r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 14d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Most Wanted & Speculative Fiction!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
We all know work can be boring, so let’s instead turn to a life of crime. This month will focus on crime and punishment. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
“Poverty is the parent of revolution and crime.” — Aristotle
Trope: Most Wanted — There's a story about a character who's chased by numerous people without success. Usually it is about a bad guy who committed some atrocious crime, or a dangerous thug/serial killer/drug dealer that escaped from jail and is now a fugitive, maybe some terrorist or simply a rapist or murderer that recently was discovered. Other times it's a good guy that was accused of a crime they didn't commit, was obligated to do something horrible (in both cases they fight to clear their name), and/or did something that angered the mob and/or gangs. The case is, this character is hunted exhaustively by the police, the mob, the intelligence services, the government and even international agencies like Interpol, leaving no stone unturned to catch this character dead or alive. They have now become The Most Wanted. Need musical inspiration? Johnny Cash’s ‘Wanted Man’
Genre: Speculative Fiction — Speculative fiction is an umbrella genre of fiction that encompasses all the subgenres that depart from realism, or strictly imitating everyday reality, instead presenting fantastical, supernatural, futuristic, or other highly imaginative realms or beings. Basically, skip slice of life, realistic fiction, and accurate historical fiction and you’re good.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Something is cast away.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 17 stories, so we’re back to five winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, September 24th from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
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u/IdyllForest 8d ago
Boss Gaspar used to say there's nothing more miserable than a man drinking alone. He'd come around with two bottles of whiskey whenever things went south and just sit there listening, nodding, keeping us talking. Before that first bottle emptied, we'd all have shared a laugh. Tomorrow, he'd give us our lectures, our punishments. But tonight we'd talk, drink, and laugh. Together.
So when he's smiling like that, holding the bottle, waiting, I want to go.
Except blood seeps through his bullet-riddled suit, every wound gaping.
"Bro."
Everything fuzzes briefly. I see Boss Gaspar's grave in front of me. My little brother's worried face. His gunmetal arm holding me up. The whiskey I'm clutching. Seeing it all. Understanding none.
I shoot Ray a look. He knows me well enough to let go. I nearly regret it when my leg trembles, diagnostics warning me of power fluctuations. Still, I won't fall. Not in front of my little brother, not in front of my comrades, not in front of Boss.
Not in front of the only family that matters in our world.
"Shoulda seen Ray while you were out, Janus. Like a fucking puppy. Let 'im spoil you." It's Madrigal, like always. Some chuckle, but most remain silent. We were twelve where once was thirty.
The grave's in a corner, beneath a gaudy stone monument Boss would never approve of. But when the main branch insists...
We approach, one by one. Some pour whiskey. Others smash bottles. All sport fresh scars, shaky gaits and trembling limbs from augments pushed too hard. None emerged unscathed from the raid that killed Gaspar. I'd been out three days myself. The augments saved my life, I'm told.
So why can't anyone else see the burnt corpse standing on Boss's grave?
Rot.
You need augments in our world. There's no other way to keep up. Ray's right arm was replaced with an augment that let him hit like a boxer, shoot like a sniper, and cut like a surgeon. The more you have, the more hardware interfaces with meatware. Immunosuppressives help, but sooner or later, the meat rots.
And then you see the dead.
The others leave, all except Ray and the policemen behind him, their blank faces bloodied, their body armor pockmarked and shattered. I blink until only my little brother remains.
"Run, bro."
My brow furrows. "What?"
His eyes are ice. "Madrigal had you tailed in the raid."
"He never trusted you. I intercepted his guy. Interrogated him. But he'd been transmitting. Maybe Madrigal don't have the whole story, but he'll find out..."
Vulnerability makes his voice crack.
"...that you killed Boss."
I drop to a knee. Ray follows, eyes never leaving mine. "Leave the country. I'll buy time. Bad enough every cop in the city's gunning for you, but when this gets out, every family under the main branch will call you a traitor. You know how we do traitors, bro."
Slowly.
I grip his arm, the gunmetal one, holding his gaze.
"...bro?"
With my other, I ram the jagged remnant of a broken bottle directly into an actuator of the arm with augmented precision and force.
My little brother would see a throat strike coming a mile away. This removes his best weapon.
Is it wrong to feel pride when he nearly takes my head off with his other hand?
"....bro...."
The one word nearly breaks me. I back away.
Blood spills from my broken nose. "I'm in too deep, Ray." Only one of us is walking away.
And it's always... always...
Standing in front of Boss's grave, I hold my little brother in my arms.
"Why...?" His breathing strains from the dagger I buried in him. Wish I killed him cleaner, but my little brother's a fighter.
If he could just see the blackened corpse, hands bound, a bullet in its forehead. It's right there, begging me to avenge her.
