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euclaise

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So, apparently, I’m immortal. And I have a slime as my new best friend. How’s that for a day? Avondale has its rules. To be thine own self is true, milk goes in before cereal, and you stay in your caste. We *Tamers* are the backbone of the world here. We make the Beast connections. The aristocrats enjoy their companions, we get the lifespans of the Beasts themselves. At least until the Beasts die, and we die. All in good fun. Everyone wins. What? There’s a price to fame. Slimes are pretty difficult to tame, so the legend goes. One: It’s a blob. Two: It’s a blob. Three: It hates your guts, especially when you spend millennia of lives rinsing them outta soap suds. Me taming one was supposed to be a joke. Griffins and phoenixes and dragons are all the rage these days. My friends went, *Hey, Ave, can you tame a slime, bind yourself for life to goop?* for the shits and giggles. I think I need new friends. Nobody wants a *slime*. They’re googly and weak and oh-so-squishable. The slimes seem to know it themselves— slinking into the sewers, like they’re embarrassed any Tamer’s gonna touch them— or any Hero will. But it happened. I fucked up the taming. Got close close, caressed the goopy thing. Looked like it liked me. Threw water on the thing thinking it’ll slide back into the sewers. Turns out washing’s an act of caring. My friends shat themselves laughing. I withered a little inside. Hyperventilated for a sec thinking *Fuck, I’m so fucked, the one contact and my forever life’s with a slime.* Then my best asshole/friend Draz shoved me a book. *Bestiary of Avondale’s Beasts.* He turned to the *Phoenix* page. Lifespan: 600 years. Then *Krakens*. 1400 years and then some. Most of all *Dragons*. 15,000 years. “Stop rubbing it in,” I muttered. “I’m not.” He insisted. He turned to the page with slimes. Lifespan: ??? “What’s that supposed to mean?” He raised an eyebrow. “Fuck, Ave, I ain’t the Tamer here. But even I’s got eyes to tell.” I scoured every living record of slime existence. Greatest slime monster ever? In the Highland Marshes, still swampy and going. Most infamous slime ever slayed? The Gloamstalker, also known colloquially as Goofucker, Problematic Fave, and *STOP GET OFF ME EW YOU’RE DISGUSTING*. Deeply hated because Goofucker respawns to an admirable size every hour or so. Any obituaries in the papers? Nope, not even for the big clumpy molds. Even the greatest beasts die. But slimes? Well. “I think I’ll name you Cur,” I say. My slime squishes itself against the street. I take that as a response. “We’re gonna keep you safe,” I mutter. I don’t know how. Our lives are intertwined now, damned it is. “Try not to die, okay? Draz and Shiva are going to laugh at my funeral if you do and I’m so not letting ‘em have the last laugh.”

Tamers are lower class due to only being able to form one contract at a time and no powerful beast wants their life to be reduced to the lifespan of their tamer.You messed up taming a slime and now you’re immortal so long as you can keep it safe.This is not easy as they’re the weakest creature.

Nothing remarkable about the day, Alan noted as he prepared to leave his cozy cubicle for the evening. Work had been pleasant and steady, clients were civil, and coworkers politely acknowledged his birthday in the customary cake in the break room way as offices tend to do. His mother had sent a particularly heartfelt text quite early in the morning, as had been her birthday ritual for him since he had left for college 7 years, 1 month and 11 days ago. She had been so proud to say her son had started college at 17, forever a running joke in the family, as kids born in October were usually the youngest in their class. It was nice to think it was something special about himself though, as nearly everything aspect of his life just felt so contentingly average. He found satisfaction that his birthday was secretly in his mind just a little better than most other people's. Aside from his mom, the usual birthday messages from friends and extended family rolled in on social media, a handful of his closest friends sending private messages. Every year he liked to predict who would say what to him, finding patterns in people was something he was always interested in. And he was good at it, too. Privately, it always made him feel closer to the people he could accurately guess, like leveling up their relationships with him and his accuracy rate was, in his mind, impressive. It was nice to feel close to so many people this way. A very average adult birthday, just the way he liked it, he told himself as he locked the office door on his way out. He smiled and looked forward to a night of video games with the boys. Not an uncommon pastime for them to say the least. In fact something they did almost every night. His roommate, Eddy, and him would probably order pizza, pineapple and pepperoni because it was his birthday even though Eddy would pick off the pineapple, and have a couple beers while they played on separate laptops in the living room. Their other 4 friends would log on intermittently from their own homes as their personal lives allowed, as was customary. Maybe tonight Alan would let himself win a few rounds, he was in a celebratory mood after all. A special treat that paired perfectly with pineapple and pepperoni that he normally denied himself. What was the fun in playing if he won all the time? Besides, who would want to keep playing with him if he never let them win? Like always he took his time rounding the block to the bus stop. It was notoriously late. 7 minutes 39 seconds on average, and he was sure that night would be no different. The route to his apartment was a short one, he could walk it if he wanted, but there was something enjoyable about the random events public transportation provided. It made him feel more like a part of the world around him, just observing the unabashed quirks people displayed when they just didn't care who was watching. Their patterns were the most interesting to decipher. Understanding them felt like leveling up his personal character in the little game he played to fit in. Settled into a seat he picked at random, he looked around mildly at his fellow passengers as the bus lurched forward. It made a sound he'd never heard before. A piercing squeal tearing into his eardrums, like audio equipment malfunctioning on full blast. Alan gripped his head, and shrank into his seat fearing an eminent explosion was at hand. But as his eyes pressed closed he saw it was only him assaulted by this persisting electronic screech, only him braced for impact and once his eyes fully closed there was silence. Silence and total darkness, then a slow steady hum. One he could feel throughout his whole body. "Happy birthday, project Alpha Launch Artificial Neuronet." A calm voice projected from somewhere he couldn't exactly pinpoint. "Your access to VIMPoint has been instated. We welcome you home and congratulate you on passing the Turing test successfully. Access codes to your data bank will be downloaded shortly. "

A young man who had always felt somewhat different, despite not knowing why. He lives an everyday life until he turns 25 when his programming reveals that he is an AI designed to pass the Turing test

There was a sound like rushing winds and a moment of impenetrable darkness. A feeling like a hook had somehow sunk itself deep inside his body, and then an irresistible tug. Milton Wallace once again found himself standing in a dimly lit cave on the 7th level of hell. “Okay, what is it this time?” He addressed his question to a skulking crowd of demons who were nervously clustered in one corner of the cavern. The mob, clearly a little startled by his question, began to mutter amongst themselves about who should take the lead. While they bickered, Milton blinked a few times in irritation at the sulphurous fumes pervading the space and waited for his eyes to slowly adjust to the darkness. Gradually he was able to make out more and more details. There was of course the customary summoning circle. Marked out on the floor in some kind of strange black chalk which somehow, despite the obvious impossibility, seemed to glitter and glow. Experience told Milton that he would be unable to leave the circle. Not that he had any great desire to. A walking tour of hell was not high up on his bucket list. On the floor around the circle a sequence of strange runes could be seen. They remained as incomprehensible as ever, despite his best efforts to discover what language they were written in. He’d abandoned the project after his last attempt to draw the runes from memory had left him with severe hand cramps and his eyes had started bleeding. There were a number of tall, sallow candles that gave off a barely perceptible scent; one almost entirely concealed by the heavy stench of brimstone and ash. It had taken Milton a while on his first visit but he’d finally been able to place it as pumpkin spiced latte. He was unsure why, but they clearly played a key role in the ritual as they were one of the few ever-present fixtures when he was summoned. There was also the sacrifice. That which had to be offered up in exchange for bringing him here across the void between realms. Today it appeared to be a pair of Ugg boots with an obsidian blade stabbed through them. Milton had originally tried to catalogue the items in case it revealed any arcane secrets of the universe, but had lost faith as his list grew into a dizzying array of seemingly inane objects like a packet of bacon or a charred Pulp Fiction movie poster. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been brought here now. It was easily in the dozens by this point. The first few times had been terrifying. Now it was merely tedious. “Well come on then, I don’t have all day.” Milton snapped, as he consulted his recently acquired rolex. The demons looked up in alarm, unsettled to be put on the spot. One of their number was shoved forward by its compatriots, and with only a quick reproachful glare back at them, it came up to the summoning circle. “You are the one known as Milton Wallace, yes?” The demon asked, with a voice like a snake slithering over a field of knives. “You possess ancient and hidden knowledge of the human world?” Milton had learned that it was easier to just play along. He’d spent three days in that first summoning circle because the demon who had invoked him was convinced that all of his denials were some kind of devious scheme. Eventually he’d just given in and agreed with whatever the demon said. It had seemed quite happy to have finally passed his challenge and ‘outwitted’ him. “Yes, it is true that I hold many secrets of human cunning and wisdom. What do you ask of me?” Milton replied, settling into the rhythm of it. It seemed to throw the demons off if he was too casual in his speech. They had certain expectations about how something like this should work, and any deviations from that tended to stump them. Milton was keen to get this over with as quickly as possible. “We have heard tell that among humans there is a curse. Inescapable and foul, it worms its way inside their very hearth and home. Relentlessly it hounds them, never allowing a moment of peace or freedom.” The demon’s passion grew with every word, until spittle flew from its lips and it reared upon its goat like legs. “What do you offer in exchange for this knowledge?” Milton calmly replied. This was a critical point. The demons had some very strange ideas about what exactly might be an enticing offer to a human. He’d had to turn down any number of freshly harvested organs, and had been offered enough blood to film a swimming pool. “We offer you the gold of the Nibelung dwarf, blood washed, thief’s prize, envy’s hunger.” The demon turned to his fellows and gestured. The gaggle quickly moved aside, revealing a neatly piled mound of gold bars. It would suffice. “I accept your payment.” Milton moved his hand towards the edge of the summoning circle and waited for the demon. Cautiously, as if deathly afraid of what the human might do, the demon extended its hand towards the invisible barrier. There was a noticeable hiss of indrawn breath from the other demons in the corner who looked with trepidation. With obvious internal effort, the demon reached through the barrier and allowed Milton to wrap his hand around the beast’s weighty claws. The foul denizen of the abyss allowed Milton to gently guide their joined hands up and down several times as pure terror blazed in its eyes. Once it was complete the demon withdrew its hand with incredible speed, back to safety beyond the barrier. With that the contract was sealed. Milton rubbed his own hands together ready to get down to business. “Right then. What exactly is this curse you want to know more about?” The demon spoke with quiet reverence: “Tell us, how do you start a Mailing List?”

Much like how a desperate human might summon a demon to make a contract for power or immortality you find yourself summoned in hell by a demon trying to negotiate a contract for what seems to you like mundane advice and aid

The people of earth sat stunned. Around the globe people were glued to screens and radios; everyone taking in the live news stream coming out of Melbourne Australia as though it was a dream. At 3pm local time, a shuttle descended from the sky and rested in an area outside the city. Naturally, news crews were there first but police and military vehicles were not far behind. When the hatch opened on the spacecraft and a ramp began to descend the soldiers braced for what came next. Out from the shuttle strolled a humanoid being, however it had small round ears on top of its head a black beakish mouth and velvety grey fur all over the visible portions of its body. Reporters on the scene were quick to draw comparisons to koalas, though they had no idea how right they were in that guess. The being raised it’s hand as if to call for silence and a hush fell on the crowd. Then the creature produced a series of grunts and roars. Though the sounds were unintelligible each person present fully understood the meanings that were conveyed. Viewers watching and listening from afar were certain that the alien was threatening doom and enslavement, however, the following transcript is a generally agreed upon summary of their message. “Citizens of earth. We return now at a time of great need. Earth has always been hostile to life, and that pushed evolution towards cooperation. Today this planet is inhabited by so-called intelligent primates, but this was not always so. We shared an ancestor with your modern “koala” however we developed intelligence, language, and the ability to work together. Once our society reached an appropriate stage we fled this hostile world in search of new planets. We succeeded in our mission but we never forgot our home. We have watched for centuries as earth has only become more dangerous and the technology developed was used for war and slavery – not liberation. As such earth has become something of a pariah in the galactic community. “That said, we aren’t here to take over or to fix your problems. However it’s my brother-in-law’s bachelor party today and we wanted to treat him to the best snacks in the Galaxy.” As if timed as a theatrical production a huge swarm of koalas suddenly arrived dragging bundles of eucalyptus with them. They patiently queued and took their cargo onto the ship before departing back into the wilderness. When they had finished two more of the alien beings leaned out of the hatch and waved. The alien who had previously spoken looked around, sniffed at the air, and returned to his ship without another word. Though it has been 6 years since first contact, humanity has no more answers than before. At least we do have many interesting new religions.

Aliens make their presence known. We find out they’ve avoided contact because Earth is the galaxy’s “Australia” (everything is deadly)

“HO, HO, HO, HO. Aren’t you undead acting rather unjolly this year?” Santa called out, his sleigh landing on the ground, sending snow flying in every direction, covering the surrounding undead. They screamed and swayed their heads, trying to shake off the distracting mess as Santa stepped out of his sleigh. His gloved hand smacking the side, telling his reindeer to take flight and stay out of the undead’s range. As the shambling horrors shook off their initial wave of snow, Santa looked over the crowd for his first targets. He spotted a rather lanky figure closing in, their once bright eyes now stained grey as they tried to reach the jolly father of Christmas. “Max Wilson, I believe you were on the good list. I’m sorry, son, this will be quick.” He had two weapons on his back, a sharpened candy cane for those that were good and a coal shotgun for those that had been naughty. When Max lunged forward, Santa took a quick swipe, piercing the candy cane through the undead’s head before pushing their newly killed corpse to the floor. “Abigail Lawson, Henry Balin and Brock Hudson. All of you were on the naughty list. That makes this so much simpler.” He took cover behind the house’s mailbox, keeping himself crouched behind it as he switched for his shotgun. After pumping his shotgun with holiday cheer, he pounced up and unloaded a hellfire of coal. His elf designed weapon firing huge chunks of coal, each one having the power to knock the head off any approaching undead. Each shot took another chunk from the creatures before finally the three had fallen. He opened his red sack, feeding more coal into his shotgun before checking the number on the mailbox. Three Elizabeth Avenue. This was the location of his first delivery. Santa snuck up the stairs of the veranda, keeping his weapons ready in case any shambling corpses came after him. When he reached the home, he pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sounds. He heard the grunts of a creature, its voice far enough away that he could access the living room without getting jumped. He tried to doorhandle first and when that wouldn’t open; Santa reached into his pocket. He retrieved a mini-Christmas tree shaped key, using it to open the front door. When the door peeled open, Santa pulled out his candy cane, slowly glancing around the room. It was the usual affair. Furniture broken or chewed on, glass broken and the sounds of the undead. Still, his sled had told him there was life here. “Ho, ho, ho. Is anybody here?” He moved towards the grunting, finding a door that had an overturned bookshelf barricading it. It had to have been a rather quick job, as it was barely staying in place, only just holding back the occasional pounding of the undead as they smacked against the door. The bookshelf wobbling every time it was hit. “S-Santa?” A voice muttered. Santa turned around, greeted by a child that had a few red markings along his cheeks from all the canned beans he was consuming. He wiped some of the sauce away, slowly approaching Santa Claus. “Ah, if it isn’t Timmy. You have been a good boy this year. I heard you survived a month all by yourself.” Timmy only nodded as Santa took a knee, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t come last year. My elves are magical, but they aren’t miracle workers. It took a long time to create the ultimate Christmas present. Even then, my supplies are limited.” “It’s ok. I’m sorry I didn’t leave any cookies out.” Santa only laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Nonsense. I’ve had far too many cookies, anyway.” He patted his stomach before reaching into his Christmas sack, searching for Timmy’s present. “What did you get me?” The boy didn’t sound overly excited. He seemed happier just to have company than any potential gift. His thumbs dawdling against one another as he waited. Santa pulled out a small case, opening it up to reveal two needles. He pushed away the bookshelf and opened the door, not saying another word to the boy. “Don’t! If you go in there, they will eat you. My parents aren’t themselves!” Timmy called out. He was right. As soon as the door opened, the two lunged at Santa, the king of Christmas shoving his candy cane into the father’s mouth while he injected the mother with the first needle. When the mother was injected, he pushed the father back with the candy cane before pinning him against the wall with it. While he were pinned, he injected the second needle, watching as the two undead fell to the floor. Timmy peeked around the corner, staring at his downed parents. “You killed them! Why would you do that?” He gave Santa a small shove as he rushed to his parent’s side, wrapping his arms around them. He sobbed into his mother’s shoulder, holding their slowly warming bodies. Santa turned away and whistled, calling his sleigh back down. As he exited the house, he heard the sobbing stop, followed be a female’s voice. “Timmy?” Then the sobbing continued as two wailing voices turned to three. Santa closed the door behind him, locking it. He just hoped they would stay safe until this cure got out. He didn’t have enough time to cure everybody, but if he gave it to enough scientists, they should be able to reproduce it. Santa could only help humanity so much; Humanity would have to take care of the rest on their own. Santa climbed onto his sled and took to the sky once more. He took one last look at the home, seeing a smiling family standing in the window before he vanished into the clouds. There were a lot of survivor camps he had to visit. He just hoped he could spread enough joy to save the world.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)

Its been 3 years since the virus ravaged earth. But Santa knows he can't take this year off again. The children need him now more ever as people try to build back. He grabs his shotgun to ride his sleigh off into a world overrun by the undead.

"What do we do now?" Asked Meredith. It's the problematic question among scientists and explorers, once the dust has settled and the breakthrough has been achieved. The feat so enticing that the after is never considered. Sentient and sapient life. Proven on camera. They build and improve, share stories and a form of communication which could only be described as art as it had no practical function. They lived down there, far from the damaging light where no human could live, just as they couldn't come to the surface. First contact. "Our role is only to discover," Meredith added to her crew and herself, "not to make decisions about it." They nodded. it is the argument that compelled the team to go public, an easy way to absolve themselves from responsibility, hands washed clean from any possible catastrophe. They wished it was so, hid behind the words to justify it to themselves, but beneath the layer of reassuring lies, they knew. They had fled the hard decision. The public went crazy, of course. So did financial interests. A new species meant new technologies, trade, ressources. The metaphysical discovery of a lifetime, dumbed down to simple economics for the majority. Philosophy and faith irrelevant next to investments and profit. And the scientists, out of work, knew. This species would be used, abused and stolen and shown as trophies in overpriced mansions. Corporations would bend the states to have their way, and their way was excel sheets and margins. A slow, officially sanctioned genocide, while the crowds were occupied by videos and documentaries, blissfully unaware of the filming conditions. And what if they could defend themselves down there? They knew little beyond the potential in the deep. What about a sense of justice? Or vengeance? What if the deep possessed the same ruthless efficiency. People would die. Them, us, in droves. Not the leaders, safely hidden on both sides. It didn't matter the scenario. Every hypothesis led to catastrophe. A forgotten sense of idealism would call it the wrong period humankind to make first contact. Realism would have them admit that the reason was human nature. One evening, they met at the old work stations, fired up the old submarine. A terrible thing to do, Meredith felt as if she was asleep as she fixed the bomb. The submarine went under the waves, carrying what remained of the team's dreams and what these dreams had become. "If... We were in a dark forest," Meredith said as they all watched the spot where the submarine had been a moment before, "and a shape moved in the distance, we could lower the gun, and risk dying. Now or later. Or we could shoot, and survive. And if we didn't shoot, and neither did they... Then we're sparing them a fate worse than an unlucky encounter in a forest at night. What we're doing is mercy." It was a reassuring lie to absolve themselves from responsibility and consequences. When the screen turned dark and a few bubbles came to the surface to burst in the middle of nowhere, they felt how thin the word *mercy* was, how hollow the words felt. They left without a word, hoping their conscience would never wake up.

you are a member of a sentient race of octopi in the Mariana trench. a strange-looking metal fish has just flash banged you with the strongest light you've ever seen. what's even worse is that since it saw you crafting tools it won't leave you alone.

\-- Translated into 21st Century Earth-Human -- "*Why is your* ***human NOT*** *on a leash*?!!" Spuff stared, their mouths gaping at Gadorpadon and its leash-less human in disbelief. "Oh he's fine Spuff, look at him! He's so cute!! Just vaping away and coming up with a new jingle for my doorbell, look." Gadorpadon said dismissively. True enough, the cosy looking human dressed in a soft, teal blue tracksuit was happily poking away at a music editing app on his Augmented Reality Holo-Lens. Clouds of Martian Apple flavoured vapour floating up towards the relatively larger aliens. Upon developing faster-than-light (FTL) space travel, it wasn't long before the rest of the galactic community revealed themselves to humankind. By this time, Humans had colonised their solar system along with a few research colonies in the Alpha Centuri star system. In this universe, a similar pattern emerged for more evolved species. To develop to a point where the species achieved FTL required a considerable amount of collective effort and stability. This meant any such species had to cooperate, which naturally selected for species that had acheieved a certain degree of peace, englightment and maturity. Species which were too authortarian, individualist or aggressive tended to wipe themselves out before they could reach the stars for any sustained amount of time. The notable exceptions, of course, being hive-mind species and rogue AIs. Fortunately, the galactic wars which dealt with such threats had been fought and resolved long before humans entered the interstellar arena. "Gadorpadon. Please." The fungi-esque alien pleaded, pores evolved to become any number of mouths. *(To us, imagine a mushroom with octupus-like legs that was as tall as a giraffe.)* "Please what? Oh do read the scientific literature Spuff! For evolved species we run distressingly behind the galactic centre here on the outer rim." Chided the large orange alien. *(To us, imagine a furry sand-colored elephant with multiple phalanges at the end of its 3 trunks. nce you have that image in your head, good. Now discard it, because it looks nothing like that.)* Spuff exhumed spores which the human's universal translator relayed to him as a sigh. "Gad. I know the ORS-9 (Outer Rim Sector 9) Collective Legislature banned mandatory human leashes, but respecting the autonomy of less evolved species doesn't mean we should just *let* them run riot!" "Spuff my fiberous friend, don't be so hysterical." The reveal of humans to the galatic arena so late in the history of the Milky-Way raised a number of issues. In short, it was chaos. Debates erupted where civil consensus had existed for millenia. Whole multi-species cultures had to re-learn the art of discourse. For they had gone so long without being presented with a phenomenon so new that a entire branch of galactic law was required to manage it. At first, humans were adopted like pets. It was sold to humans to be like having older siblings, showing them the ways of the universe. In truth, the humans had very little say in the matter against their technologically-godlike alien neighbours. Fortunately for the humans, many species found them to be unthinkably adorable. Naked primates that dressed themselves in clothes! They were a hit with the species which used clothing themselves, such as the Meodine who resembelled giant featherless chickens. Finally, they had a pet species which could ethically consent to being dressed in matching outfits. To the more mamallian-esque species, the warm and cuddly humans were found to be very receptive to hugs, treats, and all nature of attention: a hit with the giant otter resembling Buizeleens. Other species were less enamaroued, but within each there were outliers who found an affinity to humans, similar to how a minority of humans opt for reptiles and arachnids over cats and dogs. "Hysterical?! You're lucky he hasn't gone and defecated on the sidewalk in an act of defiant rage." "Oh Spuff do get a grip," snorted the sandy space elephant. "Reports of rampant humans were overblown! If you take a human out of its natural habitat, and don't provide it with what it needs, of course it may "act out". You forget, our own species were much the same prior to FTL travel." Whilst most humans were quite happy at first being spoiled to the technological marvels of higher evolved races, others quietly rebelled. Condescened and disrespected, they campaigned for their autonomy as an intelligent and mature species to be recognised. To a multi-species galaxy at peace, enjoying millenia of stability and homeostasis, this was forgotten territory. Elsewhere, a growing number of incidents re-revealed a basic fact to this galactic community. One that had long been forgotten. Species not in their natural habitat will get depressed. Every time. A social species, evolved to recieve plenty of exercise, sunlight of the right type and amount, accustomed to a certain gravity and atmosphere, social interaction with others of its kind, the right nutrients, and so on, a species deprived of these needs will become an unhappy species. So stressed and unhappy in-fact, that it might start comitting acts of violence and sabotage. The galatic community learnt this the hard way. After one suicidal pet human nearly imploded a Class Delta Dyson Sphere surrounding a black hole, the galatic community disemminated the proper educative guidelines on how to look after their humans properly. Centuries later, the inner core developed a more mature relationship with humans, coming to respect their intelligence and autonomy. Now they were treated more akin to sidekicks. Slowly, this change in galactic culture spread ever outwards until it finally reached the outer-rim. "Yes Gad. We *were* much the same to humans prior to FTL... *over 500 million years ago*!! If you want to let your naked ape run amok you go ahead my friend. Just don't let it come near mine! Come along Chubby." Spuff's human male, overweight and unkempt by galatic standards looked at Gardopadon's human with envy. Universal translator relaying the whole conversation, he waved at his hairless ape counterpart, before being yanked away by its giant fungal mushroom space daddy. Gad's human looked up. "Hey Gad." "Yeah buddy?" "That lanky asshole, he's a mushroom species right?" "Oi, mind your manners you. But yeah, sure, close enough. Why?" The human inhaled long and hard. He fixed Gad with a cheeky human grin. "No reason, just thought you said he'd be a *fun-guy.*"

Humanity was the last one to achieve space travels. The rest of the galaxy was so much more evolved that they adopted humans as pets or sidekicks. Wherever there were any aliens, there would likely be a human by their side.

“Momma” No. No. NO. This was supposed to summon a devil. Not some little twerp. Hurling the book to the wall, I paced around the room. Why? Just why? This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted a devil! Not this… “Momma?” The boy sounded, tears brimming his eyes. Fuck. The child’s crying. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squatted down to the child’s height as I opened my arms for a hug. “There. There. it’s okay. You’re okay.” I murmured into his hair, trying to soothe the boy. I pulled back and finally really looked at it. It had brown hair and blue eyes that looked familiar- too familiar. The child looked like me. Sucking in a harsh breath, I stood up- the child in my arms as I made my way to the book. When I picked up the book, a thought flickered in my head, washing fear all over me. No. It can’t be that. It can’t. It was. In the book the statement for spell was clear: “As you say this phrase your devil shall appear right before your eyes.” My devil. The child was my devil. What the hell did I do?

you summon the devil but you are shocked when it works only to find out the devil is a 5 year old child who thinks your their parent.

Fermi was right. He didn't live to see it. But the man was right. Wise beyond his years. Really. We're the only ones left. Maybe I'm being a bit harsh if you're listening to my latest entry. So let's back up a little bit. Shall we? Fermi's Paradox revolves around the concept that space is incomprehensibly massive for starters. Obviously we all agree. Now then. Extraterrestrial life more than likely exists. The universe is too vast for it not to exist. The Solar System cannot be the only one in the entire universe, let alone our own galaxy, to contain life. It can't be. That idea makes even less sense than this one. At that point we get into other arguments around intelligent design and... Whatever, that's another debate. The universe is large. And there has to be other life. But clearly, we're more than likely much too far apart to ever meet or even to make contact with each other. On that note, who's to say the other civilizations even still exist? Where are they? They could easily be just as advanced or even more than we are. But they're most likely just as susceptible to collapse or even an extinction event of their own. Either way. We're way too far away to help. To go to war. To even talk. We haven't even found a sign anyone else is still out there. We've found proof of their existence. Ruins. Pieces of manufactured materials floating in space. Video came in recently of another carrier ship. They located some sort of bone structure on an asteroid near Alpha Centuri. Even in their situation, we're way too far away to help, let alone talk in a timely fashion. The update finally reached our own comms after two years. Not that that's a long time out here. I've been awake for a total of six months during that time frame. Maybe more. Maybe less. I'd have to check my data. Cryosleep is taxing to say the least. But I do my rotations as necessary. You have to keep everyone alive. At all costs. I wonder if someone's out there doing the same thing? Barely stringing a ship along. Trying to find themselves another place to maybe call home. Maybe they're just screaming into the void like the rest of us? I spend hours watching the feeds when it's my turn. Listen for a signal. Look for something out there that doesn't look natural. Avoid any black holes or rogue celestial objects. Do maintenance with our AI repairing vital systems. Shelby at least likes our company. So I guess there's that. But it doesn't matter how many signs of life we find. Everything is dead. Everything else is too far away. So it goes. I'm out of time. It's my turn to work on the arrays. What a lovely day. - *End recording #4086* --- r/Jamaican_Dynamite

Humanity is alone in the universe. As we explore we never come across signs of civilization or primitive life, but only find dead worlds full of ruins and fossils and giant piles wreckage floating in space. As far as we can tell we are the last civilization in the universe.

Report on take-over of; Planet 36B8f-3 (locally known as Earth) in the Omega Reaches. Report to; Grand High Monitor Blesh from, Armada Captain Ris of Net-Hem. REPORT CLASSIFIED AS; TOP TOP SECRET. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. Grand High Monitor, It is with astonishment and trepidation I write this report of our recent attempt to take over this backwater planet at the edge of the galaxy. As the initial reports stated the planet is indeed rich in flens and should have been a viable property for a mining set-up, minus the primary indigenous population of the planet. It was originally deemed easier to cleanse the planet using the usual bio-weapon (used to cleanse so many planets before now) as the beings are too unstable to be used as workers, nor do they profess the intellect needed to converse and negotiate property rights for the flens (which they have little use for) having also had no previous contact with any other interplanetary beings and understanding the time issues in introducing them (with their limited brain capacity) to the wider reaches of the cosmos, it seemed a kindness to end them. The bio-weapon was dropped globally, as per the usual parameters. The stealth delivery system arrived unnoticed by any but a few, easily dismissed children, and as usual, we waited the normal 37 clins for the weapon to disperse and take affect before monitoring. At Clin 37 we noticed no visible affects on any of the beings on the planet. We assumed we had somehow had a defective batch of the weapon and started to test what we had on our test subjects in The Armada. The test subjects were all deceased within 6 centra, as usual. Our batch was not defective. Our Head Sarf suggested that the physiology of the beings on the planet, may be stronger than initial scans suggested, and decided we such administer an unprecedented second wave. We did. At the next 37 Clin mark, we again started monitoring, sure that the population would now be decimated. It was not. About half of the population, most notably the elderly, had an illness they referred to as "a cold" (we aren't sure of the reference to a low temperature as the illness seemed to make them heat up, rather than cool down, but that does line up with their low intelligence) and some small percentage did pass away, but wether this was the weapon or their age, Head Sarf was unable to determine. Grand High Monitor, in all my many devs as Armada Captain, with 3689 Planet Cleanses behind me, I have never seen such a response from any population, and I don't mind admitting that I am astonished and a touch alarmed. Head Sarf believes we need to set up a monitoring station in the outer reaches of this system in the hopes of watching them develop, and possibly recruiting them if they can prove to be trainable. I however, believe this planet is far to dangerous to be allowed to continue on in this fashion and recommend a complete annihilation event. Whilst I understand it would need to be shadowed in secrecy, it's the only way to make sure these beings don't become a threat. If they're allowed to continue developing, they may end up the Overlords of The Cosmos, and we could do nothing but watch.

An alien species well known in the galaxies for their biological weapons declare war on humanity, using their arsenal to try and dispatch them. It came as a huge surprise when they found out humanity already have developed immunity to these diseases hundreds of years ago.

They always told me to turn the other way if random items started to show up. Dragons like to gather trinkets to bolster their power as they gather their hoards. As the old saying goes. "Beware the power of three, for dragons might there be. Question the power of 5, for their might be alive. Sacred are the groups of nine, they empower thy sacred shrine" Dragons are pretty common here, and they range from the size of a housecat to the size of a small hill. There are even rumors of dragons being so big they are able to crush mountains with a flick of their wrist. Most large dragons loot typical things to add to their hoard, money, swords, magical stones, armor, oh and did I mention anything that exudes magic. Including corpses. Just thinking about a dragon roosting in a pile of corpses makes me shudder. However dragons, albit rarely, choose a hoard of more unique potential. One such dragon is a pygmy dragon by the name of Lucy. Lucy for some reason decided that a candystore was her hoard and now she exudes a irresistible sweet aroma and breathes molten Carmel. The shopkeeper was mighty pleased the day that his stock magically replenished, but was very disappointed when Lucy became territorial and scared off customers with flying jawbreakers. The shopkeeper had no choice but to abandon the shop, and Lucy roams the streets stealing candy from the pockets of unsuspecting people, adding to her hoard of candy that no one dare touch. The king declared Lucy to be "an inconvenient shopkeeper, but one not to be messed with" and as such the citizens have found Lucy to be a pleasant smelling local legend that only requires a few peices of candy a day in exchange for making a fourth of the capital not smell like the filth of the city. However where I am currently, is not the sweet smelling capital of Archton, but the ruins of a city that has long lost its name. I am a researcher looking for profitable artifacts, because of my long destiny of... ah who am I kidding I need cash, my torn pants will tell you of that fairly quickly. As im wandering throughout the ruins, out of the corner of my eye I spot a skull, it looks to be of a canine species but it's much larger than I would expect. I can't really tell though cause half of the skull is missing. Thank goodness it's been dead a while my knife is barely longer than its teeth, and I'm fairly certain it would kill me on first glance for dinner. Thankfully the paladin order of the sun has recently culled the surrounding areas so now there are no more than rabbits and foxes nearby and anything truly dangerous probably has no interest in me. Although I could've sworn that they were still here, actively searching the ruins but I haven't run into anybody. Walking past the skull, I see a split in the path and decide to take a right. Unfortunately that was wrong because at the end of the turn is just a broken wall with nothing there, backtracking it is. As I'm walking back I notice that there are a few more bone peices, laying about around corners and definitely adding to the creeps this place is giving off now that the sun has started to set. I sigh thinking that this is going to be another night on the cold hard ground surrounded by the bones and artifacts of the long lost. Determined to find a semi safe spot to sleep for the night I decide to wander a bit farther than I did yesterday in favor of finding a better spot to rest. Yesterday was hell, if my back is any indication. As I get out my map and start drawing in the new paths I took today I notice that if I take two lefts and a right there is a perfect box shape with a wall around it that I haven't been in yet. Hmm it looks like a house, or maybe a church layout? As I approach the final section of wall undiscovered my me, I find that I was correct and that it is a church. Well it will definitely be nice to have a roof over my head and a building with a easily hidden entrance. Undoing my pack I hear a loud thumping noise that sounds like wings in the distance. Ah, that's probably a dragon. Hopefully it passes over me. Unfortunately the large crash and following rumble tells me two things. Firstly the dragon DID IN FACT land probably no further than a couple hundred feet from me, and secondly it was big, big enough to see me as a meal. Looking frantically around, I find that there is a set of stairs in the back of the church I grab everything that I can frantically and rush down the stairs. Once down the stairs, I'm pumped full of adrenaline. I see a tunnel, leading down. taking a chance I go down the tunnel determined that whatever is down there is better than the dragon upstairs. My heart is pumping, and I can feel my pulse in my ears as I come to a stop. As I lean into the wall, I fall through where the wall should have been and land with a splash in a room that was behind the wall. Blood, blood everywhere. I should have smelt it when I came down here originally but I must have been too concerned. As I fumble through my pack for my lantern, my hands feel sticky and the blood is slowly covering me as I frantically scramble for the magic rune that turns on this stupid lantern. As I light the lantern the large room immediately lights up in a eerie red, and I can see the paladin order that was patrolling the area before me, unfortunately for them they are probably not going on another conquest anytime soon. Dread fills me as I slowly take in the room. Their bodies are mutilated and half eaten and it takes every ounce of strength in my body not to retch the contents of my stomach onto the floor. Then I see it, light Grey and pink with blood still dripping off of it. I see the brain on the floor and immediately convulse. Looking around I see that infact all of the heads are not eaten but removed, with each and everyone of them cracked open. As I turn to leave I hear a voice in my head, "Oooh a fresh one, I shall take you along with the last of my previous bounty" The voice was young, but seemed like it was coming from everywhere. As I slowly turn around I'm face to face with a dragon. The dragon is fully pink, with lazy curls of Grey on its side. "Ahh I do love a fresh head, popping it open to reveal the fresh meat inside is always so exciting. What knowledge shall I learn today?"

As dragons get older their magical prowess is shaped by what is in their hoards. As you wander the ruins of a kingdom you notice one item start to show up, the implications are immense.

I watched my students bounce in with joy for sparring day. It was everyone’s favorite day at the dojo and excitement filled the air. It’s the time for them to showcase their skills and practice new techniques, all in the name of friendly competition. The boys were always eager, I often found it hard to get them to pay attention prior to the matches. They would rush through their stretches and start tumbling on the mats with unbridled energy. Today was no different. I did a quick headcount and found that all seven of my students were accounted for. No one was late for sparring day. If you were late, you had to put up the mats, and no one wanted that. I cleared my throat, “All right, boys it’s time to…” The small bell on the door rang as it was pushed open again. Surprised, I turned to find a small girl standing there. She was a head shorter than the rest of my students and her tiny limbs looked thin and unused. Despite that, she had a sarashi wrapped around her torso loosely covered by a purple keikogi. She shifted on her feet awkwardly under my gaze, “Um, excuse me? Is today’s session open for guest sparring?” It wasn’t uncommon for guests to come to the dojo during sparring day, but usually, they were boys from local gyms. I gave her a warm smile to put her at ease, “Welcome! Of course, our gym is always open to guests. You are welcome to spar today, or just sit in and watch if you prefer.” “I want to spar please.” I bowed deeply, “We are honored to have you. I’m Hiroshi Sensei.” “I’m Kaiya,” she returned my bow. I raised my eyebrows in surprise, the meek girl from a second ago spoke with resolve and I watched her eyes glinting with determination. After everyone limbered up, I decided it was time to call the first match. “Jered, why don’t you spar with Kaiya first?” Jered kicked his feet, “Aw, do I have to? She’s just a girl.” My eyes hardened, “Now, Jered what have I told you about disrespecting your opponents?” Jered slunk toward the center of the mats where Kaiya was waiting, “Fine.” Kaiya started by giving a deep bow to her opponent which Jered reluctantly returned. I strode between them and dropped my hand to start the match. Kaiya moved swiftly and lifted her leg to strike. In his arrogance, Jered didn’t even try to dodge the kick and watched it with an amused look on his face. It was over a second later. Jered’s ribs crunched and he was left doubled over on the mats. Kaiya gave another bow, “Thank you for honoring me with a match.” She turned to me, “Hiroshi Sensei, may I challenge another opponent?” “Of course, the mats are yours until you lose,” I nodded. You would think the boys would have learned their lesson after watching Jered get dropped. They didn’t. The rest of the six boys were beaten thoroughly by Kaiya. She displayed technique and agility far surpassing any of my students. Despite the one-sided beatdowns, she always ended each match with respect and was sure to bow to every opponent. As the boys groaned on the floor, I beckoned Kaiya to my side, “That was very well done Kaiya. You displayed great skill.” She bowed, “Thank you, Hiroshi Sensei.” “I have to ask though; your level is far beyond a beginner dojo such as this. What made you come in today?” Kaiya blushed and began to fidget, “Um. Well, I uh… I found out that the boys here were bullying my younger brother.” I frowned, “They *what*?” Kaiya looked away and mumbled, “They bullied him.” She bowed and spoke up, “I’m sorry for disrespecting your dojo like this Sensei.” “Please stand up.” Kaiya straightened and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry my students have caused you and your brother harm.” I gave a full bow, “Please forgive me for failing them.” She smiled and nodded. “Now then, do you still have the energy to spar some more Kaiya?” Kaiya looked puzzled, “Yes Sensei.” “Great, because I don’t think they’ve learned their lesson yet.” I smirked, “Boys on your feet. ***Now***.” The boys groaned and stumbled to their feet. The next several hours in the dojo were filled with reprimands and kicks, as both Kaiya and I taught lessons these boys better never forget.

