you three wishes…’. ‘For my first wish…I wish, to know your story.’ Slightly taken a aback, the genie nevertheless complied.

Sitting in class, day like another other. Random thoughts driting too and fro. Answers floating around the room. Ready to be picked. So I did just that, reached out and grabbed a thought. That's the answer? I thought it was the inverse function... Then my mind drifts. Once more unfocused. I wonder what's for lunch today? That cafe down the streets sounds nice... "FUCK YOU!" I jumped in my seat. Then I frantically searched the room, who would just yell that in class?! To my surprise, no one but me heard it. I paused my mind. My gaze snapped back to my desk. Staring blankly at my paper. I carefully observed every stray thought in the room, even if it gave me a headache. A moment passed. Then two. "Y-You're a telepath..." Fuuuuuuck.... I glanced up, and looked around again. Some boy a couple rows down met my gaze. Only for a second. The he looked away. "Oh shit..." The boy looked back at me, a blush across his face. "Um, first... I want to apologize..." I tilted my head. "For the uh... fantasies..." I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, yeah, dreams and fantasies float around the room. People need an escape of some kind. Sometimes they're calming, lewd, or maybe even violent. But why is he apologizing to me? "That was uh... Not a kind light to, um, think of you in..." Me? What does that have to do with me? Gears turned in my head, jumping from this to that. A fine hiss present in my thoughts. Then it hit me. Oh! Oh. Oh... OH... I glared at him. He just looked away. I was yelling at him in my mind, and now I'm rather upset I can't project my thoughts. I sighed. No point holding onto the thought. He'll forget me in time, and I, him. I glanced down at my paper and began to think about the myriad of formulas and equations. I needed something to distract my mind. Then a thought invaded my head, something extremely perverted. I swiftly scratched something down on a piece of paper. Crumpled it into ammo and fired with all the force I could bring to bare. It hit him in the head with a quiet thud. No one noticed. Not that I cared if they did. He opened it and glanced back at me. Yeah fuckwit, not doing that before a first date.

The world is a mix of telepaths. People with power can either concentrate on one person or if they let their thoughts drift, anyone and everyone. One day, you come up with a plan to find all of the telepaths in your class by screaming something in your head. You see your crush flinch.

If anyone had asked me what horror was, up to half a minute ago I would have definitely answered something on the lines of "demons" or "zombie apocalypse". But nothing could have prepared me for the shock of seeing two identical faces, two indistinguishable beings staring back at me from the yellowed photograph that fell out of my wife's sister memorial. The more I stare at the picture, though, the more subtle differences I notice. I could definitely tell my wife from her twin in the picture; maybe for the fact that her smile never had that grinny appearance, maybe because her eyes are a lighter shade of brown... Wait, what color are my wife's eyes? With all the commotion, I haven't had time to notice, lately. I always complimented her about the expression of her eyes, their ability to communicate her feelings, her emotions to whoever she was talking to. As I turn the picture over, a single sentence made the last of my securities disappear: ​ "*I have always admired you. Always wanted to be like you. Always wanted to be YOU".* ​ >!This is my first time ever writing anything. Comments are very appreciated, as is any constructive criticism. I know I am not a good writer, but I would really like to get better and write something for fun. Thanks!!< EDIT: Wow, the support and constructive criticism of this sub never ceases to amaze me! Thanks to everyone who took a couple of minutes of their time to give me a piece of their insight, to provide an external point of view or to show their appreciation! EDIT 2.0: An award?? I'm flabbergasted, everyone! Thank you all for the support, advice and encouragement!!

Your wife has an estranged sister that you have never met. She was murdered in a cold case soon after you were married. You brush off your wife’s new strange behaviour after the murder as grief. Until you find an old family photo of your wife as a kid, you shiver as you realise… they’re twins.

This was a very open and shut case. The door handle was busted open, 2/3 chairs were broken, 1/3 of the bears breakfast was eaten, and the dammed girl was sleeping in the kid's bed. In any other circumstance this would be hard to prove it was her, but since Cheif B.B.Wolf found the girls titular "Golden Locks" at the scene of the crime, and Jr Bear took photos of the damages and the girl in his bed. Open and shut. Mr Bear offered a nice pint of some alcoholic cider to toast winning the case however I informed him fhat i had other works to do. As i got back to my office I couldn't help but remember my previous cases... Humpty Dumpty, he sued the king for lack of safety precautions when working in construction, we won that one very easily and help start a worker's union. Cheif B.B.Wolf, i remember that one he was falsely accused of eating a grandma and attempt at eating her granddaughter before getting assaulted by a woodsman. We lost that case, even though i made it apparent that all three of their testimonies were bullshit. Still he out and back as Cheif. Cinderella, after the crows took her stepmother's & stepsisters' eyes they tried to sue us, that was before we counter sued them with domestic abuse, attempted identity theft, domestic violence,and so much more. The look on their blind faces was astronomical. A well earned win... But now a legal dispute that I've been struggling with, Jack V Giants. God this is going to be a long one. Farm kid buys magical beans tresspasses, steals, and commits 3rd degree murder. I feel bad for the guy who's about defend this kid...