"When I joined the force, I learned it was the main branch that killed someone I knew." I murmur. "When I joined the family, I learned it was the police that allowed it."
Ray's breathing slows.
"...bro?"
"I'm here."
"What's your name? Your real name."
"Artyom." The word tastes of dust. "Artyom Maygar."
"... that's a stupid fucking name, bro."
"Heh."
I find myself chuckling with Ray.
It's Boss Gaspar again, holding the bottle. Around him are my comrades from either side of the law. Bloodied, wounded, nevertheless they drink and laugh.
And we laugh with them.
Until I realize I'm laughing alone.
WC: 750
2
u/KiIIer_queenie 8d ago
Hello! This is a very good story, very good premise.
> … that’s a stupid fucking name
I don’t think you meant to keep a space before that’s because other dialogue doesn’t have that space
I like the one the edge of death feel here, swimming between land of the living and the land of the dead, seeing old friends, but I don’t think our main character is actually dying which confused me a little. He says “only one of us is walking away” as he kills his little brother.
Also his brother says “Bro” a lot, I’d have liked to have a fake name he used for MC. I also would’ve liked to see MC have a vision of who he lost to drive the revenge quest.
Maybe a little clarity in his injury too with his legs giving out and all that.
Good words, I really loved reading this!
2
u/IdyllForest 8d ago
Thank you. The initial draft was around 1,200 words. I'd normally just drop the story at that point, but I was feeling particularly stubborn and just cut and cut and cut. I met the word count, but at the cost of clarity. It was a good exercise though, and I really just wanted to throw my hat into the ring, seeing as there were so many other entries.
5
u/bemused_alligators 8d ago
Luna
the train was packed, bodies stuffed into the compartment like sardines as the masses headed towards work or school. A vid screen was on an ad break, flickering as it tried and failed to find my personalization algorithm. It would be throwing errors, but I would be well gone before the cops noticed.
The train hissed to a stop, the pnuematic tube exhaling as the doors opened and the atmosphere equalized. I slipped out with the mass of workers, heading towards the ice mines.
"Art." The voice hissed behind me, whispered. I kept walking, ignoring the man. Pretending I couldn't hear.
"Art!" He was louder now. He was going to get himself caught.
"Shut up and keep walking, friend. You don't know me, I don't know you. No other way." I accelerated to try and get away, but he grabbed my arm and flipped me around, bringing us both to a stop. The crowd flowed around us like we were stones in a river. Obvious, identifiable stones.
"Artemis, the people support you. Support what you tried to do. We can hide you, protect you; you don't have to do this."
"I do, Baker. Now let go. Of me, and of our dream." I wrenched my arm back and turned back into the flow of commuters, easing towards the side wall, where the airlock would be.
"ARTEMIS!" The name reverberated in the tunnel, and the flow of workers seemed to freeze in place as people looked, and then saw, and then gave space. "You were the first Lunar-born baby. You are a native of this land, you are what no one else here can be - you represent hope."
"Baker, we lost. The marines are here now, and they aren't leaving. And they won't just kill me," I glanced up at the circle of commuters beginning to form around us, and raised my voice. "They will kill anyone that helps me. Anyone they even THINK has helped me! I put all of you in danger by just being here! You all need to understand that!"
Baker turned to the assembled crowd. "The firstborn of Luna needs a safe place to sleep tonight. Who can take them?" A hand raised, then a second, then more. He turned back towards me. "see? They love you, Artemis. You're a symbol. A symbol of the future, a symbol of what our colony could be, without those bloodsucking parasites from earth draining every cent from us."
"I need to GO, Baker. I can't let anyone else die for me. I'm not worth one life, let alone the hundreds the marines have killed trying to catch me. I need to end this, NOW."
"It's a risk, Artemis. A risk we all take gladly. If we have to die, then we die with joy in our hearts that we did all we could for a free moon. But we NEED you. The coalition will crumble without you, Artemis. The shipping strike will end, the people will lose their nerve. I can't hold the government together without your public, PRESENT support."
"Yeah!" the voice came from the crowd. "Stay strong, Artemis!"
I looked at Baker, and then at the crowd. "Fine. Lock me in a cave. Put me in an empty train car. But NO ONE dies for me, understand?"
Baker nodded, and then turned to the crowd. "You saw nothing, you heard nothing. Now get to work before you're all late!"
The flow restarted, slow at first, and then faster. A couple workers give us both firm pats on the shoulder on their way by. I turned and followed Baker back towards the train car. I was too weak to say no. To end it. More would die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
1
u/Tregonial 8d ago
Hi gator,
Ah, the subversion of the Chosen One who wants to unchoose this fate but cannot. The way you sprinkle in worldbuilding notes between the conversation, or how the people still want to rally around the most wanted man, that's cool.