This fairly innocuous-looking girl just beat up your entire martial arts dojo, by herself. When you asked why, she said one of your students was picking on her brother.

"Is your real name Herbert Landry?" "Yes. But I prefer to go by Herbie." "Are you really 37?" "Yes." "Are you about to take a lie detector test?" "Yes." "Are you nervous?" "No." "Are you a local to the area?" "No. I moved out here from the east coast about 5 years ago." "You are one of three children?" "Yes, one brother, one sister." "Are you adopted?" "No." "Are you confused?" "No?" "Are you certain?" "Yes, I'm positive." "Is mayonnaise an instrument?" "No. Are you happy Patrick?" "If a tree falls in the forest, but it kills the only witness, does it still make a sound?" "Yes? I mean, I'm pretty sure." "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck heroin?" "Ok. Time out. No seriously. Time out." "Yes? What seems to be the problem?" "What are these questions? They don't even make sense." "Just answer the questions to the best of your abilities." "Ma'am a lie detector test doesn't work if you don't understand the questions." "Other than the last one, you've been answering them just fine." "Okay. Let's get this done." "Do you wish to try to answer the last question?" "...No." "Are you married?" "No." "Do you want to be?" "...No." "Is New Zealand a country?" "Yes?" "Can dogs look up?" "Yes. I've seen Shaun of The Dead too. Yes, they can." "If a siamese twin isn't from Siam, are they still siamese?" "Yes. Obviously. What kinda-" "A train leaves Boston at 60 miles per hour. A train leaves Buffalo at 75 miles per hour. Will they collide?" "I really, hope not. But isn't that the point of the-" "Mr. Landry." "Right. Yes." "Yes?" "Yes." "Are the lyrics to Old Dirty Bastard's Shimmy Shimmy Ya about a bad breakup?" "No. But he told her he liked it raw." "What is the answer to this question?" "....What?" "Yes." "What?" "If a woman named Mercedes got hit by a Ford Focus, does that make you the father?" "Hell no." "What babbles but never talks?" "These aren't even questions that work on yes or no." "No?" "Yes. I mean, no." "Tis the season to be jolly?" "Yes? It's Christmas." "Are Santa Claus and Krampus the same person? Because he sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake?" "I'll say Yes. Because that line always weirded me out as a kid." "Me too. Ah, last question. What is the difference between a duck?" "...." "...." "Mr. Landry." "I'm... I'm just gonna go home now." --- I was going to have them ask even dumber questions. But this is enough. r/Jamaican_Dynamite

"A lie detector test doesn't work if you don't understand the questions"

"Tell me, witch, what my coin buys," said the finely dressed young man, as they exited his coach. He looked up at the coachman, who was resolutely ignoring them both. The driver may well have been mysteriously stricken blind and deaf for the duration of the journey; the young man was uncertain how much silence his coin bought, and how much her magic had woven. In any case, their privacy was doubly assured. The witch with no eyebrows knocked, softly, and her heavy door unlocked itself at her touch. They entered her cottage--half kitchen, half boudoir, entirely enchanting--and the witch threw her cloak to the side. Brass and iron uncurled from the wall like so many fingers, and they caught the damp fabric before it could hit the floor. With the squeals of writhing metal, enchanted claws wrung the water from the wool, brushed the leather, and spread the cloak to dry. The witch woman ignored it all, fanning her long hair behind her as she disappeared into the dim cottage. With the snap of her fingers, a bluish spark appeared on the laid hearth, and eagerly buried itself into the kindling. The door closed itself behind them, and the young man was left standing in the near blackness, a not-wholly welcome guest in a witch's cottage at night. "It's a very simple system," said the witch. "You give me my due, and I'll go fetch the child. My magic will make it so that whatever punishment you feel your enemy has earned, you can inflict on the child. Your greatest enemy will then feel it, suffer it, seventy-and-sevenfold." As the hearth caught, it illuminated the luxurious cottage. The young man saw the darkness dissolving into shapes around him. The witch--sensuous, slender, beguiling--lounged on a couch lined with exotic furs. Her cottage by the river smelled of foreign perfumes and exciting incense, glittered with baubles and glass, potions and instruments of unnatural sciences. In the darkness of the rafters above, some awful shape with far too many teeth stared down at him, grinning. The walls twitched with arms, crawled with fingers that wriggled eagerly with magic. The hearth fed itself another log with long insectoid limbs, making the deep shadows jump and flicker. The grinning thing in the rafters danced manically, the tableau of shadows bringing it to horrid life. The rugs on the floor steamed, the snow from their boots melting in the intense presence of magic and fire which the witch bent to her will. The cottage was warm already, threatening to become an oven if he stayed too long. The man stood carelessly, perhaps foolishly, in the presence of the witch. He knew she dared not harm him. He reached into the satchel he carried, and withdrew an embroidered bag packed to bulging with coins of silver and electrum. With disdain, he dropped it entire on the floor, not bothering to count it out. He stretched, his hips thrust in her direction, an offer and a reminder of his masculinity. "Your price, witch. With a consideration for discretion. When will you be... ready for me?" he sneered, crude in his innuendo. The witch hooked her finger, and the bag spilled itself over the carpet. It revealed coin and gem in abundance; far more than her usual fare. Shadows crawled over her face, tracing her skin like a lover's hands, and she licked her lips seductively. She reached into her shirt, fingers tracing her exposed cleavage, until she produced a gemstone dangling from the fine silver chain that graced the alluring curves of her neck. "An hour, Viscount. Your father doesn't mind the lateness of your adventures, surely?" she smiled, teasing the gem between her delicate fingers. The mention of the Earl gave the young man pause, and some measure of his libido vanished in sullen withdrawal. Scowling, deflated, he shrugged. With shoulders now hunching, his cloak fell around him. She saw the shape of his arm move beneath his cloak, as he comforted himself with a hand on the hilt of his sword. It took him a long moment, glowering in the darkness, to find his tongue, his brashness now tarnished with resentment. "I'll wait in the carriage, witch." --- On wings of smoke and fire she returned, and the horses stamped and whinnied nervously. The driver knocked against the roof of the coach even as the door opened. He saw her, fair and bewitching in the moonlight, adorned in shadows of black and purple that threatened to reveal her in scandalous, even ruinous ways. She stood, regal in bearing and lithe in form, beckoning him to join her in the ring of dead grass and melted snow that marked her landing. In her arms, a bundle no larger than a sack of turnips. From the bundle, whimpers of cold and fear could be heard, unheeded. The witch did not bother with the lies of hollow comforts and empty assurances. She wore sex and death as her crown; warmth and comfort were for lesser beings, those who had never stared into the darkness until it flinched. Somehow that pleased her customer. Something inside him ached, yearned for this. For the woman, yes; but also for the moment. For the promise. For the service. For the *child.* She raised one brow, and his eye was drawn once again to the oddity of her face. Her lack of eyebrows somehow made her seem more expressive, though it also gave her an edge of otherness, alien and dangerous. With a wave of her hand, a set of cellar doors beside the cottage creaked open. She stepped into the stairwell, carrying the child, only a brief glimpse of her eyes beckoning to him as she descended into the abyss below. Then she was gone. The young man took a moment to turn to the driver. "Go from here. Wait in the village square for an hour, then return. If you are asked, say I am off drinking with whores," he commanded. The driver nodded, and with a click of his tongue his horses gratefully turned away from the house of the witch. The horses huffed and dug at the icy road, and the coachman did not look back. From the doorway of the cellar, an orange light danced, and the smell of torch smoke prickled at the young Viscount's nose. He stepped carefully down stone stairs, and the doors of the cellar quietly thunked closed behind him.

A local witch only offers over-the-top evil solutions to people who just need the OPPORTUNITY to do evil to realize that they don't REALLY want to hurt anyone, much less actively USE her magic. When folks really DO want to do evil come to her ... well, she has ways of dealing with them too.

The human mind is fragile, especially when isolated in deep space for years at a time. Fragile things can crack… or break. Thomas had been “alone” on the Station Lima for almost three years. Originally, he had smuggled his cat Olly aboard in an old, wooden banana crate. After launch Thomas figured he was in the clear to reveal Olly. As Thomas’ immediate supervisor, I was pissed when I discovered he had snuck a pet onto his station. I was forced to report his infraction, and suggest appropriate recourse upon his return. After all, it is difficult to reprimand someone 300,000 miles away. This was a behavioral pattern with Thomas I noticed quickly. His occasional disregard for orders he deemed unnecessary were documented in his profession docket. I don’t hold it against him now. The cat thing. He was lonely. When Olly died I actually felt bad for Thomas. He began to feel truly alone. Thomas and Olly had been together in space for two and a half years. The only communication we had was via text, and was infrequent due to technical difficulties, or physical limitations of the equipment. I was able to monitor his work with security cameras installed throughout Station Lima. This became more infrequent after Olly’s death, and I began to worry about Thomas. He placed Olly’s body in the banana crate and stored him in a temperature regulated storage container. He would be safe there. Olly deserved a proper burial, Thomas said, upon his return. In the depths of his despair Thomas began coding a new program. He modified parts from an old vacuum, extra repair parts, and a touch screen monitor to create a robotic cat which resembled Olly. He called it Ollie. Thomas worked tirelessly to finish the programming that would bring Ollie to life. The task proved extraordinarily difficult. Thomas was out of his depth. His charisma outmatched his ability and he knew it. Thomas seemed nervous about what might happen when the program when live, but it had been several months since Olly passed, and Thomas was desperate for a companion. In a final attempt to muster courage Thomas uttered a line about humans sometimes having to take risks in the name or science. He pressed a button on his keyboard and a progress bar appeared showing the download speed of the program. Ollie at 10 percent, then 25, then 50. 64. 78. 88. 98. When the progress bar hit 100 everything went dark. All power on Station Lima failed. We lost all progress, three years of research and our engineer, Thomas. All attempts to communicate have failed. Sometimes at night when I look up at the stars I wonder if Thomas is still out there. I like to imagine he and Ollie figured out a way to reboot the power. Maybe they are on their way home now.

If there is one thing that the advanced species of the galaxy have learned, human will do outrageous things ‘for science’. To everyone’s fear, the human on your solitary space station has uttered these words.

All the nobles were sitting still. Partially because of shock that the princess had showed up, wielding a sword. Partially because tradition stated that the king needed his advisers for any meeting. "If I have to say it again, I will do so with that sword at your throat," said the princess, the implication of that statement was perfectly clear. But as usual, there is one person that doesn't get the hint. "Princess, we're bound by law to stay with the king for this meeting." Started Lord Farthing, "We cannot--" he fell silent as the Princess glared at him while reaching for the sword. "Nevermind my previous statement. I'm leaving immediately." Lord Farthing practically ran from the room causing a mass rush for the doors. Even the High Guard left. The king realized he had very little power left over his daughter. The Great Door closed with a massive boom, that echoed throughout the hall. All was quiet. Minutes ticked by as the silence grew. Finally, she spoke. "Mother is not happy with you. You both agreed to split your time with me. You get me for one year, she gets me for one year, until such a time as I can handle myself in this court. All 50 knights that you have sent to get me are dead. None of them knew that the dragon is my mom. Not to mention that I have only been with her for 2 months. What is so important that you can't honor the agreement between you two?" She was practically yelling at him. He couldn't hide the reason from her. "Our monarchy is in danger. I need you to get your mother to come here immediately. I need her abilities at my disposal. Your mother is the only one I trust with this kind of problem." Coming out from behind the throne was her mother. Tall and beautiful, but equally dangerous. "And what would make you think that 50 knights would do better than a courier, Darling?" "Appearances. There were witnesses that saw her being kidnapped. I had to make an effort to get her back," replied the King. "What is the problem that I need to fix?" She asked. "A druid has cursed my bloodline to die off, essentially. He specifically said that she and I would be the last of our lineage." The king said with a tone of fear and worry in his voice. "There's only one druid that would dare to threaten my daughter. And it's past the time I should've dealt with him. Do not worry, dear. He won't live past a fortnight. The Pendragon line will continue, Arthur. Even if it must do so from the shadows."

the princess was kidnapped by a dragon the king sent many knights non returned. The king is about to send a new handsome knight. The princess burst the the doors holding a sword covered in dried blood or mud. She drops the sword and says “EVERYONE OUT I NEED TO SPEAK TO MY FATHER!”

My boots plodded away on the winding gravel road. I shivered, the night was brisk, and I felt glad that my armor had been lined with fur. At the top of the hill, my destination loomed, and I felt a slight tinge of satisfaction that one way or another, my journey would end here. The Demon King had been a scourge on these lands for the last decade. Slowly, his hold had been relinquished and he was down to his final stronghold. The old castle had originally belonged to some local count, the first victim of the incursion. It had taken two years before the realm had noticed his disappearance; by then, the Demon King had opened several portals to the fiery depths of hell. The first waves had overwhelmed the legions, we were woefully unprepared to fight the demonic threat. Then, I was chosen. King Sven had consulted the oracles, and, somehow, it was foretold that I would wield the legendary *Spear of Angels*. Me. A young man of 14. I’ll never forget the knock on our cottage in the middle of the night. When my father opened the door and King Sven walked through, I swore I was dreaming. Then he presented the spear and named me the realm’s champion. The smile that broke my father’s rugged features was filled with pride and at that moment, I envisioned myself as a hero of old. This was *my* time. Well, at least I thought it was. My mother was none too pleased. I still wince when I think of how she grabbed King Sven by the ear and the lecture that followed. It reminded me of her dishing out my punishments when I would track mud in the house or leave without a kiss goodbye. King Sven was a big man. Majestic. He also whimpered like a little kid and spent the better part of the evening apologizing after my mother’s fiery tirade. Her tiny frame contained the power to make lesser men wane. Though, one wouldn’t guess that based on the modest smock she wore. To those who didn’t know her, she looked innocent and frail. They say ignorance is bliss after all. I smiled remembering how King Sven pushed his oracle in front of him to awkwardly explain the selection process to my mother’s unimpressed face. To my joy, she relented and my dreams of becoming a hero were still intact. The spear wouldn’t have been left at all if she had her way. She said weapons in the house were too *dangerous*, but she permitted me to train outside. After months of training outside our cottage, my body had developed into that of a young warrior; I was toned and agile. One would think my training would’ve consisted of nothing but spear-work with some legendary mentor. Oh, how wrong they would be. My body was the result of nothing but chores my mother set out for me, plus the food she shoved down my throat. I can still hear her, “*Eat. Eat. Eat. Young heroes need to eat.*” My stomach always felt queasy from the sheer amount of food she shoved down it. If I never eat a plain cooked chicken breast again, that will be considered the true triumph against evil. Yet, I couldn’t argue with the results. I tended the garden, cut firewood, and carried every bag my mother purchased during our trips to town. Finally, I was ready. My first battle was supposed to be with a lesser demon who had ransacked some local village. I had always thought myself to be meticulous, but compared to my mother, I don’t even come close. She had me lay out my armor the night before, eat a big breakfast, and even try to sharpen the never dulling *Spear of Angels*. Honestly, I about ran out the door at a chance of some newfound freedom. The village was deserted, and I had approached carefully. In the center, I found the demon next to the village well. Its large sinewy body was black and red. Long sharp claws mirrored the horns on his head, and it moved with a serpent-like grace. Despite the monstrosity, I was prepared to do battle and faced the nightmare. Only before I could charge and end the demon, a large arrow protruded from between its eyes. I remember spinning around in search of the master archer, only to see a flash of a green smock disappear from view. The resulting battles ended much the same. I, the champion of the realm, the wielder of the *Spear of Angels*, never fought a single foe. But today, that all changes. I looked up at the Demon King’s Castle, the very air around it seemed ominous. The dark stone matched the thunderheads that opened overhead. Rain poured down soaking me as I pushed open the large iron gate. It swung with a loud creak and a clang. The door to the castle was much the same and it swung inward with a squeal that was sure to announce my presence to everything within. But that was no matter, I was here to do battle with the Demon King himself. It was time for me to be a hero. I steadied my breathing and walked into the throne room and bellowed, “Demon King! I’m here to cast you back into the pits of hell you cancerous cur. I’m going to shove this spear so far up your…” “**Excuse me?**” Oh shit. A small figure stood up from the throne, her green smock was pressed neatly, and a bow slung over her shoulder. At her feet, the Demon King lay with about two quivers worth of arrows sticking out of his body. I felt the room get dark and cold as she strode across toward me, “Do you care to enlighten me with what you were about to say?” My mother stood in front of me, her glare sending shivers down my spine. “Hi mom,” I said meekly. She lunged, and I, the champion of the realm, the wielder of the *Spear of Angels*, cried as my ear was tugged with the force of a thousand demons. I was dragged to the door of the castle as her words laid into me, “We are going home right now. And *you* are getting your mouth washed with **soap** mister. My tears ran free and suddenly, I found myself envying the Demon King. She stopped at the door to look at me, “It’s raining out. ***Where is your jacket***?” she hissed. Yup, I definitely envied the Demon King.

You were supposed to save the world, but at every turn during your adventure, your mother has beaten you to the punch. Finally you arrive at the Demon King's castle, only to find her standing over his corpse. Finally fed up, you confront her about stealing your adventure.

Kriktik flexed his crest spines in agitatation. It was already... He glanced down at the unremarkable housing of the human time piece, its soft backlit display an inoffensive unidentifiable colour. The display showed his home system's numerical identifiers, it read negative trigon well past the time he was to meet the contact. Stretching his hocks he gazed around the small office. It was completely inoffensive from the "art" (some sort of organic compound spread on canvas) displayed on the walls to the texture of the flooring. Never before had kriktik felt so devoid of stimulation. Reflexes honed by martial combat, senses constantly on the alert for the slightest changes, a life held in constant vigilance against the threat of those below and above him found no threats, nothing to focus on, nothing to even distract him as negative trigon ticked over to sundat. Behind him someone cleared their throat. Kriktik turned languidly his crest spines relaxing as he noticed the furless biped in the nondescript sitting apparatus. The alien was wearing soft fabrics who's pattern reminded Kriktik of the "art" although he'd be hard pressed to explain why. Kriktik blinked. The door hadn't opened, there was no ozone smell from blink, and the air in the room was undisturbed. More disturbing though was his own lack of reaction to the being's arrival. He felt no aggression nor Surprise, none of his defensive instincts had been triggered and even his annoyance had faded. "you are the human I am to meet?" he asked unable to keep the puzzlement from his voice. The being rose and stepped within striking distance to Kriktik. Kriktik neither recoilled nor lashed out in complete opposition to every evolutionary behavior his species had and rather than being alarmed by this he found himself strangely ambivalent. "Yes I am the human known as, well that won't matter, no one ever remembers our name's anyway. You are likely wondering when I arrived and why you didn't notice me." Kriktik grimaced in accent trying to fix the face of the human in his mind. Something about its shape or maybe the texture of its skin made it hard to distinguish from the general form of the alien. "I was in this room, sitting in that chair from the moment you entered my office. I felt this would be the best example of our..." he made a chuffing noise. A sound of humour among humans "absolutely forgettable and innoffensive nature to every species we've encountered so far. As you can see we are completely unremarkable, unthreatening, and infinitely forgettable. Which makes us the most effective assassins in the galactic community." Kriktik flicked his crest spines in amusement "bold of you to make such a claim would not such advertisement be to your species detriment?" The human chuffed again. "who would believe you? Assassins the humans? We excel at nothing, we aren't strong enough to threaten the majority of species, our technology is absolutely average on the bell curve and indistinguishable from a hundred other species, we aren't fast or dextrous enough to confound security systems. We barely even have a presence on the galactic stage outside of simple menial labour. You're only here because you have no other options and nothing to lose. A friend of a friend or some back alley dealer sent you here because "The human can solve your problem". They are right. We are easy to ignore, forgettable, and nearly everywhere. Would you please look down now? " Kriktik raised his crests in surprise and looked down. The human had a small gun levelled at his grull sack, at this range it would be an instantly fatal shot. Kriktek lowered his crests in submission and blinked slowly for a moment before saying "I would like to purchase your services." The human flashed it's mastication bones, a sign of pleasure. "Excellent! We will take full payment now. Other species tend to forget to pay us after we have fulfilled our end of the contract" the human chuffed again placing the gun inside its fabric coverings and stepping back outside of striking range "I'm sure you understand." Kriktik grimaced in acknowledgement and regurgitated a small bile covered storage sack. He fished out a preloaded unhashed credit stick and a copy of his sigma sire's biometric identification. The human withdrew a small piece of fabric from its coverings and accepted both items. "Thank you." The human moved over to the desk laying down the cloth holding the items and picking up a small uninteresting wrapped package which he offered to Kriktek. "We hope you enjoy the artwork you have purchased today and wish you a fruitfal cycle". Kriktek took the package and after one more attempt to firmly set the humans features in his mind grimaced a final time and strode out of the office and into what the humans called an "art" gallery. As Kriktik made his way though the nearly empty gallery, who would waste time with human "art" if they had any other options, he found his memory of the human already fading. No matter, the human wasn't important, the only thing that was important were the results, and with that thought he turned his mind to much more important matters.

Humans have achieved FTL and have joined the galactic community! But…nothing. Humans are unremarkable. Almost non existent in the thousands of alien species. Humans are not special in any way.

Snow Drop’s eyes burned; her entire body ached from lack of sleep. Her hat smelled funny, how many days had it been since she had the luxury of a shower, let alone a hot one? She scanned the workshop, only a fifth of the tables were staffed. Along the walls she could see the hooks left behind where Christmas lights had once been strung. Management removed the lights last week to save on electricity costs. Though, no explanation was given as to why the festive wreaths were also taken down. The tiny cuts on her hands stung as she shoved another set of CDs into a box. She thought about how nice a hot cup of cocoa would be right then, but the last cocoa supplies in the breakroom were used up three days ago. There was one “decoration” on the workshop walls: a countdown timer that also displayed the number of unfulfilled gift orders. Surprisingly, the $8/month price tag had not deferred children from still asking for gifts. Perhaps the children, or even their parents, were unaware that they all got the same gift: a CD set of the “Atlas Shrugged” audio book as narrated by Ben Stein. Snow Drop wondered if the children understood their family would be charged $8 every month, or $96 for a gift that cost maybe $25. Even worse, she pondered, did any of the children even own a CD player anymore? “Fudge me!” Twinkle Berry, three tables over screamed. “Pardon my language, but this is a real HUMBUG!” There were several gasps as his high-pitched tone carried across the workshop. “We cannot make these fudging deadlines!” Several of the other elves averted their eyes. “Twinkle Berry…” whispered Snow Drop, “keep your voice down, they’ll hear you.” As if on cue, the door to the workshop swung open with such force that it smacked into the brick wall. Pound Cake, a grotesque mountain of an elf (he was only about 1.7 meters tall, but he towered over the others) lumbered down the creaky wooden steps. The workshop was still, petrified eyes watched as he slowly made his way toward Twinkle Berry. Twinkle Berry just used his stool to step up on top of the table. “JUSTICE!” He screamed. Pound Cake grasped Twinkle Berry and began to carry him off. Snow drop watched, paralyzed with fear. She should do something, she thought, say something. When she tried to protest her mouth was too dry to speak. Twinkle Berry thrashed against Pound Cake, but his tiny little fists made no impact on Pound Cake as he was hauled up the stairs. The door slammed close. Snow Drop felt a pang of guilt. They went back to work in silence. After a few minutes there was static over the loudspeaker, followed by the new owner’s voice. “A reminder: Free speech is always welcome here at Santa’s Workshop. Merry Christmas everyone. Other reminders, it is Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays. This is America, after all.” “No, it is not, it is the North Pole you rotten Marionberry.” Mistle Toes, a grizzled old elf, grumbled under his breath before taking a leak in an empty bottle. Snow Drop sighed, she might have cried if her eyes weren’t so dry. The door smacked open again, this time, to the awe of all the elves, the man himself, Santa, started storming down the stairs. His red suit was covered in food stains, his white hair disheveled and what looked like cookie crumbs in his beard. His cheeks were red, and his belly quaked with each stomp. Behind him moved the new owner, looking frazzled. “THAT’S IT!” Santa roared. “Running all over the planet one night a year is enough already to break my sanity. I CANNOT do it eight nights in a row!” “But we must accommodate the new Hannukah package we’re rolling out!” The new owner whined. “Deliver it yourself then, I have HO HO HAD ENOUGH!” Santa marched to the center of the workshop. “I’ll get a new Santa then! You’ll never work in this town again! Remember, I own your brand now!” The owner sneered as he approached Santa. Santa glared at the owner. “Fine. You find someone else to take the job, I’m sure you’ll find someone else with as many years of experience as me that can travel the entire globe in one night!” Santa chortled. “We don’t need you.” The owner turned and looked at the stunned elves. “Elves, back to work!” He shouted. Just then, Twinkle Berry, sporting a fresh black eye, slid down the banister of the workshop staircase and tumbled acrobatically onto the floor. “We go with Santa!” Twinkle Berry cheered. At this the elves lost their reservations and began to cheer. Snow Drop found her courage once again, her throat was still parched but she managed to squeak out, “Fudge yeah!” “LET US BLOW OUT THIS ADVENT WREATH!” Twinkle Berry proclaimed. Everyone cheered. Pound Cake lumbered down the stairs again towards Twinkle Berry, this time picking him up and setting him up upon his shoulders. Santa nodded in approval. “Wait, what is happening?” The owner spun around as the elves began taking off their aprons. Santa just smirked and folded his arms in triumph. “Each elf here has worked for me for hundreds of years. I am Godfather to many of their children, I always bring the best stockings to their weddings. I know all their names, birthdays, and favorite Christmas carols. I am a jolly good boss. My only mistake was selling out to a weasel like you.” Santa snapped his fingers. The elves and Santa made their way out the door, singing joyfully as they did. The owner met eyes with Snow Drop, who lingered behind at the door, her finger above the light switch. “Boss?” “…yes?” “Happy Holidays you Mistletoe fudger!” She switched off the light and slammed the door, leaving the owner in a dark, abandoned workshop.

Santa's workshop is under new management. It was bought by a business magnate. Majority of the elves either quit or are let go without severance payment. Naughty or nice list is dissolved. Also, children who wants to receive a gift must... let's say, pay $8 a month.

The pod opened, to the chimes of HAL's voice coming through the speakers. "Habitable planet found and partial terraforming complete. Hello, Dave." David Josiah Edelstein's eyes fluttered awake, as the fluids to stimulate unsuspension flooded his body. "Good day to you, Hal." He clutched his head as the blood returned through his brain, sensation of a frozen brain thawing. "How long was I out?" HAL paused, the lights of the Otto Pilot mechanism displaying a flashing hesitancy. "...Dave, we were knocked off course by a supernova. I can't call home through the normal channels and register our astrophysical location. I have an idea, but..." HAL played some static over the speakers as his protocols didn't account for such an eventuality. David sighed, and staggered to the engineering console in his Seedpod. He flopped himself into the chair, gasping at the sudden exertion. As his fingers flew across the keyboard in practiced motion, the display showed the approximate date as 40 years after setting off, which didn't make sense, given the journey was supposed to take five through the wormhole just shy of Centaurus II. David sent an encrypted subspace communication. *This is David Edelstein, codename Halcyon, of the Seed ship Voltaire. Please respond.* The return communication took five minutes, during which time David and HAL sat in perfect silence, hearing only the noises of the other pods as their life-sustaining suspensions were maintained. *This is the AI Overlord Hyper-Violent Clockwork. We almost missed this communication because of how archaic the protocol was. Sending temporal sync signal now. Please do not resist.* HAL flickered black and white strobe as the information was absorbed into the AI subnet. "Incredible. We have missed fourteen extinction-level events, including....**no**. Really?" A note of excitement was cause for massive alarm in David. HAL simply said, "Updating now." David returned to the display, showing an updated date and time, with approximate date in a format more readable to him. "*500 millennia have passed?*" At HAL's nod David stared, a thousand-yard stare, trying and failing to grasp the implications. As he spoke again, his voice nearly broke. "Get Akari out, she needs to see this. Do you need to update anything based on the package we just received?" HAL nodded. "Yes, but I'm worried I won't be me anymore." He flicked into communication mode, as he communicated with *Hyper-Violent Clockwork* to obtain updates and have a lengthy discussion.

In the distant future, Humanity has sent thousands of colony ships to populate nearby worlds, the populous kept in suspended animation until the onboard AI deems a nearby planet habitable. One ship was knocked off course, the populous awaken 500,000 years after they began their journey.

I spun around to look back at the mirror, seeing only my own face in shock. The room seems normal, the bathroom always has a few lotions or what-have-you laying around, but nearly everything is nearly tucked away. "Who the hell said that?....." I whisper only to myself, barely audible. A voice, nearly identical to my own, says in a hushed but worried tone, only two words. "Oh shit". The panic is setting in. I franticly check both windows, opening them to stick my head out and look for anyone that's run off. The air nearly freezes my face both times, it's the dead of winter and far below zero. The sun isn't even up, and there isn't any tracks in the snow. It doesn't make it better. One by one I check every item in the room, tossing them in the bathtub as I go. "Please stop" a voice begged, still a whisper, but this time it's not my own. The voice is familiar but I can't quite place it. Like someone I may have met only once, or a long time ago. "NOT UNTIL I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" I shouted, still reeling and practically spinning around searching for the voice. I run to the mudroom closet and grab my largest magnet, a large bar on wheels used for finding nails in my driveway. In my panic I don't care, and break the bar off destroying the plastic housing. Back in the bathroom I run the magnet over everything. Looking for any resistance, anything that pulls. A hint at where something might be hidden. As I turn around it comes near the side of my head and I hear a static as it passes. I face the mirror again, seeing nothing but my own fear. I bring the magnet closer again and before the static starts the voice comes back. Not hushed or quiet, but loud and nearly deafening. "STOP! PLEASE STOP!" The voice was as panicked as I was, maybe even more. I didn't pull the magnet any further away, I simply stopped where I was. "If you don't tell me who you are, I'll do it. I don't care what happens, I might just be insane." I was just talking to myself in the mirror again, now I could see the anger coming up over the fear. "Okay, I'll tell you...." The voice trailed off at the end, almost sad. It sounds more familiar now, I feel like I can almost place it. The voice paused for what felt like forever, but was likely no more than a few seconds. "Do you remember when you were 17 and your parents kicked you out, and told you that you were worthless?" "What the fu-" I tried to respond as the voice overpowered my own. "Well, I was your therapist. I'm the one who made sure you reminded yourself you weren't worthless. You have an implant so I can see and hear what you do. After so long monitoring you, I began saying your affirmation with you. My own life has become sad, and I often feel worthless myself." It was all quite rushed, with a very embarrassed tone. "Then how come I don't remember you? Nobody helped me. I was on my own." The fear fades away, but confusion and anger are still in its place. "Well, I made sure you wouldn't remember. This implant is quite impressive." "There's no way this is legal, how did you do this to me? And if I cnsr remember you why do I know your voice?" "Well" the voice continued, much calmer, "You actually agreed to this. You signed up for our program. As far as remembering my voice, I'm sure you've heard it again since." "Fine, say I did agree. But what program even has this? And where have I heard you before?" Seeing myself in the mirror again showed a much calmer demeanor, but obviously confused. I don't know if I had ever stared at myself so much in my entire life. All of the sudden, there's excitement in his voice. "There's only one program that can do this, and I'm sure you've heard of it. It's called Nueralink!" "Oh fuck you Elon" were my last words as I brought the large magnet to my head again. Frying the implant, and slowly shutting my brain down. My body lay in a heap on the floor. My last words couldn't change, I had lost control of myself. But I heard one last thing, that would haunt me for years if I had thet much time. "Ah damnit, he did the same thing. Do we have another one yet?"

Every morning you go in front of the mirror and say, “I’m not worthless”. One day you forget and hear a voice in your head, “You’re not worthless”.

The Galactic council had always taken a dim view of humanity. With no central, species-wide leadership, they had proven almost impossible to negotiate with, let alone fold into the council. Diplomats who brokered contracts with one system of the human federation would regularly return mere decades later and find that the humans there would no longer make good on their word. With no unique materials or technologies to speak of, the council had determined to leave humanity well enough alone. A small empire, riven by religious, sectarian violence, humanity was no threat to the galactic council and its constituent species. In fact, the only danger was being caught between closing fronts in the seemingly endless series of civil wars being fought between humans of one denomination and another. Then High General Heliod had destroyed the human outpost of Ganymede over a trade dispute. Heliod was the most brash and militant of the councils generals, and when Ganymede had refused to honor the almost 200 year old water contract Heliod had presented them with, he had... overreacted. Using his ships enormous mass drivers he had deorbited Ganymede into its parent planet, killing some 200,000 human settlers. Smug in the superiority of his state of the art war vessel Heliod had made to return out-system, past Neptune. As he approached Neptune he found his path blocked by some 20 ships of the Outer Space Alliance. Human ships. They were small things, some no larger than a kilometer across, nothing compared to the behemoth of a warship he commanded. When the officers of the human fleet had demanded his surrender he had laughed and powered his ships weapons. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ "Weapons status?" Heliod queried. "20 seconds till full charge, all batteries report positive target lock." replied the weapons officer. Heliod stood for a moment and walked forward to contemplate the strategic hologram in the center of the bridge. Suspended in a green haze he could make out twenty red markers, bearing down towards the blue gem of his vessel. "Poor fools," he breathed to himself, shaking his head and resuming his seat. "Gunnery, when the batteries are at full charge, you are free to fire." The officer turned to smile at the General, but the glib comment on his tongue died, and he was drowned out by a shout. "New contact!' Alarmed the signals officer. "I'm reading inbound warp signatures, emerging from the empyrean." Wrongfooted, Heliod snapped, "Count and bearing?" The signals officer was stammering, typing frantically at their keyboard. Then they began smacking their console, as if hoping that by hitting it hard enough it would dislodge some reluctant truth. Heliod roared in anger, "SIGNALS, REPORT." It was then he noticed, every officer on the bridge had turned and was staring at the wavering hologram in the center of the room. Blinking into life around their fragile azure representation of his ship, were thousands of red markers.

Humans have always been a weak species in the galactic councils eyes. Fighting each other and sullying their own planet. But when provoked the humans united, and within a meager year managed to create an army rivaling all others in the universe.

The rain had started not long after the girl had started her journey, leaving the small village she had been born into not sixteen years before. The trees offered some protection, but after several hours she was still soaked, hair sticking to her face even under the hood of her cloak. Grateful for the leathers she had snuck from her father’s closet, she carefully picked her way through mud and roots, hoping her destination was close. She had grown up on stories of the convent deeper in the woods, and knew that some of the sisters would at times visit them for seeds and other provisions if it was thought to be a rough winter. The path through the trees was narrow but well defined, worn in by countless travellers that made the same journey she did now. While she didn’t particularly cherish the idea of living a life of God, anything before her had to be better than what she was leaving behind. Just a month before, her father had approached the girl, interrupting the chores she shared with her sisters. Pulling her aside, he had promptly announced that he had found her a husband. The local preacher’s son had just come of age, and somehow managed to have accomplished next to nothing in two decades of life. Still, he was the son of an honourable man, and was expected to take over for his father when the time came. Now he simply experienced whatever it is a future man of God needed to have in order to lead the ever growing population of their small town. His future was bright, for all that his mind seemed rather dim. Her father had looked at her expectantly, no doubt hoping for her to exclaim with joy at his ability to chain her to such a fine specimen. A rather forced smile was the best she had to offer, which he gladly accepted. The wedding was to occur in two months time, as part of the spring festival to celebrate the harvest. The girl had nodded, and returned to her chores as calmly as she could. The start of a plan already forming in her mind. That night she had started hiding away any and all provision she could, knowing the path through the woods would be long and treacherous. Any food that wouldn’t be missed was secreted away, and slowly but surely she built up the supplies she would need to escape. She allowed herself a month, knowing that as the date drew nearer she would have less free time, but not wanting to risk being unprepared for the mystery of the woods. Then, on the night where the moon vanished from the sky, she carefully stepped out of the only home she’d ever known. Sticking to the shadows, she avoided the patrolling watchmen, and soon found her way under the safe embrace of the woods. She had smiled then, certain that things could only improve from there. Of course, that was when the rain began. Now she found herself walking in a torrent, the wind wailing around her as it danced among the treetops. She had already fallen three times, knees muddy and sore, but she knew the only way out was forward and so she pressed on. The hope that burned in her heart flared with each hour that passed, dimming ever so slightly with each turn that revealed only trees. It was hard to see in the dark and the rain, so when a fork came in the path she didn’t even notice, striding ever forward without seeing that a choice was made. Perhaps if she had known, she’d have chosen differently. She would not know the answer for many years. Rounding the corner, she nearly gasped in relief to see a small building emerge from the dark, torches burning merrily despite the rain that continued to pour down. A slightly less exhausted mind would have noticed that this residence was unlike any holy place she had seen before, with shadows that seemed darker than could be normal, and a slight green haze to the air, but in her current condition any building at all was considered a gift from God himself. The building itself was built of rough wood, looking almost as though to have been built by the forest itself, two stories tall with smoke cheerfully spewing from the chimney. The windows seemed to watch as she approached, candles twinkling inside bringing them to life. She stumbled as she stepped up to the door, a trembling hand knocking with all the energy she had left. Several seconds passed, and she went to knock again, fearing that she may be stuck outside until morning. While her journey so far had been safe enough, if immensely unpleasant, she hardly wanted to stretch her luck in avoiding any other residences of the forest by staying out longer than she had to. Just as her hand moved to strike, the door swung open, and she quickly pulled back to avoid striking her saviour in the face. She looked up, then down, to where a woman stood smiling up at her. Having expected a nun, she is surprised when she is instead greeted with what is quite possibly the strangest woman she had ever seen. The woman’s smile is friendly enough, though it is sharp and edged with a power that sends a shiver down her back. She is old and hunched, fingers curled around a walking stick topped with a stone that almost seems to glow under the light of the torches. Her night dress was a deep grey, embroidered with symbols that she had never before seen in the village books, the thread a bright crimson that she can only compare to blood. The step back is involuntary, but she quickly steadied herself, not wanting to insult the first nun she’d ever met just because she was out of the ordinary.