"The courts realised our arguments were sound. Humans are known to destroy animal habitats and drive animals to extinction! Mr Bear's use of force was reasonable upon finding Goldilocks in his home, he can now go home to his family. We have found justice today." You are the fairytale lawyer.

I know not where I come from or my real name. I merely picked "Yin" to represent the shadows and darkness, contrasting those in the light. I was adopted by the Assassin guild and tested out for my skills. Turns out, I was the perfect assassin, mastering every challenge with strong intuition and quick learning, as if I had been born for this. Dance across the waterfall. Dodge the thin strings laid with triggers of poison. Charm the noble and steal his money. They were all not an issue. But then the final test had arrived. Many assassins were forced to turn away, unable to ever kill their parents who had raised them or their lovers. However, I was different. I felt very little emotion to most people, and thought long and hard about the challenge. How can you kill your most loved one if you love no one? I looked towards the sky and looked for the person who had brought me the most warmth. As I saw the shining light, the answer was simple. I waited for night to fall, as I steeled my blade, striking only with the simplest of weapons. Tricks and fancy traps wouldn't work against my opponent this time. I donned my mask and uniform with the symbol representing the Guild's prowess. He sat there in the calm with his legs crossed and closed eyes. Even in this state, I knew this was going to be difficult. One second. Two seconds. Three. I took a deep breath and rushed out behind a pillar, as he opened his eyes, catching my blade with his bare hands. "Who dares?!" He glared at me, parrying each blow and swing with practice, like he had done thousands of times before. As he glared at my form and uniform, our turning and tactics ever so familiar, he recognized me. "Why are you...?" He raised an eyebrow, daring me to finish the question. But it took all of my focus just to equal him even with a knife in my hand. The dance continued, as he landed a bruise, knocking me backwards, still in a bit superior position. I barely held on to my weapon, brandishing it again. In a quick charge, I landed a small nick, only to get my body twisted around, as he kicked me across the room, the knife landing beside me. "Huff.... the final... test." I finally said, catching my breath. He looked at me in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me." In his hesitance, he lowers his fist, as I stand and run, barrage him with a series of blows, finally dealing some more damage. He recovers, countering the best he could, but seems to be struggling with the decision. Minutes pass with our deadlocked battle as we finally tire. Far too long of a battle to be an "assassination". I was disappointed... my skills still weren't good enough. However, he shakes his head, also seeming to agree with me. "This is... partially our fault, isn't it. The guild was bound to have connections in between its members... and things never made any sense. There must be something else behind its final test... I shall make you a deal. I will fake my death and you shall graduate. See to it that you discover the secrets behind it. I never questioned it until now. You have opened my eyes... Yin." I breathe a sigh of relief... seems like I didn't have to keep fighting. "Oh, and an advice? You missed the left knee counter in that split second when I used the right hook." He lightly smirks at me, leaving the room. "Yes, Sensei." I call his proper name, bowing one last time. My real test would begin soon.... I had best sharpen my skills more.

You are an assassin who has been training their whole life to become a part of The Society. A league of the world’s top assassins. You are given your final test. Kill the person you love most. If you fail the final test you die.