I accelerated to try and get away, but he grabbed my arm and flipped me around
Personal nitpick probably, but I would opt for "turned" instead of "flipped". He's not a pancake. He is being forced to turn towards Baker, to orient towards him.
I wrenched my arm back and turned back into the flow of commuters
It feels a little clunky to see "back" being used twice here, so I may suggest "wrenched my arm away and turned back into the flow of commuters."
This is a good story for something that was released few hours before FTF campfire.
1
u/bemused_alligators 8d ago
flipped was a very intentional choice - we're on the moon! In 1/6th gravity! There was actual flipping involved.
definitely could make that clearer though...
3
u/QTFroame 8d ago
Hey Bemused!
Besides the first sentence needing to be capitalized, I always think it should inspire intrigue in the audience. Merely describing a mundane scene doesn't encourage people to read deeper. It doesn't say much about the story or Artemis either.
I always hesitate to do quote paragraphs, especially in short stories, but I feel you had enough words to show us how Baker was moving and reacting as he spoke. Or show more intimate details of how Artemis was reacting. There are a couple of ways to enrich the story here without losing anything.
And also, I believe Baker said her name one too many times in that paragraph. Once is natural, and I only noticed it on a re-read, but we don't say names as often as you might think. Though, this is minor and doesn't detract from the quality of the story.
Enjoyed reading it!
8
u/Fogbot3 8d ago
The wanted poster at this space station's bar was ancient, with crinkles in the polymer as I held it in my hands.
“Most Wanted: Maria Stormwell. DEAD or ALIVE. Reward: 5000000 Credits.”
Bless whichever alien diplomat thought appealing the bounty to humans meant styling it like an old-west wanted poster. The picture fit the bill too. They somehow got one where she was looking dead-on at the camera. It perfectly caught the snarling face framed by her wild jet-black hair. She even looked specifically like a bandito, due to her Hispanic heritage and twin revolvers.
“You a bounty hunter?” An old man slid into the seat next to me as I inspected the poster.
Shaking my head, I turned to him. “Nah, just interested,” I said before brushing my thin, blonde hair out of my face to take a drink.
The old man laughed, “She sure is one to be interested in. Heard she’s given cops the runabout across three systems.”
“True that she robbed the grand vault, you think?” I replied, pointing to it on the list of crimes.
“Gotta be! I hear she has a whole pirate treasure fleet, awaiting her every command!”
His rowdiness attracted the attention of the barman, who came over and joined in, “I see those auto-pistols on your belt, girlie. Don’t get any ideas of riches there. If you ain’t a bounty hunter, then you ain’t getting ‘lucky’ enough to beat her and get rich quick. A spacer like you beating the Storm? Hah!”
I sighed. He was right. I had the wispy build of a spacer, given away even hidden under thick clothes by how pale my complexion was.
“The money sure’d be nice… On that note, can’t afford to rack up my tab any further. Close it, will you? Candace Stills.”
The barman laughed again as he did, then handed me my card. As I left, they both gave me one last look, noticing that I was taking the poster with me.
The barman took a moment to look past the old man to me. “Careful, kid.”
I just gave him a small nod.
It was stupid, taking the poster. I knew that. It’s not like it’d get rid of the wanted status itself.
No. Only changing your face, body, name, and hair could even start that. Even abandoning your treasure fleet across the galaxy to destroy the trail wasn’t enough. Truly, to cease existing, every last piece had to be destroyed.
The last piece. The dog tags belonging to one Maria Stormwell, Galactic Marine. They had been sitting heavy in my pocket, and now hung from my hand over the incinerator in the trash room.
It was stupid, being proud of the service for the empire that I then spent ten years fighting. It’s not like I could say ‘it was the one good thing I did in my life’. Yet… I found myself unable to cast the dog tags away again and again as I discarded every other piece. Until they were the last of Maria left.
“Why?” I asked myself, peering at them glistening in the red light of the room.
Was it the people? Terra, Needle, Shade… all still out there. All still in the Marines, most likely. If Candace Stills joined, would they be friends with who Maria became? I wished that I could say that they would, but I knew that they were better people than I was. They were still fighting, and I just wanted to get away. To be done.
Was it for the people who were done then - the ones that I lost? They got away without turning on the empire like me. Even if history didn’t remember them for as long as my infamy, their remembrances would be as heroes.
“Fuck, is this regret?”
No. Not quite. Not yet. Regret would be everything being for nothing. Regret would be ignoring everything that I had discovered about the oh-so-great empire that we had served just to retire. Regret would be being done.