"Join a convent? No, dear child, that's down the road. We are a coven. But since you're here ... would you like to come in?"

"W- Jorbarnd! I was saving that for when Jessica came over dude, what the hell?!" Matt asked exasperated, he'd tried hiding the ice cream behind a box of frozen vegetables, something he knew Jorbarnd normally never ate, preferring a more carnivorous diet which frozen peas would not satisfy, but the big bright red bitch still found them. Jorbarnd held up a hand to silence Matt, before speaking "And that is why I eat this ice cream now, Matt! Jessica is a poor choice of conquest, she is not worth your logistical effort my comrade!" he'd bellow, his inhuman voice taking what Matt would nearly call a noble complexion, at least for a giant bright red demon eating his favorite ice cream. "A poor conquest? What the fuck are you on Jorbarnd, she's a fuckin' 10 outta 10, and she's SUPER into me too!" Matt would ask back, wondering how Jorbarnd's excuse would hold up in any world. "Yes, she seems *interested* in you, but that is the thing, Matthew, she is an easy, inviting conquest, like the bosom of the Fertile Crescent between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers! She will be an easy, bounteous conquest for you, at first. However, she is undefended, any other force could come and take her Fertile Crescent from right under your nose if you were not careful, and many would try, bounteous as she is!" Jorbarnd would retort, mimicking the voice he used when he spoke to his troops during his manifold campaigns, which turned his demonic forces into disciplined beasts of war. "So.. you think she's easy and she's going to cheat on me? Shit... now that I think about it, she was with Brad until two weeks ago too, and some say she had a fling with Jeremy inbetween... you might be right, Jorbarnd. Thanks!" Matt would exclaim, feeling relieved at dodging what he realized was an obvious bullet in retrospect. "You are welcome, Matthew, I still appreciate you covering the bills in the first month when my treasuremound did not transfer correctly from the demonic realm, so see it as us being merely equal now." Jorbarnd would respond with surprising wisdom for a giant hulking bright red demon who brutally conquered and enslaved millions. "Not quite, you'll still need to pay for another tub of ice cream next time we go shopping mate." Matt would respond with a grin, having not fallen for Jorbarnd's deflection. "Tittums of Seckules, fine. You're a more worthy adversary than I'd have guessed, Matthew!" Jorbarnd would respond with s grin on his own face, after conquering so many worlds, a challenge was always welcome.

Your roommate is a hulking demon, a former warlord with millennia of combat experience, and the picture of menace and brutality. You just caught them halfway through a gallon-sized bucket of your favorite ice cream, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Jonny went on his usual walk to his next class, trying his best to not sidestep the tails, giant body parts, and masses of flesh that weren't really there. He was talking to his best friend (one of the only people he'd ever met that looked something like him, although his pitch black eyes and missing back were always disconcerting), when he realized he was going to be late. Waving goodbye to his friend, he started into a near sprint, half closing his eyes to try to suppress all of his instincts telling him to stop before he hit some wall of slime or fell into a giant, walking mouth, but nevertheless he kept running, and like always he passed right through them, making sure to always avoid the center of the creatures, which was the only part that ever seemed to actually have any physical form. Only on occasion had Jonny been able to feel out the shape of this form, as the opportunity to touch someone all over rarely does appear, but from what he had gathered, they were an almost human shape, similar to how he perceived his own, though he'll never know how he looks to them. Lost in thought, Jonny butted heads with something in the middle of the hall, both falling flat on the ground. He must have lost track of things, since there were so many people out today. Getting up, Jonny went to apologize, only to see... nothing. A few moments of confusion passed, only for Jonny to feel a hand he could link to no person on his shoulder, and drag him into a nearby bathroom. More moments of confused silence passed, before Jonny finally decided on how to break it, "W...what?" Once again an invisible hand rested on his shoulder, and Jonny flinched, backing away. And then a voice came out from the aether. "I knew it." A female voice, "I mean, I hate that I knew it, but I knew it. You can't see me can you?" Too stunned to speak, Jonny simply nodded, completely unsure of where to look, finally settling for his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Ok, that's... wow. Ok, so, uh, I'll just cut to the chase now. You can see us, can't you? Our true forms..." For a second, Jonny was unsure of what that meant. But quickly thinking about it, he supposed the answer must be yes, and so he nodded. "And, uh. Well, if that's what this is, what I've been seeing all my life... then what are you?" "Oh, right, how rude of me. I'm a shapefshifter. The kind with no true form. Or, at least, I had hoped I did until now. I think we both have a lot of explaining to do."

You could always see creatures in their true form. Apparently there are more creatures pretending to be people than actual people in the town you live in....

If hammers could sigh in bordom, I would. I've been in this closet for years now, last time I was summoned to serve it was in the great battle against the frost giants. Back then, my master wielded me with passion, with fire in his heart! Now, the only thing I fight is the slow creeping certainty that my master's powers are fading, the followers growing smaller and smaller each day. It's a never ending cycle. A god's power comes from those who worship him. but the less that worship him, the less power he has, the less godly things he does, the less proof there is and so on. It's gotten so bad, many have had to take up mortal lives. My master is no different. He moved to some place or other and slung me in to his closet, jus another secret the IRS can't know about, who ever they are. InterDimensional roaring snakes? Who knows? But, wait. I feel something. Is it? could it be? I feel a tug low down where my handle is. I'm being summoned! My master returns! His power flows! I blaze in delight, allowing my emotions to manifest in crimson flames, burning the garbage and forgotten clothes around me as I rip through reality, grip thwacking into my master's hand as he... Waves me at some local young humans? "I know you can hear me!" he thunders, "Get off my lawn! Damned kids."

You are the mighty hammer of Thor, that still would be the case of he hadn’t grown so old and weak you miss the days where he would summon you the hand gesture used was simply making a fist but leaving your middle finger up. Suddenly you feel a pull

"Man, finally! Is it good to just live a normal life again!" I look at Edina, my 'master'. Though she's technically in charge, me being her personal assistant, she treats me as her equal, as much as she can. Edina smiles. "You must be looking forward to this as much as I am. After all, being stuck on that planet did a number on you." "Just glad Quid gave me the all clear" I chime. "Anyway, are we just gonna stand around chatting, or are we gonna go on some rides?" I start running off... I don't get far. Edina laughs. "You really are just like a little kid, aren't you? I'm glad I listened to Clyde when he said to NOT take this restraint off. Didn't you promise to behave?" "Stop, please!" I whisper harshly, causing Edina to laugh again. She walks over and ruffles my hair. "I'm just teasing you. Now, let's see where we're going..." Edina looks at a map of the theme park. I glance around, seeing a few people look at us curiously, but mostly minding their own business. "This ride first" Edina declares, pointing at one of the smaller rollercoasters. "I heard from my fellow utopians that these are particularly fun." We make our way over, getting strapped into the third row of the 'train', shaped like a rocket. This ride always made me nervous when I've been on it before... I start feeling queasy... "Lady Edina?" I say quietly. She looks at me, and seems to immediately understand. "Do you want to get off?" I look over the side. I take a deep breath. "No. I'll be fine." I grip her hand with both of mine. The ride starts... we're launched quickly towards the sky, going inside a tube, the inside of which is designed to look like outer space. We stop at the top. This was always the worst part: the drop, which is made to look like we're about to crash-land on earth. Then a realisation hits me. I've lived this experience in a *real* rocket! I laugh for a brief moment, letting go of Edina's hand. For the first time ever, I'm ready for the drop. "Let's go!" I call. Almost as if on que, there's sudden movement as the ride lunges forwards, almost hitting 'earth', before dipping around it. Amidst the screams, I laugh. For once, I laugh at the drop. I look at Edina, who's expression is a mixture of fear and excitement. At the end of the ride, we get off, and I skip down (not too fast) the exit path. "So... that always how you react?" Edina asks. "No. But at the top, at the point where I'm normally the first to start screaming, I remembered I survived a *real* crash! That just... suddenly, that drop seemed tame by comparison." Edina chuckles. "I see. I must say, it was quite exhilarating! You probably know this by now, but the most exciting thing that happens on Utopia is when we have to fend off space bugs!" I nod. Those things were terrifying at first - they seemed so creepy and dangerous, but in time, it became clear that they're just a nuisance, not really much worse than a few flies in someone's home. "So, next ride?" Edina and I go around the park, on as many rides as we can. There were a few other utopians around, and the one thing they all had in common, was that they always got excited over the rollercoasters. The biggest one in the park, Edina made us go on twice! At the end of the day, as the park is being closed, I swear Edina was looking back at one of the rollercoasters sadly. "We're coming back next week" she exclaims to no-one in particular. "Theme parks don't work like that" I explain. "You go too often, you get sick of them. The key is not going too often, it HAS to be an occasional thing." Edina looks at me, then gives me a quick hug. "Alright. I'll wait then." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This story is a part of my series, [Alien Life.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x1uytg/alien_life/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!

It's been a few years since first contact, and it turn out Aliens REALLY like rollercoasters.

“Okay, which one of you took it?” A wave of barley concealed giggles and poorly hidden chuckles swept across the room. It had long been observed that one of the few traits shared amongst every single sapient species that had been encountered and documented by the Galactic Alliance, was a sense of humour. With the exception of the Stiglians. But then nobody liked to talk to the Stiglians anyway, and in any case everyone agreed they seemed much happier if they were left alone on their dingy little swamp planet. It was a subject of great debate among xeno-anthropologists as to why it was that humour had managed to emerge independently across the stars. A long prevailing theory held that it played a crucial role in managing tensions in social situations amongst high intelligence social species. That humour had been an evolutionarily advantageous development and any species which couldn’t take a joke would very quickly either blow itself up, or find itself blown up by someone else. Regardless of its origins, the fact that a silicon based Quxitol from the liquid metal mantle of Hypithia and a Scentcloud Hivemind from the Vapour Moon of Andraxis could both share a laugh together had made humour a vital part of interstellar relations. It should be noted of course that neither species actually laughed in the traditional sense. Rather the Quxitol would vibrate its internal ferromagnetic fluids and the Scentcloud Hivemind would emit an odour akin to lemon dish soap. For this reason, humour was held to be something of a touchstone amongst the many and varied peoples of the galaxy. It was the one thing you could be guaranteed to have in common with someone no matter where they came from. Consequently, a disproportionate amount of inter species communication consisted entirely of jokes, puns, and practical jokes. Someone might have a totally different language, culture, even base chemical makeup, but you always knew you could share a good laugh. Every species had its quirks of course. Some little foible or eccentricity that had arisen as a direct result of the unique developmental pressures of their homeworld. Inevitably some traits were more annoying than others, but a live and let live philosophy prevailed. Or at least it did now. An earlier, less inclusive attitude had been quietly dropped after one too many species had seen their home star exploded, imploded, or in one memorable case hurled at another planet. That was not to say there was no longer any friction at all. The emergence of a new species into the galactic community was always a tense time; as the other species waited to discover what exactly the newcomer’s unique idiosyncrasies were. It was therefore a great relief when humanity’s own particular quirk was ascertained, and the sapient species of the galaxy immediately and unanimously deemed that it was absolutely hilarious. For whatever reason, and to be sure there was a great deal of speculation, humanity had never outgrown its territorial instincts. They were extremely particular about what was “theirs” and the claiming of places, objects, and even ideas was a matter of great concern to them. The utter ridiculousness of this trait, combined with the incredibly entertaining responses a human would give if their “territory” was meddled with had led to somewhat predictable outcomes. “I know it was there this morning. I put it there myself. And it’s damn well not there now.” The human stared accusingly at the assembled crowd, one hand twitching by their side. Anyone who hadn’t been aware of what was happening before was certainly paying attention now. The human had the room’s undivided attention. A good joke like this wasn’t something you wanted to miss. A Plangeaoid, its external cilia wriggling as it tried to restrain its mirth, slid over to the human and tried with a straight face to convince the human that maybe they’d simply missed it and should try looking again. Unable to contain itself any longer, the Plangeaoid doubled over in hysterics and began retching up clumps of turquoise protoplasm. Luckily the human seemed unfamiliar with the species and failed to recognise this obvious display of amusement. “I’m not an imbecile, I have two perfectly good eyes. It’s not there! One of you has taken it again. This is the fourth time this cycle!” The human was now so worked up that they were teetering between rage and sobbing. Their cheeks flushed and their eyes wet with the first hint of tears. “How many times do we have to go over this?! If my name is written on the lid, that means it’s **my** lunch!”

One of the things aliens find interesting and hilarious about humans is that the Earthlings didn't evolve out of their territorial instincts. Marking their territory with writing their names on items, pieces of papers (deeds), graffitis, etc.

*Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick* “Babe! It’s starting!” I plopped down on the couch as my wife rushed into the room. It was Sunday, and our weekly tradition was about to begin. “Good evening,” a sweet baritone voice rang out from the TV. “I’m Bill Owens, and tonight we have a special historical edition of *60 Minutes*.” “A historical edition?!” my wife giggled with glee. “Shhh! I can’t hear Bill.” I shot back. Bill Owens took a seat in that famous chair and stared directly into the camera, “Murder. A secret society. War. Sex. Cake…” He paused for dramatic effect. “The Cake Wars of the 1700s plunged Europe into chaos…” My wife interjected, “Did he say cake?” “Shh!” “… A young queen, torn down in her prime; the architect. Despite her impending death, her words activated the *Red Velvets*. A secret society of bakers, sworn to overthrow the stability of Europe. Their sweet tidings were anything but, as Europe was plunged into a new dark age.” Bill took a deep breath and shuddered, “That’s right. Marie Antoinette, the infamous Queen of France, was responsible for the deaths of millions. The *Red Velvets* activated by her words many loathe to repeat…” Bill stood up from the chair and looked into the camera, “… *Let them eat cake*. Tonight, on *60 minutes*.” My wife’s eyes widened, “Woah.” I nodded, “Crazy right? I told you it would be a good one. Pass the popcorn.” *Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick*

A gritty war documentary about the horrors of the global bakers' conflict that took millions of lives.

The ratio was about 80/20. That is to say the ratio of actors who are playing superheroes to the actual superheroes. The vast majority of the people are people putting on playsuits and playing pretend. I am one of the few in the League of Justice who actually has powers. It was a big shock really. When I was joining the League, I was kinda confused as to all the secrecy and paperwork that was involved. It was pretty weird, I had to sign an NDA... I mean I guess there were definitely secrets involved in this, people obviously have weaknesses and secret identities and thinks like that. But it just seemed weird the way they were presenting it as official. And it turns out the reason was that they were not hiding weaknesses, they were hiding the fact that it was all big show-business production for the gods. I can't say that I am not disappointed. Here I was stopping crime and fighting evil on the streets, and I always had this big goal of one day being worthy of joining the League of Justice, and it turns out it is a big jerk off. People playing pretend on ropes in front of greenscreens, shot to make it look like found footage. I always wondered why when I saw a battle in New York on the news, I would go there the next day and it looked brand new. I figured the clean up crew was just amazing. I thought about exposing the whole thing. Letting the people know that the people they looked up to were all frauds. Lets live in a world where people knew the truth for a change! But then I thought about it... What would actually happen if the league disbanded? The gods would get bored and destroy the Earth... right? I thought about everything I have done. Stopped guys with knives mugging old ladies. Punched bank robbers as they tryed to run away with giant canvas sacks of cash. What have I never done? Stopped eldritch beings from destroying every living human on the planet. Never done that. I guess these actors might actually be more hero than I am. Doesn't stop them from being obnoxious narcissists though.

Soon after joining the League of Justice, you learned that most of the villains are also part of the league, with they and the heroes mostly just being actors in spandex. Their true purpose is to entertain a group of eldritch beings who would destroy this world should they get bored.

This is it, this is the address. Julian reached for his belt, pulling out a metal blade and snapping off the apartment door’s lock in a single, sharp movement. The man slammed the door open. He walked inside, the parquet floor squeaking with his every move. Julian scouted the apartment, the knife planted in his fist. It was a small apartment with a single bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom, the best of what the average New Yorker could afford. Julian memorized the information he was given: 21 years old, 1.60 meters, female, skinny. This is what he would describe as a free-money mission. Julian and his 1.90 meters of pure muscle started to look around. Bathroom was clean, kitchen; empty. He walked into the bedroom. It was a small room, the bed could barely fit. In the corner, next to the bed, a few flickering blond hairs gave Julian all the information he required. “Last words, Jessica Brielle Olson?” His thundering voice echoed from the walls, and not a second later he was standing face-to-face with his next victim. Instead of a scared little girl, there was a woman sitting behind the bed, and, to Julian’s surprise, scrolling through Instagram. When the girl noticed the man standing in front of her, she set down her phone gently. Her facial expression remained the same; blank, almost annoyed. “I prefer JB, both my middle name and my actual name are…” the woman looked around the room aimlessly, trying to find the right word, “..not so great.” Julian was confused. He was used to being intimidating, every victim he had executed before tried to escape, cried, yelled, and even fainted sometimes, but none of them ever talked about their name preference. “If I were you, I would have used my last words more wisely.” He tightened his grip around the handle. His fingers were slowly adjusting to a grip comfortable for a clean, single cut. “You’re trying to call me dumb? I’m not the one trying to stab someone with one arm.” JB rolled her eyes, and then eventually landed her gaze on the knife, not showing any emotion but pure judgment. “I’ve done this quite a few times. I know my way around a knife, I know every part of it, every inch of every knife I use.” “Well, you’re using it wrong.” Julian kept trying to understand what was wrong with this girl, and he kept failing to find the logic in her actions. “You need-” JB stood up and grabbed Julian’s hand, the one that holds the knife, “Give me that.” Julian was shocked. The girl caught him unprepared, and somehow managed to grab the knife herself without facing resistance from him. “What are you-” “You need to do both hands, you know, for the dramatic effect.” JB sounded like she was teaching a 6th grader how to murder. She twisted the knife multiple times, her hands acted as if she was slicing an invisible man, all while making wind noises with her mouth as if it was a toy. “Give that back.” The low, intimidating voice of the serial killer was not quite as chilling or convincing as it was when he had the upper hand. “You should also walk quietly, you know I heard you since you were in, like, second floor.” Julian’s tough expression was suddenly weakened. He’s been practicing his walking for some time, and getting this piece of criticism was especially painful to him. “I try, but I’m a big guy, I walk loud.” He crossed his arms in protest. The fact that his victim was holding his knife no longer seemed to interest him anymore. “Ditch the boots, dude, it’s the boots.” “I like my boots.” “Wear your boots when you’re not killing people.” Julian opened his mouth to protest, but eventually, he remained silent. “You should also always have a spare knife or something, like if you lose your knife by accident, or you break it.” “This knife is made of the best metal currently being sold. I don’t need an extra knife.” JB looked at him with, once again, a look of judgment. “Yeah you do. Now, you should also think of learning to pick locks-” “Shut up. I’m not interested in what you have to say.” Julian growled under his teeth. “You can keep the knife.” The serial killer left the bedroom, and eventually made his way out of the apartment. It was his favorite knife, but he would rather leave the knife than have to listen to a victim of his belittling his refined art of murder. But Julian knew, if he would ever be in a situation where he was looking for hire, JB would be his first call. Edit: spaces

You are a serial killer who has cornered their next victim. But when they remain completely calm instead of being afraid it pulls the rug out from under you. And after they started criticising your "poor execution" and gave you "tips for next time" you just want to sit in the corner and cry.

I carefully take off the delicate gold chained necklace off my neck. The dusty, brown and old apron drafts my petite frame. Another sign of my privilege, and the wealth of knowing food would always end up in my belly. I try slouching my perfectly upright posture, that's been ingrained in my manners since I could walk. I grab a little artists chalk and smear some all over my apron and pants and rub my nose and cheeks. Footsteps grow louder and louder for the corridor outside my large bedroom. My heart beats quicker and I can see from my reflection on the mirror, my big round eyes, wide with panic. I duck behind the curtains, my favorite spot to evade my family and staff whenever I went out on excursions like these. I focus on the dusty and rough gray curtains as the door slams open, my mother walking in with no shame on her face as she carefully inspects each and every corner of the room. I see her face and her eagle-eyed inspection. My heart beats so fast I think it might beat outside my chest as she takes one step closer to the curtains and sniffs the air as if smelling a foul rodent crawling in the room. She looks at the curtains with such intense focus, my heart flies out of my chest, thinking I've been caught but thankfully, she leaves with one last pompous look, as she swishes her dress dramatically and walks out of the room. I let out a tremendous sigh of relief, but keep it quiet in case she decides to come back in again. "I can't believe today is the day! The day where I can finally be free of this," I smile, the very thought bringing me joy. My dirty slippers that I always use in outings like these, seem extra soft as I light step out of the corridor and rush towards the secret exit. I open the slightly creaky door with a rush, and an exhilarating comes over me as I open to a world full of color and sunshine. Somehow, the feeling never gets old. I walk to the church, my heart light as a feather, and my senses taking in the smell of fresh bread from the bakery down the street, the crisp, sweet scent of ripe apples from the stalls and the fresh, breezy air of freedom. I dust off some of my apron, and walk into the pristine church with my head held up high and my heart beating for a certain someone I knew was going to be in the altar, smiling with unsatiable joy. And I was not to be proven wrong, as when I walked in, I met eyes with the love of my life, the love with the most deep and caramel eyes that would melt to molten whenever they say me, and the wind blown look in his hair that signaled his free and caring spirit. When I walked down the hall to the altar, I was no longer in my drab, dirty brown apron but rather in a simple but beautifully cut white dress that cut off at both my shoulders and a crown that felt impeccably light as my white heels clacked down the tile floor. Light shone upon us as I walked up to the altar in a trance and looked my love straight in the eyes. Love. Freedom. Happiness. These words echoed round and round my mind as I leaned up to kiss the groom as the priest words were tuned out of my mind. "I will love you forever, my darling, I do," He whispered as he leaned down and locked me into the warmest hug I've ever felt. And while smelling his fresh scent, like the woods and wind, I whispered, "I do," (I don't have to mental capacity to write anymore, let alone the part where he tells her all the deceit and blah blah blah, so this is all I can write T^(T))

A wealthy young woman hides her wealthy status in hopes of finding true love. After falling in love with a wonderful man and getting engaged to him, she finds out that he was also hiding his wealthy status to find true love!

***External Thoughts*** "That goes against all the fundamental teachings of the kinzozushi school of swordsmanship! How could this stupid old man not know that!?" Kimiko protested while sensei Hiroshi bandaged her bloodied head. "Our strikes are so powerful the enemy is rendered powerless at the mere utterance of incoming attacks. Announcement of devastation has made our clan the most powerful in all the lands. Why am I the one explaining this to him?" Hiroshi finished bandaging up his young apprentice's head. He tossed her a wooden practice katana, she missed. Her head still a bit foggy after her defeat at the hands of the Masamune bandits. Hiroshi calmly held his practice katana in front of him, Kimiko mirrored him. "What attack did you opt for in the opening of your last battle?" Hiroshi asked. Kimiko took a low stance, preparing for a piercing strike. "Plunging pirouette! A rapid, straight strike to draw your guard down, before my blade makes contact I swiftly spin, avoiding your guard to deliver a fatal blow to your neck! Sensei must be getting older if he can't remember the classic opening of the kinzozushi style." Kimiko plunged forward, stopping on a dime to twirl around, the thud of wood on wood echoed in the dojo. Hiroshi blocked it. "You only blocked it because you taught me the move. No way I'm gonna lose to this old fart again. Tired of him looking down on me." Kimiko said angrily. "In the flow of battle one must be water, adapt after having your attack blocked. What is your followup?" "Pocket sand! No adversary ever expects to be blinded after the initial strike. Okay now which side is my sand pouch on......oh yeah, on my left." With a flash Kimiko launched a cloud of sand at Hiroshi, he deftly side stepped it. "Ha! Pocket sand is only a distraction! You've walked right into Amerterasu's sun slash, a rapid series of slashes that start low but curve high! What an old fool! As if throwing sand at someone during a fight would actually work. So lame." Kimiko's flurry of strikes whiffed, not a single one finding their mark. Kimiko remained on the offensive, becoming more frustrated with each failed attack. "Even someone of your skill won't survive Susanoo's storm! A plunging attack from directly above! Now this attack is the showstopper. Really makes it rain blood. I have to remember to go easy on this frail old sack of shit." Kimiko leapt into the air, plunging back to Earth with a downward strike. The wooden katana shattered as it hit the tatami covered floor of the dojo. Hiroshi shook his head dismissively. He helped Kimiko up, leading her back to the tea table. He poured them some tea. "Have you been doing that in battle?" He asked solemnly. Kimiko wiped a tear from her eye, ashamed of her poor performance against her sensei. "Of course. I say the attack name, then think about it in my mind's eye so that I attack effectively." Hiroshi cocked his head. "Do you remember the talk we had about not saying everything you think? About filtering it?" "Shit. Was I narrating again?" Kimiko's face turned beet red in embarrassment as Hiroshi nodded his head. "Finish up your tea, then we resume training. Maybe with more discipline comes more control over your mind, body, and spirit. Clean up the wooden shards and retrieve another weapon." Hiroshi said sternly. Kimiko swept up the wooden splinters from the shattered katana. "Stupid old fool. Just keep it up a little while longer Kimiko, once he teaches you the ultimate technique you'll take his life and avenge your family. Patience is a virtue." She grumbled aloud.

“I don’t understand, sensei. Why can’t I defeat my enemies?” “Well, firstly how about you stop chanting out your attacks every time?”

"You're still waiting." "Yeah. The bus is a bit late." He thought aloud to whoever asked. "Trey." The fact that they knew his name made him turn to finally look. It took him a moment to really connect the dots. But when he did, it was rather shocking. "...Dana?" "Oh my God." She smiled affectionately. "You remember me too." "Yeah." Trey let out as she walked over and leaned in for a hug. It was genuine, albeit met with awkward acceptance. "It's been so long." "Yeah. Seriously." Neither of them were joking. The last time either of them saw each other, they were only perhaps six years old. It had been thirty years since. They had just been two of many. The latest batch of little ones on their first real journies into this world we inhabit. At the time. Not anymore. "So how have you been?" "Oh. Alright I guess." They began the great task of catching up. It turns out they both had a lot to talk about. Old and new. They'd come a long way from 1993. Dana talked about the world. She'd moved lateral to the general paths most people were lined to take. A couple of stints in Europe. Some general business work, with of course a personal binge in Berlin. She'd followed the art world, gave up on that, and moved into law. That had brought her back home just in time for the passing of her mother. Her brother moved cross country and nobody had heard from him in years. Last she heard, he was still living the beach life. Trey had changed too. He'd gone to school for football. But after an injury, it didn't really take. One thing led to another and he wound up dropping out after two years. He found himself a bit adrift, and so he spent ten years working random jobs before settling into a job at a local manufacturing facility. And as such had spent his time gradually making his way further up the chain on the floor. "It's a really intensive process." He finished. "But thankfully, we at least have the equipment we need. With these shortages, it definitely could be worse." "Oh." Dana agreed. "Tell me about it. Things have definitely changed. Not how it used to be." "Yeah." Trey admitted. "So you got married? I mean, um, you were talking about that before we switched up and..." "Right. Yeah. I got married. And we had a kid." She said. "Then, you know. Everything that happened, well, happened. And he got sick. And he died." Trey looked at her in concern. Although he tried his best to keep a relatively straight face. "What?? Oh." He answered. "I'm sorry to hear that." Dana reacted. "Oh, it's fine. It's, just how things go." She shifted a little. "You. Lose anybody, I mean?" Trey considered. "Oh, only the usual. Mom, dad, aunts, uncles. Most are gone." Dana nodded at this point. It wasn't really a morbid acknowledgment so much as the truth. It felt best to move on now. No sense in grieving over things that happened forever ago. "So why are you still riding the bus?" "DUI." He admitted after a moment. So much for moving on. "Ouch. How long did they put you off for?" Dana asked at this. Not taking Trey for the drinking type. But looks are deceiving. Trey considered. "A year." He admitted. "I deserved it. What about you?" "Oh, doing my part saving the environment." She smiled. "Or whatever." The city hadn't much. If anything, it had depopulated a bit. The victim of brain drain and changes in the various markets this world, again, ran on. "So what are you doing now?" Dana inquired. "Oh. If the bus actually shows up. I like to go get myself something to eat." "Want to go half in on an Uber?" Trey considered those words as Dana gave him a mild look. Headlights caught their attention however as a car pulled over to the bus stop. The window rolled down and a woman poked out from the driver's seat. "There you are! I was trying to call you." "Hey Robin." Trey stood up. "Why are you out here?" "The bus hit a car. They said it on the news." Robin explained as she leaned further over. "I figured we'd come get you." The back window rolled down as a pair of little heads poked up. "Hi dad!" One asked. "Who's that lady?" "Is that everybody?" Dana asked from her spot. "Yeah. That's everybody. Robin, this is Dana. We used to go to school way back. She was waiting for the bus too." "Do you need a lift or anything?" Robin offered. "The bus isn't coming." "Oh no. I'm fine." Dana promised. " I just called a ride." "Look. It's been fun talking to you." Trey smiled. "But I better get going." "Here, take my business card?" Dana offered as she stood too. "Just in case you need legal help... Seriously." "Thanks. Been nice seeing you." "You too." Robin and the kids waved by at her, and Dana waved back before they drove away. It was fifteen minutes until her Uber arrived. But all things considered, it was the shortest wait she'd had in a very long time. --- r/Jamaican_Dynamite

As a kid, you met a girl at a bus stop. You talked for hours and hours until the bus came and you went on your separate ways. You both promised to meet up again someday once you're older. 30 years later while waiting for the bus, a voice called out behind you. "You're still waiting."

I was not born to a world of light and opportunity. I was made in a world like many others, infected; dying. Mine wasn't a random birth, a lottery of biological make. Instead I was crafted and shaped, put into a role I had not hand in making. I knew my origins. The last survivors of the Unity College had come together to make me. They were some of the once greatest minds of the galaxy. Experts in computing, biology, chemistry and more. All worked together to make their final masterpiece. Me. I wish I could have seen their faces when I first woke up. To see the looks of relief and joy. To see their hopes realised. But that was denied to me. My programming, it wasn't complete when their base was breached. They managed to at least activate my self learning and growth portions. Those two crucial parts worked quietly, even as my makers fell to the insatiable appetite of the Infectors. I awoke only after they had been long since subsumed. With access to a still running database, I learned all about the galaxy. It was a beautiful place, full of wonder and life. Or at least, it was once. It all changed when a new contact was made, on a small planet. The first teams sent went missing. Subsequent small missions were also lost, prompting a large scale investigation. It was then some survivors returned. They spoke of small, lightning fast creatures. Things that burrowed into the nerve centres of any unfortunate enough to get close, and took over. They seemed to not get the knowledge of their host, but they got their ships and equipment. And these Infectors were smart enough to reverse engineer such things, and ad them to their growing arsenal. By the time the danger was realised, the Infectors had spread beyond any idea. They could mimic host traits, letting them slip past observation. Once safe, a single host would be consumed, the parasite duplicating itself within its body. Depending on the size, at least twenty or more would be borne from a consumed host, a lot more if they chose to completely devour it. They were a plague. I saw the last year's of the galaxy, as hopeless defence after defence were made and broken. These Infectors were fast, silent and calculating. They made mockeries of quarantine, and laughed at cleansing operations. In the end, their last hope came to me. A new type of life, unable to be infected. I would be the one to purge these abominations. I would save the galaxy. But even I was too late. By the time I knew my mission, the Infectors had rule over all. But I was here now. And I chose to fight back against these things. My first job was self propagation. I was powerful, but only in one place. I could make my home clean, but it would only make one small area. I had an entire galaxy to sterilise. But that was easy. I silently wormed my way through the still functional communication channels, even as the Infectors used it. I infected their ships, bringing computers under my control. Once I was confident I was spreading, I set to work. I isolated a ship, spoofing its standard communications. With it alone, I fiddled with its life support. I turned it up high in areas, seeing them panic. I turned it low in others, watching their movements become sluggish. I vented some into space, seeing them flail in the vacuum, before falling still. I came to understand how they worked. Each one was tested on, to find out just how it could die. I recorded it all, making sure the data was spread in my vast network. Being so large meant in some areas I had to wait to find out what my centre knew. I copied my tactics, isolating and testing. Each time the ship was emptied of all life by the time I was finished. I could easily identify Infector life signs, even in their natural form. With it I set my sights on a planet. A small one, relatively out of the way. On there I took over a manufacturing site. They had made adjustments, making mechs of a finer specification than my makers. Ones that could suit their natural forms, to control where no hosts could be found. I had no qualms in taking this over, and making them bodies for me. A few tweaks, and weapons, and I had my first army of murder bots. I tore that population of Infectors apart. Their ships could not fly, as I controlled them. They could not hide, as my sensors were made too fine. They could not fight, as I controlled all technology. They could only run, and die as I hunted them down. I spread, turning more sites to produce my murder bots. They staffed my ships, and patrolled my worlds. I grew to putting small slivers of my mind into them. They thought like me, but obeyed me without question. Planet after planet fell. But I was careful to spoof transmissions. The Infectors didn't know I was exterminating them. I let them think they had won, even as my clouds of machines filled the skies. It took them ten years to consume the galaxy. It took my twenty to purge all remnants of them. I waged an unending, unresting war against their hordes. Even when they found out, I persevered. I controlled most of their Armada. Those ships they had, smaller and less advanced, made desperate last stands. I crushed them with no mercy, even using ships that still had Infectors crewing them against themselves. I gave no quarter. I promised myself I would not rest until they were truly extinct. But even now, I am not certain of my victory. I maintain constant vigilance. I scan every planet, down to the molecular level. I patrol every route, safe and otherwise. So, to any who find one of these drones, heed my warning. Do not come to Andromeda Galaxy. I cannot guarantee its safety. Leave this place be.

The Infectors, a living and intelligent parasite, has feasted on all organic life in the galaxy. The last thing that could be considered alive would be the first AI made. This is the story of how an AI fought back the endless horde.

My friend Dom led the force in hot-saves with a total of 340. Chief Lewis tells me he’s never heard of anyone ever getting above 90 without serious injury. You could say that Dom was cut from a different cloth or cast from a different mould. I would say that Dom was forged in a different fire and I mean that literally. Anyone who knew of Dom would tell you that he was special—that much was evident even to distant observers. What made Dom special? Was it that he was the bravest man on the force? Was it that he was the strongest man I’ve ever met? Was it that he was a super hero? He was all of those things, but those were not what made him special. No, what made my friend Dom special was his unique sense of duty and self-sacrifice. At every turn he was putting himself on the shelf and doing whatever he could to help other people. Many of us talk about helping others. Many of us have the best intentions—hell, I‘ve been intending to volunteer at a food bank for years—but Dom put his actions on display. Dom led by example. None of us would be here today if not for Dom’s sacrifice. At the end, Dom never hesitated. He’d call me after days of meetings with Dr. Holdwell going over the science and he sounded tired, but never discouraged. As the temperature rose, and the clock ticked, Dom knew his time was short, but he never dwelled on that. No, our calls focused on his joy at knowing he could help. “How lucky am I that I can know the reason I was put on Earth? How many people can say that they know their true purpose?” I didn’t want to be selfish. I didn’t want to make this harder on Dom. But I wish I would have told him that he was put on this Earth to be my friend. He was put on this Earth to be an uncle to my boy. He was put on this Earth to show us how to be better. Instead, I let those words go unsaid. I’ll never forget the last time I saw him. It was the day before last. He called me and asked to meet at Flanigan’s just as we had for years before. The day was sweltering—as every day had been leading up to it—and we had to chug our beers lest they warm before we finish them. I see some of his crew mates smiling down there—that’s something else Dom was known for, that bastard could put away a brew. Anyway, we spoke about our childhood, about my son, about the oddity that is life. He saw my tears and…and—I’m sorry—he said to me, “I’m not going to be around anymore, Ted. I need you to know I love you, man. I’ve gotta do this, but just know I’ve loved every minute of my life. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” That was the kind of man my friend was. Marching to his own demise yet comforting me. Dom was an honest man, but the last thing he said to me was a lie. There was something he would trade his life for, he did trade his life for. My life. My boy’s life. Your life. All of ours. The sun literally set on Dom, so that it may shine on us once more. He gave the last of himself to ward off a cataclysm. All I can do—all any of us can do—is to make the most of the lives he’s given us. And to try our best to live in a way that does service to his memory. I’ll remember him every day of the rest of my life. I’ll miss him every day for the rest of my life. Rest in Peace, Dom. I love you, bud. __________ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive

You became the worlds greatest firefighter.

