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Member Since 10 Oct 2013
Offline Last Active Today, 04:32 AM

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13 February 2021 - 01:10 AM

Really, any post will work.

Shatteredverse Apartment Complex

08 June 2020 - 12:31 AM

The last one burned down in a terrible inferno. Local authorities concluded that the fires were traced to a meth lab explosion found in one of the tenants rooms.
The tenants, having moved on from that dark period in their lives of living in an apartment, have all coincidentally found themselves once again on hard times, forcing them to downsize their expenses and moving back to apartment life. Of course they all have standards, so they each all coincidentally found themselves in the same beautiful looking apartment complex. Somehow.



Just as coincidentally that Zai also is a janitor for this new place too. He's being paid a whole dollar over minimum wage this time.

What now?

27 May 2020 - 08:05 PM

In his youth, for the wee years of a human, perhaps the golden streets and shimmering buildings would have made an impact on Faote as he entered from a portal. The apparent shine of the infrastructure didn't impress him, so much as how eerie the vacant streets made an impression on him.

He came for answers. Or more specifically, one answer.


What now?


It's been 8 years since the fall of False Heaven, when he received his title as Heat from his late father. False Heaven itself was made as a neutral ground for all parties, of all factions, of all species. To meet under a unified banner, and come to an understanding. To stop the needless wars, the killing, and come together as one.

He should have expected that it would be destroyed in a power struggle between some faction's tantrum with another. What were you supposed to expect of children? They bicker, they cry when they don't get what they want, they war, they kill.


Still, I can't fault Halsey for attempting a Peace Conference. I probably would have done the same, though had I known what would have eventually happened... I can't deny I perhaps would want to have just killed them all myself.


Wanton murder? That's just the same as what he criticized the various dimensions of doing. Though thinking about it, he could just...


I'm sure removing all life by forcing a heat death of the universe is against some rule as an embodiment somewhere. Plus it goes against the little I've done already.


The past 8 years were not passed in sloth, though considering everything he had done before his current incarnation, it is painfully much like wasting away, doing nothing. For all his work, his Heat will make life, that life will war. That war will ultimately cease life. Life will consume life, for someone will eventually create a weapon that consumes all. It would be better to put them out of their misery now. But he can't. It's not a silly rule that may or may not exist.

Something else deep within stops him.



Finding this place in and of itself was a challenge. He had been dead before, certainly, but the two judges sent him back out into the world of the living.

Were there two judges? A black and a white one? A memory surfaced, him begging them for eternal rest to only be denied.


Focus. There's bound to be someone here. Maybe someone here can give Faote the answer he wants.


27 May 2020 - 03:49 AM

For context, I was putting some comments awaiting moderator approval in the knowledgebase for a very specific character I wanted to be deleted because it did nothing but made me cringe. As a joke, I started this captains log thing where the main character finds himself on an island that was growing a disgusting bloody dragon, and he would find a radio and beg an uncaring military to just nuke the damn island to no avail before the Dragon fully woke up and destroyed the world with cringe.


And then I kept writing.


And now I have a short story.





Captain's log. Day 1

I've been stranded in the vast knowledgebase seas. God has answered me with dry land, this wonderful island named Eight. I will survive here and await rescue.


Captain's log. Day 2

It turns out cannibals live here. They write depressing poetry and worship bloody dragons. Like what the fuck. I'm doing my best to avoid them.


Captain's log. Day 5

They found me while I was hiding in the trees. They apparently don't want to eat me but they seem really intent on getting me to worship their dragon blood god.


Captain's log. Day 28

This was a mistake. It turns out their god is real, and it will destroy us all. I managed to find an old radio washed ashore, and I got it working a day ago. I've been trying to radio for help, but it is not working.


Captain's log. Day 32

The bloody wings are rising from the earth. I'm not sure if it's awake yet, but I fear it will before long.


Captain's log. Day 33

My radio picked up a signal, but now it's gone. I think it was an aircraft carrier, but my pleas for help went unanswered.


Captain's log. Day 54

I've had to switch hiding places today. The radio had to be left behind, it was too cumbersome to carry and still keep hidden. I have found myself underneath a large tree's roots near what seems like a grove of snakes some odd distance away. They don't appear poisonous, and a few bites from some of their wayward brethren induces searing pain but nothing more. If I can find where they all are coming from, I think I would rather die to snake bites than being a sacrifice.