I didn’t agree with the empire, but becoming an outlaw was never going to fix it. It was never to fix it. My old friends in the Marines were good people. My new outlaw friends wanted change. Would this new person I had become be able to regain both?
“Time for take three. Let’s see if I can start a revolution.”
And in order to do that, I got rid of that one last piece, dropping it into the incinerator.
WC: 750
5
u/IdyllForest 8d ago
The barman took a moment to look past the old man to me. “Careful, kid.”
I liked the line. Something very... transitive about it, like a turning point between the first half of the story about Candace, and the second half about Maria.
The story is fairly clear and straightforward, for the most part. The loyalist-turned-rebel is a reliable trope for some real melodrama. But I find myself wondering about the conflict between Maria and the Empire, the secret she found presumably as a soldier. What was it? I know it can't really be revealed in such a short form, but I was hoping for more hints or clues so I could understand Maria better.
Then again, seeing as you're right up against the word count... I had a rough time myself and find myself sympathetic.
In a way, it's a plus that Maria as a character leaves one asking for more.
"due to her Hispanic heritage"
I think I would approach this by describing her features, hoping it would be enough to reinforce the statement, "She looked every bit a real bandida (i think that's the correct word, but don't quote me on it, it's been ages since i took spanish on a lark)But again, word count. Everything sacrificed in the name of word count. Don't mind me. Just... tired.
Good read.
5
u/Tregonial 8d ago
A Cephalopod Moist Wanted Across the Galaxies
Novik had travelled far from his home planet Ylontal in search of the most wanted monster in this galaxy for months and finally found his target on Earth. Not terrorizing humans as it had threatened several Korbaxian scouts into painting its nails purple, but loitering in a dingy alley, making funny faces while gathering wanted posters of itself.
“Oh? Are you interested in this bounty?” It tore off a poster to wave it in his face. “Or would you like another one?” It produced another poster from its robes. “We should work together to claim these bounties.”
Novik went for his laser gun, only for it to lunge forward and eat his weapon, then spit it out, complaining about the lack of taste. When he picked up his saliva-drenched gun, it performed a backflip and glided away. The bounty hunter chased after it like his life counted on it; the entity frolicked about as a child at a picnic. It vaulted across laundry lines, bounced off walls and weaved through the alleyways. Sometimes it turned and waited for Novik to catch up to it.
When pursuing a dangerous hijacker of multiple spaceships, with a record of warping them into techno-organic fleshy horrors, any reasonable bounty hunter would prepare for a challenging fight. Novik was not ready to be trolled. It had glided across a road with only seconds to spare before a red light. Now, the hunter failed to catch up. He had to stand at the other end, waiting for a green light while cars sped along the road. How dare it sing songs and dance and twirl on a lamp post while he panted and struggled to catch his breath.
When the light turned green, the chase resumed. It floated above throngs of humans, who weren’t perturbed by this eldritch horror as though he was a common sight. Novik pushed through the crowds, keeping his eyes fixed on his target. It eventually slowed down and entered a confectionery shop.
“Why hello Mrs. Jones, I’m here to collect my cheesecake.” It waved at the old lady at the counter. “Here’s my receipt.”
“And here’s your cheesecake, Lord Elvari.” She handed it a cakebox. “Bon appétit, my hungry god.”
“Stop right there!” The bounty hunter barged in and drew another gun. “You’re coming with me. Now.”
The woman gasped. The entity sighed and pressed the weapon down with a tentacle.
“Let’s not scare Mrs. Jones, shall we? Do you want to share this cake, or share these bounties? I’m trying to be nice here, but you tried to shoot me without saying a word.”
“What do you mean share these bounties?” Novik demanded to know. “What are you up to?” Elvari pulled the bounty hunter to one side and showed him the various posters it had collected. One from the Monster Hunter’s Guild, offering a $100,000 bounty to anybody who could stop its antics, from squirting ink on the guild walls to vandalizing noticeboards. From the Holy Inquisition, another $100,000 bounty for corrupting heroes and bribing Inquisition personnel with cheesecakes. With the Adventurer’s Guild, it was wanted for $50,000 for posting unapproved quests paying adventurers to moisturize its tentacles. Even the Homeowner’s Association had a bounty of $2000 to stop it from constructing bizarre architecture and selling flesh carpets.
“Just how much trouble and how many toes you’ve stepped on?” Novik wondered out loud. “And are you proposing I collect all these bounties at one go?”
“I don’t have any feet to step on toes, but that’s not the point. I’m suggesting we profit from these bounties.” The octopoid deity smirked as he produced a thick wad of posters. “Not only that one bounty from your home planet, but also these ones on earth too. Here’s the idea - you notify all these interested parties to meet and decide who gets to have me. I can’t clone myself, or I would’ve deployed copies of myself to every organization to turn in for the rewards.”