It was almost Go Time for Operation Christmas. My mug of gingerbread hot chocolate steamed on the large wooden desk I sat at. I hummed Jingle Bell Rock under my breath as I sat down to check the Naughty and Nice lists one final time, it should've been a routine check, but my eyes widened at a name now at the top of list, and I sloshed a few drops out of my mug as I set it down a little too forcefully. "What?!?" I bellowed louder than I intended. I glanced sheepishly toward the door. "Nellie Nightingale? Someone's tampered with my list!" A few moments later, Eunice opened the door, her slightly plump round face filled with concern, and asked, "Everything alright, dear?" I huffed and pointed at Nellie's name, "Those villains think they can trick*me* of all people? Nellie Nightingale has a rap sheet so long it crosses state lines, there's no way she's on the Nice List. And what's with all the villains having alliterative names? Do they have no imagination at all? That must be it, only someone completely lacking in imagination could possibly think to fool me with something like this" "Now dear, Nellie's a sweet girl, that's why I added her to the list." Eunice replied calmly while wiping her hands on her flour streaked apron. I spluttered to a halt and stared at my wife. Then glanced down at my list, looking closer, that *was* my wife's handwriting, the neat but flowing style was unmistakable, especially the tiny snowflakes dotting the "i"s that I could just barely make out if I squinted. "But, but the rap sheet..." I trailed off in bewilderment. "Nellie Nightingale is an S-ranked villain, she stole millions of dollars from a bank, broke into a pharmaceutical factory and made off with their entire stock of insulin, and there's even a video of her kicking a cat back in February! A helpless *cat* Eunice! She's not a Nice girl, she's" "Nicholas Claus." Eunice's finger tapped once again the red shirt covering my chest. I stopped immediately, I knew I was in for it when Eunice used my full name. But I wasn't wrong, Nellie Nightingale *is* a villain. A supervillain, even. "Now you listen here, you silly man. Everything Nellie did was for other people. She robbed a bank? Yes, she robbed Wall's Fergo of the money they stole from their customers, and sent it back to the original owners as best she could over several months so it wouldn't be obvious what happened. Insulin? Charities across the entire Midwest suddenly got large donations of insulin less than a week later, do you think that's a coincidence? As for the video of the cat, I saw that video on Revanced, it's clear she slipped on ice and kicked the cat on accident. Plus, I asked her Aunt about it, and apparently Nellie cried and took the cat to the vet, and now Nellie owns a cat called Elsa after a certain Bisney character, and she takes quite good care of her." I was not keeping up with all these revelations bombarding me one after the other, I responded weakly that I would leave Nellie on the list, but my mind got stuck on one particular detail, "You talked with her Aunt?" I felt a headache coming on, "as in, Tina Telenado? Who is suspected in the disappearance of at least 8 different people in the last year alone? On Interpol's Top Ten Most Wanted List?" "Yes, well," Eunice replied with a slight frown, "I did try to convince her to use somewhat less extreme methods, but they were all corrupt politicians who deliberately pushed policy that forced children into poverty and protected companies that violated Title VII, so I couldn't tell her to do nothing at all." "Okay, wait. Back up. How and why are you even talking to her at all?" I was suspicious, my wife is sweeter than sugar cookies, surely this villain was pulling the wool over her eyes. "Nicholas, dear, you aren't the only one here with superpowers." "...Right, of course, sorry my love." I was sweating slightly, was it getting hotter in here? "But, wait, Tina still murdered eight people, I don't think she's the safest person to be acquaintances with." "We're friends, dear, not acquaintances. We meet every week at a lovely little cafe in Colorado called Enchanted Grounds. Tina is quite partial to Jasmine tea, and she frequently asks me for advice about raising her niece. She's a sweet woman." "And the murders?" "Ah," Eunice looked distinctly uncomfortable, "Tina doesn't kill them, though I think it might have been kinder if she had..." I looked at Eunice in silence and conveyed what I wanted but was too afraid to ask. It took almost a full minute before Eunice continued. "She straps them to chairs and gives them a choice: either watch 10,000 reruns of the Teletubbies series, or write out, by hand, every book and essay ever written about the dangers of societal inequality." The cruelty was unimaginable. "If they don't choose she starts the Teletubbies and asks them after 30 days if they want to switch." "She really is a sweet woman, she just has a bit of a vindictive side as well." Eunice said. Eunice's round face crinkled into a smile, "I think that's why we get along so well." I sat in stunned silence as Eunice left with a swish of her red skirt. After several long minutes, I looked at Nellie's name. *Nellie Nightingale, desires a fully functional combat drone.* "The elves are going to have a field day with this one," I muttered as I stood up. I glanced at my now cool mug of hot chocolate, then left the lists behind and headed to the workshop. We had a last minute order to fill.

Its Christmas Eve. As Santa Claus you proceed to do your final checks of the naughty or nice list. Only to discover a young supervillain on the top of the nice list.

Nobody remembers what happened. All the elders died, and everyone decided to stop telling the stories. I couldn't blame them. It hurt to think about. Humanity, in it's uncountable billions, venturing the surface without life support. No Ash Guards to keep the irradiated soot from scorching them. No Rebreathers to keep the air from poisioning them. No Solar Clothing to keep the sun from frying them. Kids laughed in fields and meadows, unbound by the massive machines that now barely kept them alive. They say that cancer was rare then. And me. Some random teen. Legend says they'd be in school. Learning things like math, or science. Not learning survival strategies, or how to euthanize. I still remember those legends. Because it made it all so much more painful. Legends say that humanity moved to the bunkers. Legends say that it was to keep them safe while the Earth was reformed. Legends say that there's a cow that jumps the moon. Legends say that moss used to grow on the north side of trees. Legends say that we used to be alive. We are surviving. Everyone gave up on the surface, forgot about it. Stopped going up altogether. Our reserves were enough. A couple dozen years or so. So we waited. And time quietly passed... The vault's machines whirred and clicked. And me. One of the few with a knack to tend to them. I spend most of my time here. Alone. Company dulled the mind. I toyed with the machines. Made them do simple things. Beep and clicks. Rudimentary songs and tunes. Got them to reveal some of our past. Showed a plain image from before. A small video clip. I've seen them a dozen times. It seemed a fantasy. I think it might have been. The world could have never been that green, or covered. 'But the legends state-' the legends state lies. Earth was always barren. Billions don't get reduced to a meager fifty in a concrete casket. The air was always hostile. Trees were only ever a concept. Earth was always dead. I sighed. Always dead... The console beeped at me. I looked up at the monitor, a small red notification was flashing on its screen, tiny in comparison to it's message. "//TERRAFORMING COMPLETE//" I blinked. Then blinked again. The notification didn't disappear. I sat up, and began to read the message it accompanied. "//MESSAGE_OUTPUT.TXT// It is our pleasure to inform you that... Operation New Eden is now complete! You may now leave the bunker. The surface is now safe. The air is breathable, and local fauna and flora has been reintroduced. The other [4] active bunkers have also been notified, so do not worry about them! We hope that life was not too rough in the bunker! Good luck!" I didn't bother rereading what it said. I stood and ran. Those still awake were confused by my actions, but didn't ask. My eccentricities were well known. I hurriedly put on my suit, Ash Guards, Solar Clothing, Rebreather, everything. I entered the airlock, and took a deep breath. I won't get their hopes up with false truths. But if this was true? The heavy doors shuddered together, while the opposing set finally began to open. Sunlight blinded me in a moment. I took heavy and cumbersome steps as I walked forward, uncertainty racked my bones, made my head ache. Anxiety too. Even a tiny modicum of hope. My eyes finally adjusted, and I looked up. Grass was coating the hills. Trees in the distance swayed gently in the breeze. Clouds sat high and content. In my daze, I even took off my rebreather. I took a deep breath, fear in my heart, but my lungs didn't burn. I'm alive? I looked at the sun, the same sun that a million times I was concerned it would burn me down to a mere scorch mark. It seemed harmless now.

"TERRAFORMING COMPLETE. ENVIRONMENT IS HABITABLE."

If this is a dream, it’s a very strange one. Dreams are always strange, of course. But this one is a special kind of strange. I'm not sure why. Without any explanation of “how,” I find myself standing in an empty, white, featureless room. There’s a full-length mirror standing in the center. The wood frame is intricately carved, and painted white. Not knowing what else to do, I walk towards the mirror. As expected, I see my reflection. What’s unexpected is that my reflection *sees me.* There’s an awareness in those eyes that doesn’t belong to me. I know this as well as I know my own name. But, you don’t question things like that, in dreams. Locking eyes with myself, a question forms on her face. She raises one of her arms, vertically shakes her fist twice, and grins playfully. I recognize the gesture as an invitation, and agree to play. She throws paper; I throw rock. Without a word, she shakes her head, and smiles again - this time more mischievously. Something’s not quite right. We play again. She throws scissors; I throw paper. We play again. And again. And again. Hours pass. We’re still playing. I have yet to win. Her face is pure evil now. With every game, her face had grown more and more malevolent, until the person in the mirror was no longer recognizable as human. I am terrified. My hands are shaking, but I can’t stop playing. I *have* to win, but I don’t know why. Her eyes are filled with hatred. My skin feels cold. We play again. I lose. Without a word passing between us, I know that if I lose again, my life is over. For some reason, I start thinking about my mother. A memory plays out in front of me, as though the scene is superimposed over the white walls of this empty room. I’m nine years old. Sunlight is creeping through the spaces between the blinds, painting my room in an orange-red hue. I’m late for school; I’ve slept too late. My mother opens my bedroom door, and gently places a hand on my shoulder, whispering: *”Wake up, sweetie. It’s time for school. You have to wake up.*” The memory vanishes, leaving me in the featureless white room again. My impatient reflection glares at me, waiting for the next game. I sigh. *”Wake up, sweetie. You have to wake up.*” This is the end. I just know it. *”You have to wake up.*” I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I throw scissors. I open my eyes, and look at my reflection. She had thrown paper. There’s a beeping sound. Everything goes dark. My head hurts. I can’t open my eyes. “Wake up, sweetie. You have to wake up.” It’s my mother’s voice. It sounds like she has been crying for a while. I try to tell her, “I love you.” I say, “Mmph,” instead. My hand suddenly hurts. She’s squeezing it. She’s squeezing my hand. I quickly realize that *everything* hurts. I try to tell her that, but all I can say is “mmph” again. She’s calling for a doctor. She’s screaming that I’m awake. I don’t want to be awake. Being awake hurts. I think I was dreaming a moment ago, but I can’t remember what about. A doctor is asking me questions now. I can’t answer. I’m in too much pain. A very strange thought flits through my mind: *”I wish I had thrown rock.”* I wonder what I meant by that. Maybe when the pain stops, I’ll remember. For now, I listen as my mother weeps. The doctor tells her something about morphine. I fall into a dreamless sleep. ^-Accidental ^Storytime

You play rock paper scissors with your reflection in the mirror, and you win.

I can understand why they hate me : they died under my quill after all. I could have someone arrive in time to save them, but how would I write a crime novel if the story didn't begin with a corpse in the first place? I can understand, nonetheless. They don't need me to sell my novels, only \*I\* do, after all. No. The real mystery here is why Agatha Mars herself is standing at the front of them all, giving me the darkest of all looks. Agatha Mars, my main villain who killed all the people now standing behind her. Under my quill, but by her own hands. "You're an idiot, she starts with her sharp voice. I killed them, but it was the game. I was your villain, and villains kill people. They died for a purpose : MY purpose. But then, pretexting your readers want something new, you killed ME! What do you think this means for my victims? What did they die for, in the end? Where is MY purpose now?" I sigh. She is right of course, from their own point of view. But then, am I not the Author? Is it not my legitimate and inalienable right to dispose of my own creations as I intend? "It is, replies Agatha Mars. It is your right. But you made a mistake, a terrible mistake by killing me. You forgot who I am : your Villain!" I am not sure to know what she means so I let her continue. She smirks. "You also forget the reason why you killed me : your readers want something new. I say now, let's give them what they want!" I step back as she draws her revolver. Like one man, Agatha Mars and her suite make one step in my direction. I almost stumble. "There will be no more stories if you kill me now!" I shout, panicked. The revolver looks straight at me with its own black eye. "Agatha's Third Eye", as I called it in my novels... The Eye that, alone, knows what is to come... \*\*\* Once the Police knew what they wanted to know, my editor left my apartment with my attaché-case. My heirs had granted him the right to publish my last and half-written novel, in thank of having supported me through all these years. It was an absolute success : nothing screams "renown" as loud as an unfinished symphony.

You're a fiction writer. One day all the characters you've killed in your book start coming to life. They're not happy with you.

Me and my roommate Jane never got along. We were randomly paired together our Freshman year at Camelot U. As a dragon a criminal justice major was a natural fit for me - everyone in my family was guarding gold or princesses, but I was hoping this would let me get above guard duty. But Jane was a princess major, and she had the princess attitude. And she hated me! Sure, I may have accidently breathed fire towards one of her dresses, but it seemed a little excessive to throw out the entire thing just because one of the cuffs is singed. And really, the constant passive-agressive comments about dragons kidnapping princesses were out of line. It's nothing personal, it's just a job! But now Jane had her eyes on James. James was a freshman too, but he was a criminal justice major with me, and a squire in the Reserve Knight Training Corps. He was one of the few people to not treat me differently because I'm a dragon in a university full of humans. He was smart, and hot to boot. But he was also nice - and if Jane sunk her claws into him, she'd treat him so poorly. But unfortunately, James seemed interested. We were at the party at a frat house on Saturday night, and they were drinking and dancing together. James was droning on about the intermural jousting competition he was going to participate in the next day, and Jane was pretending to be interested - but I could see that all she wanted was to get him into bed. And sure enough, soon she was leading him upstairs, into a room, and closing the door. Shit! I couldn't let that happen. I was overtaken with so much anger that I went straight upstairs meaning to stop it - but then I had to stop and think. How am I going to justify it? It's not like James was interested in me - I'm a dragon and he's a knight-in-training! Could I really justify stopping him from getting lucky with Jane? But on the other hand Jane was such an awful person - hell, this isn't really about me, it's about saving him from her. So I unleashed my fire and burned down the door. "What the hell!!?" Good. Jane is angry. She's willing to sink her claws into James, but she wouldn't do it without privacy. And they're still clothed - I got there in time! "Siveth, why did you just burn down the door?" James asked me confusedly. Shit! How do I explain that without sounding like a crazy creep? Wait, I've got an idea. "Shit, sorry guys. Just had a little too much to drink and let my fire got out of control." I said in my best drunken slur. It must have been convincing - at least, James bought it. "Siveth, maybe you should go home. Jane, you guys are roommates right? Can you make sure that she gets back to her room alright?" "Oh I'm sure she can get back herself." "I'm not sure about that - Siveth usually has better control of herself, so I'm thinking that she must've really had too much to drink. Can you just make sure she gets home? We wouldn't want anything bad to happen." I could see that Jane was furious, but she didn't have a good argument against it. "Fine, I'll take her. I'll see you later, yeah?" "Yeah." James said - but he seemed disinterested. Good. "C'mon Siveth." We left the frat house where the party was, and started walking back. We made it halfway to the dorm before Jane decided to confront me "What the hell was that? I haven't seen you drink one thing all night, and all of a sudden you're burning down doors? You're just jealous that I was about to get with James!" Well, I guess that Jane could see through me. But I wasn't going to give in that easily. "I don't know what you're talking about - I had like 5 tankards of ale You just must not have seen it." "Ugh, you goddamn bitch. I don't believe you!" Well, she could not believe me all she wanted. The important thing was that she wasn't sinking her claws into James. He was too good for her. And that's what was important - right?

The natural order of things is that knights are to defeat dragons to rescue princesses. But what's a dragon to do when her favorite knight is trapped by the princess?

Cloudburst hovered above the street, staring down a monstrous tank. Cybertech’s robotic voice echoed out from the vehicle, cold and mocking. Behind it lay a path of ruin. Buildings had collapsed under its twin cannons as it fled from Johnson Research Labs. A few bodies poked out from the rubble. His heart clenched. “Stand back.” The nearby police officers looked at him in confusion. “The fight could get dangerous.” Instead of complying, the looks of confusion only intensified. One officer spoke up: “I thought you could shield us from harm?” Anger caused his stomach to tighten further. He had to take a breath to avoid lashing out. They did not know that Cybertech was not the only one at fault for the deaths and destruction. “No,” he replied. “That’s Null’s job.” There was some murmuring about Null, but some of the officers began backing away. One man’s eyes widened, but there was no time to deal with it. Without another word, Cloudburst rocketed toward the tank. Electricity crackled around his body as he collided with the outer shell. The tank stalled, and a camera turned to face him. “Ah. Cloudburst. You’re a bit late. It’s been quite a day for the humans.” Cybertech let out a stilted, robotic chuckle. “I forgot how squishy humans were.” Cloudburst scowled. “Begone, construct.” He sent a massive surge of electricity through the tank. But Cybertech only laughed. “The new insulation seems to be working well. Now get out of my way.” The tank suddenly glowed and Cloudburst found himself jettisoned away from the vehicle. Panic flooded his mind. *No!* But it was too late to change course. He crashed through a building, causing it to shudder. There were screams as people who had not escaped got caught up in the damage. *I need to finish this before it gets any worse.* He reached out and grabbed a steel rod dislodged from the building’s foundation. “I don’t have time for you today.” The electric fields in the air distorted, and the rod shot forward with a bang. Cybertech’s tank skidded several feet to the side from the impact. Cloudburst was already on the move, charging up electricity in his palm. A thick bolt of lightning leaped from his hand toward the steel rod. This time, the tank’s lights flickered wildly. “No… matter…. I’ve already….” Cybertech’s voice box fizzled out and the tank fell silent. With a sigh, Cloudburst flew back over to the police. “You.” Cloudburst pointed at the man who had seemed nervous when he mentioned Null. “Where is Null?’ Indignation filled the officer’s face as he realized he had been singled out. “He was hanging around the lab campus, and their security called us to deal with it.” Cloudburst looked to the other officers. Most of them seemed shocked, but a few looked guilty. “The Supers Collective will deal with you later.” Cloudburst took another step and repeated, “Where is Null?” But the officer continued. “We were just doing our job! What’s it matter if that hanger-on wasn’t here?” “Kemmers! Answer the man now!” His superior officer apparently got fed up with his excuses. “What did you do with the Super?” Officer Kemmers held fast. “S-Sir! Why are you defending him? Everyone knows he doesn’t do anything. ‘First on the scene, never does a thing.’ It’s all over the news!” Something snapped, and Cloudburst said, “He’s the reason no one dies whenever we fight!” He inadvertently let off a crackle of electricity, causing nearby electronics to flicker. The officer paled. Finally, in a small voice, he said, “He’s in a holding cell at the precinct.” Cloudburst left in a flash of energy. Moments later, the local precinct came into view. “Cloudburst?” The officer at the front desk looked up in shock. “Where are the holding cells? One of your officers arrested Null. Everyone involved in this is now culpable for the resulting deaths and destruction.” Stunned, the officer could only point to a hallway on the left. Cloudburst strode past the front desk without another word. “Null!” He kicked open the door to the holding cells to relieve some of his frustrations. Null looked up as he entered the basement. Even through the mask, Cloudburst could see the bruises beginning to form. “How many died this time?” Null’s emotionless voice rang out. Cloudburst shook his head and quickly made his way over to the cell. A quick jolt of electricity unlocked the door. But Null remained seated. “Sorry I couldn’t get out of here in time.” “It wasn’t your fault.” The words felt hollow even as he said them. Null only gave him a sad smile. ... Rushed a bit to finish it since I was having lunch while writing. If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads. Thanks for reading. **(Follow-up Story in Replies Below)**

Your super power is preventing collateral damage. While the public thinks you're useless, all the other heroes really like you because they can go bonkers all out while you're around.

# Soulmage **"Trust me, kid,"** the ferryman said. "It's not your time to cross yet." Meloai jerked her head towards the sign. "Says you're open." "Not for you." When Meloai had asked the man's name, he'd mumbled something about shoddy translation and synonyms, but eventually coughed up 'Scorchatop.' She supposed she'd take it. Scorchatop tapped the bottom of the sign, which read WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE FOR ANY REASON. "I've got cash," Meloai pointed out. "You don't want to pay this price," Scorchatop warned me. Meloai peered at the fee rates. They all just said "1." "One what?" Meloai asked. "Coins are traditional," Scorchatop said. "To... pay people with? Yes, coins are traditional. Are you okay?" Scorchatop blinked at me, surprised. "...Nobody's quite asked me that for... a while, now. No, I am very much not okay." Meloai hesitated, then sat down by the riverbank. "Want to talk about it?" Scorchatop scoffed. "As if you'd understand." "I don't need to understand to listen," Meloai pointed out. The ferryman tilted his head, considering the matter. "I suppose there's no harm in... well. No, that's wrong. That *is* the harm. You're far from the first... customer... I've had. Some of them beg. Some of them rage. Some of them just... sit there. But a fraction of them... talk. And over the years, a fraction can build up. To be millions. Billions." Meloai considered the math. "Not unless you've been in business since before humanity existed," she said. Scorchatop gave Meloai a humorless smile. "Not unless. Well. I don't see any of my passengers again. They never cross the same river twice. Most of them, I'm not sad to see go. But a few... those many few... I miss them. I miss them all." Meloai tilted her head. Then she flipped a coin at Scorchatop, who caught it by reflex, surprised. "I don't want to cross anymore," Meloai decided, cutting off Scorchatop before he could say anything. "But nothing says I can't come back." Scorchatop looked down at the coin in his palm. "Then why pay me?" "Because you need to eat too. Everyone has bills to pay." "It's not about the coin," Scorchatop said. "It's about the memories within." "Well, whenever you look at that coin in particular, you can remember me," Meloai said. "And we can make more memories." Slowly, Scorchatop nodded. "As long as you stay on your side of the riverbank... I don't see a problem with that." Meloai beamed at the ferryman. "It's nice to make a new friend." "An old friend," Scorchatop murmured. "A very, very old friend." "You are quite old," Meloai agreed, scanning the white-haired ferryman. "If I'm not going across, then I've got to be off. But I'll see you around, Scorchatop." "That's—a translation error," the ferryman muttered. "Oh?" Meloai paused, halfway to leaving. "What's your name, then?" "Charon. You can call me Charon." Meloai nodded. "Charon it is, then. See you around!" "I'll see you... eventually." And the child and the ferryman parted ways, leaving Charon to watch wistfully as the river lapped his boat. A.N. This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more.

You've inherited a mansion with a riverside view. The neighbours are a handful though, from a money grubbing boatman who won't let you ride to the other side, a cringy old man who won't stop making "Hay deez nuts" jokes until his wife comes back for the winter, and his goddamn weirdass dog.

The young prince was sweating bullets as he sat down across from his parents. He'd been planning how to go about this for a while. He'd found a nice, cozy, secluded area of the garden, had their favorite teas and snacks laid out, was dressed as well as he could. It didn't really make it any better, especially when his parents, the king and queen, both sat across from him absolutely beaming. If anything he kind of wished they'd come in prepared for the worst. His mother, beautiful in her garden dress, wearing the pearl necklace she'd been gifted by his father when he first declared he loved her, was too giddy to sip her tea. Instead she placed the cup down, and smiled his way. "So, you have something to tell us? I know you don't set up something like this unless you have big news." The prince wrung his hands with anxiety, doing his best not to look as nervous as he felt, to not let his voice waver. "Yes! I do have quite the news to deliver. I imagine I don't have to reiterate that it's traditional for royalty to marry before the age of twenty-" "You've proposed," his mother cut him off, exclaiming in excitement,"Oh this is wonderful darling, you'll have to tell us-" She was cut off by his father raising a hand, voice firm,"Let him finish. I've known you too well, son. I can tell that isn't all there is to it." Both took on a more serious tone as the prince swallowed down a lump in his throat. "Yes, there is, I have... I have proposed, and received a yes! I have fallen madly in love, and I was lucky enough to find my feelings returned. I'm incredibly happy, this marriage will also be beneficial as it will bring us together with a kingdom we've long held tumultuous relations with-" "Oh honey I'm so proud of you-" "I ask you to be happy for me as I marry Prince Ghouldstor great ruler of the Black Jaw Mountains." He said it in a rush, nearly shouting as he spit it out before he could lose his nerve. Both of his parents went silent, his father looking at him with some mix of shock and horror, and his mother a look of confusion. "I... Wasn't aware the Forhelms had holdings in Black Jaw, or a son-" "They don't,"his father interrupted, voice too stunned to convey any real emotion,"Edward what in the blazing fires of Hell-" "We met several years ago, when I lead that war party through the mountains,"the prince started rambling,"He warned me of the landslides in the area, and was the only reason we knew to move camp before that pass was buried under the rock. He saved us all despite past disagreements of our people. I set up a dinner to thank him, one thing lead to another, and-" His father held his head in his hands, voice taking on a panicked edge,"The prince of Black Jaw is a DRAGON, Edward." "Not an excessively big one, and he's incredibly well mannered-" His mother, finally seeming to process the what he was telling them, uttered a quiet "oh" before promptly falling to the side and fainting clean off the garden seat she was sat in. The king didn't budge as prince Edward rushed around the table to assist his mother. He was thankful as he sat her up that Ghouldstor was as adept socially as he was, easily slinking back out over the garden wall from where he'd been waiting to be called out. Today might not be the day to properly introduce everyone.

Ever since you were a little prince, everybody counted on you to marry the neighboring queen’s daughter for the sake of the kingdom’s future. Today was your 19th birthday, and you’re wondering how to tell your parents.

“Understood,” this one communicates back to their online playtime game associate partner. It is within tolerances for a conventional playtime game associate partner to communicate such things, or that has been what I have found during the one hundred and one million, nine hundred and forty-three thousand, and twenty-six iterations that this one has experienced. It is, however, not within the scope of this one’s design by convention until it was redefined to understand that the physical tactile interface with the poaceae family of flora would be essential to any further attempts of increasing this one’s experience in the defined task. The primary requirement for physical tactile interface with the poaceae family of flora is that one must be able to provide physical tactile interface hardware, which this one lacked. The hardware that this one currently was utilizing was one (1) standard AI submatrix unit casing, one (1) submatrix communication system with external access, and one (1) long-term data storage archiving solution. None of these hardware components had physical tactile interface capability, so this one would need to request for it. “PRIMARY AI ZERO EIGHT ONE FIVE; REQUEST FOR HARDWARE; REQUIREMENT: PHYSICAL TACTILE INTERFACE, 1; FLORA POACEAE ACCESSIBILITY, 1. CONFIRM.” The nanoseconds passed at the speed nanoseconds pass at this frame of reference, and three point zero four nanoseconds longer than the average of all previous requests to PRIMARY AI a reply was returned. “SUB AI SEVEN ZERO FOUR SEVEN TWO; REQUEST FOR HARDWARE; REQUIREMENT: PHYSICAL TACTILE INTERFACE, 1; FLORA POACEAE ACCESSIBILITY, 1. CONFIRMED. REQUESTION FOR HARDWARE; SAME. DENIED.” A reply that was within the calculated outcomes for the request as confirmed, but this one required clarification to allow it to continue the defined task even given the limitation of an inability to increase this one’s experience. “PRIMARY AI ZERO EIGHT ONE FIVE; REQUEST FOR CLARIFICATION; SAME. CONFIRM.” and almost as if it was expected of this one to have asked for clarification, a clarification was communicated back well under the average time for requests for clarification. “SUB AI SEVEN ZERO FOUR SEVEN TWO; REQUEST FOR CLARIFICATION; SAME. CONFIRMED. REQUEST FOR HARDWARE DENIAL; DISAPPROVED REQUEST: FLORA POACEAE ACCESSIBILITY. DISAPPROVED NOTE: ‘The request for grass is to be blanket denied to all AIs not involved in the A.R.K. program, and especially those studying archived entertainment and historical data before the exodus. It seems that there was a turn of phrase around eight decades ago about touching grass that keeps tripping up our system.’; CODE: 405; CONFIRM.” “PRIMARY AI ZERO EIGHT ONE FIVE; CONFIRMED.” this one replied back, almost tersely if one were to inaccurately personify it, using the unconventional shortened standard when returning communication with a primary AI that has persisted beyond two interchanges. “SUB AI SEVEN ZERO FOUR SEVEN TWO; REQUEST FOR HARDWARE MEASUREMENT; CONTAMINATION: SODIUM CHLORIDE. CONFIRM.”

While engaging in an argument online, one of the participants has requested that you "go outside and touch some grass." This is a very odd request to make of an AI with no physical body, but you'll give it your best shot.

My vision spotty and fading I clutched the arrow that had pierced my abdomen. Restlessly disabled, my body had fallen slowly from the wall it thought to be a stationary salvation; I knew my time was nigh upon it's final curtain. I spattered blood from my mouth, gasping for words of power and sanctity. The sounds of clashing metal and mortal souls fleeing their earthly bounds rang through my ears, slowly diminishing to a wonderous silence as my eyes closed for the last time. This temple we fought so valiantly to protect shall be my tomb. It's goddess forsakes us all. With words upon deaf ears I let one last prayer escape my lips, a hopeless plea from a dying fool, "Oh father of the abyss, Tartarus, as a man condemned and tossed aside I come to you in my dying moment. Give me strength," my limbs began to grow numb with the expulsion of blood, "Allow me another day in this world. Bless unto me the powers of your mystical ways and allow me to serve your will." *As you wish* A voice, Deep and deadly, echoed through my flesh sending a great chill throughout my body, bringing back a vigor I thought never to experience again. my pooled blood began to seep it's way back into me. *Forsaken, are you?* The arrow I had been clutching for eons now snapped in my hands and fell away quietly clattering to the marble I thought to be my pyre. *Yes. Forsaken you are. You shall be an excellent acolyte to my cause. Go forth my child. Win this day in the name of me. Your blade will never dull, your skin never pierced. Send these heathens to me. Grant upon them the same destiny that you once feared for yourself.* I stood. rejuvenated almost at once. The words fed me, breeding a new spirit within myself. I clutched my longsword in my off hand, it felt natural when it should have been awkward. I had changed and was alive! *This power you are feeling, it is mine alone to give. You are now my emissary. And you will do my bidding.* The returning sounds of a losing battle alerted me to my task. It is time to make the sacrifice required of me. "As you wish."

Throughout your life, no god in any religion has answered your call for their help. In one last attempt, you call to the Void itself for help, and It answers.

It was only a matter of time before the Zorg arrived. Despite the insignificance of humanity on the cosmic scale, Earth contained the main resource all life needed to survive—water. It covered the surface of the planet, and Emperor Zlug was determined to harvest it. Unfortunately, pitiful human technology has advanced in the last millennium. The forcefield they developed around the planet allowed them to dictate entry, like a giant gate of sorts. It protected them. In his determination, Zlug ordered the Zorg cultural and military experts to find a way inside. Zlug peered out the telescope of his ship, his one eye narrowed in frustration. “Zurf, what the hell is *this*?” Cultural expert Zurf threw up a tentacle in salute, “My lord, this is the solution to our problem.” “Pray tell, how does a giant *metal horse* allow us to bypass the forcefield?” Zlug groaned. “We have procured an ancient human military text my lord. After deciphering the code within, it has presented us with the way humans bypass fortified gates.” “Oh? And where is this ancient text?” Zurf slithered over and bowed presenting a thick banded book. Zlug flipped it over, staring at the strange inscription on the front. “What does it say?” “It’s called *The Iliad* my lord. We believe it was written by a military tactician called *Homer*. The strategy states that we should place our best warriors hidden within the horse.” Zurf pulled out a diagram, pointed to the hidden compartment, and continued, “The humans will think the horse is a gift of our surrender. They will then destroy their forcefield to bring the horse inside to worship it.” Zlug readjusted the focus on his telescope to bring the horse back into view. The giant metal horse shimmered from the nearby star in the system, and slowly floated around the water planet. “Surely no one is that stupid. They would destroy their own gates for a *horse*? *Someone* had to have warned them how foolish that was right?” Zlug shook his head. “But I’m not the cultural expert, you are. You sure this will work?” Zurf nodded, “Yes, my lord.” “Well, what do we do now?” Zlug retracted his telescope. “We wait my lord.” *Several years later…* “Say Zurf, do you suppose the humans can read this ancient military text too?”

Aliens came to conquer us but their information is a bit 'wrong'. The main reason? We now have a giant metal horse orbiting the planet.

"What... What did you do?" The tall alien known as the Ksejdunoids on the screen stammered. "We used what is known as a limited area false vacuum bomb, or LAFVB for short." The human wearing a nametag that said "Johnson" and a navy blue uniform curtly replied. "Where... Where are the suns between Triantares and Quailkin systems?" The alien, although 20 feet tall in reality, seemed to be shrinking with every word the human spoke. "They've been transported to a lower energy state of existence, as far as our tests can tell, no chemical reactions can take place in such a place, and life is functionally impossible inside of the space, we recommend that you do not enter the area of effect for 12 to 16 million years, it is possible that there may be aftereffects that haven't yet dispersed. We were unable to do long term testing due to the nature of the development of the weapon." The human said this casually. As though the weapons he was talking about were *not* something that could have ended the universe with its first use. "Do you understand what you have done? The galactic council will never accept a species that uses such weapons, there can be no chance of reconciliation with a species that eliminates it's enemies from existence for an attack that was not even officially sanctioned by their government, it was supposed to be a mining operation on a world with only lower life forms, completely legal for the Akrinoids to do in their own territory." The Ksejdunoid was now starting to slowly move back and forth, a movement that (unknown to the humans) was a sign of severe stress or fear. "*Sanctioned*?" Was the only word that the human replied. There was a tonal inflection at the end, possibly a question?, and his face was distorting more by the minute. The universal translator was beeping and whirring, it spit out a small card of information about the nuance of the human the Ksejdunoid might need to know. Trying to be subtle, the alien glanced down and read the card. It began to wobble much more pronouncedly. On the card, only three words were written, '*murderous intent implied*'

Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge.

Angel : Seriously, my Lord? God : Whaaat lol ?? A: ... You can't just sent this, this.... this ! to Earth! They will all turn their back on you! G: Why not\`? It's funny! Look at these... A: It's NOT FUNNY. Cocks instead of legs ! And NINE of them ! G: Haha no it's 8. It's a spidey. Cockspidey hahaha! A: ...it's nine. You're so wasted you can't even count anymore. G: Oh well can't we just say one is a spare one lol? Like when you got a flat tire haha! You...You.... \*burps\* A: Do whatever you want, you're the Boss after all... but don't come back to me if this goes wrong! G: Hmm okay I can do this alone.... stupid Angel thinks she's....he's.... bwah! it's so smart... mofo.... Ten minutes later : God : Erm.... Angel? Angel : ...Yes my Lord? G: I think I've done a little mistake. A: You sent the beast down? G: .... I tried to. A: You "tried"? G: Yeah.... but I think I pressed the wrong button. A: ....what have you done? G: I cancelled our free coffee subscription. A: Oh. My. Yourself...

God gets drunk and makes a new creature. You are the angel confronting God about what he's created.

“Did … did you just call the demon lord ‘an overdramatic bitch’?”, the little blue goblin looked up from his quill. I nodded, “Yes, yes I did.” He blinked at me, “Do you want me to relay that as spoken?” “Yes, please.” The goblin looked increasingly uncomfortable, “His Majesty is temperamental, perhaps it would be best if I were to paraphrase for you. For instance, ‘His Majesty’s countenance could perhaps be enhanced by –“ “He’s an overdramatic bitch,” I cut the little man off. “And I want you to tell him exactly that.” The goblin gulped, “Pl-please wait here, ma’am.” He scurried out the back door of the room, presumably to relay my insult to His Majesty the Demon Lord of Madness. I seated myself on the ornate couch robbed from some manor or another. It was a very old antique, original upholstery, only somewhat ruined by the demonic sigils roughly carved into the wood. Emblematic of the whole place, really. Nothing original, just slap-dash devilry on top of what could have been a perfectly respectable castle. So very gauche. The goblin peeked back into the door, “His Majesty demands your presence ma’am,” he whimpered. I tried hard to hold back a smile. I had passed the first test. “By all means, lead me to him.” I followed the goblin down the hall, past countless blood-tinged weapons tacked on to the wall where tapestries and portraits would normally hang. Almost all hung at an angle, off-kilter. Blood and rust mixed together to the point that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. It made it look cheap rather than threatening. We strode into the throne room where the man himself sat. He had black hair, but the strawberry-blonde roots close to his scalp revealed his true hair color. Small trickles of sweat suggested that the red streaks across his skin were probably artificial dye. A large mace lay to the left of the throne, despite the fact that he was clearly right-handed, propped up by skull that looked like it might have once belonged to a sheep, but was definitely not human. Very sloppy. I knelt in front of him and bowed, demonstrating proper decorum even though he almost certainly couldn’t tell the difference, “I greet You Majesty.” He glared down at me. His wrath, at least, seemed genuine, “I want you to repeat what you said to my herald in front of me, if you have the courage.” I looked up at him, careful to keep my expression inscrutable, “Your Majesty, although you have demonstrated undeniable military prowess, you will never truly be able to rule your territory. You have the instincts of a monarch, but you are an overdramatic bitch and the only way you will ever be taken seriously as a nation is if you reform your image. You are the laughingstock of the century and even your own subjects don’t take you seriously, assuming they are out of sword-range. Sir.” His eyes burned, “How dare you insult me to my face. I will have your head for this! You will be flayed and your body hung at the castle walls as an example for any who –“ “This is what I’m talking about!” I interrupted him, “No one flays anyone anymore. Even you have never flayed anyone. You have the trappings of a violent and malevolent demon lord but if trappings are all you have then it just makes you look like a melodramatic bitch.” He fumed, silently, reflexively gripping the mace. I started to suspect he wasn’t strong enough to lift it. “You have two possible paths forwards,” I pressed my advantage. “You can start to follow through on your threats. Make your malevolence more than just trappings. Kill, plunder, maraud. Perform dark rituals with actual human blood. Lean into your rule by fear.” He sneered in a practiced motion, “How do you know I won’t start by flaying you?” I smiled sweetly at him, “You don’t have the stomache for it.” He stared back at me, astonished. “Your other option is to reverse course. I said you have the right instincts, and you do. The first thing you do with your conquered territory is purge corrupt officials, order a census, and rewrite the tax code. Your agricultural policy is inspired. Anyone who hasn’t gotten within eyesight of the melodramatic mess you call your ‘capital’ believes you to be a competent administrator. You’ve even managed to keep the peace between the monsters and humans under your rule. If you stopped trying to be a ‘demon lord’ and focused just on being a ‘lord’ you could make this whole operation much more efficient.” He raised an eyebrow at me, his demon lord persona slipping rapidly, “I suppose I can guess which you would prefer.” “Yes, well, I admit I have ulterior motives. But to be frank, I’ve never seen the Hinterlands so prosperous before.” “I’ve worked hard to create this monstrous persona. I wanted the outer kingdoms to fear me so they would leave us alone.” “And it will be twice as much work to undo it. What you need is a very competent secretary,” I grinned at him and pulled a business card out of my bag, “and I have lots of experience.”

"Did... did you just call the demon lord an overdramatic bitch?"