Captain's log. Day 83

I saw a plane today. It was so high up though, I'm not sure what kind of plane it was. It's not like shouting would help my situation any, and making a fire to see if I could get it's attention would just let the cultists know where I am. I daydreamed about planes all day while I enjoyed my snake.


Captain's log. Day 85

The snakes stopped appearing. I hope I didn't eat them all. The blood dragon god's head is clearly visible. I think I see blood dripping from it's empty eye sockets. It's far slower than I thought waking up, but I dare not check on it every day, lest I get spotted from atop a tall tree.


Captain's log. Day 88

Found more snakes. Yum.


Captain's log. Day 89

I saw another plane. It was far closer to the ground this time, though I couldn't make out anything in regards to a make or model. It circled the island a few times before it flew off towards the horizon. Am I near some kind of mainland? Would I be better served attempting to make a raft and just setting sail again?


Captain's log. Day 90

Another plane. Looks like a stealth bomber, like those triangular ones. Are they going to nuke this place?

The dragon grew eyes today, but no pupils. It stopped bleeding.


Captain's log. Day 91

It looked at me. It swiveled one of it's eyes in it's unwaking sleep and I clearly saw a pupil that wasn't there yesterday look straight at me and the tree I was on. It doesn't look like the cultists noticed, they didn't seem to send out any search parties.

I saw two planes. Two of them, at the same time. Circling the island.

I don't know what's here, or what happens if that dragon fully wakes.

Rain hellfire and death upon us so that the world may live. I beg of you.


Captain's log. Day 99

No more planes today either. Eight days without planes. The wings are twitching. The head and it's neck is clearly moving. I think I hear it speak sometimes, despite being so far away. I hear it in my mind.


Captain's log. Day 102

I went back for the radio. The fools didn't even find it in the first place, it's still there, right where I left it. I wasn't in a mad rush to hide this time, so I brought it back with me. Thank fuck it still has some power. Next time I see one of those planes, I will beg them to see us all to a flaming crimson grave.


Captain's log. Day 108

The snake I ate today was particularly tasty. No planes yet.


Captain's log. Day 109

The dragon wants to eat one of my snakes. I'm going mad. No planes yet.


Captain's log. Day 110

I spotted a Cultist nearby. After being here for so long, I almost forgot about them, they rarely ever here. Are they afraid of the snakes? Regardless, they grabbed a couple I was eyeing for dinner today. The bastard. Fucking dragon god isn't even omnipotent enough to be able to subsist without food.

Yes I hear you right now you fucking bastard. I'll write whatever I want about you in my little book here. Either you fully wake up and I die or a plane comes and we'll both die. You don't scare me.


Captain's log. Day 111

We've started playing chess with snake bones. Dragon bastard is good. I've only managed to beat it two times out of twenty after I taught it how to play, but that's to be expected. Fucker can read my mind, and the few times I won was by mistake. It says it'll spare me once the cultists get it up and awake but I don't believe it for a second.


Captain's log. Day 112

I saw a plane. I went right to the radio and I begged them to nuke us straight to hell on every channel I could before they flew off. I didn't realize the batteries went bad some time ago. Probably a few days. The dragon laughed at me.


Captain's log. Day 113

There's seven planes now, circling this island. Apparently if they heard me, they decided one nuke isn't enough.


Captain's log. Day 114

Twenty planes, though not all at once. This is too many. I fear the dragon has enthralled them. The dragon laughs at me once again. Has the world fallen to it's spell? Am I the sole bastion of independent thought?

The dragon invites me to the cultist's typical gathering place. It promises I won't be hurt or sacrificed.


Captain's log. Day 115

I saw a second sun birthed across the horizon. The Earth itself is shaking. Have I inadvertently started nuclear war? Or is this the dragon's way of cleansing us lesser life forms before it asserts control of our world?


Log. Day 116

The quaking has stopped. The entire sea looks pitifully dirty. There's dead fish washing ashore even now. The dragon has stopped asking me to come to it. It has instead started to plead. My head hurts.


Log. Day 117

It has begun to sob uncontrollably. I cannot sleep, it will not stop filling my mind with it's cries.

I wonder if it asked to be born.