I open my eyes. The green light beams into my brain causing me to close them. I will try again. This time my eyes adjust and I’m able to see my surroundings. A being seems to be looking at me. Or what seems like looking. I can’t really tell because the light is now flickering. It changes from red to blue to aqua. Each color change makes the being alter shape. I can’t make out what it is. I’ll try opening my eyes again later. “Why aren’t they awake yet?” “They are! Don’t stress me. I just saw movement.” I recognize the voice but don’t have the strength to try looking around again. I find my throat and ask to speak. My body allows it and I hear my voice for what seems like the first time. “Did it work?” “You don’t know?” The voice replies. Suddenly my body relaxes and I realize that I’m not breathing. I ask if I can breathe and then I feel my lungs expand. I feel the cold air leave my nostrils and the liquid expand in my chest. “Breathing feels weird. When is the liquid going to change color?” “What are you talking about?” The voice asks. I realize that question has never been asked. I heard a question that has never been asked. I opened my eyes to see who said it. The being peering over me is pretty or what would be considered pretty for their time. “Where is the first blob that was here? The color changing one?” They look at me confused. “There are no color changing blobs in existence”. I cry and ask to be left alone. The pretty being leaves the room. I know that I am alone. I know that I will be for 1000 years. The knowledge I have doesn’t connect me but makes me separate. I know that I will be here for 1000 years but I will not have anyone to connect with. They will never understand me. I will only ever understand them. I will know what they say and how they feel. I will know every invention. I will not share my ideas. I will wait 1000 years. Till my generation finds me.

A data chip is installed in every human at age 20 which contains all knowledge known to man. You receive a chip from 1000 years in the future. No one knows about this, yet.

I couldn't wait to try out Mjolnib on my homework and tests, so once we had our first test in math, I brought the pen out of hiding. Every page I touched with that mystical pen glimmered with excellence: Every answer flowed out effortlessly like some type of divinity had taken hold of me while writing with Mjolnib. My grades skyrocketed from a lackluster C average all the way up to a perfect score in all subjects - a feat not even teachers could accomplish. And so time went on as usual; using Mjolnib every once and awhile upon special occasions where stellar grades were called for. That is until one day when I became gravely ill without warning or explanation - I knew death was near and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Gathering my last bit of strength, the truth finally revealed itself to me; all this time spent using Mjolnib had slowly been draining away at my existence - each one stroke drew from your life expectancy. There in that moment of final clarity before slipping away into death's embrace, I realized no matter how great or grand our achievements may be - they pale in comparison to the magic found in simply being alive.

an old ink pen of Gods, which anyone can lift, but it will only write for the worthy.

The Hero's Union was, quite frankly, a colossal failure. Not only did they keep foiling my plans, stopping my schemes, and throwing me in jail; but now they decided to go on strike. And none of the bastards would cross the line to defend the damn city. Pathetic. "Ma'am, please remain indoors." The man on the other line of the phone said. "Help is on the way... hopefully." I scoffed, and placed my ornate phone back in the ancient cradle. There was nothing more that the police could do. Worthless peons. I sighed, and reached a frail hand towards my reading glasses. A long, black leg got to them first, gently scooping them up in its tiny claws and handing them to me. "Thank you, dear." I said, smiling my warmest grandmotherly expression at my spider minion. "I'm afraid we're going to need to go out soon. Could you be a sweetheart and summon the brood?" My Goliath Bird-Eater spider bowed slightly, then scurried out of sight. I grabbed my 8-legged walker, and with the help of several spiderwebs, rose to my feet. I took a deep breath, and began incanting in the language of creation itself. #S̸̹̑P̸̪͆I̶͕̒Ḑ̴͊E̵̘̅R̴̛̙S̴̭̀,̷̱̏ ̴̝́ A̷̜͗Ŕ̷̖Ă̵̺Ć̷̨H̵̳͗N̷̏ͅḬ̸̈́D̴̛ͅS̸͉͝,̸̯̉ ̵̣͝C̶̨̾Ṙ̶̞Ê̴͓A̷̩̒T̴̝͂Ú̷̱Ṟ̴͗E̷̘͌S̸͙͗ ̶͓̈́ O̸̠͂F̷͚͂ ̵̬̈ Ṭ̵̀H̸̟͝Ė̶̬ ̷̛̣N̸͚̅I̶̯̚G̸͖̿H̴̭̅T̷̻̓,̷̩̒ ̸̙̊I̴̦̕ ̷̜͐S̵̟͠U̴̪̅M̶̞͊M̸̥̔Ŏ̷̹N̴͍͝ ̴͖͒ T̷͉̚H̸͓̎È̷͇E̷̥͂ ̷̢́F̵̦̓O̷̺̿R̵̗̍ ̸̧̏ B̸̨̔A̸͓͒T̶͠ͅT̷̢̎L̸̜͘Ē̸ I coughed slightly as the demonic words left my mouth. The feeling of the words always reminded me of the texture of a slightly old apricot, or the strange store brand of denture cream I once used by mistake. My spider minions surrounded me, growing in number and size by the second. Well, I called them my spider minions, but it was technically every spider in range. In this case, it was every creature with 6 or more legs in the tri-state area. My favorite Goliath Bird-Eater returned, leading a parade of golden orb weaver spiders to me. With practiced speed and skill, they formed my villainous costume around me, weaving their magnificent webs in intricate patterns. At last, once they had formed my face mask, the spiders clutched my earlobes, dangling like a demented set of earrings. "Could one of you remind me to take my Dementia pills when we get back?" I asked. Millions of spiders clamored to be the first to volunteer. "You're all so sweet, my dearies." I said, petting the Goliath tarantula as he perched on my walker. "Now, let's stop these pesky invaders. I would hate it if they destroyed my favorite park." With a surge of legs and fangs, my legion marched. We would not let someone else have all the fun. Not while Grandmommy Longlegs still had a say about it. /r/SlightlyColdStories