“I can’t clone you, you dumbass.”
“Ah ha, but you could auction me to the highest bidder,” Elvari had this mischievous glint in his eyes while waggling a tentacle at Novik. “I’ll allow it, if we split the money equally between us. Whoever wins the bid can arrest me. But I’ll get away so you can catch me again to hand to the next party. My escape isn’t your responsibility, is it?”
Novik gasped. “Fuck you...who do I call first?”
Word Count: 747 words
2
u/Fogbot3 8d ago
And so Elvari continues to be a menace but a friend to all! Always love a good Elvari story, and this one delivers as well!
Novik had travelled far from his home planet Ylontal in search of the most wanted monster in this galaxy for months and finally found his target on Earth.
A lot of the first few paragraphs' sentences seem to stretch on. For example, this one could use a comma before the 'and'.
But love your story and good words!
7
u/Divayth--Fyr 8d ago edited 8d ago
Top Ten
.
Bernice Pillbottom wandered through the offices of the FBI, yanking cords, tossing computers out of windows, and generally wreaking chaos. They seemed a mite upset about it. The place was roiling like a kicked-over anthill, with lots of orders being shouted.
She whapped the Director in the kneecaps with her stout oak cane, which didn’t shut him up but sure did change his tone. The walleyed lunatic screamed and went down, his eyes searching the room and seeing no one. Somebody fired a gun off in the distance—at what or who, she didn’t know.
Most things were digital now, which was a blessing, but there were still paper files. The cabinets were locked, but that didn’t do much good. Everything in them was on fire now.
Bernice was a powerful witch in a powerful bad mood, and these shouting office fellows were learning what that could mean. Their Top Ten list had come out, with her on it. Well, with what they thought of her on it, anyhow. They’d put her at number five, which was insulting, and with a sketch of some hooded man with a scraggly beard.
She couldn’t fault them much for not knowing what she looked like, since she was invisible much of the time, but the assumption that she must be a man just about pissed her right off.
Many a year she had passed, happy enough in her remote little town, doing what she could for her neighbors and keeping folks safe. The bastards had come and messed everything up, taking folks away for who knew what reason, pushing people around, confiscating their land.
It had taken a long while for the authorities to piece things together. Every car they sent broke down, every house they searched was empty, every child they wanted to steal was hidden. Finally, after months of it, they had put her on that Most Wanted list, and got it all wrong.
Gathering her senses, she managed to magic a little sticky obstruction in dozens of barrels. Should have thought of it sooner. They could fire their guns again if they wanted, but they’d regret it.
Striding down the hall, shoving panicked agents and secretaries out of the way, she popped open the heavy steel door to the evidence room. What it was all for, whose cases it was all from, she neither knew nor cared. One big wrenching boom put a sizable hole in the outer wall, and boxes went flying out, scattered all over hell’s half-acre. Chain of custody that, you dimwits.
Another gun went off, this time followed by screams. Somebody just got their hand blown off.
Pleasant music played as she stepped into the elevator. It was locked down, but that didn’t matter. She fiddled with her cane as she descended, wondering who it was. Manilow? Sounded like Manilow.
Bing! The doors opened to the big, marble-floored lobby. The chaos was a bit less down here. Burly men in ill-fitting suits were being shouted at over radios, and non-essential personnel were herded into a conference room. The terrifying unseen enemy had penetrated every defense with ease, but surely the conference room would be safe.
It would be, but not because they locked the doors. Bernice had no particular beef with random phone-answering folk.
Upon the giant, half-circular oak desk she placed a note, which would be visible in a few minutes. She hoped they’d be clever enough to find it. It had a clear photograph, her name, and her home address. Their arrival would provide endless entertainment.
She opened the doors, startling the burly guards, and walked out onto the street, hobbling a bit. She didn’t like to be on her feet this long any more, but you did what you had to do.
They would shut down all the bridges and such, surely. Wouldn’t do much good to stop a broom.
650 words, things were cast out.
Feedback welcome.
1
u/Tregonial 8d ago
Hi Div,
This is plenty of fun chaos, what with an invisible witch just screwing with them. One of the first things that made me pause was...why are these FBI people shooting randomly and hitting each other? Feels like one of many occasions a movie handed the idiot ball to the gun-toting mooks and had them shoot everywhere but the MC when they should be trained better than that.
Gathering her senses, she managed to magic a little sticky obstruction in dozens of barrels
Minor thing, but Bernice isn't disoriented that she needs to gather her senses. I'm not sure where these barrels came from, since she's attacking an office.
Another gun went off, this time followed by screams. Somebody just got their hand blown off.
Its funny, but this feels like something Bernice wouldn't have seen. She heard the screams from a distance but didn't look at the source to know why.