Log. Day 118

I make my way to the cultist's camp. They're all dead. They required a sacrifice to bring the Dragon to life, but the dragon refused their offers of finding me for the deed. The dragon insisted that they instead should offer themselves. As it turns out, they weren't a death cult, they thought they could get a good seat at ruling the world with their god if they were the ones that woke it up, but they assumed wrong.


Log. Day 120

I named the dragon Sophia, after my brother's daughter. She holds me in her wing and keeps saying she's sorry, and how she didn't mean to do all of this. She just thought it would be funny if the nukes rained down everywhere else in response to my murderous intents, but all she felt and heard were the screams and the violent pruning of life as each small thought and voice was snuffed out one by one after she did.

She tells me she doesn't hear anyone else anymore.


Log. Day 121

She has begun to bleed again. Whatever dark secrets or magicks that made her, don't seem to keep working. We're playing chess again, and she promises she won't look into my brain again. I'm not sure how she can still play while she is in such pain.


Log. Day 130

Sophia spoke her last words today. "I'm so sorry Father. I love you. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. It's okay. I'm still here with you. I'll still be here. Please don't leave me. Please. I love you Father. Please. It hurts so much. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."


Log. Day 132

I didn't really feel like doing anything the last couple days. There's so much of her to bury, and setting her ablaze turns my stomach. She didn't know what she was doing.


Log. Day 133

I've begun to partake of Sophia. Her carcass has started to rot, but I will endure this as my punishment. I've been thinking, that maybe I caused this. She was a creature that seemed to live in the mind. She felt the cultists here, and then the rest of the world as a low buzz. But I, a lone figure not apart of the cultists yet an outsider that she could clearly listen to, wished for nothing but her and my own death for many days, hours upon hours. She heard my scuttles of fear and wretch as I cowered from her reaches into my mind, and felt nothing but vile from me each time I saw her.

I didn't realize it then, but that first chess game was her first time being treated as and treating someone else as an equal. Not two species, not a god and a servant, but just two minds.


Log. Day 134

I've started vomiting. It's disgusting. I am disgusting. My head won't stop hurting.


Log. Day 135

I've vomited my heart. Yet I still feel it beating.


Log. Day 136

I feel slight protrusions on my head. A lower part of my spine is poking out of my back. I've vomited so much blood. All I do is consume my daughter whom I have damned as penance.


Log. Day 140?

I woke up after what feels like days. Judging from how much more rot there is on Sophia, perhaps four days. It could be three. I can't walk anymore.



God please kill me. I want to suffer.



It's so hard to write. I can't write anymore.



There's no more of her left.



I'm disgusting.



The seas rise.



Green has returned to the ruins of man. There is none left save for their structures which look like little more than crumbling rocks.



The rodents take steps much like how I believe man once did.



Earth freezes again. The Rats learn to hunt.



I see a meteor. It is far off a thousand years at most, but I know it will strike the Earth. The Rats will not survive. Nor will I.



I revealed myself to them. I do not know if I can save them. They are very afraid of me. I far tower over them, but I insist I mean them no harm.

They wish me harm, and if it meant they had to die to see to it that I too would die, then they would happily pay that price.

What cruel irony.



I taught them the tale of Sophia, my daughter. I taught them the follies of man. They will not listen.



A few of the Rats followed me. I readied for combat, but they wished to hear more of man.



The Rats died, save for the ones that followed me. They learned to war and bleed. I hear the thoughts of the few alive that remain outside of my protection. I too bring them to my fold.



The new ones are far different than the ones that have remained with me. They fight and banter, but I begin to see the glimmers of intelligence in that banter. Much like a crucible that melts together metal, I believe I see a great Will being birthed from these clashes.



They've begun to name themselves. Or rather, they already have but I have just picked up on their thoughts that allow me to identify them. The smartest is Alexander. A kind and noble Rat, but he suffers from that pride more often than he cares to admit.



Alexander has angered me. I threatened to set him ablaze for what he dared to suggest to me.

He suggested that I leave them.



Alexander, and the rest of the Rats, have learned what I have. That a great meteor will destroy this planet. Far in the future, but no less a threat. They seem to have learned how to pick apart minds and memories, much like Sophia once did to me.



Alexander has died from old age. To the Rats, he was their eldest. In what they consider their calendar, he lived to be 120. To me, who has measured by the rotations around the sun, he was only 45.