The city is under attack and none of the heroes are lifting a finger in its defense. So this leaves you and the other villains to defend it, because there is nothing for a villain to do in a smoldering ruin and trashing the city is your job damnit!

Husband... Husband. Willow never thought he'd have that word directed to himself, but now... They were his world... He was a normal kid once, he mused, not that killing animals was normal, but did it matter at any point? He had grown up a terror, a terror who was constantly mistaken for his angel of a twin. He had't meant to kill his brother, that was a funny accident caused by being no contact with his only existing family for so long he didn't even know he was alive untill he had already strangled the guy for a fat paycheck. That guy... The brother who had pretended he didn't exist for fifteen years now... He didn't even recognise the face staring back at him, nor did he feel sad. But he did find out something intresting... His perfect brother had gotten out of the foster system into a rich family, he was told that much, but he was never told he wasn't adopted, but *married.* Married to that family's daughter, and she looked so pregnant in the pictures in his wallet... Fuck. Okay, she didn't look all that happy, at all, but she'd surely notice her husband had left her while pregnant with their kid and would call the police, he needed more time to clean the scene... Thankfully he had murdered the guy on the wide backyard pool, so he could just... Hide him in the shed and take his place for a while... He took his dead brother's clothes, styled his hair and held his breath. Thankfully they looked alike engouth for no one to notice... He hoped. ​ "... If you're going to yell at me some more--" The woman who was by the livingroom as he opened the door was crying, her ginger hair was chopped so unevenly it look like someone had cut it by tearing each individual strandand and most important of all, her blue eyes were cloudy, she couldn't see... *She couldn't see... And they just had a fight...* That almost had Willow cheering, it was way too much luck... "... Look, i'm sorry i yelled at you earlier..." He started, doing his best to copy the sweet brother he remembered from his childhood, how did the perfect guy act, anyway? He took a gamble and reached for her, wiping the tears off of her shocked expression with his thumb delicately "Please forgive me... I'll try and be better, love, i promise..." The poor rich missy broke down crying, and for a second he thought he had fucked it all up, but then she smiled, she smiled innocently like the pure, clueless little angel she was "... It's the first time you call me love, Sammy..." *Sammy?* Of course his brother had changed names... He stammered "Y-Yeah um... I... I did promise i'll do better for you... Just trying to show i mean it." "You have no clue how happy this makes me... Oh Samuel... I promise you can get that trip once the baby is born, okay? I-I'll find a maid, something, a-anything just... Don't leave me alone right now... I'm scared..." Trip? That's why they were fighting? His brother, his *"angel"* of a brother wanted to leave his heavily pregnant, blind wife home to go on a trip while she was clearly about to give birth? That was unimaginable... He reached down and carefully placed a hand on her very pregnant belly, leaving a gentle pet there "... Forget that stupid trip, love, it wasn't that important anyway and i don't want to go anymore... Let's get you to bed, okay? You've already stressed engouth for the rest of your pregnancy..." ​ He cooed, leading that frail woman upstairs, she went on her own the rest of the way and he just followed along, their room was the first door in the hallway, just across from a door with a name etched on it in 3D letters, *"Edward"*, he made sure to remember, baby is a boy and his name is Edward, ugh. He made sure that poor woman was safe in bed, warm, comfortable and sleeping soundly before he started exploring and reading every paper in that damned house, gathering all the information he possibly could. His wife's name was Helen, and she really liked books, since most of the books in the house were adapted to braile. He also learned their baby was meant to be born in two weeks or so and panicked, checking the nursery just to be sure they had everything... They didn't. The next few hours were spent brousing the internet franatically for the best newborn care products and buying a truckload of things for the little boy while he grumbled about what a bad father that stupid brother of his was, then getting off the internet in the early hours in the morning, only to go right back to it just to look up what the hell was a proper breakfast for a pregnant woman. ​ "... You're... Cooking?" The sweet voice was more confused then anything as Helen rubbed the sleep out of her foggy eyes "... You never cooked for me before..." "Well, that's because i'm shit at it" He chuckled, that wasn't a complete lie, and that little lady was just so endearing... "But i thought you'd want to sleep in, and i could bring you breakfast in bed? So you don't have to come downstairs, but you're already here..." ​ That woman knew, she knew the man standing in the kitchen wasn't her husband, but at that moment she decided... Maybe calling the police wasn't the best idea after all... She could pretend to be clueless, since he seemed so determined to act like her husband, and just... See where this would lead? He was already a better husband than *Jasper* had ever been to her... So why couldn't she pretend that was her husband, too? He didn't know, but he had just saved her miserable marriage, and she? She had just made the best decision of her life.