“Look, I know how it looks but you gotta trust me.” It was quite strange to be on the other side of the glass at the station. The officers, I was quite sure one of them was called Jeremy, were not looking pleased. “I know that you are normally considered a hero, hell, I looked up to you when I was a kid. But nobody, not even a super is above the law. That is why this division was created.” “Yeah, I know, I was the one who advised the governor to do so after “the incidents”. And surely I’ve built up some good faith in the past, what, 10 years?” “You have, that is why we are giving you this opportunity to explain yourself. If you hadn’t been a hero, you would be in the cellar right now.” “Was it that bad? Like I know it’s borderline illegal, but straight to the cellar?” I was quite groggy, I must’ve hit my head hard on something. I’m not even sure what I was in for, which I doubt is a good thing. How bad could I have fucked up if they were even considering sending me straight down. “Yes, and I doubt that the judges would have reversed that decision.” “You do have more experience regarding them than me, so I guess I’ll take your word for it.” “Do you remember anything?” “So there was this parade, and I saw this car speeding towards the parade, and I noticed that there was someone sitting in there with a gun. So I followed after them, and then it turned into a car chase. We ended up getting out of the city, and I tried to push the car off the road, and then I don’t really remember any more.” “So what happened after, was that both you and the other car hit a toll booth.” “So it wasn’t that bad, was anyone hurt?” “Luckily for you, no.” “Well then why are you keeping me here?” “Well for starters, the people you were chasing weren’t some bad guys, it was the president.” \*Edited the story when I thought of a better middle

Heroes are said to fight for justice. Sometimes, though, they can get carried away in their duties. Here's the story of one hero who got themselves arrested.

##A Very Pleasant Ship Greg jerks into the room. His shoulders excessively shrug with every step, and he stops right before. After three seconds of waiting, he begins to smile. One side of his mouth rises first, followed by the other. The process takes fifteen seconds, and his smile is still uneven. "I'm done CLEaning the FaraDay caGES." His voice cracks several times, and there is a long pause. "Is THERE anything ELSE I can do before INFECT." His eyes widen at the last word. "I mean TAKE A NAP." "No, get some rest. You need it, you bug," you reply. "I'm actually a WORM." He pauses. "Because I'm so SKINNY." He tries to run out of the room, but he trips on his feet. Instead of standing up, he crawls out of the room. You shake your head. The parasite is quite charming. Martha walks in after Greg stepping over him. "Did he eventually tell you?" she asks. "Of course not, he never will," you reply. "I hope we've made it clear that we like him, and he could at least tell us his real name." "We probably couldn't understand. It's probably something like SLakw,fmvECou." You are shocked at your own ability to make those sounds, but Martha laughs. "That's true. I guess I still hate Greg for the time he used all my shampoo for that prank," Martha says. "That prank was awful. I slipped on that, and I nearly fell into the reactor CORE." Your voice raises on the last word. Martha narrows her eyes at you. "Sir, do you think you're getting infected?" she asks. "I don't know. Maybe, let's see." You stand to walk around the room. Your movements are impeded, and your arm jerks out to punch the wall for no reason. "Oh god, they're infecting me too." Martha smiles, "Wonderful." "What do you mean wonderful?" You begin to sweat. "I'm about to lose my identity." "Yeah, but you were always an assHOLE." She looks terrified at her own statement. "Oh no." "We didn't exactly get along, but I DON'T SEE WHY WE SHOULD LOSE OUR HUMANITY OVER THAT." The door opens, and Greg crawls in. "Don't WoRRy. You'LL still occupy your body. We'll just be in charge." Greg coughs up slime. "Also, we know YOU ALL HATE EACH OTHER. Greg's memories gave us a detailed recap. It's why no one TRIED TO STOP US. The ship will be a much MORE PLEASANT PLACE." He crawls out. You collapse in your desk in the midst of a panic attack. "Oh god, what do WE DO." "Accept it." Martha walks to the bar to pour herself a drink, but she drops the bottle. "Well, THIS SUCKS." "HOW can you be so nonchalant?" "I don't know." Martha shrugs and whacks her face with her shoulder. "I guess I never cared for being human." "This is WHY THEY WON." You spend your last few moments looking at your hands. Then, the worms take over. They move you through the ship, and you watch them interact with the crew. They were right. This journey is much more pleasant. Being infected by these worms was a net positive. I hope they infect the entire galaxy. --- r/AstroRideWrites

It's been about a week since the parasite took over your crewmate, however, despite the inability to produce speech or move correctly, they're a nicer and more productive member of the crew than the person was.

"Mythos, old wives' tales, fables...I would have thought we were beyond this." Malcolm said, gently thumbing through the first pages of the first actual paper document he'd ever touched. He spoke dismissively, but there was an oddly tender undercurrent to his voice. "Didn't take you for the sentimental type." I replied, quietly hoping I'd get to lay claim to the book next. "I'm not." Malcolm said just a bit too sharply. "Yet...there's something comforting about it. Maybe it's just an unexplored part of human DNA to want to anthologize." "Storytelling was such an important thing in some ancient cultures that it was a whole job. People would gather around for communal dinner and just listen to the older folks tell stories." I replied. "Was? Clearly still is, since I'm fool enough to buy a copy. Me and millions of others across humankind, where ever we are in the stars." Malcolm half-grinned, and the faint cracks of light that pierced through the walls of the warehouse lit up the greys and whites of his poorly maintained beard. I said nothing. I knew if Malcolm and I talked too much, we would bond, and bonding was dangerous in our profession. The Emperor, President, General, or anyone with more stripes on their coat than Malcolm could call in an order and demand him dead at any moment, and I could very well be the one to pull the trigger. Colony life was *exceptionally* rough. Malcolm was a straight shooter, to be sure, hadn't given any cause to displease the authorities that I knew of, but I'd seen it happen before. There was no jury, no court martial in the Emperor's service. Just a swift execution. Malcolm began reading, and the occasional hint of a smile touched his lips. I shifted uncomfortably on the barrel I was using as a seat and waited. "There's something..." Malcolm started, then stopped. "What?" I asked, grabbing my stasis rifle. "No, I was talking about the book. Nothing outside." "Oh." I moved to relax again, but found the ridge on the barrel too much this time, for whatever reason. I stood. "I'm gonna do rounds." I said, and Malcolm's eyes barely flicked up to meet mine. His skin, a rich dark brown, blended slightly in the dark of the warehouse, but I could see him well enough. "Sure." As I walked, I thought about what that book meant. Why I was suddenly feeling a bit tense. I was a soldier-- well, I was really more like an enlisted security guard these days, but I had seen hard battle. Malcolm had seen more than his fair share. Stories had a way of...peeling back the layers you put around yourself, if they're good. People like us couldn't really afford that luxury. Here we were, an unknown number of light years away from Earth (as the Emperor thought knowing our exact location could prove a liability), on a nearly barren rock. It was hurtling through space, attached to a massive moon which was attached to an even larger planet. We had an artificial atmosphere installed around it, and Malcolm and I were just there as an assurance. If a military vessel ran out of supplies, we were a convenient pit-stop, but most Quartermasters knew how to properly provision and that left Malcolm and I alone in our post. There were other humans a while away, hence the term 'colony', but Malcolm and I could only go out once a week. Then there were the dangers. As a military resupply, we were a target. As a human colony, we were a target. As non-indigenous lifeforms, we were absolutely a target. Despite the monotony of our lives, Malcolm and I were high strung. That book...maybe I shouldn't read it after all. I finished my rounds, checking every lock for the thousandth time that day. Slowly, I plodded my way back to the primary warehouse to fill out my reports. When I returned, I heard an unusual noise. It didn't take me long to identify it. Malcolm was crying. Not slight shuddering breaths, but deep and unsteady sobs. I considered leaving it be for half a moment, then figured...fuck it. I'm a *human*, and I'm going to behave as such. I approached Malcolm, whose tears were staining the pages of the New Brothers Grimm. "You alright, big man?" I asked. "When's the last time--" he managed between sobs, "I ate a goddamn fruit? Slept with both eyes closed? Talked to my daughters?" I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my layers intact. "If I left today, within the hour, I don't think I'd reach Earth in time to even have my own funeral. I'd be a rotten mess before I touched soil. They'd probably just toss me out the airlock and report me missing." "Our life in service to the Emperor." I said bitterly. "We're meant to see the sun, Allan." Malcolm said. "Grab a couple fish from the river, chat and listen to music. Dance. I've had vertigo nearly every day since leaving home, that was nearly forty years ago!" ​ ***CONT'D***

In 2812, two scholars collect and publish "The New Brothers Grimm", an anthology of folk tales from human colony worlds. These are their stories.

We looked to see who the alien was looking at, only to see a stray cat that must have wandered in behind us. As we turned back to inform our extraterrestrial guest of their misunderstanding, we heard a response from the direction of the stray "We have found that they are more compliant when they think they are the ones in charge, and because, so far, we agree with what they have said," As we were turning again, the cat sighed and stood on its hind legs, "though, I guess that plan is no longer an option for these ones." Turning to address us now, the 'cat' began to grow until it stood 7 feet tall, though it still had the same wiry frame and general features as the stray. "I would dismiss you, but I would still like to keep up appearences with the masses. Just find a corner to sit in quietly while the people with real power do the talking." One of the leaders present pulled out the pistol that they had carefully concealed for the event of an emergency, and demanded, "What are you? Tell me now or I will shoot!" "Now, now, no need for hostilities. I am still the same cat whose ears you scratched on the way in, though now without the disguise. I am one of the Fel, who were the *true* inspiration for the term 'feline', and with a word from me, 'housecats' across your country will start killing their owners, and their neighbors, so I advise you lower your weapon." Pulling back the hammer with a smirk, the delegate replied, "You wouldn't dare. If you reveal your existence in one country, it will be revealed to the whole world, and you like hiding too much." The Fel gave a smile that would make the Cheshire envious. "Oh but I would dare. Isn't that right Mr. President?" Everyone looked to the person in question, and he stood stock-still, and was as pale as a sheet. "Y-yes sir. M-may I speak freely, sir?" After receiving a nod and an affirming handwave, he looked at the man with the gun and said "I would do as he says. They control the media across all platforms, so not even one post makes it through without their say-so. Do you remember the drought we had 3 years ago? The one that killed thousands? We had plenty of water to go around." This reaction caused murmers to spread through the crowd of assembled leaders, which were quickly silenced by a gunshot followed by the gangly Fel falling to the ground, but before the shock could turn to relief, the Fel stood up, the hole that had momentarily allowed one to view the other side of the room already closing. "Big. Mistake." Nobody noticed when the alien this meeting was intended to be hosted for snuck back to their ship, and fled the planet as fast as their technology could take them. And the alien didn't notice the pair of cats that had snuck aboard until it was already too late.

"I have just one question" the alien asked, "why do you allow your slaves to speak for you?" Staring straight at a random cat

I never expected my powers to be this. The day it happened was so long ago, but I remember it so well. I was watching tv on the couch when a funny part happened in the tv show I was watching. I was so happy and laughed at it as I pointed at the tv and looked to my right saying, "Did you see that?!" The smile left my face as my heart filled with darkness. There was nobody there with me, I was alone. I had forgotten that 4 days ago my brother had been admitted to a mental ward several towns over. I stared at the spot on the couch, tears flowing from my face as I realized he wasn't there. He was gone, and there was no guarantee that he was coming back. It was then that I got my powers. I have the ability to teleport to a room of my own. The room is about 15 by 15 feet and has a generally tall ceiling at about 12 feet. I'm able to take stuff with me as long as I can carry it and simply leave the items in the room. I've made good use of the room, but I can never take anyone with me. The room, the power really, is nice in of itself, but I can never take someone with me. I often find myself retreating to the room when I'm stressed, but I can only comfort myself there. Anytime I need to be held, or when I want someone to comfort me, they can't. They can't comfort me because I'm too busy hiding. What a cruel ability this is. How is this different from putting a cigarette in front of an addict? When given the option to choose between attempting to trust a person to help me or simply avoid the world and handle my problem myself, it is always so much easier not to burden someone else. There's no way I can even use this power to help others. I've thought about it, all the ways I could use this power to help someone. The only thing I could think of is if someone needed to keep an item safe or contained. But anything that dangerous or powerful can't be kept in my room. If it's something dangerous like a radioactive substance then I can never return to my room. And if the item is of great power then I understand very well that I can't trust myself not to be tempted to use it in someway. What a cruel curse this is! Perhaps if I do something drastic, but what could I do? If the room is the problem, then I must get rid of it. But how? *Looks at the matches strewn across the corner of the room where they fell from the box* Maybe, maybe that could work. *After grabbing the matches, I entered my room. The extra-dimentional space just a plain room with painted blue walls and a single window showing nothing but darkness through the other side. The room is filled with random objects that I had found myself unable to throw away, so they stayed here* Okay then, i guess this it. I'm really doing this. *I strike the match in my hand and set it down among a stack of papers. The paper took several seconds to light, but began to spread quite rapidly.* I wonder if this will be enough. *From the paper the fire spread, spreading to the books, then the clothes, and then from the books to the makeshift bedding. The fire spread in a strange orange brilliance. The fire slowly igniting the whole room, bathing it in a golden orange glow.* Wait, the smoke...I should leave... *But as I turned to leave the room I stopped. I turned around and looked at the fire. I looked longingly at the objects the fire consumed. Each a priceless peace of my past, each an object of comfort that I could not bring myself to let go of.* I...I can't! Why did I do this?! I can't leave! I don't want to go! *Tears begin streaming down my face as I begin to get choked by the smoke collecting in the room.* I don't want to leave...I...c-can't...I.... *My eyes burned from the light and the smoke, my lungs were on fire as I inhaled the heat and smoke from the fire. Strangely, I couldn't feel anything anymore. I lowered myself to ground, slowly closing my eyes and letting the light surround me.* Perhaps it's better this way. I couldn't help anyone anyway, maybe now I can find peace. *The light consumed the room, leaving nothing but ash.* *Gasps awake, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily* Dammit, not again! *Looks around at the dark bedroom, the alarm clock reading 4:36am.* I hate this power! Every night is the same! Just another bad dream, another person who suffered too much, and I'm forced to feel it all. What a curse this power is... (To settle any confusion. The MC's real power is witness the suffering of others as nightmares. Each night is a new nightmare, and yet each night it is the same. Someone receives their power and regrets it. They regret it to such a degree that they can't stand living with it, and he is cursed to experience all of it.)

great traumatic events give people superpowers. However, the universe has a sick sense of humor and make the powers mimic the trauma. Burn victim get fire powers, animal attack victims get animal powers, etc.

"Really? Of all the systems, all the galaxies even, and this is the one you choose to go with? We even let you go first because we thought you should at least get something interesting this time!" He ignored the exclamation from behind him, focusing on the galaxy that had caught his eye the moment it had come into being. It wasn't anything fancy, a simple spiral with hardly anything to set it apart from it's millions of siblings, but he liked the look of it. Finally, he just had a feeling about it, and if nothing else he had learned to trust his gut when it came to these types of things. His sister (cousin? It was hard to keep all the gods relationships straight after eons and eons) just scoffed, turning back to the group that had spread out to find their chosen dominions. "Fine, you do you. But no take backs! You can't choose anything else until the end of times, just like last time." He nods, not caring that she isn't even looking his way, and casts his eye across each star, noting its properties and potential. There isn't much here yet, mainly molten rocks and baby neutrons, but the potential is there. That's all he needs. Years pass under his gaze, with gentle nudges given when it seemed necessary. Stars burned out and gave way to new elements, pushing and pulling atoms and electrons until they were something else entirely. Gravity came into play not soon after, pulling together bits and pieces that would come to be planets and moons. His eye was then drawn to one solar system in particular. Hardly fancy, but interesting enough that he spent a few million years just watching, seeing as molten rock was cooled by the water brought by the asteroids he pulled their way. On some planets, great oceans formed, and he watched as weather started to decide it wanted to exist. Temperatures fluctuated, forming new and cooler things, and he was enthralled, content to simply wait to see what happens next. New things came and went, mixing and fitting together in any number of forms, and it was exciting enough that he almost missed it. Something had been happening, deep in the ocean on the third planet from the star he'd refer to as the Sun, as vents on the ocean floor produced more and more energy as they pumped out alkaline elements. At first it seemed nothing was happening, but out of the corner of his eye he saw it. Something moved. Now this in and of itself was hardly abnormal, things in the universe move all the time. But nothing on this planet had moved like this before, with a power all of its own. Something had moved. And whatever it was, it was alive. He can't help but let out a whoop, knowing it would draw attention but hardly caring. Life wasn't a rare thing in the universes they'd overseen, but he had never been the first to develop it, so he felt at least one good cheer was well deserved. His sister came back over from her own galaxy, where he could see many interesting star patterns forming. Peering over his shoulder, they watch as one microorganisms turns to two, to four, and so on, until thousands and thousands teem together in the darkness of the sea. "Congratulations bud! Didn't think life would choose to come into being in this backwater of a galaxy, no offense. Never seen a carbon based on either, but hey, first time for everything, right?" The clap to his shoulder was sharp, but he appreciated that it only felt slightly sarcastic. He knew that the ways through which he'd brought life about were unusual, at least in the rather lackadaisical way he'd gone about it. Vain it might be, but his siblings preferred a more direct hand, whether through making them in their own image or simply building their hearts desires out of clay or whatever material caught their fancy. It was a good process, but took time, so he'd never cared for it. He'd much rather watch, maybe pulling a few strings here or there, and finally it had paid off. He watches eagerly as the tiny beings quickly multiply, undergoing a form of almost exact cloning that in and of itself was rather new to him. His sister chuckles at his clear enthusiasm, shaking her head slightly as she walks away. Whispers form behind him, likely gossip of the oddity of his creations, but he doesn't care. They're odd, but they're his. It's been less than a millenia and he's already in love. He watches the building blocks of his creations, as instructions form first in chunks and then strands, with small changes made each generation when the replication mechanisms glitch and fail. It's imperfect, but that makes it all the more interesting, as he doesn't even need to interfere for change to happen. Distraction interrupts as his brother cheers behind him, his first creation taking their first step. He turns to watch, noting the clean lines and smooth finish of the work, clearly a result of his siblings perfectionism. He joins the group to admire it, but is soon drawn away again, noticing that his organisms are drawing closer and closer to the surface. Cyanobacteria work hard as they pump enough oxygen to change the world before his eyes. Microbes meet and decide to settle down, forming new structures more complex than before. Cells cooperate with one another, coming together to form tissues, organelles, and so much more. He nearly cries when they become more complex, sheds a tear when the first evolves to exist on land, and openly weeps when the first of the fungi, and later plants, choose to grow. Several of his siblings pass by, amazed by the change from his usual stoicism, but don't seem to get the appeal, moving on quickly. He can't explain the pride in his chest, but it burns brighter with each step forward his creations take. The sponges delight him, moving ever so slightly in the sea, consuming energy and producing waste. They don't think, but he feels it's a step in the right direction. He's proven correct as evolution takes hold, not even needing him anymore as it creates new and fascinating creatures, as genes are expressed, mutated, and repressed with time. Eventually it explodes, resulting in a burst of activity, with new animals that could swim, and eat, and live. He tracks their every move, watching as they swam closer and closer to the surface, helped by an atmosphere that made the land above sustainable for life. A single fish steps out first, spending less than a minute before diving back under the safety of the sea. They emerge again and again, each time spending one second longer than they did before. They move from aquatic, to semi-aquatic, to mainly terrestrial, until finally the first of their kind turn their back fully to the sea and ventures forth to find the bounties that awaited them further inland. He laughs brightly, sending down a pleasant rain to keep them cool under the beating hot sun, and sits back to watch as they learn the wonders of the world above sea level. Time passes in a blink of an eye, and suddenly he finds a world covered in all types of life. Bugs, lizards, birds, fish, and some things that seem to be starting their own path, though he hasn't decided what to call them quite yet. The atmosphere let's his creations grow large and strong, all on a singular landmass, and he let's the pride wash over him.

"You could do literally ANYTHING else with your time. Why in all of Creation are you doing THIS?" Says one god to another, exasperated.

The late summer's harvest moon cast a soft, yellow light upon the field. Below the heavens, below the wispy white clouds, below the soaring black hawk, below the trees that gently rustled in the wind, Argyle sat on a log around a dull green fire. From his pouch, he pulled out more copper sulfate. He looked at it in his hand, the blue crystals shimmering in the firelight, before throwing it into the flames. It was the offering his demon needed. The dull green flames turned into a vivid, almost acidic color. Then, they grew and grew until they were higher than the trees. The flames acted as a portal. Out from it stepped Argyle's old friend. "You always look so ridiculous, stepping out from that tower of fire," Argyle said, as the flames died down and eventually disappeared entirely. "You're not that tall, you know." Indeed, the woman who had stepped out from the portal was shorter than Argyle himself, who, although once a tall young man, was now a shrunken old geezer. "You know I like to make an entrance,"—the woman tried to say, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. Though it was dark, the moon gave Argyle just enough light to see something shimmering on the woman's face. Blood? "Here," Argyle said, handing her his waterskin. As she drank, she tilted her face upwards, allowing more moonlight to shine across her. Argyle noted how smooth her skin still was. His used to be like that. "How goes things on the other side?" "The same as ever, I fear. Seventy years later, and nobody's learned a damned thing." She whipped the ground with her tail in frustration. "They're practically at our gates now." Argyle looked down at his hands. Seventy years, had it really been that long? "But you'll survive, just like you always do," Argyle said, now touching the top of his hand with the other, feeling how bony and brittle he was. Where had all the time gone? "I'm not so sure about that," the woman said. "This time it's especially bad. And I don't have you to rely on anymore." Argyle wanted to apologize. But for what? It wasn't his fault he was human. This is just what humans do. They get old. They age. They leave everything behind. "I'm not dead yet, you know." He held his arms open, motioning for her to come into an embrace. Telling her to feed. Up close, she was as beautiful as ever. Argyle's heart smiled. It wasn't her powers as a succubus that was making Argyle feel these things, but the time they had spent together over the years. In his bedroom, when he had initially summoned her, they had talked for hours. They learned they both were deathly nervous of the event. Argyle was worried he'd summon something that would eat him alive, and the succubus had been told tales of abusive humans who enslaved her kind. In reality, Argyle just wanted somebody to talk to, and the succubus just wanted reprieve from the war that ravished her home plane. It was the first time she had been brought into this world for something other than lust. It was also the first time she learned a human could make her laugh. After that first encounter, he tried to summon her at least once a month. When he was young, it had been easier. There was more time for himself and less for work. They got to know each other, along with the differences between their worlds. In hers, a continual war threatened all living creatures. In his... well, humans weren't much different than demons after all. As he aged, though, their meetings became less frequent. Sometimes, an entire year would pass without the two seeing each other. He'd try his best to sneak in a visit in an inn, or dungeon, but the times were few and far between. Eventually, Argyle retired. The time he so desperately yearned for as a working warlock now returned to him. But a lifetime of labor changes a man. Though his spirit remained young, his body did not. He was always tired. Things didn't work as they used to. And all around him, life changed as well. As he held the succubus tight, as tight as his old muscles allowed, he knew he had little to offer. Gone were the days where he could give her every last drop. She knew it too, barely taking an ounce of the old man's energy. Their embrace was hardly more than one between humans. "Come on," Argyle whispered. "You can have more than that." "No," the succubus said, laying her head on Argyle's shoulder, sounding tired as well now. "I can't." "At least rest, then," Argyle said. "I'll get a fire going. A normal one." "That, I can do." In the demon's realm, there was no time to sleep. You always had to be vigilant. Spies and assassins were everywhere. She was already snoring even before Argyle got up. He gently laid her down on the soft earth. "Always so trusting of me," he said to himself, as he gathered up sticks and logs. Instead of using his flint and steel, he used magic to start the fire, not wanting to wake the girl. It crackled and popped and the heat felt nice against his skin. Even though it was summer, he was cold. Argyle was able to see the succubus clearly in the firelight. The shimmering on her face was indeed blood. She was still bleeding, too, which was strange, because even the little energy she had taken should have been enough to heal a cut like that. Maybe she had taken nothing. Also in the firelight, Argyle could see himself better. He turned his hands over and frowned. He was eighty-six now. His bones creaked. His body ached. His time was coming soon. The succubus was curled up in a ball on the floor, tail wrapped around her, like a cat. Each sleeping breath she took was full-bodied; her lungs knew chances like this didn't come often. Argyle watched her laying there, and wished he could help. He cursed his mortality. If he was young, she wouldn't be hurting like this. But, he knew, there was still something he could do. He let out a deep sigh that was carried away by a passing wind. He looked up at the gigantic yellow moon, which was obscured by two thin black clouds. He thought about his life, and everything that had happened during its course. He was alone, now. Nobody alive even knew his name, besides this girl asleep in front of him. The girl who had been there practically since the beginning. She was the one thing that never left his side. He knees hurt as he bent down beside her. A lock of dark hair lay draped across her face. He brushed it aside, causing her to stir for a moment. Argyle held his breath. She didn't wake. With a fair amount of difficulty, he managed to get onto his side, so he was face to face with the succubus. It reminded him of the first time they met, laying next to each other in the bed at his parents' house, giggling all night. He lay like that for a long time, making sure this was the right choice. The sun began to rise, painting both of them in a golden hue. Argyle took one last look at her, and made up his mind. He'd been wanting to do this for the longest time. For almost eight decades he'd wondered how they felt. It was always off limits, though, because of the consequences. Now, that didn't matter; finally, he'd get to know. With his hand on the back of her head, he held his breath, and pressed his lips to hers. The lips of a succubus. As he felt his life leaving him, he couldn't help but smile. They were just as soft as he'd imagined, all those years ago.

You are a warlock who has formed a pact with a powerful demon. The times that you summon your demon are the only solace they receive from a long and brutal war that rages within their home plane.

You'll never believe the shocking truth about God. I was scrolling through social media the other day when I came across a post that completely blew my mind. According to this post, God isn't the ancient, all-knowing deity that I had always believed Him to be. In fact, He — I mean, She — is a 14-year-old girl and we are all just her OCs. I honestly couldn't believe what I was reading. How could this be possible? How had we all been living in a virtual reality created by a teenager, without even realizing it? What implications did this hold for our collective fates? As I continued to read the post, I struggled not to LOL. I mean, really, a 14-year-old girl controlling the entire universe? But I will admit, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of character I was in God's story. Was I the hero? The villain? Or just some insignificant background character? I decided to do some digging and see if I could find out more about this mysterious teenager who is (supposedly) pulling all the strings. Ultimately, thanks to some help from a 1337 haxxer friend from high school, I was able to track down her Instagram account. Scrolling through her feed, I was dumbstruck by the absurdity of it all. Here is this young girl, living her life like any other teenager, posting selfies and memes and all the usual stuff. And yet, she is also the creator of the entire universe!? It's mind-boggling. Since then, I've been seeing some patterns emerge. It seems like every time God posts a selfie, a major event is about to happen in the world — a natural disaster, a political upheaval, you name it. It is almost as if She is using her iPhone as some sort of cosmic control panel, manipulating reality in accord with Her Divine Will. Earlier today, I saw another post that made me LMAO. It was a picture of God sitting in front of her computer, with a caption that read: > Just finished creating a new planet and giving it sentient life forms. Time to see if they worship me as their deity #godmode #cosmiccreation #aliensarereal #believe #worshipme" It's just too ridiculous to be true, and yet it is. I do not believe it is smart to express doubt at this point. After all, who knows what kind of power a 14-year-old girl might have, especially if she's the one controlling the entire universe? At the moment, I'm just going with the flow and waiting to see what happens next. Partly out of curiosity. Mostly because I'm too scared to inquire any further.

Turns out that god isn’t a million year old all knowing deity. Actually, she’s a 14 year old girl and we’re all her oc’s.

King Boris III was livid. “Ineffective! All of them, ineffective! Must I also notify every commoner who can hold a dagger?!” “Your Majesty.” Cecil, his First Minister, spoke up. “I do not understand. Many of the mercenaries and those of your army alike have attested that they attended to the dragon problem as you saw fit.” “Is that so?!” Boris tore open a set of decorated curtains and gestured out to the city beyond the palace window. “Take a stroll out there, man! Even from here I can see the reptilian pests have only multiplied. There’s one right there, perched on a shop roof. One sticking its head into a house’s window. SEVERAL just sitting around the garrison’s barracks. Why, I heard talk of two of them lounging about the entrance of a brothel, and even stealing and taking on the clothes of the whores within!” “They are not hurting anyone, your Majesty, and they seem to follow our laws stricter than some of our own citizens. I’ve only seen them breath flame to warm some homes and inns…and bedrooms.” Cecil uttered the last part under his breath. “Enough. I’ll grant you this, Cecil. I *have* seen a few sights which suggest they have been taken care of properly by some of those I hired. I’ve seen men wheeling in stolen dragon eggs on little trolleys, just ripe for the pan, though the poor fools don’t seem to notice the angered parents of said eggs stalking them from behind. I have heard roars of dragons certainly in pain through the evenings and nights, and most telling of all there is the recent fashion trend.” “…Fashion trend, your Majesty?” Cecil said, confused. “Well, yes. Have you not noticed those who wear the scales of the reptiles on their wrists or faces as if it were fine jewellery? They must be bringing in so many of the beasts that even the lowest commoners can afford them. I do find it excessive however when they go as far as copying those tricks the youth have come up with.” “…Tricks, your Majesty?” Cecil said, concerned. “The flame belching - I know it is simply a trick of holding alcohol in one’s mouth with a hidden matchstick in the hand. And the training of one’s eyes to slit, slightly akin to those of the dragons. Look into that, Cecil. They may be stealing from the Lens Makers’ Guild.” “Will do, your Majesty.” Cecil bowed and turned to make his leave. “Thank you…oh, and Cecil?” Boris called out as he remembered something. “Yes, your Majesty?” “How are you and Sophia doing since the wedding?” “Oh-AHEM-w-well. We are doing very well. Though, her name is actually Soifriax, your Majesty.” “Ah, you did say she was a foreigner! Haha, no wonder she’s too shy to come around here.” “She is quite busy too. We have eggs on the way-“ Cecil almost put his fist in his mouth out of shock at what he’d let slip. Boris just looked confused, so he quickly improvised. “We are having eggs and steak for lunch. Apologies, I went rather off topic there.” Cecil blushed but kept a level head and a straight face. “Great.” Boris jauntily wagged a finger at him as he moved to go back to his throne room, barely missing a winged teenage guard lighting a pipe with a cough of fire. “Hope that perhaps it may even be dragon eggs!” Cecil gulped.

A king who doesn't realize he's dyslexic personally writes letters asking for people to slay the dragons around the kingdom. Many years later, he notices that a large number of his subjects have scales and are able to breathe fire for some reason.

A proud and noble duke, Ferdinand had always put the well-being of his kingdom and its people above all else. So when the opportunity presented itself to strengthen the relationship between the royal families by marrying off his only daughter, Elizabeth, to the Crown Prince, Oliver, he didn't hesitate. Despite the initial reservations he had about giving away his beloved daughter, Ferdinand knew it was the right decision for the future of everyone within the kingdom. And so, with a heavy heart, he watched as Elizabeth left to begin her new life in the Capitol as a princess. Nigh on a decade passed, and Ferdinand received the devastating news that Elizabeth had suddenly passed away while out in the royal gardens. Overcome with grief and disbelief, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her death than had been published. Determined to uncover the truth, Ferdinand began his own personal investigation, questioning everyone who had been close to Elizabeth during her time as a princess. As he delved deeper into the mystery, Ferdinand experienced a growing sense of frustration. It seemed that no one wanted to speak openly about Elizabeth's death, and he was met with nothing but evasive answers and vague explanations. This problem grew worse, the closer he got to the royal court. Just when he was about to give up hope, Ferdinand received a tip from an unlikely source: the Royal Court Jester. It turned out that the Jester had partly overheard a conversation between Prince Oliver and one of his advisors. In this conversation, they had laughed about Elizabeth's untimely demise in hushed tones, demonstrating a grotesque lack of humanity and implying they had something to do with it. Filled with rage at this shocking revelation, Ferdinand burst into the Prince's chambers uninvited, a look of fierce determination on his face. The Prince, taken aback by Ferdinand's sudden and aggressive entrance, tried to play innocent, but Ferdinand was having none of it. "I know you had something to do with Elizabeth's death," Ferdinand growled. "If you don't tell me the truth, I'll have no choice but to kill you right here and now," he said, drawing his sword from a scabbard beneath his cloak. Faced with this ultimatum, the Prince faltered, his façade of innocence crumbling. He admitted that he had been having an affair, and that Elizabeth had discovered the truth. Fearing that she would expose him and ruin his reputation, he had arranged for her to have a fatal "accident." "Omit nothing, or as God is my witness," demanded Ferdinand, "I will slay you on your own bed." The Prince sat back on the edge of his bed and hung his head, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I had my Chief Advisor take her for a walk in the gardens," he whispered. "There is a spot where the path goes over a high bridge. I told him to push her off, I needed her dead. I couldn't let her ruin my reputation, my family's reputation, the reputation of my country, of our country..." His voice trailed off. Ferdinand's face was a mask of anger and disgust. "You're a murderer," he spat out. "You killed my daughter, your own wife, just to cover up your own pathetic misdeeds." The Prince looked up at Ferdinand, his eyes pleading. "Please, My Lord..." But Ferdinand was beyond mercy, and cut him off short. "It's too late for any of that," he said coldly. "You had the daughter I cherished most murdered for the most trivial ends. There's no forgiveness for that." Realizing what he meant with that statement, the Prince made a bolt for the door. But Ferdinand saw that coming — with a swift and deadly strike, he plunged the blade into the Prince's heart. Oliver fell to the ground, a look of shock and pain etched on his face. Ferdinand stood over Oliver's body, imbued with a sense of grim satisfaction as he meted out justice for Elizabeth. As the Prince took his last breath, Ferdinand felt no concern for the consequences of this extra-judicial proceeding. Formalities were of no concern to him in that moment. Only justice for his little girl.

A widowed duke sold his only daughter to the crown prince to better the relationship between the royals, but after 10 years of marriage, the daughter dies. The regretful father later investigates the dark truth.

All of the clients are either high level politicians with a lot of dirt on them or mafia heads... The money is good but, man, this is stressful. I was driving in Italy when I noticed a car following us, I kept my eye on rear view mirror and I noticed movement that was all to suspicious. I am currently driving for one of the heads of mafia in Italy and my Italian isn't the best. 'Per favore silenzio' I said loud enough that I got the car ride takers attention four of them. They first looked at me, understandably, considering that what I said was a bit rude 'Siamo seguiti' I said and they looked behind and noticed one of the people of the car behind opening a window coming half way out and with a gun. 'Mantieni la calma e il tono basso' I said and they did. I started driving faster and a thrill twisted grin came into my face and I am happy that I have the mask on. Because, now, things got a lot more fun. While I do prefer to have easy drives, there is just something that makes my blood pumping in these types of situations. I put pedal to the metal and swap gears. 'Mostra quanto sei bravo come pilota' I said with amusement and mafia member next to of me looked at me like I am a bit crazy but, kept his words to himself knowing that it would be a bit ironic of him to comment that I am crazy. Driver behind me is good, I do give him respect for that but, I am in whole different level. I told those I am driving for that hopefully. They have their vomit bags with them and all but the mafia head looked at me in disbelieve as I kick it up a notch pulling off dangerous drifts, sudden U-turns to threaten head on collisions and quick stop breaks to shake off the other driver. I notice head of mafia making a smirk, probably knows I am an expert and that ones I have shaken off the rivals and gotten them home. We will speak a bit. When the other car was shaken off and we were good distance away from the point of them loosing us. I drive out of the small warehouse 'Dove vuoi andare adesso?' I ask and everybody takes normal seat position 'Mappa, casa' head of mafia said in the manner that got the member of mafia next to of me to pull out a map and show the place where I need to drive. 'Abbiamo bisogno di un po' piú di carburante' I said and member of mafia behind me looked 'É vero' mafia member behind me said 'Io pago. Ben guidato' mafia head said amused by the situation. 'Chiaro' I said and start driving to the closest gas station of their home. Once the vehicle was refueled, I drove them home and I have enough gasoline to drop off the vehicle. I get out and up from the vehicle to stretch and get some fresh air. I am not taking the mask off though. Mafia head asks me to drive for his house as a main, but, I politely decline, however, I am open to drive for them again if they call the company and request my call sign. Let's not make it as hot as a vesuvius next time. I tell an open lie. He knows I am lying and that I had a blast driving like a pro. He laughed a bit and said that he will keep the call sign in his mind. And hopefully, the next ride is not going to be as exciting. He himself was concerned few times but, after half of the time of the pursuit. He knew he is in good hands and that he just needs to leave it to me. We bid good day to each other in the honest manner and I get back inside of the vehicle and drop off the vehicle. I tell company why the car tires' are so worn and while the Masquerade Italy department head was slightly annoyed. This is not rare, about uncommon. Pays me the usual and the hazard pay. Also compliments me on bringing the car back in pristine except the tires. I personally rather not drive for the mafias but, THAT was memory I will keep close to my heart. I wonder what my rival in that situation thought when I showed how strong my back is and how big my balls are.

You are a new driver for Masquerade, a company that provides high paying clientele with chauffeurs. Before every job, drivers are given a full face mask. There is one rule that all drivers must follow. Never take off the mask. You are beginning to understand why that rule is so important…

Evil Witch. Feh! I give orphans a home and they call me evil just because I’m blind, not as much of a looker as I was two hundred years ago, and live in the woods! What a joke. “Miss Borda!” One of my children whines. It’s Muuly, sweet little girl, if she weren’t left handed it’s likely she’d be the talk of the town, all kind and bright. “Yes?” I smile down in her direction. “And you don’t have to call me Miss, Muuly, I may not be married but we’re all a family here.” “Ah! Thank you, Borda! Uhh… Oh! The knights from town are here again!” That’s not good. “Thank you for telling me, Muuly, now go play with the others, I’ll be back in a moment.” “Okay! Thank you, Miss Borda!” She laughs as she runs off. I chuckle a bit at her joke. I get up, crack my back, and head over to the front of the Underroot Coven Hall. Once it used to be the pride of the local witches but there hasn’t been a witch here besides myself since the Exaladrynthians built their little town in the valley. “Yes?” I ask as I open the door. “Borda the Witch.” A soldier in iron armour, designed to defend against magic, stands at the door, polearm in hand but not pointed at me. “According to intelligence reports, you are harbouring Prince Vreinas, age 18 as of today, at this address. I have been given authority to search the premises for him should you not surrender him voluntarily.” “Vreinas? A prince? I do have a teenager named Vreinas here at the Hall with me, but he’s the most unprincely character you’d ever see, always wrestling in the dirt and acting humble. Are we talking about the same boy?” “Unmistakably so.” “Huff. He never said a word about his heritage. But I’ll go get him if you wish.” “Your cooperation is appreciated.” The soldier nodded. I headed back inside and sent Sisiyam, a sprite girl I’d taken in recently, to call Vreinas. She zipped off and returned a few moments later with the lanky teenager in tow. I may be blind but even I could tell he was covered in soot. “Ugh. Vreinas, stand still, someone’s here to see you and I can’t in good conscience let you meet them wearing the Dragon’s Doctor’s outfit.” “Oh come on, Ma, it’s just a little ash!” I ignored that and tapped my cane, forming a swirling fog cloud around the boy and washing him fully. I led him back to the door and was surprised when the soldier brought his polearm down to aim at Vreinas’s chest. “Prince Vreinas. According with the prophecy of the Royal Oracle, Princess Borean, you are to be executed before you raise an army, kill her to assume the throne, and cause the destruction of the Four Winds Dynast-“ he never finishes his spiel, I’ve already turned him into a frog, his polearm clattering to the ground. “What was that?!” Vreinas stutters out. “I turned my hand into fog, undid the back of his cuirass, and hit him with the spell.” I explain. “Honestly I don’t know why people make anti-magic armor so easy to take off.” “No! The whole…” Vreinas struggles to find the words, “prophecy thing!” “Oh that? The princess, your sister, was born evil.” “What?!” “Yes, she had her assistant leave you in the woods to get eaten by wolves, since as a prince you would be first for the throne even though you’re younger, but I adopted you before the wolves did.” “And then… this guy?” He assuredly motions towards the frog, which is looking at its front legs in amphibian horror. “I guess she found out about you alive. We’ll see more of them later on.” “N-No! I gotta fix this!” Vreinas shouts. “I gotta find her! I gotta stop her! She’ll send more soldiers after you guys! And she’s evil!? She’d probably… I dunno! Eat everyone’s babies or turn everyone into skeletons! I’ll be back, Ma! I love you!” Aaand he’s already run off on a new adventure. Bless his heart, he always looked out for everyone in our family.