Alexander's son has brought me a note. It is arduous to read, for I cannot read their script. I have communicated only by mind since when I first met them.



I have dedicated a substantial time trying to decipher and learn the Rat's writings without them finding knowledge of this note. I have a loose translation.

"Not worry for us, FatherGod. Go. We join you in the stars."


I wept.



I took flight towards the stars, to see if I could. The vacuum of space does not seem to bother me. I do not require sustenance. It will be an easy to await eternity.



I have decided I will wait for them on the moon. It will be many years of slumber, if they ever find themselves up there. Perhaps I will check on them from time to time.

My precious children.



I have waited long. The Earth is once again still. They are not here. Not for an early death, but rather, they left this planet long ago. They never found me. Or, perhaps, they forgot.



I'm sorry. It's okay, I'll still be here. Please don't leave me here alone. Please. It hurts so much. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.

[open] Small time crime

13 May 2020 - 05:30 AM

The night covers the artificial sky, though the glitz of neon and holograms advertising the various avenues of sin still brighten the streets and all of the sinner's revelries. The streets of this particular avenue are crowded, and above or between these buildings fly transports, full of those likely on their way to illicit acts, or perhaps carrying them out. The night is young, after all, and what would Pleasure Planet be without nights?
Avar has been tailing one of these hundreds of thousands of sinners the whole night, and much of the admittedly sunny evening. At his side is his trusty recorder, built by his own hand with leftover parts of cameras thrown out by brothel owners, broken likely on impact or from the corruption of whatever else was in the trash that day. Of course, it isn't enough just to take one of these cameras small used by perverts to get an illegal private show for themselves later.
Manufacturers nowadays like to bug all the products they make, so everything recorded gets fed back to the great machine. And sure, anyone can rig up a camera from spare parts and have it function without this annoying feature or remove any capability of having it connect to a server. Hell, even the target probably doesn't have anyone looking out for him on high and deleting whatever they find incriminating.
But money is money, and if a paranoid employer wants to pay a little extra for a fuzzball that can just eat their equipment should they get caught, then who is Avar to compain?
Though given the footage, perhaps the paranoia is warranted. Because after you watch a guy abuse various card machines by hovering what looks like a magnet at an angle over the bottom left of a hologram projector of a specific brand, manufactured at least four years ago, you probably want to pay a firm to wipe all such footage in your casino. You know, just in case. Or you could just ban recording equipment inside all casinos, but rules are made to be broken.
And it's not like they can kill Avar either should someone get pissed. What are they going to do, jettison him into vacuum? That'd be the fourth time.
The target raises a hand for an airborn taxi, probably going home or a hotel to sleep. Does the target's species need sleep? What the hell species are you if you have four arms, green scales, and a tentacle face? What the hell would such a guy be doing on Pleasure Planet?
What kind of species are you if you're a black metal thing with a fuzzy head? What the hell is a Lambda doing on Pleasure Planet?
Doesn't matter, figuring that out is not my job.
Avar's job was done several hours ago. All the extra footage was just bonus. He removes the data chit with everything he's captured, and opens his maw and eats the camera itself, all in one bite with nary a chew. It's tasteless for most species, but the silicon and steel plates give it a flavor similar to what wood might taste like to a human.
Not very appetizing to you or me, but to a Lambda, such tastes are exquisite.

"You got the footage?"
Avar hands the chit to the same guy he talked to just this morning. He's covered in an ink black coat and his face is obscured, with a wide brim hat. The only physical feature Avar can make out is the eyes, which are two impossibly deep green flat discs with no irises surrounded by a black sclera. The human looking hands are gloved, and only the feet can be seen below the rim of the jacket. If he had any additional limbs, they're cleverly hidden.
"Guy just did it the whole night. Surprised no one caught him." Avar offered.
"He ain't hard to catch. It's keeping the proof that's the problem. You still got the camera?" 
Avar gaped open his maw again and pointed to it. It looks like a glowing furnace. "Already ate it."
Whether the coated man was disappointed or pleased, he didn't show nor did he comment on it. "The agreed amount should be in your account."
Avar's fuzz bristles, partially in excitement. He can finally get off this damn rock. And not too soon, because the thought Avar read from the coated man as he passed the chit troubled him so.
Poor furry bastard doesn't even know he's being used.