a serial killer has swapped himself for the husband of a dying marriage. He accidentally rekindles the marriage through trying to act like a husband as well as his weird shenanigans that turns the wife on.

"If you don't like this, just stop me. Oh wait, you can't. Your star isn't even visible in the night sky." Catherine taunted as she held Josh upside down in a magic force field. Josh just waited for her to finish, trying to ignore all the blood rushing to his head. Eventually she would get bored, she always did. It didn't stop her from using him to scare anyone new who came to the school. A thin silver haired woman ran up to her and pushed her, and Josh dropped to the ground. Josh looked up at his savior, who was yelling at Catherine about her cold heart. Big mistake. Catherine spun her hand in a circle, and the woman froze in place. Catherine waved her hand, and the woman yelled as she slammed against a nearby statue. A horrifying crunch rang out as the woman went limp and fell to the ground. "Anyone else want to try? Who wants to fight against the power of Sirius?" All the other people looked at their feet and stayed quiet. Catherine's star was one of the closest stars to Earth, and her power was unmatched by any known wizard on this continent. The one saving grace for the school was that her skills was unrefined, though she could still brute force anything she put her mind to. She gave out a smug smile and started to walk away. The crowd dissipated after she left. Josh walked up to the Silver haired woman laying on the ground, staring at her mangled limbs. She was still breathing, which was a good sign. Josh put a hand on her, and felt a tiny sliver of his magic flowing from him to her. Her limbs snapped into place, and the scrapes on her skin cleared up. The black circles under her eyes disappeared, and her body grew a bit as she became a healthy weight. Josh quickly withdrew his hand, he had gone too far with his healing. Her eyes snapped open. "What just happened?" She exclaimed, as she shot up to a sitting position. "I feel better than I ever have." "I healed you." Josh stared into her gorgeous eyes, so dark they appeared black like the night sky. "My name is Josh." "Thank you. My name's Elizabeth." She looked at her arms and legs, then at Josh. "I thought your magic was weak." "That is what people say. To be fair, you can't see my star in the night sky." Josh got up and started to walk towards his room. He stopped and turned back to Elizabeth. "It was nice meeting you." "It was nice meeting you too." She said, as she stared at him. She watched him walk away, then glanced up at the hot sun beating down on the courtyard. ​ Josh stared at the unlit candle in front of him, focusing with all his might. He focused on simply lighting the candle, then shot out his magic at it. The candle lit up in a fireball, blinding him. When his vision returned, he looked at the tiny stub remaining. He sighed, and blew out the candle before tossed it to the side. He set up another candle, and started to focus when he heard a knock at the door. He opened it, and Elizabeth walked through before he could even process who it was. She looked around at the burned walls and the pile of spent candles in the corner. Josh stuttered trying to say something, but she spoke first. "Nice place. Is it okay if I ask you a question?" He nodded. "Why do you let Catherine treat you like that?" "She has the power of Sirius. No one is able to stand up to her." Elizabeth looked into Josh's eyes. "No one?" Josh shifted uncomfortably on his feet, then sat down on the bed. It felt like she was staring into his soul. "Yes, she has the closest star in the night sky." "What about the day sky?" Josh's eyes opened wide, before he faked a chuckle. "You can't see stars during the day." "You can see one." Elizabeth sat down beside him. "And I think there is someone more powerful than her. So let me ask again. Why do you let her treat you like that?" Josh stared at her, examining her chiseled features. It took a moment for him speak. "Because I can't control it. I once used it to push away a bully in elementary school. They found his body 15 km away. I only meant to push him a foot. I never meant to- to do that to him." Josh's eyes started to water as he remembered the poor boys mangled body. Elizabeth looked at him, then put a hand on Josh's shoulder. "That was a long time ago. You must have better control now." "No. You see that chess board with a missing piece?" Elizabeth looked at the shelf he pointed at and nodded. "Last week I tried to fix the piece with magic, and it became a fully grown tree." Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him. "What about all the people she hurts? Surely it must be worth standing up to her for them?" "Never. I promised myself I would never hurt another human being, no matter what." Josh got off the bed and looked out the window. "But you have so much power. You could help so many people!" "You don't get it. I don't have a power, I have a curse. I'm so sorry, but I can't help you." Josh turned and gestured towards the door. "Thank you for visiting, but please leave me alone." She got up off the bed. "Fine. But if you change your mind and decide to be a good person, let me know." Josh watched as she walked out the door. He sighed, then started to focus on the candle again. Edit: part two is out. https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/z8wsyf/comment/iyf9hdm/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3