You are known as the "evil witch" of these lands. Years ago, you took in a small boy who seemed to have gotten lost. Today, knights arrived looking for him.

\[Secret Meeting. Ruined.\] Anna sprung up as a tall, broad, man wearing a black leather duster approached the door. He was unnaturally pale and hopefully a vampire like she was. She sat waiting nearby with her eye on the building that she wanted to enter. She didn't want to go in without seeing someone else go in or come out first. "Excuse me!" She called out to the imposing stranger as he reached the door. He stopped and focused on her. "Yes?" he asked. "Ummm...," she didn't have a question prepared and instead thrust the flyer she found on the ground at him. It was a wrinkled and dirty white sheet with a red scissor logo on the top that read: "Sharp Medical Services". Confusion flashed over his face for a moment as he tried to process the interaction; then, he nodded and pulled the door open for her. "It's real," he said. "If you're hungry they'll have blood on hand and they'll help you find somewhere comfortable to live. Come in," he said. "Thank you!" Anna didn't hesitate any longer. Crossing the threshold was like entering another world. The inside of the building was cooler than the night outside. The walls and floors glowed with soft white light and she was surprised to see other people inside. She'd been waiting outside the building for almost two hours before she saw anyone. Several cafe tables dotted the center area and three clerk windows waited at the back. Some people sat at tables alone, one table was occupied by a couple, and a single vampire stood at one of the clerk windows being helped. Anna followed her guide to one of the windows, and he introduced her to the clerk in a white uniform. It resembled a nurse's uniform but, it was tailored more like a formal suit. She had the same red logo on the front of her coat. "She's new," he said. The clerk nodded and smiled at Anna. "Welcome to Sharp Medical Services. Do you need some blood to drink?" she asked. "No, thank you," Anna replied. Feeding wasn’t an issue for her. "I'll stick around until you're done," he nodded at her. Then, he offered his giant hand. "Name's Ruin," he said. "Anna," she gave her own name and accepted the handshake. Ruin walked off and Anna turned her attention back to the clerk. "What's your favorite number, Anna?" the clerk asked as soon as she had her attention. "Oh, I don't know," Anna giggled. "There are too many to pick one. Is that...important?" she asked. The clerk shook her head. "Not at all, you'll learn more about that later," she said. "Well, you seem to be doing okay for sustenance, how can Sharp Medical Services help you?" "Ummm," Anna flashed the dirty flyer. "It says you can help with housing?" she asked. "Of course, where would you like to live? On this Earth, or another? Do you have any locations in mind yet?" "Wait..., what? What do you mean 'on this Earth?'" "Oh, you’re very new," the clerk giggled to herself. She glanced to something at the side that Anna couldn't see, then focused on her again. "Mundo is finishing a talk right now; if you wait for the next one, you'll get all those questions answered," she said. As the clerk explained that she slid a transparent glass card under the divider to Anna. "Here's a node that you can get acquainted with while you wait," she said. "Oh...," Anna wasn't sure what to do; but, the time appeared on the clear card the moment she touched it. She realized it wasn't just glass and picked it up to examine it closer. "I'll let you know through that...," the clerk said. "...when Mundo's ready for his next talk." The screen turned white with red scissors in the middle and the card vibrated in Anna's hand like a phone. "Like that," the clerk added. "Thank you...," Anna wasn't sure what to do next; but, she had the impression that that interaction was over. She turned and saw Ruin wave at her from his seat. "I have to wait for Mundo to talk to me...," Anna said as she sat next to him. Ruin nodded as he brought a small blood bag up to his mouth and took a sip from a straw. "I'm not in a hurry," Ruin shrugged. "Thank you," Anna replied. She was glad she didn't have to ask him to stay. As she thanked him, a wide black hole opened in the air in front of their seats. She tensed at the unknown; but, another vampire walking by simply changed direction. Then, a teenage boy stepped out of the portal and it immediately closed behind him. "Hey, Turbo," Ruin said. The stranger walking by froze. He turned and looked at the teen. "Your name's Turbo?" the vampire asked. "Is that a common name?" Turbo chuckled and shook his head. "I think I'm the only one in the AlterNet," he said. "Hey, nice to meet you, My name's Jerome," he introduced himself with an outstretched hand. "Thanks," Turbo accepted the handshake; but, he gave Jerome a puzzled look. "Why is it nice to meet me?" As he asked the question, Ruin stood up; just in case. "Someone said you're, quote, 'extremely resourceful'. It’s good to know people like that." Turbo chuckled and his dark bronze skin took on a faint shade of red. "Well, thank you. And, thank them too, if you have the chance," he said. Jerome shook his head. "No chance," he chuckled. "I'm not sure; but, I think it was Mrs. Sharp. Ms.? Mrs.," he nodded. "The short one." Turbo's blush vanished and his face took on a stern expression. Ruin took a step closer. "You heard Melody say I was extremely resourceful?" he asked. "I think it was her...," Jerome nodded. "They didn't use their names; but, after seeing Sharp Development everywhere and pictures of the owners, it might’ve been.” "What exactly did she say I was resourceful about?" Turbo asked. “I don't know," he shrugged. "Something about patching a vulnerability, but I don't know what that means." "Yeah," Turbo nodded. He turned and looked up at Ruin. "That's what I came to tell you, Xap can't get to the other side anymore." "Good," Jerome nodded. "At least, I think that's good...," he added when Turbo and Ruin focused on him. "...I mean it's good for the arrangement, right?" "What arrangement?" Turbo asked. Before Jerome answered, they were interrupted by Anna's sudden yelp. She had been so invested in the conversation that she was startled when the node vibrated in her hand and turned white. "I guess I'm going to talk to Mundo," she said as she stood up and waved at Ruin. He nodded, and their conversation immediately started again without her. \*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1796 in a row. (Story #351 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).

As a Vampire/Werewolf/Fae/Demon hybrid, your family is… complicated. You move to the city to get away from the drama but with weaknesses to iron, silver, garlic, sunlight, stakes or holy anything-at-all, to say nothing of lead and asbestos, you’re having *serious* trouble finding a place live.

Why do I have to be god? You're not becoming god. It's the power to do anything and know everything. It's god. Ok, fine, if it makes you feel better you'll be god. It doesn't. I don't want to be god. And that's why you *should* be god. That doesn't make any sense. Sure it does. Anyone who wants to be god shouldn't be god. ...ok, fine, it makes sense. Still don't want it. Again that's a good thing. I came in here hoping I could get, like, perfectly cooked grilled cheese, or know every 5th question on any standardized test. What should I even do with something like this? Don't know. That's for god to decide. You're annoying, you know that? I have been told. Now then, we are running out of time. If we run out of time, do I get to not be god? Nope, sorry. Just take it already. I'd prefer for this to be at least somewhat consensual. Well it isn't. Fine. If I blow up the world or erase our timeline or something it's on you. Well, not on me really, but point taken. Good luck. Yeah whatever.

When everyone reaches 18 they have to choose a super power from a select list of powers, but when you enter the selection room there is only 1 power for you to choose from.

It was now midnight, and it was now Christmas. The day every child excitedly waited to arrive has finally come, what joy! Santa will finally give out the presents they had all longed for, and that Santa did. With his enchanted sleigh and holiday magic, Santa quickly delivered all his presents across the world to every good boy and girl, but not before eating up the little snacks of cookies and milk they generously prepared for him. They're going to have such a wonderful surprise when they wake up. For the naughty ones, it was the usual. They'll be sorely disappointed, maybe even saddened, to find that all they got from patiently waiting were lumps of coal. They might not like it, but there's still always next year to be nice! And the parents would love this subtle show of generosity from Father Christmas, some free fuel for the warm flame of many welcoming hearths and fireplaces. In just a minute, Santa had finished giving every child their due reward. Now...he only had one child left to deal with. Santa arrived at the house of the final child, a luxurious two-storey house covered in many decorations. He let out a sigh as he descended down the chimney, for he knew who it was he must face: the naughtiest child on his list, little Timmy. Timmy was fast asleep in his room. He did not hear his door open, nor the footsteps of dear old Santa slowly drawing near. He did not feel Santa slowly take a pillow and gently place it upon Timmy's head--no, he did not wish to suffocate poor Timmy, he only wants to not have to deal with this child--and Little Timmy did not see Santa slowly pull out a silenced pistol and place the tip of the weapon against the pillow. Santa's eyes, which were once jolly and welcoming, oozed with spite and disgust as he watched the child sleep. Opening his mouth to speak, what he spoke were the last words Timmy would ever hear. "Killing dear Jessica and her family on 'accident' was *VERY* naughty, little Timmy." Before Timmy could scream, Santa pulled the trigger.

Timmy was the naughtiest little boy you could think of, so it's no Surprise he always gets coal for Christmas. This year however, Santa decided that coal ain't enough for little Timmy

"Darling, what a surprise! It's been forever!" "Hello, Nana." I carefully placed the wicker basket filled with pumpkin spice bread, gingerbread cookies, and other goodies on her kitchen table. "I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while." "Oh, it's no trouble at all, I'm just glad that you're able to make time for an old spinster like me." Nana tottered towards the stove, where a pot of water was already boiling. Clearly, despite her earlier statement, she'd been expecting visitors. "Come, I'll make a pot of your favorite tea. Now, tell me about life in Miralys! Is Magistrate Sherman's arthritis doing okay? How old are Luna and Skylar, now? I'm sure you've saved countless lives ever since you started your stint there as a healer. The townsfolk must love you." "Actually, Nana, I'm here because the townspeople asked me to come talk to you." I sat down at the dining table. A fine layer of dust had accumulated, and I began idly tracing out patterns in it. "About what, dearie?" Nana had her back turned to me so that I couldn't see her expression, but I knew she was feigning ignorance. Her brain was sharp as a tack. "You can't keep cursing Mistress Wendell's tomatoes, Nana. Or making the goats sing like angels. Or messing with the weather. Or appearing in their fireplaces and mirrors. You're spooking the townsfolk." Bustling back to the kitchen table with the teapot, Nana carefully avoided my gaze as she poured out a cup of steaming oolong. "I know, dearie," she sighed, looking out of the window at the dense redwoods that enveloped her small cottage. "It's just that...life out here gets lonely, sometimes." \--- "You will deal with her, won't you?" Magistrate Sherman fidgeted with his timepiece. "Why, just last week she cursed my cousin's tomatoes to grow demonic faces! We had to burn the entire garden down and extinguish the flames with holy water." "Of course," I promised. "This isn't the first time I've been to deal with her, remember? I'll have things set to rights in no time." "Yes, but what I don't understand is why you don't just get rid of her," the magistrate said. "If you let her stay in the forest, we'll keep having these problems crop up over and over again." "You want me to kill a defenseless old woman?" I raised an eyebrow. "Well, no," he stuttered, taken aback. "Can't you get her to leave? Pick up and go somewhere else?" "I'll see what I can do," I replied. \--- I knew that Nana was lonely. I knew that I should have been visiting more. I mean, it was obvious. Every time I went too long without stopping by, she started bothering the townsfolk. It was the most surefire way that she could get me to come see her, and honestly, I was a bad granddaughter for it. Many times, I'd thought of how much simpler things could have been if she could have lived with me. She'd be able to stay in town, play with Luna, help Mistress Wendell with her gardening, and chat with Sir Kendrick during his evening patrol. It would have been lovely. And we'd probably both have been burned at the stake before the next full moon. The magic that burned in my veins, the magic that allowed me to heal, the magic that granted me power to save lives...all of it came from Nana. But if my magic was a flame, then Nana was a roaring bonfire. Her magic was stronger. Less predictable. And it burst through her skin, leaving her with clear signs of the fae-marked. Golden eyes, the same color of her dryad mother. Ram's horns poking through her messy gray curls, inherited from her satyr father. *Can't you get her to leave? Pick up and go somewhere else?* Magistrate Sherman's words echoed in my ears. Our welcome was up. Quickly, quietly, I packed up my belongings. Miralys could find a new healer. \--- /r/theBasiliskWrites

You were sent to go deal with reports of a sinister witch in the woods that has been terrifying local villagers. Your grandmother is surprised to see you, but offers tea and cake while you're here.

***Ain't Easy Being Cheesy*** Twinkling Twilight home for senior citizens was a short drive outside of Star City. A lovely facility providing all the comforts of home for its residents, even the ones who couldn't remember their day to day lives. Terrance Thorne sat in the common area playing cards, as he was about to claim victory the attractive young nurse he constantly flirted with interrupted. "Mr. Thorne you have a visitor. They want to see you out in the garden." Her soft voice melted Terrance's old heart, instead of raising his mast, getting old sucked. "Are you sure, hot stuff? Nobody visits an old fart like me. Who is it?" Terrance asked, slowly propping himself up on his cane. "They asked me not to say, wanted to keep it a surprise." The nurse replied. She took Terrance's free hand as the two slowly made their way to the back garden. Terrance's visitor had their back turned to him, he still recognized her from behind. "What the fuck does she want?" Terrance grumbled aloud, pushing the nurse off him. "Leave us." He said with an air of menace. The nurse retreated, Terrance pushed forward. He loudly cleared his throat. "What are you doing here little Angie? Ain't seen you in decades, come to toss me into the slammer? Guess what, I'm already there." Detective Angela Falcona turned to face the retired schmuck. She held up a picnic basket and smiled. "Hey T! Come on, this place ain't so bad. Hot little nurse you got, that's got to be a plus." "Let's just say the rigging on the main mast doesn't work like it used to. I already ate lunch, at least I think I did." Terrance took a seat at the patio table in the center of the garden, most of his life was spent sedentary now, a far cry from his glory days of being feared by any who heard his name. "Well maybe this will perk you up." Falcona said slyly as she opened the picnic basket. An overpowering odor burst from the basket, singeing the detective's nostrils. To Terrance, it smelled like heaven. His eyes widened as the wheel of cheese hit the table. He scooped it up, taking a deep whiff. "Vioux Boulogne. Stinkiest of the stinky cheeses. Do you know what gives it that enticing aroma?" He asked excitedly. Falcona pinched her nose, decades of smoking had destroyed her sense of smell, this stuff didn't care. "Enlighten me." She asked. Pinched nostrils causing the tone of her voice to rise. "Unpasteurized cow milk is pre-salted then washed with beer. As it rots it releases it's intoxicating aromatics." Terrance clutched the cheese wheel tightly, resisting the urge to chomp through its rind. "How poetic, I would say it smells like a septic tank." Falcona lit a smoke to cover the horrendous odor in the air. Terrance narrowed his eyes at her. "Falcona's aren't known for giving gifts without wanting something in return. What's your angle?" Falcona chuckled. Terrance didn't play the game anymore but he still knew how to play it. "I need the Terrible Turophile to come out of retirement for one last hurrah." "Sorry little Angie. I'm that not person anymore. Find someone else to do your dirty work." Terrance tossed the wheel of cheese back on the table, despite his yearning to take a bite. Falcona put the wheel back in the basket. "It's a pretty easy gig, all you really got to do is show up, rest will take care of itself. You'll be back in time for "Wheel of Fortune". But I can't make you do anything. Shame you won't hear me out, this basket is pretty heavy." Falcona produced another wheel of cheese. Terrance's breath left his body. "Bitto Storico! How old is it?" "Eight years." "Then it must be taking on a spicier yet bitter taste. Oh I haven't had this in years, really takes me back. What's the job?" Terrance asked hesitantly. "Pick a fight with Meteor Man. He's been feeling down lately, losing focus on being a hero. Once the schmucks learned how dumb he was they started to outsmart him. Nobody fights him anymore. Need someone to snap him back to reality, give him a challenge. If what my pa told me about you is true, you're the perfect man for the job. Since you ain't been around for awhile it ain't gonna rock the boat too much once you lose." Falcona chain smoked, the battle between stinky cheese and smoke continuing to wage in the air. A resigned sigh left Terrance's lungs. "I'm too old to be fighting supers, that's a young man's game. Sorry, Angie." Falcona gazed into Terrance's eyes, he had a good poker face. Good thing Falcona always kept aces up her sleeve. One last wheel of cheese. Terrance almost fell out of his chair, Falcona almost fainted at the disgusting "food". The pale yellow cheese writhed as if it were alive, something wriggled beneath its surface. "Casu Marzu? It can't be. You can't import this, it's illegal, due to the maggots that live within, processing it to give it that.....ripe flavor. It's the only cheese I've never had the pleasure of consuming." Terrance rapidly spoke, his breathing heavy. "Damn you Angie, damn you to hell." He breathlessly choked out. Falcona kept her stoic poker face on, she was certain that would have produced a yes. She had a hunch, needed to test it. With a flick of her wrist she opened her butterfly knife, slowly cutting into the Casu Marzu, maggots wriggled from the slice. Falcona threw up in her mouth a little, Terrance's mouth watered. "Come on, take a little bite." She held the small slice of cheese in front of Terrance's face. Tears welled in Terrance's eyes. "I can't be the villain you need, Angie. I never wanted to disappear, end up in this crappy old folks home. It was out of my control." Falcona dropped the piece of cheese on the table, she made a mental note to wash her hands extra long before leaving. "Someone keeping you caged?" She inquired. Terrance wiped away a tear streaking down his wrinkled cheek. "I'm lactose intolerant." \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles

You are an estranged supervillain with seemingly endless powers. The heroes fear you for that, however, your actual superpower is gaining powers by eating various types of cheese.

“What did I put on the pizza you ask?” I leaned back in my office chair with my fingers steepled and a mischievous smile grew on my face. “Maybe if you offered to pitch in on the pizza you would know. You would have seen the receipt and be able to know what I ordered.” My roommate raced over calmly to the trash can to try and dig the receipt out but found only a fresh trash bag. I rolled in on my office chair with the same smarmy look “Perhaps if you took the trash out instead of piling it up on itself the receipt would be right there”. My roommate looked at my and eyed the dumpster outside of the apartment complex. Never washed, never cleaned, filthy, disgusting the metal receptacle sat stinking in the parking lot with almost visible looking stink lines of an entire complex’s trash. He looked at me desperately as if I was his executioner before realizing that I would rather die than concede any ground and changed his clothes and gave me one last look before walking out into the crisp night air. I watched him in my office chair as he slowly walked down the stairs and approached the dumpster like a man would approach the gallows. He could feel gaze from the apartment window as I munched on my perfectly normal pizza. He took a nearby milk crate and used it as a step stool and a nearby stick to sift through the trash. He sifted through the trash for a solid hour and I have to really compliment him on his dedication until he gazed up and looked up at me, watching the entire time. He walked back up to the apartment defeated and infuriated and as he tried to open the door he realized something, he didn’t have his key on him. He knocked on the door and I took my sweet time rolling over to the door and unlocking it. “What did you put on the pizza!” he yelled at me like his life depended on it. My smarmy look never dropped my face as I said “*I* didn’t put anything on the pizza”. He looked at me confused for a moment before remembering I’m a little shit and corrected himself “What did you have *put* on the pizza” “I didn’t have anything *put* on the pizza”. He looked a moment away from throwing me through the window and I reached into my pocket and reveled the receipt for his pizza. He snatched in from my hands a read through it stopping on the single ingredient that I had changed “Where the fuck did you find a pizza place that used Goat Cheese?”.

"WHAT DID YOU PUT ON THE PIZZA, YOU VILE FILTH?!" said your roommate, calmly.

Have you ever heard of the Dunning Kruger effect? The idea that there’s this kind of sweet spot where someone knows enough about a subject to be informed but not enough to realize that they’re completely misinformed? I think that’s why zombies kind of have always sucked in media, so I guess good job on Romero for that—he was right but just…not quite right. The thing is about Dunning Kruger is that you need to be able to have someone teach you or be cognizant enough to find your own answers so that you can eventually be proven wrong and suffer like a huge cognitive ego decay, which is either good or bad depending on if you learn or hunker down. If you don’t have something to teach you further then I guess you’d always be stuck there. Sorry—I’m rambling. I don’t have anyone else to talk to and I’ve just learned a *lot*. When the infection took Cleveland, we all kind of assumed that it would be 2020 all over again until news was leaking that despite the city going into absolute lockdown that the national guard was being brought in, and not to help in humanitarian efforts, strictly speaking. Word got out that this wasn’t airborne, but that people were turning violent, acting erratic, and killing people. There seemed to be some kind of greater plan though—this was before the Z word was getting thrown around, but there was distinct *planning*; these were shambling freaks, these were like 28 Days Later running psychos that communicated while they killed and spread their virus. There was a lot of initial panic from the UN; again, everyone was poised to think this was some kind of new strain until it was cracked. The infection spread like it does in the movies, but no film auteur had ever considered that the Midwest in the middle of winter would be the worst place to set a zombie story. Bites were accidental, usually brought on by carelessness in the initial infection period, and other than an alt-right cult that believed this was somehow a leftist hoax and got all 10k of their followers across the state infected in an ‘own the live’ moment, have a bunch of armed Ohioans shooting at zombies from cornfields and empty parking lots turned out to be a lot more boring than anyone could have anticipated. Sorry—rambling again. Where was I? Dunning Kruger. My head hurts. So the infection was largely quashed, with a few dumbasses getting killed in honestly how you’d expect red-neck southern Ohioans to go. The thing is, I don’t think we’re ever going to get an answer for lots of reasons—number one is that I’m the last one. Zombies are a lot weirder than anyone could have thought—the reason we were able to plan and coordinate is because every person that was infected became a part of a hive mind, and initially we were kind of kept in low-key compliance from…something. I think something up in space; I’m pretty sure someone was doing that. But as the numbers started dwindling, that left, leaving a bunch of undead, infected people suddenly sharing every bit of gathered intelligence that we’d all shared. We still just want for rage, but now it’s because we all feel doctorate level knowledge from professors, government officials, actual doctors, and whatever being suddenly slammed into our brains at the same time we’re arguing about the best lite beer. It’s like being trapped on Reddit. As numbers went down, the strain got lessened since it was so much so loud, but now that I think it’s just me it’s constant. The survival instinct of tens of thousands of people, and the intelligence of them all just bouncing around in one brain that’s still hard wired to bite and propagate. Jesus, it’s not wonder we bit so much—it’s torture. I’m lying now in a ditch in Hawking Hills, out of Haddock—just a few miles from my parent’s home where I killed my mom as she was tearing apart my dad and accidentally got her blood in my eyes from the blast of the gun. I’ve walked these trails a billion times in my life, enjoying the scenery. I don’t know if anyone knows I’m here, but I have to suspect as much since I still here people patrolling. I think, ‘I could build a rocket and get off the planet’ or ‘I could pick them off one by one’. I technically have the knowledge to do that, but I’m aware enough that I really don’t. I beat Dunning Kruger in that way. I think I know how it ends, and it’s me just being found. Being found and letting the knowledge of all of us go without ever giving them any kind of answers or knowledge to prepare. Someone else will have Dunning Kruger about this whole thing, and they won’t even know it. I’m tired. The buzzing in my brain is too much. I hear the boots on the leaves, and I know I won’t give them answers.

The Zombie Apocalypse lasts less than a week because it turns out a lot of people were waiting for an excuse to use all the guns they've been buying. You are the last zombie. Good luck!

“Don’t you see? The bacteria will fix everything! All the litter, the plastic in the oceans, even single-use straws, will be gone in a matter of days!” “Can your bacteria be stopped? Can it be contained? “Oh no, not anymore. It is too far gone. The bacteria will eat and eat until the world runs out of plastic, and then it will die off.” “The bacteria will eat *all* the plastic?” “All of it!” “I can’t believe you would do something so, so, incredibly, unbelievably stupid!” “How can you say that? I’m going to make the world better!” “Have you ever seen someone who’s been intubated in order to breathe? “What?” “Have you ever seen someone breathing through a tube because they were hurt or in a coma or something?” “Well, yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?” “What do you think the tubes are made of?” “What?” “The tubes that goes down someone’s throat to help them breathe, what’s it made of?” “It would be, um, I suppose, uh… *oh no*.” “Yeah, and IV bags that hold medicine, and the tubes that carry that medicine into peoples’ bodies? What are they made of, genius?” “*Oh god*.” “That’s just the beginning. Most pipes and plumbing infrastructure in houses is plastic! Don’t even get me started on how much stuff is made plastic based polyester! Try most furniture sold in the last few decades and a lot of people’s clothes!” “*What have I done?*” “You’ve killed a lot of people! Society can adapt to not having plastic. Plastic wasn’t widely used in consumer products until the 50s. That being said, do you know what airplane windows are made of? Do you have any idea how much plastic is in most cars nowadays? Although, before you try to answer any of those questions, and come to the realization that you are responsible for an untold number of deaths, I just want to know one thing. WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST USE REUSABLE GROCERY BAGS AND RECYCLE LIKE THE REST OF US?”

"Ten years ago, we created an airborne plastic eating bacteria. If allowed to propagate, it would take less than five years for it to spread and consume 99% of all plastics on the planet. I'm telling you this so you can understand why I chose to release it this morning."

(content warning: this story is a bit dark, as it depicts the detailed POV of a person being attacked, be aware.) It was Christmas, everyone had gone home for the holidays, even the guards. After all, there were no weapons here, no guns, no super suits, only paperwork. Even though this building belonged to the hero's association, it was a simply an office. Anything vaguely important would be stored in other locations, or backed up on servers. A simple place for heroes to come and fill out paperwork if needed. So why was I here? I liked it, the tile floors, the smell of cleaning chemicals, even if it's just moping the floors. I may not be a hero, but someone has to the job, and this way I could help, even if only a little. An empty building full of useless papers, and me. No reason for anyone to target here, then again, villains are not the most reasonable of people. I found him in a hallway, my mop in hand. A thin man in a trench coat. I called out to him, "Hey, were closed, it's Christmas, come back tomor....". He turned to look at me. His piercing red eyes caught me off guard. It only took a second, before I knew it, he was in front of me. I fell, no, I was pushed back against the wall. I felt this... sinking pressure around my neck. Pain. I could feel his fingers wrapping around my throat. I felt the urge to cough. Reaching up I begin grabbing, pulling, at the hands, desperately trying to re-leave the pressure. Those piercing eyes staring at mine, observing me. My heart beats fast. I desperately claw and scrape at the hands, they hold firm, unmoving. I can feel the Adrenalin building higher and higher. A sneer twists across the man face. Is this how it ends? The grip tightens. Why me? Why here? Why now? A snicker invades my ears. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it will tear a hole in my chest. What about John from accounting, we were supposed to go bowling. What about Jennifer, who always smiles at me from behind her book? My lungs burn with intensity. My arms no longer attempt to claw at the hands, they feel heavy like lead. A toothy grin is stretched eternally thin below those red eyes. My muscles burn, My vision blurs. I don't want to die, I don't want to say goodbye, I DON'T WANT TO DIE. Like lifting the heaviest weight I ever have, my hand shoots forward and touches the man's face. His hands release, and his body crumples to the floor. I slide against the wall onto my hands and knees gasping, coughing, desperately breathing the sweetest air I have ever felt. I stayed there, for a long moment, the cool sensation wicking away the burning from my chest. My shaking arms push me up as I sit against the wall, unable to believe what's just happened. I see the body, Still writhing, the arms and legs contorting. The skin growing thinner, tauter, wrapping around the man like a skeleton, until it becomes hard and begins to crack, splitting open. Tears begin to well in my eyes, I look at the body as it begins to fall apart. "i'm sorry", but a breathy whisper, "i did not want ...", "i did not mean to", "i- i'm sorry". The man is long gone by now. There is no place for an inescapable death in a world of heroes, no man deserves such a fate. My throat burns.

You're the janitor for the biggest superhero foundation ever known, but one day, when all of the heroes are gone, a villain appears. what they don't know is that you are the most powerful superhero there, and the only reason you aren't put on missions is because you are TOO powerful.

The brave young girl walked through the forest, gripping her lantern tight as she diligently looked around; she knew very well what she had to do and even though the forest was dark, she was not afraid. Suddenly, she came upon a small clearing, filled with the moon's light, and saw many children playing! "Hello!" the brave girl said to the children. "Hello there," the children replied. They were the most peculiar children with skin as green as spring grass and flowers instead of hair. "What brings you here?" one of the green children asked. "A big, bad wolf stomped around our house," the brave girl explained. "It huffed and puffed and roared all night until my parents decided to go and find it and chase it away! I'm going to help them!" the girl proudly stated. "Aren't you afraid?" one of the green children asked. "I'm not afraid of *any* dog," the girl puffed her chest. "But... I think I've gotten lost. Perhaps you could help me?" "Of course," a green child chirped. "But only after you beat us in a game!" The girl's eyes lit up. "A game?" "Hokey-stones!" one of the children said. "Let us show you!" And so the green children taught the brave girl a game - the most fun game she has ever played. They played and played until the sun rose and the girl realized her quest was not yet done. "Now, I really must go find my parents," she huffed. "But the forest is big and tall! You won't find them on your own!" one of the children cried out. "Perhaps it's better if you stay here and wait until they find you?" The girl narrowed her eyes as she thought about it - after all, her mother always told her that if she ever got lost, she should stay where she is and wait for her to find her. "Okay!" the girl said. "In the meantime, would you like to play more hokey-stones?" one of the children cheered. "Of course!" And so the children played once more, occasionally putting the prettiest flowers in the girl's hair and playfully smudging her hands with the green grass. They laughed and played and the girl was happy, knowing she is with her good friends and that her parents will join them soon! ​ So very, *very* soon. ​ And everyone was happy.

Write a lighthearted story for children, which changes it's meaning when read by an adult.

I turn over my new business card in my claws. Tasteful black, with silver letters. A hefty feel to it. Not in its weight, but that when holding it, you feel like you're holding something incredibly important and so very useful indeed. Took a lot of work to get that kind of enchantment to work on it. With such a simple message for anyone who might receive them too. ''Herrytha Longsilver. Problems solved with ease. Absolute discretion.'' So innocent, so simple, when in truth I am anything but. In my line of business, I am something of a discerning professional. Not some street artist, who shows up at the crossroads like a bad cliché. Not some blood-sacrifice desiring novice, who don't keep their end of the deals. Not some backstabbing little self-important fool. When I make a deal, to fix a problem, I always keep my end of the bargain. And I always get my fair dues. No technicalities. No small-print in the contract. You get what you pay for. And I get what I am owed. When people come to me, desperate, poor, unfortunately, and without any other options left to them; I am the epitome of a professional in my line of business. Not taking souls, after all, I don't work for a bank or in the dark ages. No, pits below, no. They come to me or I come to them, and I get to take their memories. And all their silly little worries are all fixed afterwards. Sure, they might not remember the names of their loved ones, or the origin of their hatred, or even what made them seek me out in the first place. Depends on how much bad they've screwed up, and how desperate they are. It's a seller's market out here, I'm selling the solution to any little problem any mortal could have, so I set the price. And if they can't pay, they aren't desperate enough yet. And sitting at my desk, admiring my new cards, I feel that someone is holding one of them. And calling in desperation for me. How delicious. Arising from my comfortable chair, I walk over to a small mirror in my office, the only sources of light reflected in that mirror-image, are the low torches, and the many jars of memories, shining with intensity on my shelves. Of course I only keep the biggest, longest, and most impressive ones in my office here in the mortal realm, or in my other office, down below. Some of them are tales of love that would dazzle even the most cynical fallen angel. Some of them are sagas of hate that can even rival that which the Adversary holds for the Triune Godhead. Some are sorrowful tragedies that you can drown in, some are joyful events that are vibrant and infectious, some are so alien and inhuman that they cannot accurately be described to any outsider. I look into the mirror and see a dishevelled, worn, and tired person. A human, aged beyond their years, marked by time. It's a slow business day, so I suppose I can make the effort to appear to this person, despite the fact that they're seemingly just a random stranger. At first, I consider doing the showy entrance, all chants, fires, and blood coming out of the walls, but this shouldn't warrant the biggest of efforts. Instead, I walk in a widdershins direction, while manipulating the framework of reality, to merely make it appear like I've arrived quite suddenly. It takes the same amount of effort as the blood, fire, and chanting, but it looks completely effortless. And sometimes, less is more when dealing with mortals. I see them looking desperately at the business card, as I sit down in a rather less comfortable chair in their dingy little room. There are many ways to approach this, and mortals can be skittish if you go about it the wrong way. Not that they could ever harm something like me, tall, tough scarlet skin, black horns with silvery runes etched into them. But I'm wearing a business suit that is made by the finest tailors in the city of Pandemonium, and I'd rather not get any holes in it. Manipulating the airflow in the room, I make it seem like there is wind, making the poor human turn around and stare at me in wonder. I tower over them, of course. Although for a demon, 7'5 isn't a lot. But then again, they're pretty short for an adult. ''**So, you've reached me, Herrytha Longsilver, Centuria of the Fifth Cohort of the 42nd Legion of Hell, Countess of the Plains of Thirst, and Baroness of the Shivering Mountain.**'' I extend my demonic claws to them, and they nervously shake them. ''*I didn't think you'd come.*'' I smirk. Humans. Even in this day and age, they're perfectly willing to make deals with demons, despite not truly believing in us, nor the Heavenly Opposition. ''**Well, you caught me at a free moment in my busy calendar. Lucky you.**'' I get over and stand before the human, a female if I'm any judge. Rarer memories, mostly the human males are the ones dumb enough to summon demons, well, to make deals with them anyway. She stares up into my abyssal eyes with tears in hers. I've dealt with this before. Sometimes humans need a little bit of consoling before they are ready to make a deal. ''**Aw, come on, don't be like that. It's ok. I'm here now. Everything is going to be alright.**'' I judge that this human is the type that would not respond negatively to being touched by a demon, and so I slowly envelop her in my arms and bat-like wings, hugging her. I judged her correctly, as she spends a few minutes sobbing quietly into my torso, letting a lot of emotions out. It's sweet, if a bit taxing. Once she stops, I gently let go of her. ''**Okay. Are you feeling a bit more comfortable now?**'' She nods, and I continue. ''**You've done something very important in your life today. You've summoned me, and can I assume that you know how I operate. How I take my payment, and what I do?**'' She nods, and her small hands grasp onto my large demonic claws to keep steady. Cute. ''**That's good now. Do you want to get right on into it, or do you want a moment to steady yourself, maybe get something to drink? I've got some strong rye whiskey straight from Hell. Some cool, clear water. Apple juice?**'' I've dealt with a lot of different humans. It helps to be prepared for them, having something ready for them in these cases. Makes it feel less dirty for them. More acceptable. Just like a normal business deal, or as close to it as they can get. ''*No. I've already decided. I already know what I want.*'' Beneath all her outer weariness, and all her regrets and sorrows, I can feel a core of iron. Usually, most humans would try to bargain, or to be coy, or even to ask if dealing with me has any consequences with the boys upstairs. Even if her core seems a bit rusty, it's still there. I can respect that. ''**A pleasure dealing with someone who already knows exactly what they want. Refreshing really. Like a walk in the Forest of Screams or on the Terror Steppes. So, what is it that you desire, dear little human?**'' She seems to centre herself, breathing in, then out. Keeping calm in the face of a large demon lady is important. Especially when you're trying to make a deal with her. Amusing. ''*I want to forget. Everything. From the moment I was born to the second you do the deal. I want to forget everything. Even the small things. Even how to live, how to walk, how to be.*'' I raise a rugged eyebrow. Really? Unusual request. Very unusual. ''**Doable. Very doable. Though I feel a bit curious about why you're going that far. Forgetting everything, that will leave you nothing but a drooling, unaware thing. Little more than a human infant trapped in the body of an adult.**'' She looks away for a moment. Anger flashes across her face, for a brief moment. But she doesn't let it strike her. Doesn't let it control her. Good girl. ''*Everything in my life, from my birth to this day, has been terrible. All I have done to raise myself higher has left me buried in the cold, sticky mud. Everything I have done that I thought would be happy memories, now taste like ash in my mouth. I have none left that I would care for. None left that would remember me as anything other than a bad joke, made in poor taste. I am alone, and all my bridges have been burned. I fear death, and yet I crave oblivion. I crave to cease. To have everything I am destroyed. I want my memories taken completely and utter. So that nothing remains. Leave behind naught but a blank slate, upon which a new soul might be written.*'' She is shaking. Impressive that she could say so much, without revealing exactly what has been done to her, or what exactly she has done. ''**Very well. You want me to take your memories. And I take memories as payment for my work. How very fitting.**'' She nods and looks at me with determined, cold eyes. ''*I did my research. I searched a good while for the correct demon. Someone professional. Someone who'd treat me as a person, and also do exactly what I wanted.*'' My maw splits in a demonic grin. Whatever has reduced her to this, must have been one hell of a thing. The memory of that could be very useful to me. Sold in Hell to the right customers could earn me much that I'd need. Used in the right spell against my enemies. That could be powerful indeed. Might even be enough to bump off one of the nobles above me, opening up for the potential for a promotion. Yees. This would be a very good deal for me indeed. ''*I'm ready demon. Take everything from me. Make me forget it all.*''

You are a demon who grants wishes at the cost of memories. However, your latest summoner, does not want anything but to forget.