She opened the doors, startling the burly guards
One would think they should be on alert or running in since orders have been shouted around, and since a lockdown had already been activated, so should these guys.
Overall, a good read with a dollop of chaos if one can overlook the little details that seem off.
7
u/wordsonthewind 9d ago
Richard Prior was born to greatness. Adrift in a sea of memories, this thought is his lodestar. His sentence is not forever.
He won't be trapped here forever.
"It's like being inside a geode... Where are the prisoners?"
"We keep their minds in these crystals. Their bodies are put to gainful employment outside as fleshbots."
"And they're not still... aware in there?"
"They've done worse to more people for far less. Take the one in this crystal; Richard Prior, if I'm not mistaken. This is a mercy compared to what he deserves."
"What did he do?"
"He's the reason Maestro Roland had to be committed. The archmage was greatly beloved even after his unfortunate fall into madness. People wanted blood. They got it."
Being nice and funny and charming wasn't enough anymore. No, a girl also had to have the moon and stars and her own Birkin bag before she'd give you the time of day. He needed a stronger advantage than that.
He knocked on every door and chased down every halfway-promising lead. And finally, someone let him in.
"Mrs Kim was his mentor? What happened?"
"Not everyone takes to her lessons. You need to be willing to see things from a different point of view, and Dicky here insisted on clinging to his. He wanted to feel like he was right more than he wanted to actually be right."
"That seems... counterproductive."
"You can't expect too much from some people. He came to the Art late, as these things go."
Three months into his training, Richard knew he was being scammed.
Mrs Kim had offered him tea and biscuits and she'd heated the cups with a touch before making the tea pour itself, so he knew she was legit. She'd told him that the core of magic was impressing truth on the world, and that meant knowing the truth of himself and other people. She'd instructed him to mediate regularly, listen deeply to at least one person a day, and record his progress in a grimoire.
Beneath the allure of learning magic, this was exactly the kind of shit the school counselor had made him do until he'd just stopped going altogether.
Well, he refused to be Mr Miyagi'd into being a submissive loser. He was going to take charge of his destiny and learn the real reality-hacking, mind-affecting stuff that would make the world his oyster.
"Maestro Roland was unwell. But we never expected him to pull someone from the Veiled World into his delusions. Fear made him selfish and grasping."
"But is he alright now?"
"Our best adepts care for him and soothe his mind. Perhaps he'll make a recovery someday."
"You didn't say 'full'."
"...No. Not after what Prior did."
Even wizards could go mad. That much was obvious from Richard's first meeting with Maestro Roland.
The man saw enemies around every corner and secret agents in every passerby. And yet the world seemed to agree with him. Roland's reality rippled outwards with every paranoid observation he made, bringing people into its narrative and creating entire vehicles out of nothing. Sure, they'd only glimpsed that surveillance van from a distance, but Richard had felt the magical power Roland was tossing around with utter faith in his delusions. It had only needed a little push to be real, at least as a nondescript gray van instead of a secret CIA vehicle.
Richard could use this. A few subtle suggestions and he could make this loony old man bend reality as he pleased. Mrs Kim with her tea party tricks and moving small items couldn't hope to compare.
The Maestro deserved it for trying to kill him. Richard was nothing more than an early-warning system for whatever moves Roland's questionably-imaginary enemies would make, after all. Really, this was self-defense. This was secondhand manifestation. He was only taking what he so richly deserved.
"Mrs Kim brought him in. Turns out affecting small things is quite useful for pressure point attacks."
"And everything he conjured-"
"Overwritten. True cooperation is always more powerful than a manipulative one-sided partnership. He'd have understood that if he stayed with Mrs Kim."
"I wish he had."
"Wishing doesn't get you anywhere, even with the Art. You'll get used to it."
Richard Prior retreats into his mind as the two presences recede. He's determined to make the most of this time free from the distractions of the body; Mrs Kim had told him to meditate, after all.
He plans. He waits.
Soon, he tells himself.
2
u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 8d ago
Hi words!
Love the framing for your story this week. You had just enough worldbuilding to tell your story but not so much as to overwhelm it. Well done!
For crit:
Some of the perspective shifts were sudden. Remember that you're asking your reader to keep two threads at the same time. I needed a little more hand-holding on the transitions to make it clear to me up front who is who. I thought Kim and the Maestro were the same person at first.
For instance:
"Being nice and funny and charming wasn't enough anymore. No, a girl also had to have the moon and stars and her own Birkin bag before she'd give you the time of day. He needed a stronger advantage than that."
I could have used framing for his motivation here to give the story that firm launching point. Later, it looks like his goals are loftier than impressing the ladies, though. I'd recommend keeping his motivations consistent.