When someone is born their soul is bonded to a random star in the universe. Magic is real and most people have varying degrees of power, with that power tied to the proximity of your star. Your soul is bonded to your sun.

"How much are you taking out?" The portly man smiled, as he looked at the list of time he had spent. "A mere two years today." Opposite him sat the Dealer. Its skin was stretched taught against bone, fingers turning to claws at their tips. It had eyes of white, and a distinct lack of hair on its head. Any who saw it would know it was an undead. It nodded, pulling the scroll back towards its side of the desk. From a drawer it withdrew a large black quill, it's tip shining a spectral blue. In a practiced motion it added on his withdrawal, leaving a space next to the life. It offered up its quill, and the man happily seized it, signing against the withdrawal. There was a faint rattle as it was completed, before the Dealer looked up at him. "The transaction is approved. Go the the Hole, and you will receive your money." The man smiled, pulling himself up. Already he pictured the fine foods he could now buy, his particular indulgence. As he left, the Dealer rolled up his Credit Scroll. With a puff of dust it vanished, returning to the vaults below. It's job done, it sat up straight, waiting for the next visitor. It stayed still, having no concept of fatigue. It merely waited to do its job. With a crash its door burst open. A pair stood in its entrance, wreathed in magic. The one who stood in the door was a looming figure. She held a pair of almost comically small shields in her grasp, shaped with a sharp point. Her body was clad in plae armour, green lines pulsing along it. Behind her was a diminutive figure, in golden robes. Most of their form was hidden, as gloved hands held a staff taller than their person. The Dealer looked at them, before gesturing to the seats before it. "Welcome to the Exchange. How might I be of service?" The looming woman lunged in first, aiming to grasp the Dealer. But as she did black chains burst from the ground. They grasped her charging form, before pulling her down onto a chair. The golden robed person had moved to follow, before more chains rose to give her the same treatment. "Unhand us monster! We know you are the key!" It knit its fingers together, looking steadily at them. "My name is the Dealer. Explain what you mean that I am the key." The robed figure spoke quietly, a far away accent coming though their tone. "You bind souls and manipulate minds to be beneath you. These people are slaves to you and your master's will." The Dealer watched them, unmoving. "I'm afraid you are mistaken. We do not enslave their minds. And it is very rare we extend a line of soul credit. It is true there are occasions, but it is all explained to those who wish to do so." The woman strained against her bindings, hateful glares looking at it. "Lies. You lie. Undead are evil, and you would not have such care for the living. We have had to put so many to rest." The Dealer unlaced its fingers, taking a new scroll from thin air. It looked it over, before glancing at the heros. "So you are the cause of our loss of staff. I shall make sure that is passed on, so reparations can be made. You say we have no care for the living. Technically that is true. But we care about what the living produce. More bodies. More to join the working class. It is simple. An investment of money in now, decades of free work coming later." "Lies." She spoke again, echoed by the robed figure. The Dealer snapped the scroll away, before tapping a button. There was a pause, before a hoarse whisper came out. "What is it?" "I require some educational materials be sent to holding cell six in the Skull sector. Two copies of each." "Very well." The line fell dead, and the Dealer returned its attention to the heros, who still fought a futile battle against their restraints. "I understand you will not listen to me. Please do not resist your transfer to a holding cell. There you can speak with someone more qualified than I on this subject. I am a Dealer, not a Teacher. But rest assured only Dealers can offer lines of credit on your body and soul. You will come out with all faculties intact." A pair of lumbering corpses squeezed through the cracked doorway, having been summoned by his call out. With vast expressions they picked up the now swearing heros, carrying them from the office. The Dealer resumed its earlier position, waiting for the next customer. It would make its report at the end of the day, for the Necromancer's office. He always liked to know when heros bothered his little arrangement.