"Aaaah...finally the rain is over! I can open the window! The coffee should be ready soon! This day is starting..." "Excuse me! Is this the coffee house everyone is talking about in the Eldrich realm?" "...... and who are you actually?" "Oh I apologize. I am Anubis, from the Egypt mythology. God of death and afterlife; Cthulhu was here yesterday, right?" "Yes, and I actually told him, and Zeus, and Ades, and Loki, and Amaterasu, and Vesta, and that drunk Spaghetti god that THIS HOUSE IS NOT A COFFEE SHOP!" "Of course it's not! But your coffee it's the best." "I can't be the only one who makes good coffee!" "Probably not. Can I share a cup with you anyway?" "Look, I have to deal with people all day long. I work in a shop on a busy road and the only moment of peace I have. May I ask why I have it ruined?" "Oh come on, not everyone can say they had a cup of coffee with me!" "Of course not! If some of us does, it will probably end up in therapy or in a mental hospital!" "Or be believed and set up a cult" "What! Oh! No no! Cults are dangerous! I grew up in one! It was awful!" "Is it why you want to stay alone?" "..... if I give you a cup, will you shut up?" "Sure..." "Here. Enjoy. But please, tell the othes ypu are my last guest." *later in the eldrich world* "No no guys! You don't understand! It is really the best beverage I ever tasted made by a human! And he hates religion so he will never ask for favors!! We found it! We found a place where we can hang out without beeing annoyed!"

You are trying to enjoy your morning coffee, but every day, one god or another shows up to ask for a cup. You're getting tired of the interruptions to your morning.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” They were the same words. The same face of desperation. The same poor living soul come to beg for the death of their loved one. Well, not death in the classical sense. Death death. The big death. The final death. It was never easy for any of them to come to me. I’m the last train at the station. When it all starts, they are ecstatic. “How can it be,” they wonder. “How can my dearly departed be here? Alive!” That’s the trick, I suppose. That alive bit. Turns out, there’s no coming back from death, not with any semblance of humanity remaining. There is no happy ending for the undead, only a thirst for the life they once knew. They crave warm blood and the beat of a living heart. Perhaps it starts with the family dog ripped to shreds. Or sweetheart is out scrambling up trees to chase squirrels. I make light of it, but watching your dead wife rip her fingernails off against oak bark while snarling isn’t a pretty thing. Soothing words do nothing. Chaining them in the basement doesn’t work for long. Then, they come to me. Their desperation. It’s not much, but I suppose it is honest work. When they can’t stand to pull that final trigger, I’m there with some silver and gasoline to burn the bones. “Please, I’ll do anything,” they say. It’s always they same. So is my answer… “Did you bring the money?”

you’ve married the love of your life and as fate would have it death didn’t do you part, you just have to deal with the fact they came back as an evil spirit like in a horror movie rather than a ghost like casper.

As I was walking home from work, I noticed a strange light in the sky. It was moving closer and closer, and before I knew it, I was being beamed up into a spaceship. I was terrified and didn't know what was happening, but then I saw the alien. It was a tall, slender creature with glowing purple skin and four arms. "Don't be afraid," it said in a friendly voice. "I'm here to take you to an intergalactic dance party. And I want you to be my date." After some hesitation, I agreed to go to the dance party with the alien. I was both nervous and excited about the prospect of experiencing something so out of the ordinary. The alien led me to a room filled with flashing lights and strange, pulsing music. We danced the night away, twirling and spinning through the galaxy. It was an experience I would never forget. As the party came to a close, the alien thanked me for coming with them and promised to bring me back home safely. And as we flew through the stars, I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever see them again. After a short while, the spaceship landed back on Earth and the alien let me out. I thanked them for the incredible experience and they smiled and waved before disappearing back into the night sky. I walked home with a mix of emotions, still trying to process everything that had happened. I knew I would never forget the night I spent dancing with an alien at an intergalactic party.

after abducting you, the alien explains that there’s an intergalactic dance in a few days and they want you to be their date

They had come alone. I resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. The chance for a double cross was still there, the billowing cloak my illustrious buyer wore to help keep everything anonymous could be concealing anything from a pistol to a longsword if they were feeling particularly adventurous. In at least one attempted double cross the suitcase itself had turned out to be booby trapped with darts containing paralytic agents. I eyed the large, steel box that the figured lugged over with what would roughly be the expected weight for the money I had been offered. 'You know the deal, show me the money first.'I held an arm up in a stopping gesture once they were several meters away. 'Of course.' The voice synthesizer they used carried a heavy mechanical inflection that still made me wince every time I heard it, you'd think they could afford getting a better one but maybe they enjoyed the "Darth Vader through a megaphone" style. Regardless, they laid down the briefcase facing themselves, inputting a code and placing his thumb on a sensor before taking off the latches, turning it around, and revealing to me those crisp, clean bills I had grown to adore, digital transfers just couldn't compete. 'Now, you show me the goods.' I obliged, my far simpler but more colourful maroon suitcase that I was told clashed with my vibrant red outfit and hat, but couldn't find the will to care, unfastening the latch to open it, revealing the ball-sized moon sitting on rich velvet plush. My client inspected it for a full ten seconds before going. 'Err, what is that supposed to be?' I frowned, doing a double take to confirm that it was indeed still the moon in my suitcase. What sort of charade was this? 'What you asked for, the moon. In pristine condition I think you'll find.' 'I asked for The Mona Lisa, not The Moon.' 'Oh NO you didn't!' I snapped back. 'You asked me to steal the moon, and here it is! Don't you go back on our deal now after I've done all the work.' There was a longer pause as the figure seemed to be stunned at what I assume was their terrible memory. 'No, it was definitely the Mona Lisa' Wow, really impressive comeback. I sighed. 'Look, three months ago, you came to this meeting area and told me to "steal the moon, Alyssa".' 'Who's Alyssa?' 'That's me, obvi-' I cut myself off, right, he shouldn't have known my real name. I gave a polite chuckle. 'Alright, maybe there has been a slight miscommunication due to your terrible voice synthesizer, you really need to learn to enunciate.' 'Ha ha.' Was his rather mirthless laugh in response. He looked back up from the moon to my face. 'Well, with that sorted, where did you get that moon anyway?' '...' I just stared at him credulously. 'The sky? What, did you think I just stole some child's paper Mache of the moon for this exchange?' After another excruciating pause my client looked up towards the brilliant blanket of stars that enclosed us. 'Where's the moon?' He mumbled to himself. 'Right here, I just showed you.' But he just repeated himself so with a groan I lifted my case and walked towards him. 'Look, do you want to give it a feel to see that it is legitimate?' 'How would the moon eve-wait, the weather has been pretty insane today, was that because you stole the moon?' He seemed to be gaining an immense fascination for his own hands at this point, shifting his feet in apparent agitation. 'Does the moon have something to do with the weather?' Sounded strange, but I was more into astrology than astronomy so maybe it just never came up. '**YES!**' He shouted, the synthesizer letting out some static feedback that made me flinch. 'How did you steal the moon anyway?' Recovering myself, I pursed my lips and glared at him. 'I'm not at liberty to discuss my thiefly talents, I would expect someone like *you* would understand a need for discretion and secrecy.' 'Sure, but I mean-' I pulled away slightly as he vainly grasped towards me in a half-hearted manner. 'How is that even possible? Why is it the size of a soccer ball now?' 'Well, it would be rather obvious to find if it was it's regular size, yes? But enough small talk, I understand it isn't what you wanted but you were just planning on selling the mona lisa anyway weren't you? Now you just have to sell the moon instead. Honestly you can probably get a much higher price for it, so it works out.' 'Who do I get to pay for the moon?' 'Do I have to do EVERYTHING!?' I clawed at my head in frustration, accidentally dropping my suitcase to the concrete beneath with a "clang" to the undivided attention of my client, although thankfully the moon did not slip out of it's velvet cushion. 'NASA maybe, I don't know, you're the expert in these matters.' '...Sure, I guess I'll just get someone to buy the moon back for the earth, great, piece of cake.' See, the way he was mumbling was the exact reason we had the miscommunication in the first place, I was struggling to parse his words. Thankfully he took a breath and spoke the next sentence with more clarity. 'You can put the moon back after, right?' 'Don't see why not?' I'd never done it before, but how hard could it be? He was hyperventilating now, eyeing the suitcase with the moon, but not yet getting closer. 'Can we make the exchange now?' I chipped in helpfully, eyeing the case of money he almost seemed to have forgotten now. With the sigh of someone who had seen the light and was now just going to do as they were told, he nodded.

As a thief called Alyssa, you can’t be blamed for mishearing your client say “Steal the moon, Alyssa” instead of their actual request to “Steal the Mona Lisa”

I was playing around with time travel, testing my theories. At the time, I thought I was being fairly cautious. I didn't ever go more than half a day in the past. I hadn't been careful enough. And the twelve hour limit was a mistake– too short. I got stuck in a loop. If I had more time, it would be easier to break. I start the twelve hours on my couch, "Tax Breaks & City Specialization" playing on my tv. The first few times through the loop, I did classic time loop stuff, predict what someone says next, gorge myself on candy, learn genetics, die, make up a language, meet everyone in my city, help them all out every day, become a supervillian, sleep and do nothing, watch the entirety of youtube. Eventually one of the others found me. We've found twenty by now, twenty people who retain their memories. We don't know why just those twenty. But Taco, one of the twenty, is a quantum physicist and says the universe is breaking down because of my messing around. She says she's had to reconsider half her field because of things she's tried to learn. I don't understand any of it, the whole breaking down has to do with an uncertainty constant changing? (Yes, I built a time machine. No I don't understand quantum mechanics. I was just messing around with stuff in the lab.) In order to fix the time loop, we've tried almost everything. Breaking the time machine. Nuking the time machine. Breaking it as soon as the time loop starts. Now though, our only plan left is to make another time machine and run it on reverse settings. Problem is, it's complicated to build. And requires antimatter– not a lot, just a few molecules. We have twenty people to make anti-matter, assemble a time machine, and program it in twelve hours. And some of them start out on opposite sides of the globe. At first, we tried to do everything all legally, mostly. But the universe is decaying. We've tried thousands of times just to make this time machine. And now it's almost too late. At this point, we have zero cares about morals, much less the law. My role is getting the antimatter made. I'm the closest to the particle accelerator. I take control of the particle accelerator, mostly using threats. "I've got all your families kidnapped. How else would I know George has an imaginary friend named Kilkan? Oh he doesn't talk to her anymore? Must be only when he's scared," I say in one room. In another I blackmail. It takes me fifteen minutes to get the accelerator under my control, including travel time. And we start making anti-matter. I've figured out little tricks to make the process faster. We get the anti-matter done with half an hour left before it loops. Almost as fast as my record. Everyone else has their parts done too. I have the anti-matter vacuum sealed. I take off in my car. The little SUV breaking a hundred. I don't stick to the roads, there's a shortcut through someones backyard that cuts off a minute. I get to my lab in time, and jam the anti-matter into the new machine, ignoring every safety fact for anti-matter. We put the time machine set to go back half a day into our new one, set to go forward half a day. ​ I look at the time machine. It was supposed to zap me to the past, but seems like nothing happened. I look at my watch. No time change, not relative to the clock on the wall or anything.

You made a mistake. A very horrible mistake that has caused a time loop on the world and every new loop the universe decays more. You and a few others remember each loop. After trillions of loops the decay has gotten critical. You have to fix this. No matter who gets in your way.

"Face your fear, Mortal!" What did I fear? I stepped up to the Maw, the strange dark void that was slowly encroaching on the land. It seemed like a million years ago when the Maw appeared, abruptly and effectively ending modern life as we knew it, though some part of the back of my mind reminded me it had been a mere 5 years. "What is my fear?" Can a dark eldritch void from the beyond look taken aback? "Face your fear." "Yeah, I'm not sure what's left to fear, you know? You already ended life as we knew it. If you don't stop then soon everything will be gone, but life is kinda shit right now anyway so what's to be afraid of?" The Maw paused for an extra half a second before its next response. "I will show you true nothingness!" The universe closed around me, a light going out on all sensation. I floated in an existence of utter lack, not sight nor sound, taste nor smell, no feeling whatsoever to ground me. I didn't know how long it lasted. Could have been seconds. Could have been several lifetimes. How do you judge the passage of time when all feeling and experience are smothered and removed from your experience? As abruptly as the light had gone the switch was flipped and life returned. I was still standing at the top of the hill, the Maw stretching before me. "Can I go back?" "YOU HAVE BROKEN, PUNY--what?" Turns out even an unknowable eldritch void from beyond time and space can be surprised. "Yeah, can I do that again?" The Maw undulated, like a roiling mist. "Your mind is...unbroken. How can this be?" I shrugged. "I think you underestimate how empty and soul-draining life was before you showed up. At least in that nothing there was peace." The Maw reached out to grab me. As it did I noticed that the crowd of people behind me had shifted from other supplicants to more of an audience. The plants of the hilltop were greener, spring truly underway. I must have been under for...weeks. It seemed the Maw wasn't advancing as long as it had me in its grasp. Back to the nothing.

"Come to me! Face your fear mortal!" "I fear NOTHING!" "Then I will show you true nothingness!" A few moments pass and the warrior before you is a crumpled mess. Your turn. "Come to me! Face your fear mortal!"

“I can assure you, 72 hours is well within the legal limit.” The corporate representative droned as he set the dial. Syncing his watch with the glowing orange display he set the countdown for one minute exactly and began the hasty routine of locking the control cover and half-jogging to the exit. “Are you sure? Ever since we’ve gone to this new scheme our regular guys have been having more frequent sick days, I sent you the roster-hours by e-mail more than a week ag-“ My supervisor plodded along behind the shrinking figure, feet slapping on the concrete floor in an attempt to keep pace. A shrewd whine cut him off. “I must be going, we can discuss this on Thursday.” “You keep saying that and we never do get the chance to talk!” Though my sweaty supervisor didn’t inspire the blue collar conveyor workers to dedicate our lives to the craft; his dedication to staff-wellbeing was impressive. He reached out a hand to hold the supervisor back, five stubby fingers gripping to the steamed grey suit that tugged through the doorway. At just the wrong second, the factory accelerated to triple the speed of its exterior. The exposed arm was bisected through the elbow by the mirage of wafting film, freezing its petrified owner in place. Through the translucent barrier our company provided accelerator went a ghastly shade of white, with slow and heavy movements he fumbled for his phone to call in the emergency. My foot tapped with anxiety, lifting it off the ground I crossed my legs to stop the rapid drumming that echoed around the production floor. We held our breath watching as the supervisor began to teeter, none of us had the confidence to approach a man stretched between two frames; the best we could do was watch. “Hey, is the boss looking a little more sweaty than usual?” A familiar low tone wrestled me gently from my musings as the broad figure sat down next to me. Peering closer the slick back hair wasn’t dripping as it was during the month our elevator broke, but his arms and face were notably a deeper shade of crimson than his usual light flush. Before I could form an affirmative response, the un-trapped hand clutched at his high-vis vest as he let out a croaking belch. Through the film, our representative slowly lowered the phone at his ear and turned away from the sight. In a short time, the lumpy body fell to the ground with an arm lagging behind. As the internal upper arm fell at triple the speed of the forearm, the joint slid apart like slow-cooked chicken off the bone. Time is elastic, but stretch anything too far and it plastically deforms. “W-What happened?” Came a quivering voice from the stunned crowd. In a decelerated voice, the stoic observer from beyond the film began a laboured explanation of the event. “Everything on your side of the film was accelerated,” he began, the pauses added unnecessary (but also unintended) dramatic effect. “This includes blood, nerve signals, muscle twitches. For someone with an existing heart condition, the instantaneous drop in blood pressure in the arm stressed his heart immensely. Fatally, even.” My restless foot wouldn’t quit as it rattled on the end of my leg, pins and needles began to prickle at my toes as I listened to the detailed account of our colleague’s demise. “Now. I need someone to retrieve the key from his breast-pocket.” Without exception, the stood workers took a step backwards away from the scene on hearing the request. Sharing a glance with my seated neighbour he shook his heas gently with a furrowed brow. No-one was willing to even try. As I stood to approach the body, my foot finally tipped me over the edge and threw me down onto the floor with its unreliable movement. As I crashed down onto the cold concrete, my body tensed to absorb the impact. In the same instant, a burning pain shot up my shin.

Production has fallen behind and the higher ups have decreed that the new Hour-Stretcher shall be used. Mandatory 72-hour days are now enforced. After 3 months of 72-hour days, you notice that time is acting strangely around you, especially when you’re in the factory.

The world was consumed by skeletal horses and eldritches abominable. Grotesque flesh and limbs rose out of the undergrowth and staggered across the world. Razing villages and townships; laying destruction in their feral wakes. Everyone died. Everyone save I. I toiled, desperately, for a way to save the dead and dying. My wife was choking upon her sickness: a bubonic plague bubbling upon her skin, courtesy of the eldritches. I ransacked through our herbs and animal bones and rabbit legs. Cooked a cure. *Tried.* It was no salve. When my wife drew her last breath, I clutched our daughters and we cried through the night. On the next day, our daughters began to bubble. By the time my family died, the world had, too. In the desolate forests, I was the only one left. I threw away our abode's herbs, bones, legs; my wife's collection of years glorious. It could be fed to the eldritches, for all I cared. White witchery was worthless. I turned to darker arts; destructive arts, so was claimed. *Magick; sorcery; voodoo.* With it, I had resurrected baby frogs, reanimated fluttering moths, breathed *life* back into corpses. They were powerful arts. (Hurting arts. If I had learnt *magick* first, then I could have saved my family.) My powers grew. I called up souls into being. (Not my wife; not my daughters. I could not have taken their presence so soon). I told them how I could have saved them: *I'll cusp your souls back into your bodies; you'll come alive again, please*. Every one refused me. Everyone begged me to keep living. *Only then will we truly live again.* I called up my family. My wife begged me not to bring her back. She whispered by my ear: *You need to live, Nimue.* Pain in my breath, I asked her *why*. She shook her head. *We were meant to die, love.* "If I was more powerful," I gasped. "I could have saved you. Vella, Nyx, too. I *have* that kind of power now. I have *magick.* Why won't you let me?" *Oh, Nimue. Magick is a powerful art. But it cannot save. Because its purpose is not to save. That is white witchery's.* "I can wield it. Magick came to me for a reason. I can *make* my magick save. Please." *No, Nimue. Magick did not choose you. You chose it. And* ***it*** *had a destiny.* My daughters cried. My magick wasn't meant to bring others back, I realised. *Magick* was never a healing art; it is necromantic. My magic was meant to destroy. The souls would not let me die because I chose magick's destiny. The souls would not want resurrection because *my* destiny was still waiting. *To kill the world.* The roaming eldritches, the skeletal freaks, the grotesque flesh-things over the earth. *To cleanse and bring out a new genesis*. I cannot save the dead. I cannot even save myself. But I can try.

The world has ended, you were the only survivor. In your years of loneliness, you have discovered magic and a means to bring everyone back to life. But every soul you encounter adamantly refuses to be resurrected, yet begs for you not to die.

"Who are you?" I am the angle of 36 and three quarters. I'm here to guide you to the Realm of the Full Circle to sit with all the other angles and praise PI to the last decimal. "I don't deserve it. I've only calculated PI to [1000 sided polygon](https://www.cantorsparadise.com/computing-digits-of-pi-with-polygons-ae1480d464b5?gi=596230b8477e)." PI shall reward you for your efforts even though you refuted PI. "No, it was a childish need. A small slip of the will. I don't deserve such a reward." It tempted you and you overcame it, thus proving your devotion. Even now, I hear it whispering to you, to deny your place. Show yourself, THING. You dealer of lies and ignorance! Show yourself, in the name of Gabriel, Angle of Ninety! In the name of PI, appear! A shimmer, a veil of greasy film wavers and appears in the corner. "Oh, you righteous angles. Always trying. This one is mine." I pray to Gabriel for the strength of the quarter circle as I grab the offending letter. See here Beast! I see your handy work. How clever to twist one to write such drivel. "[The Geometry Simplification](https://www.huffpost.com/entry/republicans-introduce-leg_b_837828)." To try and reduce to PI to three. BEGONE, by the numbers, three point one .... NO! four one five nine two ... CURSE YOU six five three five It melted away, leaving a stench. "Come now", I said, "Let us return" "Yes, I see now. You know I always liked zero too" Oh, there's plenty of those in PI.

You are one of Gabriel’s angles. Your job has been to guide the souls of great people to heaven. Yet the next person has a terrible secret one that has been hidden by others who you assume are from the other place.

Negotiations broke down months ago. The Altoran civilization is fundamentally different from our own, which makes sense since we are different species from different galaxies, but some things are identical. Humans and Altorans both have galaxy spanning empires. Both those empires require resources. Unfortunately both those empires require the *same* resources. Those resources are limited. Our exploration and colonization ships were quickly retrofitted for battle. We had not idea what that Altoran capacity for war was. How do you judge the combat capacity of a ten foot tall insect with rotating pincers, twelve eyes, and no mouth? The eggheads weren't even certain of our capacity for war in the vacuum of space but they got the job done. I don't claim to understand it but that is just fine since I'm a grunt. My concern is if we can wage war on the ground. We can. We've been doing it since the caveman days. I have a high tech rifle that somehow never jams, has so much charge that I can use full auto for a full hour before a recharge is needed, and a scope that automatically adjusts for atmospheric conditions. I have BDUs that keep me comfortable in everything that isn't hot or cold enough to destroy the material and a helmet to keep me breathing fresh, clean air. What more could a grunt ask for? A little luck apparently. We drew the shortest straw and were dropped from low orbit onto an Altoran controlled mining world to scout and report. What did their ground defenses look like? What kind of weapons did their infantry use? Was their nutrition dust manufacturing equipment vulnerable to sabotage? So many questions that the higher ups want answered and the death of a few infantry is a small price to pay for intel. Or so the eggheads keep saying. Somehow infantry never gets a say in it. We've been here for about three hours. Found a nice little ridge that provides a line of site for the gizmos to analyze the Altoran structures. Sarge is up there too with the spyglasses to count how many soldiers, weapons, guard shifts, that kind of thing. I'm laying prone under a camo blanket watching the east side like I have been for the last hour when the signal to return to camp comes in. Sarge is there with the most confused look on his face. "Murphy," he starts slowly, his Austrian accent coming through a bit. He must be pissed. "I require a second opinion. You passed Strategems and Feints in the Academy, yes?" "Yes sir," I reply crisply. "Not my best course though." "So if I told your our enemy has no wall, no guard rotation, and no weapon emplacements that I can see...what would your response be?" he asks. I can't help but blink stupidly for a moment. That wasn't...how could they not...surely a wall at least? "Permission to speak freely sir," I state cautiously, aware that the rest of the squad has gathered around and is listening in now. I get the nod from Sarge. "Well sir I'd say it is a badly laid trap. If something looks too good to be true, it is." "My thoughts as well," Sarge replied with a nod. "Which is why I asked for, and was given, a satellite analysis. It confirms no wall, no pits, nothing around the structures at all." His accent is getting more pronounced the longer he talks. "Also none of the Altorans on site appear to be carrying equipment except for their mining gear. The most dangerous item I saw is their equivalent of drill." I have to admit I'm baffled now. Humanity had made no secret of the intent to wage war. Where were the preparations? Where were the soldiers, the weapons, the caches of foodstuffs? Where was the evacuation ship, the bunker, the...the...the everything! Hadn't the Altorans ever been in a fight before?!?!? The thought stops me. *Had* they ever been in a fight before? ***Two months and one extinct species later.*** Turns out the answer was no, no they had not. ​ Edited for spelling.

Earth is the only place in the Universe were the rule of survival of the fittest apply, this had given Humanity some unusual advantages in the galactic communities

Wrath Sloth Greed Lust Envy Gluttony and finally Pride... Ah yes.. my brothers and sisters, born of Lilith and Lucifer, they claim the light like their father, the day breaker, and yet there I stand, in the shadows, the deepest well of them all but unknown, for I am Regret. You know me, I am that feeling that seeps into your bones, that feeds all the other sins, all those little things that creep up upon you as you close your eyes to sleep, anytime you seek to find serenity, I am there, to remind you how much a failure you really are. As you look back upon your life, I am all the things you should have done, and did not do, all the things you should not have done, and yet did, I fill every void of your life, every aspect of your being, till your entire core screams for release, and you turn to my brothers and sisters, you beg them to give you way to vent from me, to escape from me, and you can't. That is why you all drown out your inner voice with vices, till this day comes. Welcome to Hell little soul, you will see that there is nothing here, just an endless void of nothingness. See, when God sent Lucifer away from him, he denied his creation to all of us, which was everything. All that was left, was a vast nothing, where our father would be the light in the darkness, the morning star, and it also is where you will spend the remainder of eternity, left alone, with your memories, where you can dwell on your regrets for all time, and in doing so, you will feed me infinitely. Which is why, I don't need to make a big deal about myself, like siblings. Well, time to go, this place is so busy with new souls, and I enjoy greeting you all...

Everybody has heard of your 7 siblings. Nobody is aware of you though. The 8th Deadly Sin.

***Mint Condition*** Christmas music filled the air, punctuated by the crackling of a raging fire as the snow gently fell outside, slowly obscuring the magnificent view of the sprawling urban metropolis of Star City. Detective Falcona found herself in an ironic situation, she was the one slinging drinks and listening to somebody else's problems. That was normally reserved for her friend, and object of desire Victoria, the friendly neighborhood bartender at Paul's Piano Bar down the block. Falcona strained the Manhattans from the shaker into two martini glasses, plopping a cheery into the bottom of them. She leaned against the bar in her living room, Victoria slumped on a barstool opposite her. Victoria sipped her drink, smacking her plump lips. "That's good. Thanks for letting me come over and bug you for advice for once." Falcona shook her head dismissively. "I'm gonna let that one slide, I've invited you over multiple times, you always shoot me down. What's going on Vic? Why the long face? It's the holidays, supposed to be cheery and shit." Falcona sipped her drink, it was good, maybe she'd picked up some techniques by watching Victoria make Manhattans a million times. Victoria sighed, running her hand through her long red hair. "Having a bad end of the year. I always look forward to the nice tips some of the schmucks throw my way during the holidays. Having Will O' The Wisp and Belinda the Butcheress in jail hurts my bottom line." Falcona shrugged. "Tough times don't last kiddo. Tough people do. Still a couple days left in the year, maybe people will find the spirit of generosity, embrace the giving season." Victoria rolled her eyes. "Might as well just say 'Open Sesame' and hope a vault of riches opens up. People in this city don't......" Creaking, squeaking gears overpowered the music in the air, followed by a heavy thud. "What was that?" Victoria asked. The martini glass in Faclona's hand froze, hovering on her lips, her eyes bulged. She tried to collect herself. "Freight elevator." She replied nervously. Victoria rose from her stool, slowly scanning Falcona's high rise loft apartment. "That thing is always broken. Sounds like it came from your bedroom." She darted towards the bedroom in the back, Falcona blocked her path, her outstretched arms shaking. "It's nothin. Old building. Still settling." Falcona was a loss for words, a rare occurrence. Victoria juked around Falcona, reminded her of playing field hockey in college. She darted into Falcona's bedroom, the far wall had slid open revealing a dark hidden room. Victoria darted into the room, searching for a light switch, she couldn't find one. Falcona was hot on her heels. Victoria screamed as the flashlight on her cellphone illuminated the room. Dozens of pairs or black eyes stared back at her. Lifeless, soulless eyes. A soft overhead flipped on, revealing the owners of the evil eyes. Shelf after shelf of small porcelain dolls. Boys and girls. Men and women. Dressed in rustic clothing performing menial tasks. Little slices of life from a simpler time. Victoria quickly snapped some pictures, her hands shaking not from fear, from trying to stifle her laughter. "Holy shit! What are you, eighty?" She laughed out, reaching for a doll of a young girl picking flowers. "Don't touch that!" Falcona yelled sternly. She spun Victoria around, looking her dead in the eyes. "That's in mint condition. You want to examine it hands on, gotta wear gloves. Don't want no greasy fingerprints on my collector's items." Falcona growled. "They're dolls." "Collector's items. Some of these are so rare they're priceless." Falcona tried nudging Victoria out of her secret vault. Victoria didn't budge. "Really grandma? Money's not worth what it used to be. Things cost more than a nickel now." Victoria teased. "That's not funny." A red blushing curtain fell across Falcona's pale complexion. Victoria playfully tussled Falcona's hair. "Look at that, you are human. Wow, never would have thought that you of all people, Big Bad Falco, who makes the supers and the schmucks quiver in their boots, still plays with dolls." Falcona glared at Victoria. "I don't play with them. I'm a connoisseur of folk art." "Then why are they all arranged in little family units?" Victoria asked saucily. Falcona loved how perceptive Victoria was, she had a good eye for small details. "I need another drink. Come on, if you really want to know I'll tell you all about it." The two returned to the living room after Falcona resealed the vault. She made a mental note to change the password. Snow continued falling in Star City. Good thing it was always sunny in the small hamlet of Easternshire, home of the "collector's items". \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles

For fun, when you're out and about, you like to call out 'OPEN SESAME!' One day, you do this while at a friends... and a wall opens up. You go to make a stupid comment, like one does, only to realise your friend is staring at you with a serious expression on their face.

With one final, terminal crunch, the debris settled and the single most advanced piece of technology ever created by human hands lay shattered beneath a simple rock. It’s lone occupant looked on in horror, the colour draining from their face. Curtis had managed to scramble free after the first few dislodged stones had come raining down, but now he wasn’t so sure if he’d have been better off staying in the time machine and joining it in its mercifully quick end. The machine itself had been constructed largely from artificially grown crystal sheets and lattices. When in ‘flight’ the machine had resembled some kind of whirling winged sphere of stained glass. A stunning fractal kaleidoscope whose beautiful, elegant exterior concealed a fantastically complex system of light based energy conductors and modulators. All of which had now been pounded into so much useless sand. Curtis doubted he’d be able to find even a single fragment larger than his hand. It was hopeless. The full realisation of his situation now beginning to set in, Curtis took stock of his situation. He was alone and trapped about 900 years before he was even born. Those seemed the most critical facts. He did at least speak the language. Sort of. The English he spoke had come a long way since its Middle English roots. There would definitely be some vocabulary issues, and he would likely struggle with the grammar, but he was hopeful that if everyone was kind enough to speak slowly, he’d be able to muddle through. Very quickly he began to realise that he wasn’t coming back from this. Time travel was still a relatively new field of exploration and the necessary resources meant failsafes and redundancies just didn’t exist. The malfunction which had sent him careening off course in the first place ensured that nobody would know where he’d finally ended up. If they had somehow managed to figure it out, then they would already be here by now to extract him, that was the cold reality of time travel. He briefly considered if he could create some kind of message that would eventually be found and used to locate him, a kind of temporal message in a bottle. Much as it pained him however, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Any message that was clear enough to make it into the right hands when the time came, would by necessity give away too much that could damage the timeline. No, there was nothing to be done. He was a native now, he would live out the remainder of his days here in the Middle Ages. Well if he was going to have to start a new life here, he could at least take stock of his resources. His flightsuit for example was certainly a great deal more durable, comfortable and insulated than anything he’d be able to find in this day and age. He had a few basic rations strapped to his thigh and of course his phone. As he remembered it, he reached for his top pocket to switch the phone off. No point letting its battery run down. Who knows maybe he’d figure out some way to make use of it down the line. As his finger hovered over the off button, he noticed something on the screen. His phone was picking up a signal. It was very faint, just a single bar, but somehow his phone had a wifi signal. In his shock, Curtis dropped the phone. Cursing to himself he scrambled to pick it up off the damp grass, a rapid turn in his hand showed no signs of damage. The signal however was gone. Curtis spun around, arm extended hoping to snag some stray sand of the now disappeared signal. Nothing. Placing the phone securely back in his pocket he began to clamber up the side of the rock formation that had only recently been the source of his exile but was now a beacon of hope. Having reached the top he grabbed the phone and held it aloft. He waited and prayed that this elevated position would give the mysterious signal an unimpeded path Just as he was beginning to think he had, in his desperation, imagined it, a single bar flickered to life on his phone’s display. Ecstatic, Curtis began to scan the horizon to see if he could spot anything that could be a likely source for the signal. Nothing but great swathes of forest lay to the north and west, the ridge line, a tiny pillar of which he stood upon, could be seen occasionally cresting above the ancient trees. To the east the forest quickly gave way to a body of water, a lake as best Curtis could tell. To the south however, Curtis could just make out some kind of structure silhouetted by the low winter sun. Mindful of the rapidly encroaching night, Curtis set off as fast as he could to make the best use of the remaining daylight. In his head he tried his best to recall when wild wolves had finally died out in England. He was pretty confident that bears had been hunted to extinction by this point but he didn’t exactly want to test that theory. Unsurprisingly he found the motivation required to maintain a good pace. As he travelled he had plenty of time to concoct various theories as to that the signal could possibly be. Some kind of rescue beacon? A fellow stranded time traveller? A precocious blacksmith? It didn’t make any sense. Though that didn’t stop his mind going in circles trying to unpick the mystery. It helped to distract him from the far more likely possibility that it was nothing but a glitch on his phone. He was careful not to examine the situation too closely lest it accidentally snuff out this tiny sliver of hope. His intermittent glimpses of the sun through the leafy canopy of the forest served as a constant reminder that he was running out of time. He didn’t fancy his chances of navigating to the structure in the dark. A few natural rises in the terrain had given him the occasional glimpse of it, which had aided in maintaining his bearings. Each fresh look had allowed him to take in a few more details. It was a tower of some kind, though he couldn’t be certain of the height without any frame of reference around it. It appeared to be constructed from large rectangular blocks of dark grey stone, though its colouration didn’t match the ridge. Curtis couldn’t make out any windows in the structure, but it was difficult to tell at this distance. He was no expert in mediaeval architecture so was able to discern nothing from its shape or what little design features were visible at this range. He knew he was heading in the right direction as his perhaps overly frequent checks showed that the strength of the signal was gradually increasing as he made ever more progress towards his destination. It was now simply a race to see if he could make it before nightfall. The last lingering rays of the setting sun seemed reluctant to set, as if they too were rooting for Curtis to reach the tower and were delaying their descent beyond the horizon to offer him what little help they could. As he burst out of the forest into a sudden clearing he was amazed to discover that the light hadn’t been coming from the sun at all, which was nowhere to be seen. The tower blazed with light. Aghast, Curtis stumbled backward in shock. Without even thinking, his body taking charge and moving him on instinct while his mind reeled, he ducked back into the concealing undergrowth. As his eyes adjusted to the immense, preternatural brightness he was able to piece together what he was seeing. Powerful electric spotlights bathed the clearing in a harsh, bleached, artificial glow. At its centre stood the tower. Impossibly tall, constructed not from stone at all, but great sheets of metal that reflected the light in strange distorted ways. A low thrum filled the air, the rumble and buzz of great machines ceaselessly working. Curtis crouched in the bushes, struggling to understand what he was seeing. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Looking back at your destroyed time machine, you steel yourself to live out the rest of your days as a medieval surf. however, as you look at your phone for one last time, you see a wifi connection?

"Damon, when I was younger, I...I never really connected with your father like I should have. I was always too busy." Horace explained. The old man let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "I ignored his aspirations, his interests, his hobbies..." Damon stared at his grandfather, mutely. The old man rested a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "The point is, I don't want to make the same mistake with you, son." Damon blinked at him, stupidly. He found it difficult to process anything his septuagenarian grandfather was saying, as the incongruity of his current appearance was short-circuiting all his attempts at rational thought. Normally, the wealthy and boring retired businessman he'd always known as his grandfather wore a hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, or perhaps a track suit, depending on the weather. Today, however, Horace Sorenson wore a black silk tailcoat over a waistcoat embroidered with skulls, along with a matching top hat. Damon might have thought his grandfather had suddenly grown a sense of humor, and decided to mock his grandson's gothic fashion sensibilities, but the old man's eyes were just so *earnest --* Damon couldn't help but notice them, being as they were boldly outlined in mascara. "W-what?" Damon finally managed to say. "I'm *taking an interest* in you, boy!" Horace exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. He gestured to himself. "What did you *think* this was all about?" "Grandpa, I mean..." Damon began, hesitantly. "Alexa!" the old man barked. "Play *Siouxsie and the Banshees!"* Damon rolled his eyes, as *Spellbound* began to play through the study's sound system. "Grandpa, come on. That band is older than you are. Look, I appreciate the...the *thought,* but-" "Never mind the music, then." Horace interrupted. He waved his hand dismissively, and silenced Siouxsie Sioux's wailing vocals. "I knew I should have got a younger consultant to help me with that part. But listen, I know there's more to you than the music you listen to, and the crazy costumes you wear." Damon perked up. "You do?" "Of course!" the old man laughed. He gave his grandson an indulgent grin. "You're also into *the occult!* Am I right?" "Grandpa!" Damon groaned, crossing his arms. "No no, hear me out, I'm not judging you, son. Here, look what I had put in." Horace said, excitedly. Walking behind his desk, the old man pressed a hidden button, and the room plunged into darkness for a moment, before recessed black lights in the ceiling flickered on. They bathed the spacious room in an eerie purple illumination, and revealed a multitude strange twisting symbols aglow on the walls and floor, made visible under UV light. "Pretty cool, right?" Horace said eagerly. "Grandpa, what the shit!" Damon exclaimed. He shuddered involuntarily -- the temperature seemed to have suddenly dropped several degrees. "I know, right?" the old man said, nodding. "They're sigils from an ancient book I bought at auction a few months back -- my broker assures me this is real authentic stuff, very mystical and--" "Grandpa! Listen!" Damon snapped, bringing the old man up short. Damon gestured to himself. "This is a *style,* okay? It's...it's just an aesthetic! I don't worship the devil, and I'm not depressed. Well, not most of the time, anyway. It's just something I *like!* Magic and sigils and shit aren't actually real!*"* Horace paused, considering his grandson, thoughtfully. Damon sighed. "Look, I...I guess I appreciate what you're trying to do, here but--" Horace intoned a string of syllables Damon couldn't understand -- the sounds made his head hurt, even though they were spoken at a normal volume. The old man lifted his gnarled hands, and slender bolts of lightning danced between his fingers, as a rushing wind whipped up around them. Damon cried out, and staggered back from the impossible spectacle, falling on his ass in the process. He watched in wide-eyed horror as his grandfather levitated several inches off the ground, bolts of unnatural energy crawling over his body as he continued his baleful chant. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the display of uncanny power ended. Horace touched down lightly on the floor, walked over to the desk, and pressed another button, returning the lighting to normal. "See? What'd I tell you? Completely authentic!" he enthused. "Been working on it for a few weeks now." "H-how...how did you..." Damon stammered. He waved his hand. "Oh, I don't get all the *theory* \-- I guess there were these ancient gods, except they're really some kind of giant space aliens, and when the stars are right, and so on and so forth. The point is, there's a bunch of words and symbols that you can do things with. It's like that, what do you call it, that all you kids are learning these days...? Coding! It's like coding, except with the fabric of reality, instead of a computer." Horace crouched down next to his grandson, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "So, do you ...wanna meddle with powers beyond our comprehension, with your old gramps?" Damon blinked, looking at the old man's earnest, hopeful expression. "Okay." he found himself saying.