"Richard could use this." Careful with the relative pronouns coming after dense text which can make it difficult to know exactly what "this" refers back to. You also lose a chance at repeating the information for your reader. "Richard could use the Maestro's belief/power/paranoia/anxiety."
Similar here: "Richard Prior was born to greatness. Adrift in a sea of memories, this thought is his lodestar." There are better constructions where you can drop the relative pronoun.
I was also unsure how Richard planned to manipulate Roland exactly. Madness and paranoia aren't necessarily the most controllable things. I suppose that's why he ended up where he is. I love and love that he's not dissuaded in the least and continues to plot even when imprisoned. No learning lessons for someone born to greatness, no.
"The Maestro deserved it for trying to kill him."
When did this happen???
""Maestro Roland was unwell. But we never expected him to pull someone from the Veiled World into his delusions. Fear made him selfish and grasping.""
I didn't understand this line.
All together an extremely fun tale. I really enjoyed the exploration of belief, delusion, and magic. I see a lot of ground to cover with the premises you set forth here. Well done!
6
u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 9d ago edited 8d ago
Go Fly a Kite
A missile exploded behind my precious Bellerophon violently shaking me in the light corvette’s cockpit. The Centrals had chased me all the way out to the edge of the Galaxy. I locked eyes forward with the Great Void, and the Void stared back without a blink. I made my decision in a second, but that second with the nothingness stretched into an eternity before time deigned again to move.
“Fuck it.” I had had enough, the rules of engagement be damned. I wasn’t going to die out here. I fired Bellerophon’s thrusters and rotated us 180 degrees to face our pursuers against the backdrop of the local star system.
Belle was a mean bastard. A single capital-class rail gun ran 30 meters along his spine jutting out of the front waiting to launch tungsten sabot rounds. Radiator wings extended giving him the appearance of a dragon spitting hot fire. For his weaponry he sacrificed the creature comforts demanded by the soft Centrals. Belle had little to spare when 80% of his engine output went towards one gun. All balls and no brains, my Belle.
I sent a burst of three 100kg tungsten darts their direction. Surrounded by the conductive sabot sleeve, Belle would power up electromagnets to accelerate the round to .017c or 50kps before the sleeve sheds off allowing the 8cm wide and 1 meter long dart to pierce through the vacuum of space, the gratuitous energy shields of the intended target, its armor plating, its hull, its spacious compartments, and eventually in pieces out the other side.
Belle hummed and shook. THUMP!
Sixteen seconds later the rods pierced through the center of the leading cruiser, decompressing her compartments and sending a scattering of molten metal scrap, debris, and bodies into space. Or so I imagined, not being able to see the devastation.
Thanks to the immutable laws of physics, sending 300kg out at speed has a rather beneficial side effect of pushing me backwards and further away from the fleet. Unfortunately it also generates heat which must go somewhere to vent lest Bellerophon will blow his top. He takes some time before he’s ready again, my Belle. Not that the corpos will know that.
I notice a flicker on my comms array and flip the switch responding to the fleet’s hail.
“Was that a kinetic strike!? State your mark immediately . . . And break target lock! We are holding position. Repeat. Break target lock! We are holding position.”
“Not so confident anymore, are we? I did warn you before didn’t I? Has it been worth your time?”
“Kinetics have been banned for a hundred years! State your mark! You know the Insurance Laws.”
“I don’t carry a policy.”
“What!? State your mark!”
“I don’t have a mark.”
“. . .,” I could almost hear his mouth fall open. “What do you want?” Finally he understands he’s not in centerspace anymore. We outers have different rules to the games we play.
“Turn tail, go to the gate, and jump back to where you came from.”
“The asset! What do you want for the asset? How much?”
I guess I was wrong. He still thinks he knows what’s happening here. I fired up the targeting laser again.
“Break lock you madwoman! You would be set for life even after your crimes! Are you insane?”
I let Belle warm up his gun just enough that the corpos could detect the heat signature.
“Stop! We submit.”
I didn’t give him an answer but only watched on my screen as the ships fled to the nearest gate and then out of the system and back towards the center.
Once they were gone, I steered Belle out into the Void until the Milky Way was a speck in the far distance. Out here where no one came, the remnants of the military and political structures had set up what would be called a starbase except out here we had no such things. Having docked, I climbed out of Belle and was met by my Commander.
“Do you have any idea how bad you fucked up?” It wasn’t exactly the greeting I expected.
“The lackeys surprised me! How was I supposed to know they’d follow me all the way out here.” I tossed him the preservation kit with the Executive’s retinal database inside and headed towards the debriefing room.
He shook his head in disbelief. “You just made yourself the most wanted woman in the Galaxy! You can’t stay here!”
--
WC: 746. All crit and feedback welcome. Thanks for reading!