People assume a kingdom ruled by a Necromancer as being hell, actually it's a pretty sweet gig where you sell years of work in death to live super comftorble lives, now if only heros would stop trying to spoil it for everyone else...

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to take this seriously,” Detective Anderson’s frustration was clearly evident in his tone. “We are conducting a murder investigation, and you ARE a key witness.” Taylore Jackson glanced to her lawyer, who gave her a small, approving nod. “Yeah, I get that you think that, but the thing is, I was there, but I wasn’t really *there*, do you get me? Like, there were A LOT of people at this party, okay? We’re talking at least fifty people, and, yes, I was in the same room where it supposedly started, but, like, I wasn’t really paying attention to Kaplan because there was this amazing, free chocolate fondue bar…” “Yes,” the detective said in exasperation, “you keep saying that, but I find it hard to believe that you’d be so focused on a fondue bar that you would miss a man literally begging to be murdered and then that subsequentially actually happening.” “First of all,” Taylore replied, holding a hand up in protest, “it was a *free chocolate* fondue bar with every single food item I’ve ever wanted to dip in chocolate just out there ready to be dunked in the most amazing milk chocolate I have ever had in my entire life.” She dropped her hand but kept staring daggers at the officer. “Second of all, you can believe what you want, but I literally didn’t see anything.” Detective Anderson sat up in his chair and looked at his notes as he began reading off a list. “You mean to tell me that you missed a fight breaking out?” “Never noticed it,” she confirmed with a shrug. “Too busy eating chocolate covered cheesecake bites.” He shook his head. “Multiple people allegedly screaming to go get more boards?” “I thought they were talking about fondue boards. You know, with, like, more stuff to dip in chocolate? Honestly, I agreed. We needed more fondue boards.” Anderson sighed in frustration. “The sound of someone being forcibly attached to said boards and then dragged out into the backyard?” “Man, I don’t know what to tell you; there was a lot of screaming; it was a party, and you know how often my generation screams things like, ‘Dear God, kill me now’ or ‘I just wanna die?’ Like, that is our national anthem, okay? I hear that shit all the time, and, let me tell you, there were plenty of us screaming about the chocolate fondue because it was the most amazing…” “Ms. Jackson, please.” Detective Anderson rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his calm. “Please what? I didn’t witness a murder, unless you count the killing we did at that fondue table,” Taylore replied followed with a click of her tongue for emphasis. “The fondue buffet was located right in front of the windows looking out over the backyard. You would’ve had a perfect view as you were dipping your cheesecake bites to see this group set Kaplan’s restrained body on a bonfire.” Anderson dropped his notepad onto the table between them. “You’re telling me you didn’t see the fire blazing outside in the backyard?” “Did I notice a fire? Yeah, but, it was there when I got there last night, and like I’ve been saying, I wasn’t paying attention to it because of the free chocolate fondue! Look, I didn’t see the murder. I saw free chocolate fondue.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Do you know what I do for a living, Detective? I’m a waitress. I work for tips, and it sucks. Like, I barely make ends meet and sometimes I don’t. It’s hard for me to pay the bills and have anything left over for something nice for myself, even just a bar of chocolate. When I got invited to this party, it was the first real break I’ve taken in months. I’ve worked two months straight with no days off just so I could go to this party. I had to put in a request TWO MONTHS in advance just to get the night off. When I saw that free chocolate fondue bar, that was it for me. That’s where I was going to be all night because I wasn’t interested in talking to anyone. I talk to people all damn day at my job. Fuck them people, man. I was here for the free food and free booze. When I heard someone start yelling about wanting someone to kill them, my only thought was ‘Man, me, too,’ and then I went right back to the free chocolate fondue bar.” Detective Anderson looked from his supposed witness to her lawyer, who only shrugged. Sighing, he asked again, “If you heard that, then you did see the murder of Kaplan Yates last night, correct?” Taylore let out a roar of frustration. “Look, man, I cannot stress this enough; I did not see the murder because there was this amazing, free chocolate fondue bar…”

I cannot stress this enough, I did not see the murder.