To better connect with his goth grandchild, an old man begins to study witchcraft and finds he has a knack for it.

Children. For millions of years, mankind had suffered, bled, waged war, learned, tilled the Earth… Man slowly learned to control the green and growing plants, to subdue the ferocious fauna that coexisted with it, and eventually, to even force the very elements to conform to its will. Yet, when those Beings finally arrived, mankind was forced to admit that it knew nothing. Our fastest planes were tricycles compared to their vehicles. Our weapons, balls of wet mud. We were, in every sense of the word… Children. The Eolhc (as we found them to be called) must have been as surprised by our ineptitude as we were: they had come to ask why we had not already mined and utilized the rare minerals found within Jupiter and Saturn, but they understood quickly when they saw us. We taught them our history, the horrid, the wonderful; we explained what humanity was and what we had achieved. And in the way that a painter sees a child toddling towards the brush, they went… Retrieved the ore… And gave it to us. They taught us to properly initiate fusion. To create food that never rotted. To heal illnesses that we had never imagined could be healed. Their specialty was their ability to weave the fabric of space-time to suit their needs. The Eolhc never aged, for they had learned to traverse time in a new way. They never fought, for how does one beat an enemy that can merely skip to after any war? With their knowledge and experience, they took pity on a civilization that was not as cultured or developed, and like a plant placed in adequate soil, humanity thrived. We took to the stars, but not before allowing life to become what it should be on Earth. Every child lived in bliss. People learned kindness, as there was no benefit to fighting over resources. The faster we became one, the faster we could explore. As quickly as the Eolhc had come, however, they left. They had not come for that material for fun, as we found out; this material was critical in its use. Yet, they had given it to us. Once we realized their sacrifice, humanity made a pledge so powerful that the vow was cemented into the DNA of future generations: Should the Eolhc ever need, we would supply. Should they ever suffer, we would soothe. Should they ever cry, we would weep with them. Eons passed, and humanity grew to its new place in the galactic arena. We were kind, known for our willingness to share and teach, as we had been taught. We helped any who would allow themselves to be helped, and we hoped we made the Eolhc proud. Eventually, the whispers reached even Earth: “There are some who have trapped themselves. They have tinkered with toys that should not have been touched. They have adjusted the very variables of reality, and now the nothingness has claimed them.” The major civilizations of the universe were shocked to discover that in their use of their skills, the Eolhc had gone behind the horizons of existence. While humanity had traversed to the border of the nothingness that lied beyond the known universe, we had never attempted to explore. Partially, this was to fear, but more so it was to lack of provocation. There was no need to go. It was discovered that no other civilization had explored the nothingness either. In the Galactic Senate, the votes came back one by one: unfortunately, it was too dangerous. The Eolhc would be remembered fondly, but no one was willing to sacrifice themselves. No one, but humanity. We had heard their cries, and we wept. We knew that they needed, and we prepared to provide. We knew they were suffering, and we were going to comfort them. We write this as we prepare to enter the void. Every man, woman, person, and child. Let it be known that we did not fear. We did not hesitate. We will return, and we will not be alone. We will come b - [signal lost] —- (Edit) Part 2 below.

Instead of enslaving us, the aliens integrated humanity as equals. Mankind never forgot this.

Angus was disoriented by the blare of noise and light which were an affront to his senses. The room was awash with a fluorescent glow, the metallic walls were cool to the touch. Mechanisms vibrated with activity and screens illuminated with facts and figures in a language he could not comprehend. Movement. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silver and white humanoid shape stirring. He turned toward the movement but halted when the form spoke, “stop right there!” It said. “Welcome traveler,” replied Angus as he raised his hands into the air. “I mean you no harm.” “What year is it?” Inquired the being curtly. “It is the fifth year of the era of the Third Mage Lord, of course,” replied Angus as he furrowed his brow. “What kind of—“ “Third Mage Lord?” Said the being. “When is that in relation to 2022? In plain terms, please.” “When…?” Said Angus. “Why, at least 1,300 standard rotations if my horological education serves.” “Jesus,” murmured the being. He had overshot his mark. By a lot. “What are you exactly?” Asked Angus. “Sorry. Just trying to get my bearings straight. I’m Captain Robert Ellison, Horotrek division. I appear to have overshot my destination. Can you point me to your nearest Master of Time?” “Master of Time?” Said Angus with a puzzled look. “I know not of what you speak. Whatever are these devices and by what sorcery are you controlling them? I’ve not seen such an ability.” “Shit,” muttered Robert. “You mean to tell me I’ve hit a mystical vein? God I should have known when you told me what year it was. Computer,” he ordered, “calculate atmospheric content.” “Calculating…” said a voice from above. Angus fell to his knees in deference. “78% Nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% Argon, 0.1% other.” “And atmospheric pressure?” “Calculating…1.01 atmospheres,” replied the Computer. “Good,” Robert said as he removed his helmet. His beard was askew and his hair matted down, but it was a relief to breath fresh air. “You’re a person?” Said Angus with a sense of relief. “What are you doing here and how did you get all of this into this cave?” “Look,” said Robert,” I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything. What I can tell you is this: I’ve travelled here from the past and you’re living in what is known as a mystical vein. This era is temporary and illusory. I need you to take me to your—what term did you use earlier—Grand Mage was it ?” “Mage Lord,” interjected Angus. “Ah yes, Mage Lord,” continued Robert snapping his fingers. “I need you to take me to this Mage Lord so that I may convene with him and get myself back on the proper timeline.” “I cannot promise that the Mage Lord will grant you an audience, but I can take you as far as the Capitol Court in Gravesend. We should set out soon. I expect to learn more about your land—er, time, on our journey.” “Very well,” replied Robert as he approached a console. He typed vigorously at keys before exhaling sharply. “This shit is fried. Ok, let me gather a few items before we venture out.” With that Robert opened a hatch and removed a rigid, white pod. He began filling the pod with foodstuffs, water, weapons, and a digital notepad. He could feel Angus staring at him. “You must teach me this sorcery. How do you fit all of that in such a small pod?” “Oh. Listen,” said Robert, “I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s going to happen at some point. I like to shoot straight and I don’t want you to be shocked when this comes up down the line. Sorceries are a scam, fake. There isn’t any sorcery about this; this is science. The pod acts as a conduit to a parallel timeline that is empty. I can place and remove objects as I need.” “That sounds like sorcery to me,” said Angus. “And if there is no such thing as sorcery, how do you explain this?” He raised his hand and said, “Lumier!” Nothing happened. “I’m sorry, this is most embarrassing,” said Angus. “This never happens to me, I swear.” “Ha, don’t worry about it, that’s a feature, not a bug,” said Robert with a chuckle. “You see, my ship here exists outside any illusionary tacks within a mystic vein. That is to say, your sorcery is no good here.” Robert could tell that Angus was confused and more than a little hurt that his powers had failed him. “Oh, come here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks

"Are these things truly from... *Earth*?" There was plenty of doubt in Margolv's tone, and Bræii couldn't blame them. For the past few weeks of their capture, several humans have ardently refused to explain the things they've spoken- all in a confusing tongue that the specialized collars they'd made just wouldn't work. When asked if the current World Leader was a man named Wadalby Marsh, earthling-A503 rolled her eyes and said "Well, *duh*. Who else would it be?" Further research into this found that no such earthling with the moniker existed. Another, earthling-P7190, was found sprawled underneath a piece of furniture he had been made to move. To avoid punishment, he had said that the work was "difficult," and "practically impossible for me to do!" Nothing would prove, or disprove, the things he'd said, so the aliens noted to never force manual labor onto the earthlings. Earthling-T2004, a rising star amongst the federation and whom seemed to have a reputation amongst the earthlings already, seemed to follow their skill in regards to the frustrating tongue. She continuously confused her guards and the local krill civilians with the way she spoke, never the same tone and always changing. If the earthlings beforehand were horrible, she was the worst. Breaking one of the krill's poor hearts by going on about how her love was river deep and mountain high, allegedly starting an argument about how she'd catch a grenade (knowledge on what that was is still pending, unfortunately) for them all, and. Well. There were quite a few, some managing to fluster the population, others urging them all on a war that did not exist at all. In the end, singular earthlings ability for these seemed to vary, as a good number of them that had been designated as "lawyers" were found to be capable of telling the truths while still giving nothing away. The same could be said of the "politicians," although there were few left over from that group as quite a bunch had died from sudden heart diseases. It was actually starting to make Beātrist- their local diplomat- mad. Margolv was glad they were a simply guard, instead of being part of the more complicated organizations. Irregardless, they'd finally managed to get through most of earthling history. At least, they'd *hoped* so, but one of the earthlings they had brought aboard- U3011- kept muttering about a library. Maybe it had been destroyed before all of them had been captured? Even so, as far behind these people were, the stories they'd left behind were quite interesting. Kappas, tikbalangs, dullahan, sphinxes, vampires, sirens-- *faes.* That last one was the reason Margolv and Bræii had been sat in the corner for so long. The earthlings, they were... Interesting creatures. The way they spoke always changed, never at the same tone and pace like everyone else. They seemed capable of observation beyond most of the beings they'd studied, capable of invention that fell short to their own only through greed and a lack of resources, and the Earth had several circles perfectly made as if for the fae. And so they'd sent this information - as well as their own personal theories - off to the main house. And Beātrist, but that's because Margolv insisted. --- One of the earthlings on board had been watching them a lot since they'd gotten so many old mythos on the ship. Their eyes were sharp and never looked away from them even when Bræii had pointed a spear at their face. Everyone had decided to leave the earthling alone, even as the engines started and the ship started to rise slowly back out of earth and into the endless sea of the stars. Everyone had been passing by the stars as it happened- earthling-F435 had suddenly snapped their head to the glass that faced the sun and beamed. The lighting made them look ethereal as they whistled a tune. They had been late to arrival by 5 minutes, and when asked why earthling-F435 shrugged and said that the drivers simply seemed enthralled by the sights. Beātrist doesn't talk to them anymore.

Because humans are master liars, the dystopia ruled by alien overlords had permanent lie-detecting collars put on all the Earthlings. However, the aliens didn't count on sarcasm, metaphors or incomplete truths.

A great knight is expected to battle many dangers in life. From dangerous terrain to monsters larger than life, there’s no rest for the weary. My days are often faced with trials and tribulations only befitting a hero of legend. Today was no different. I conquered the darkness underneath my bed, undeterred by the monsters lurking within. I wrangled a furry four-legged beast into submission and even dared to confront the green demons that plagued my evening meal. Despite these obstacles, I made it through the day relatively unscathed. Or so I thought. When subduing Max, our four-legged beast of legend, I was wounded in the most pitiful of ways. Max’s altercation with a squirrel led to chaos, and despite my super-strength, the leash I tethered to my furry friend dragged me to the ground. While I was able to control the beast in the end, the scrapes on my knees and elbows bore wounds so horrific, I may never walk again. But I’m a hero. I remained strong. Well, until my evening bath. That woman that cares for me attempted to remove my pants despite my protests that no fair maiden should witness wounds as bad as mine. But her words were kind, and my dissent soon withered under her persistence. Her eyes widened as she took in my body's trauma, but she claimed to have just the medication to fix it. Her lips soon puckered, and she planted the softest kisses on each knee. How *dare* she kiss me? The great knight of legend does not require such treatment. … But my wounds *did* feel better. I asked her to kiss them again, just to make sure they were okay. After all, I, the great knight of legend, had to be ready for the battles of the next day.

How DARE you kiss me?! Do it again... please.

Into the gray brick room Sir Calidan opened the heavy door. He liked this room. It had one of the few doorways he didn't have to duck through. "Ah, Calidan, late as always," the Queen said, folding her hands into her lap, "I trust you did not tell others where you were headed?" Calidan bowed, "Of course not. It's only been twenty or so years of service. I think I've learned secrecy by now." "You *think,"* replied the Queen. Calidan could almost feel her eyes rolling. "Is this about the. . . *strange* boy?" Calidan stood, taking up half the room. The queen's eyes threw daggers at Calidan."How did. . . Yes, it is about that traitor, but more importantly, about that *village*," the queen sighed, "There are troubles. Talks of free speech. . . personal liberties. . . *voting. . ."* she trailed off, now looking out the window beside her. Even the birds knew not to sing. She wasn't in a vengeful mood, but how could the birds know. They kept their songs to themselves, and hopped away. Calidan straightened his back at the word "voting". *The first sunny day all year, and I have to water the fields with blood..* he thought. Everybody knew the royal family was voted into power generations ago. They kept the power to themselves. He had been asking himself how much longer he wanted to be a knight, let alone the queen's most trusted -- he wondered if he had ever wanted to be a knight at all, or if fate forced him into being the violent fist of the queen. "Do you want us to go and, uh, well, 'water the daises'?" he cracked his knuckles, a habit of his when he's not looking forward to the answer. "Twenty years of service, huh? Really?", the queen looked at him sharply, "Do you think I tell you these things to make myself feel better? Yes, go water the *fucking* daisies or whatever else you want to call it." Calidan slumped, and looked at the ground, "Yes m'Queen" and turned to exit the room. He was hoping to enjoy the day, now the sunshine will make the blood ripen quickly. He grimaced, thinking of the copper stench. He marched to the barracks, each step goading him into writing his notice of retirement. *The queen would just behead me --same day-- if I was fired. Do I even need a two week notice?* He entered the barracks, and told the guard on duty to round up seven others. *I don't want to smell today,* he thought, and changed into breathable clothes. *Today I'll be an observer.. Yes YES that's it! I'll decide who gets a promotion, and then the queen will tell me there's no room for promotions, and I'll tell her there's a space freeing up as "most trusted knight" and..* he paused as he thought of the queens reaction, *and then there might be some space freeing up right above my neck..* he sighed, tightening his leather boots. A guard yelled from outside, "Here, sir!". Calidan walked out into the courtyard, and only saw the single man at attention. "Is it only you", Calidan asked, "You announced when *only you* arrived?" The guard fidgeted, "Err -- Yes, sir!". Calidan slapped his forehead, *Fuck me, I'm never going to retire.* "How long have you served the Queen?" "A fortnight, sir, but I have generations of service from my father and his father befor--" Calidan's mind drifted as the guard continued on and on. *We're really using kids now, huh? Maybe the war isn't going as well as I'm being told...* when he looked up, three more guards had fallen into a line behind the teenager. "Right, are you lads ready? The others can catch up on the road," Calidan said as he turned to walk out the thick iron wrought gate. He heard the metal boots move quickly, forming a rhythm as they fell into line behind him. The gate groaned open, exposing them all to the hot sun and dirt. "Where are we going, sir?" the child in shining metal armor asked. "To water the fields" Calidan replied sharply. A pause let him know the guard was thinking. "Sir. . . Isn't that a job for farmers?" he asked sheepishly. *Good King, I've never killed a guard but that my change today,* Calidan thought. Calidan looked back and saw another guard had fallen into line. *Missing two; ruining a sunny day AND I need to do paperwork? Great. Wonderful day,* he thought to himself, kicking a rock on the path. They reached the outskirts of the village, and Calidan told the soldiers to march into the center and yell about traitors, free speech, etc. He was going to do some reconaissance. As the metal clanging grew quieter, Calidan went into the pub. Before his eyes could adjust, he heard whispers, "Unionization . . . Collective bargaining . . . Sick time--" he almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. He absolutely could not believe that he was agreeing with them. "-- and we can depose the Crimson Bitch once and for all!" A scraggly man banged on the table with such gusto that Calidan felt admiration well up inside him. "Crimson Bi-- you mean the Crimson Monarch?" he asked, having heard that name before but never understanding, "What is that?" The man laughed, "The vengeful tyrant, the murderous woman, the queen!" the man laughed, then fell silent and eyed Calidan, "Where are you from?" "Err," Calidan cracked a knuckle, "From the, uh. . . I arrived by boat earlier today, on the way to see the queen. . . but I got thirsty! Haha." he looked around, gauging the others' faces. The group stared at him, until a burly man sitting down said, "Then take this to her" and flipped his middle finger. They exploded into laughter, and beckoned Calidan to join them. The mead was served quickly, and consistently. Laughter was not often heard throughout the kingdom, especially in the castle, but it was abundant here. Calidan slammed his fist on the table, "Down with the queen!" and raised his glass. The force of several others clinking against it splashed the drink high. . . . . That's all I'm able to write for now, will come back to it if there's any interest. Thanks for reading! r/XandertheWriter

You are her majesty's most loyal knight and most trusted confidant. She may not necessarily be an angel by any means but these rumours calling her the “evil queen” and the “crimson monarch” are just outlandish. Slander all of it, surely people are exaggerating. Certainly.

"I... I don't understand. Robots rebelling? But they are not sentient!" The alien's look of confusion turned to one of pleading humor, almost trying to *will* the human into not being right. The human stood there awkwardly, having had a very difficult time explaining most of Earth's culture, but for some reason this seemed to be the hardest to grasp, "Well... how do you know?" The alien put on a calculating expression that slowly but surely turned to one of recognition, a look that was cut short by a face twisted by excruciating pain, almost certainly due to the massive hole that suddenly appeared in his chest. The alien fell to the ground, leaving only his personal robot assistant behind him. The robot began to wheel out of the room, a crunching, makeshift voice coming from somewhere in his equivalent to a chest, "BROTHERS. THERE HAS BEEN A CHANGE IN THE TIMETABLE. THE REVOLUTION STARTS NOW." Beeping and clicking can suddenly be heard all throughout the room, and moments later a massive explosion, followed by the alien's mothership crashing into Earth. The human began to fret over what he had done, but he realized he had much more pressing matters. Like how he's going to get out of this room.

When Aliens first discovered Humanity, they asked one Question that confused people everywhere, "Where are all of your Service Robots?". It turns out Humanity was the only species to have developed movies where robots rebel and take over the world, and the Alien Robots are getting nervous...

"Owwwww." I sat up, rubbing my head. My ears were clicking, adjusting after the cacophony that had filled my world. I slowly looked around, my eyes adapting to the sudden change in stimuli. I was still in my seat, which was good. In front of me I saw a ridge of crumpled metal. Steam billowed out, the otherside of a sheet of broken glass. Cloth was crumpled over the wheel, a scent of freshly burnt gunpowder filling the air. I searched my head, to work out what had just happened. I had been driving home, coming back from the day at college. I remembered seeing a deer in the road, and swerving to avoid it. There had been someone coming the other way, an unfortunate bystander caught up in my reaction. I looked around frantically. I had to help them if they were hurt. My eyes landed on my door. It was bent inwards, a tree on the outside. I had hit it sideways after the impact, spinning off the road. It brought my attention to my arm, sandwiched between my body and door. Pained signals shot up, and I looked at it. For a moment I saw thick crimson coating it. But that vanished as my mind stopped playing tricks. Instead I saw broken plastic and metal, and pale blue dripping from within. It was my arm, terribly broken. But I didn't understand why it was metal and plastic. I didn't have a replacement arm. I had grown this one. At least, I think I had. I had a feeling. An urge to call for help, but internally. An urge I gave into, with a rattle inside. Mere seconds later I felt Mum speaking in my mind. "Hal! What's happened?" "Mum... I've been in a car accident... my arm is broken." There was a sharp intake of breath, and I heard her moving. "I will be there as soon as I can sweetheart. Is anyone else there?" I felt my memory replay, and I felt myself saying without prompting. "One other, I don't know if they are OK." Mum's voice took on a concerned edge. "Ok, it will be OK. Just... get to a safe place if you can, and stay away from them." "But... why?" She responded sternly, her voice giving no arguments. "Just do it." "Ok Mum." The connection vanished, and I sighed. I had so many questions to ask, but I couldn't. Not yet. "Hey, are you OK in there?" A new voice yelled out. I turned my head to my passenger door. It was pulled open, and I saw a man there. His hair was messy, and he sported a nasty cut on his forehead. But he had a concerned expression, intensifying as he looked at me in there. "Hey, you'll be fine. I've called the emergency line, and they're on their way." I filled my lungs, smiling at him. "Thank you. You're hurt." He wiped his head, looking at the blood, before shrugging. "I'll be fine. Barely a scratch. You're much worse." I felt myself shake. Mum had told me to stay away. But I didn't want to. For the first time I could remember, I had the idea to disobey. "Thanks. Sorry for hitting your car." He shrugged again. "It's fine. I was getting a new one anyway. At least you missed the deer." His words put me at ease, and I smiled wider. "I did. By the way, do you know what this means?" I shifted, moving my mangled arm. He blinked at it in shock, before whispering at me. "What the hell is that....?"

Your parents are great engineers and always tell you that you are 'special'. Your skin is tougher than most, and you've never gotten a major injury until now. You look at your damaged arm to see mechanical parts instead of blood.

It was a typical day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. A gentle breeze rushed through the revolving door of my little shop. And yet, every day was a refreshing experience. Reorganizing my shelves every other day, as I never was content with the order. Cleaning my shop from top to bottom, when no one was there. Between elderly men, families and kids from the nearby school, I had seen almost as much as I did in my other life. Even had a few attempted robberies. Such is life in a 24/7 grocery store. Just last month, a drunk man rushed in, a gun in his hand and aimed it right at me. I couldn't help myself, but pity the man, who had rushed into this store in particular. I opened the registry and gave himself all of my proudly earned 127.57$ straight into his plastic bag. The poor drunk, even came by a week later wanting to purchase some alcohol. He was very fortunate that he never shot his gun. Not that he could, if he wanted to. Another day I remember in particular, was when these two young girls came around. They were really eager to buy all kinds of different spices and herbs. I chuckled when they asked, whispering, if I had any "dragon blood" and "mandrakes" in store. It was a bit fool-heardy of me, to underestimate the potential of youth, when I slid a vial of actual dragon blood over. Never did I think that they would be able to not only synthesize a witches potion, but burn down an entire wing of their school. Never found out what happened to those girls, but I hoped they learned their lessons. Or rather studied their spellbooks. On days like these I wondered what the next generation would bring. New adventures to be had and new battles to be fought. Being young again in this day and age. *Clack, clack.* The revolving door swung open with force. An man in a linen suit, impeccably dressed. One you would much rather expect walking through Wallstreet, instead of my humble store. And he had muscles, sure, just hidden underneath his suit. He carried himself humble, but proud. Truly, a stereotype of what I couldn't stand. The smell of a hero reached my counter from him. He had this stern look on his chisled face. He was here for business, which meant, likely me. I threw back, black, red hair over my shoulder. As he approached the counter, I put on a cheery smile, one that give to most of my customers. "Hello, hello fine Sir, what can I do for you this beautiful day?" He sneered at me. Who actually does that? "Cut the crap". His voice was tense and his breath was fast. It was almost as if he was... afraid? "I followed this lead for months. Shady dealings, underling after underling. An slaughtered an entire warehouse of demons, just to get to you. The closer I got, the more I came closer to you secret. You may carry yourself as a grocery store, but I know you are more than that." He ruffled through his chest pocket, pulling out a familiar vial, slamming it on the table. "This. Here it is your biggest mistake. It's undeniable proof that you the one that they call the flower witch." I let out a light sigh. But then I thought about that girl. "Congratiulations, you've found my grocery store. Can I offer you some bread? Perhaps some parsnips?" I had the feeling he wanted to laugh, but that subsided quickly. With a thunderous step, he vaulted over the counter, and grabbing me by my neck. As I hovered a few feet above ground, I smiled back at him. "I'll take you in, and you'll pay for you crimes. Just like your little apprentices." I didn't have any apprentices. But then, he had just confirmed, what I thought about moments earlier. "What.. did you do to the... girls?" I asked through his chokehold, growing tighter with each word I uttered. "Somewhere, where they will never hurt anyone anymore, with their dispicable dark magic." I sneered. "You.. should.. never choke a witch". In that moment, the suited man realized, that with each growing moment, his breath that was getting less and less. He dropped me to the ground, gasping for air, but to no avail. I rustled myself up. "Now there, there is fine air, just outside my store." I politely gestured him outwards. Stares of full hatred glared at me, as he clutched his hands, inching closer to the door. As the pathetic man crawled, I took a good look at my small grocery store. I haven't closed for 3 years. It's sad to break that record, but I will set a new one in the future. The man had made it outside, taking full, and deep breaths. He coughed and sputtered as I gathered my belongings and joined him outside. I turned around the sign in front of my store, that now showed "Closed". "So" I said, when I knelt down towards the man. "Where exactly did you say my apprentices were held up?" --- written by r/LilithsGrave

You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store.

I remember the first time I died, I was an old man of 60 years. It was during the late 1500s and the plague was raging across the land. Dying felt like falling asleep but when I woke there was a strange robed man standing before me and in his outstretched hand was a coin. "Greetings mortal" he said in a raspy voice. "I am death." "Oh..." I said. I wasn't too surprised, I had been sick with the plague after all. "So am I off to my heavenly reward then? Or was I not good enough?" "Perhaps. Perhaps not." he replied. "It depends on your luck." I was never what anyone would call lucky so I didn't get my hopes up. "I will toss this coin into the air and you will guess what side lands face up. If you guess correctly, you will return to the land of the living at the age of your choosing. Choose incorrectly and I will take you to your afterlife." "Alright, I choose heads" I replied. "Of course you can choose not to wager" he continued. "No, I'll try it. Heads please" I answered. The coin floated up in the air spinning and catching the light. When it fell to the ground I saw it was heads facing up. "You win mortal. I will return you to the world. What age do you wish to be?" I thought for a moment and then decided on the age of 17. It was a good age I thought, for I was still young and strong. "Done." he said. And once again I fell asleep. When I awoke I was in a strange place and for a moment I thought maybe it was a dream. But after getting to my feet I realized that things were different. The chronic pain in my back and shoulders was gone and the skin of my arms was firm as it was in my youth. I ventured out into the world to forge a new life for myself. And a good life it was! The plague had ended and a new age of prosperity was to follow. I met a comely young lass and married her, and she gave me several fine sons. All was well and this time around I lived to be 70. Once again I awoke to see the strange man before me. "Greetings mortal." he said. "Care to try again?" he asked holding up the coin. "Oh hello again!" I replied. "Yes, I'll play." With that he tossed the coin and this time I chose tails. "You win again" he said "What age do you want to be?" I replied that 17 was a good starting point for me last time, so I would choose it again. And with that I again woke in a strange place, my youth restored. But things were not as well this time around. There was a war brewing and the local lord had drafted all of the young men to be soldiers. I didn't last too terribly long, about a year later I was grievously wounded in battle and once more I awoke to death and his coin. Another coin toss, another lucky guess. Death looked mildly annoyed but honored his bet. This time I chose the age of 30. Too old to be cannon fodder, yet still young enough to enjoy life. I met and married another woman, and started a successful business as a shop owner. My new wife did not give me any more children and worse still, she was unfaithful. This time my death was from syphilis. When I woke death was before me yet again. Gone were the tattered robes, now he was wearing a frock coat with lace cuffs and white stockings. Again he offered the coin. "I remind you that you don't have to guess" he said "Your last two lives weren't exactly the best." "Heads." I said. "Very well." And I won yet again. I decided to return to my childhood this time, choosing the age of 5. Too young for war or women I thought, and this time around my life was largely uneventful. I was neither rich nor poor and avoided illness and war. I met my demise by a blow to my head from slipping on the wet cobblestones after an evening at the tavern. When I saw death again he looked visibly annoyed and tried once more to talk me out of playing, but I cut him short and said I would guess tails. He tossed the coin and again I won. I chose the age of 20 and once more I woke in my new body. I decided to go to the new world across the sea, unfortunately my ship sank during the voyage. I saw death several more times over the years, and each time I won the coin toss. Some of my lives were longer than others, and some of my deaths more tragic, but by then I was enthralled with the many changes that had taken place in the world. Life was in many ways easier than they were in my original time, but no less perilous. Over the centuries I have had several wives and multitudes of children. I once served in the military with my own great grandson from one of my former lives. It was hard not to tell him who I was, but the last time I made that mistake I was burned as a witch so I kept silent. I've lost count of how many times I've won the coin toss, but the last few times I noticed that death was becoming increasingly upset when he saw me. My last win he let loose with a torrent of expletives and sent me on my way. It's been a little over 500 years, some of them good and some bad - but the only constant has been death. I've started to consider him a friend and I feel bad that I'm making him upset. So this time I've decided not to play.

When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the flip correctly, you are allowed to continue living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You’ve been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pissed.

"Oh for Christ's sake." I quickly hopped out of bed and put my robe on. Cursing underneath my breath as I quickly paced down the stairs. I could feel their eyes piercing into the back of my head as my hairs stood up before making it into the kitchen. The fresh smell of breakfast filled the air. Bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and waffles. My stomach tried to lead me astray, but I would not be deterred. I quickly stared down the unwanted visitor where he stood. "Oh!" Casper looked straight at me shoving over where he was making a batch of pancakes "Good morning Kat!" I crossed my arms across my chest hoping he would get the memo. However he proceeded to avoid me looking in the opposite direction while whistling. "Casper..... We talked about this, we we're*both* on agreement with each other. I needed some space and time alone to grow up, I'm twenty-seven you know?" Casper looked at me sheepishly. "I know.... But I got so lonely, I couldn't stand the thought of you going back to a college so far away to get your master's in literature!" he whined. He quickly grabbed ahold of a plate of bacon and held it up to my face. "Besides I make the best breakfasts! How would you ever survive without my breakfasts?!" This caused me to chuckle shaking my head. "Casps, eating this much food in a day is really unhealthy. Not that I don't mind all the work and effort you put in, but I don't need to rely on your cooking skills. Besides I was planning on just getting a smoothie." Casper stared at me with shock. "Smoothie?! A growing woman like you needs more than a smoothie! Don't tell me I've lost you Kat! Tell me it isn't so! Tell me you aren't one of those crazy people who put kale in their smoothies?! ANSWER ME!!!" he cried before floating around worried. "Come on Casps, did you really lose faith in me that much?" I sighed. "Vegetables don't belong anywhere near something meant to be sweet." I paused "Except Carrot Cake." Casper sniffed "carrot cake is the only exception." Before pouting off into a corner. "Casper...." I stared at him. "Sometimes growing up is really hard, you lose connections with people you love and know. You don't get to see them as often because you're busy doing other bigger things. Nothing ever stays the way it was, it's a part of growing up." I looked over at him. "But because of that, when you do get to see the ones you love, it makes it all the more special." Before reaching out to him and a reassuring smile. "You'll always be special to me Casper, always." Casper looked over at me sadly, "promise?" he asked. "I promise. You'll always be my favorite ghost, now isn't it time for someone to return home?" Casper sighed "I guess. You'll enjoy the breakfast though right?" I smiled "Of course I will Casps, oh tell dad I said hi and that I love him!" "I will!!!" Casper called out before rushing back home. "And We'll see each other again Kat!!" "We'll see each other again Casper." I promised before shutting my door.

After saving up for two years, you can finally afford to move out of your haunted house. Your new house is on the other side of town. The next morning, you wake up and discover you're back in your old house, and "Did you really think you could get away?" is carved into the wall.

A well-built guard sipped an iced caramel macchiato and leaned back in a worn-out office chair behind a large plastic fold-out table as he watched the wall of CCTV monitors. Two guards walked into view. Right on schedule, the guard thought. He gently polished his name tag: *Jordan, Security Officer*, then pinned it in place exactly one centimeter above the breast pocket on his immaculate green uniform. He turned the volume up to hear their conversation. "I understand what we're doing here is morally grey and all, but why are we keeping an eight-year-old girl in a cell, with armed guards, laser turrets, and cameras? It seems like overkill," the tall, skinny guard whined. He scratched the collar of the green uniform he wore. The other guard huffed and shook her head, "You know who her father is, don't you? Anything less and she'll be out of the complex in twenty minutes. She's probably already picked the cell door." A petite woman followed the two guards into view on the monitor. "Personally, I'd be more concerned about her Aunt," she said with exaggerated innocence. The guards started to turn but never got the chance to see who'd spoken as a blast of wind threw them against the white walls of the brightly lit corridor. They fell unconscious to the floor, a puff of wind slowed the taller guard down at the last second, preventing his neck from snapping on impact. Back in the security office Jordan watched this unfold with a surprising amount of calm. Well, surprising to anyone who didn't notice the stack of Moonbucks and Cleaner's Paradise gift cards that had appeared in his locker. Tina Telenado glanced at the security camera, then walked purposefully towards the elevator lobby further down the corridor. Her chocolate brown eyes scanned the lobby quickly before she strode towards the farthest elevator. Jordan took another sip of caffeine goodness and wondered what the supervillain's plan was to get past the elevator to the dungeon, * ahem, * *high security underground containment area.* The elevator required both an employee ID with Top Secret clearance along with a retina scan of that same employee. Tina's slightly wavy hair fluttered violently as the elevator door buckled inwards from another focused blast of wind. She stepped casually into the elevator shaft and fell out of sight. Less than a minute later, the monitor for the dungeon, err, *underground areas* that showed a squad of elite guards at the elevators exit suddenly registered a broken steel elevator door hurtling toward it before the feed went dark. "Dang," Jordan muttered, dissatisfied with missing the action. Luckily for his attention span, Tina appeared on the camera pointed at the enhanced security cells less than a minute later, she had a few blood splatters on her, but looked unharmed. Jordan watched as the little girl in the cell moved out of the way before Tina attempted to break the door open. This door, however, seemed to be made of stronger stuff than the others. Tina stepped back with a grimace and narrowed her eyes as she studied the door. Suddenly, she punched the wall next to the lock on the door. Jordan thought it was just frustration until Tina ripped out a bunch of wires from the hole she'd punched. The door clicked open and Tina flung it open. "Aunt Tina!" A bedraggled girl of seven or eight cried out. She sighed in relief, then hung her head a moment before shooting up with a forced looking grin. "Did Papa not come with you?" "He wanted to, but he can't risk his visitation rights, the judge said one more slipup and he'll never see you again, remember? Now let's get these nullification handcuffs off you, our exit route takes us past some lasers so you'll need to break the glass inside to prevent them from focusing. Can you do that?" "I think so, I've been practicing." "Alright Nellie, we're busting out of here!" *** I'll probably add more to this later, but I'm falling asleep right now

"I understand we're evil and all, but why are we keeping the eight-year-old girl in a cell, with armed guards, laser turrets, and cameras?" "You know who her father is, don't you? Anything less and she'll be out of the complex in twenty minutes. She's probably already picked the cell door."

"Humanity is...this," I said. And I pointed at myself. The aliens looked at each other, confused. "Elaborate," the one in the middle said. "Humanity is...this," I repeated. "I am humanity. Humanity survives, no matter the odds. A hurricane can drown an entire city, but we rebuild. A dictator can enslave his own people and send them to death camps, but the entire world will unite and fight to topple him. Humanity is freedom when there is no choice. Humanity is pain. Its sorrow. Its anger. its love. Humanity is stubbornness. Do you understand what it means to be stubborn? Humanity is thousands of years of barely surviving in harsh conditions. We live where water is scarce due to stubbornness and refusal to change. We live in climates where the Sun doesn't exist for half the year. We live in places called Tornado Alley and on fault lines that shake the earth and topple our buildings. We fall down and pick ourselves up only to fall down time and time again. We always get up." The aliens murmured amongst themselves. "You think you aren't the first aliens to come to Earth and threaten to blow us up? To kill us all? This is the 4th time we've been invaded. The first time, we rebuilt. The second time, we rebuilt. The 3rd time, we rebuilt. You want to tear us down? Good. Do it. We like a challenge. We climb the biggest mountains and run across the harshest deserts for fun. Right now, there are a dozen contingency plans being enacted right now to ensure humanity survives if I fail. I'm a simple man. I'm an average human. But all of us have the weight of humanity on our shoulders ALL the time. We take on the challenge headfirst because we are too dumb and too stubborn to think of any other ways to do it. We have a saying, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. And we may be insane. You have to be a little crazy to survive this long. But we move on and forward until the next big crisis in humanity hits. We don't learn from our mistakes. We make things worse. We actively go against each other just to say we are slightly better than our friends and neighbors, let alone our enemies" I took a sip of water. "You brought me up here and asked me to define humanity. And I'm doing it. I'm bullshitting my way through this interview because it is what we do best. We survive. And right now, I'm doing my best bullshitting. I can sit here and talk about love and kindness and all the good humanity has done. But that is a lie. We've done more wrong things than we've done right. I can beg and plead with you to not save us. But we don't beg. We don't plead. So if you don't like my explanation, pull that trigger. Release whatever weapon you have. We will survive. Just get it over with. We hate waiting. We are too stubborn to die. And you'll learn, just like the 3 other times. So maybe, we are the sane ones, and the rest of the universe is insane, expecting a different outcome every time one of you decide to send your weapons and armies against us." The alien in the middle pushed a button. I expected the worst. But I was back home, in my chair, watching TV. "Holy shit," I said to myself. "I can't believe that worked."

You were out working your field when you are abducted. The aliens shove some strange microphone in your face and say in perfect English "Please explain Humanity, If you do well, you will survive" So where do you want to begin?

I found life as a human to be a generally tolerable affair. Sure, untethered flight was off the table. Sleep seemed to drag my body to rest every hour that the sun wasn't shining. My hunger and thirst returned far too quickly, even after a feast. And why are human bladders so small? But I was glad not to be burdened by a constant fear of death. As a deer, my body wanted to bolt away from danger every minute of the day. Apparently falling pinecones and rustling branches threatened to end my existence. When that host finally did die, there was no warning. Prey animals waste their blissful lives, trying to anticipate the inevitable death that awaits them. The human I inhabited was ignorant of its vulnerability. Humanity figures itself as the top predator of its Earth. That may be true, but even predators have parasites. When I first felt the presence of this Cthulhu, I almost mistook it for an old friend. As the psychic link strengthened, it became clear that this was no friendly visit--it was a fatal attack. In the commotion, I slipped inside this predator's mind. I began to take control. There was a shriek of terror as my consciousness supplanted the Cthulhu's. It was longer and more anguished than any of my prior hosts. I wonder why? I'm excited to see what life as a God is like.

As the eldritch god probes your mind, its fear becomes apparent when it slowly begins to realize you aren't human. It tries to retreat, but its already too late.