[slight tw i guess] I still remember that day, I was so excited to surprise my wife with a snack she had been craving since a couple days ago. I had enough time to retrieve it from my walk back from the gym. Maybe if I didn’t stop.. it wouldn’t have happened.. “Honey, I’m home! I’ve got a surprise!” I shouted in my best sing song voice. That was the last moment I recall being full of life. There was an eerie silence, when I didn’t hear the lovely tapping of her running down the halls or the smell of freshly made food, I knew something wasn’t right. I paced down the hall, time seemingly slowed down and all I could hear was the beating in my heart. I turned the corner.. and there she was. Her beautiful red shell and lovely wings now covered in a dark maroon liquid. Her sparkling blue eyes now on the floor and her skull caved in. I dropped to my knees, no sound came out and no tears flowed. All I felt was shock. All I saw was the love of my life dead on the floor and a red cap plastered with a white “M” in the corner on the neatly furnished bedroom. That was 2 years ago. I’ve carried around that stupid red hat everywhere to see if I find a man with the same one. It’s still stained in my loves blood. Now all brown and dried, I wipe a tear as I stare at the cap full of rage. In response I’ve put more hours at the gym, as my only hobby I’ve found myself seeking a slight bit of joy in preparing myself for any combat I might face. As I exit I see a fairly average looking man, a little over weight with a red shirt and jean overalls. There was nothing particularly special about him except for one defining feature, his red hat with a white “M” plastered at the front. I pause for a moment, reliving every second that led up to this moment, angry tears flow through my eyes as I freeze in place right outside the gym. Me entering the cottage we built together, finding her corpse, filing a report, crying myself to sleep for over two years, it all led up to this. I slowly take a step forward, towards the monster that killed my love, my darling, my happily ever after. Soon enough, I’m sprinting with the most emotion I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I raise my fist as I’m two feet away from this murder and I freeze. It can’t be happening.. the curse that plagued my people for eons… the musical pause. In an instant my body lowers itself and everyone around me in sync swings their arms from left to right. And like that.. I saw the devilish man leap, the tallest jump I’ve ever witnessed… and CRACK it all fades to black…

You, a humble turtle living in the sewers, return home from the turtle gym one day to find that the love of your life was murdered. Your despair transforms into an unquenchable thirst for revenge, and your only lead is that the killer was an Italian plumber wearing a red cap with an M on it.

##Spreading the Fertilizer "We'll all bloom together," I shouted. The woman stared at me. "That sounds incredibly dirty," she replied. I laughed. "I suppose you're right, but Grant James is a wonderful gardener." "When does he try to sleep with his recruits?" she asked. "Don't worry. We're not that kind of cult." I smiled at her. Her eyes widened, and she backed up. "You think it's a cult?" she blinked. "Of course it's a cult. We follow one person's every command, we work around the clock on his compound, and we recruit for him. It's a cult," I replied. She pulled out her cell phone. "Do you need me to contact the police to help you out? There are support ground out there for people like you," she said. "Of course not, Silver Springs is dependent on the Perpetual Gardens existence," I said. "No, it's not." Her face twisted. "I know it's hard to comprehend, but it's true. Every major small business owner and city councilor is a member." She laughed at my comment. "I know that's not true because I'm a city councilor. Where's my membership card?" she asked. "Uh," I paused. I know I saw the city council at our compound. "You must be new." "I've had my seat for eight years and just got reelected to my third term," she smiled. "Well." I wiped sweat off my brow. "We prefer our contacts in the business community." "I own Antonio's Diner of Ericson Way. You should come," she smiled. Her smile broke me, and I understood her goal. "You're lying to me," I said. "I'm not. I can show you my profile-" She pulled out her phone. "Lies. You're just mocking the truth." I ran from her. --- "I know I came back early, but I was just so angry," I say to Grant. He nods his head. "I'm glad you came to me, child. She spoke the truth." "What?" I raise my eyebrows. "There are people in Silver Springs that seek to remove the Perpetual Garden. She is one of them." "But she has power. We have to get rid of her." "In time my child, I've known about groups like hers for a while. I don't share this with my followers until they're ready. It may scare them." He shakes his head. "I was going to tell you Saturday after the ceremony. I always wish to do it under the best circumstances." "No, teacher. It's fine." I feel my rage increase towards the woman. She almost ruined my relationship with him. "I'll gladly fight against these evil people." "Thank you." Grant begins to cry. He opens his arms for a hug, and I move to accept him. "I'm so glad to have you as a child." I feel safe in his arms. The woman and her allies cannot hurt us. I will protect Grant and my fellow students. We will succeed. --- r/AstroRideWrites

I mean, that's how cults work. But you joined willingly. Why? Because when you stumbled upon it for the first time, you quickly realised the town's existence depends on the cult's existence...