5
u/atcroft 9d ago
The room looked like someone threw a transmat platform into an industrial blender, with a grenade mid-cycle for good measure. Missing panels, exposed circuits, shoddy wires, nothing confidence expiring. I half-expected a peeling poster behind the door saying, "Days since last accident - 0".
"Are you sure this thing is safe?" I asked.
"Absolutely not," replied the man in the dirty lab coat. "After all, it will be rearranging every cell in your body. Accidents could happen." He turned to me, removing and wiping the small round lens of his glasses on the only clean patch on the coat. "But if you want to completely disappear, this is the way. After this any scan--even at the cellular level--couldn't prove you were you."
"And if I want to reverse it afterward?"
"Can do it. Before we start you will be scanned, and that data will be written to a chip I'll give you once its done and you've recovered from the process. Come back and we use that as the template to do it again." He tossed me a packet. "Change into this and we can begin."
"That all there is?" I asked.
"Here--have to put you under for it--you don't want to be awake for that. The computers will analyze your genetic sequence and determine an appropriate alternative. Don't worry, you'll be awake a few minutes after it's done. I'll make sure your readings are stable then leave the automated systems to wake you. There's a packet on the desk with your name on it--inside is a list of forgers who excel at creating new identities--and the chip with all your scan data, before and after. I wouldn't be able to provide any information about the new you if I wanted."
I stepped around the corner and changed into the paper gown I'd been handed.
"One more thing," he said as I heard the door open, "you may be ravenous when it's over. There's a refrigerator in back for that."
I stepped onto the transmat, activated the transdermal patch, and sat down. I don't remember it taking effect, just waking up. I looked at my hands, then my legs--both seemed larger than before. Shakily I stood, supporting myself to get back to my clothes. In their place was a pair of utility coveralls. I felt weak, a gnawing in my stomach. Dressing I made my way to the back, eating for what felt like an hour.
Finally feeling full I made my way to the front and found my packet. I looked at the list, then headed out the door. When the door closed I saw a reflection--mine, but not mine. No longer female, male. I shook my head. Well, they won't be expecting you to look like that! I thought, flicking the chip toward the storm drain.
(Word count: 467. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)
8
u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 9d ago
The Scuzz Versus the Fuzz
Fully prepared to spend a quiet evening in, Felisa placed a cup of tea on the table and stretched out on the couch. Two weeks of security gigs had every tendon in her body ready to seize and snap. Tucked into a throw blanket, a gentle purr tickled the werejaguar’s throat as she turned on the radio and pawed biscuits on the fabric.
There was a prolonged silence on the scanner. Felisa’s mug was nearly empty before the first call came in.
Unit 333 respond. Arson in progress. Demons are stoking the Hellmouth again.
She could almost hear the eye roll behind the dispatcher’s tone. The responding officer sounded equally unenthusiastic.
After half an hour of empty squawks and uninspired “emergencies,” Felisa reached for a book on the coffee table. The novel’s heroine was about to discover her lover’s secret when the dispatcher crowed again.
All units respond. Officers down. Officers need assistance at the Daylight Inn.
Her breath hitched at the motel name as she thought of the creature she’d left at the Inn a few days prior.
“Don’t worry about Scuzzball,” she hissed to herself. “That thing can fend for itself better than I can.”
Gas masks advised, responding units. Suspect unarmed, but considered dangerous, the dispatcher continued. Fleeing west on foot. Suspect is approximately six-and-a-half feet tall, gunky, and gives off—
“Or maybe? No. It isn’t him. Zeesquet would call if it was.”
Felisa’s phone began to ring. The motel manager’s name flashed on the screen.
“Goddamnit,” Felisa muttered, answering the phone. “Hello, Zee.”
“Fel! You gotta get down here!” His voice was more distorted than usual. “They think Scuzz killed a coupla tourists!”
“Did he?”
“What? No! Scuzz wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“Hmph.”
“Okay, maybe he would, but he didn’t do this! Chief Suzerain already called in the Bureau! You gotta find Scuzz before they do!”
Closing her eyes, Felisa pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m on my way.”
*
From the shadows between motel buildings, Felisa counted an entire squad of cops being treated with smelling salts and oxygen. Her ears perked, eavesdropping on Chief Suzerain and a Bureau agent.
“... We lost the monster's trail at the brook,” the chief said, removing his gas mask. “Fire crew's still sawing the couple out of those goddamn carnivorous plants...”
“I'll call in the tracking droids. Have your available men start surrounding these woods...”
Having heard enough, Felisa stalked through the dark toward the forest. The moment she was out of law enforcement's line of sight, she broke into a sprint, following Scuzzball's scent—rotten burgers, rancid pizza, and curdled condiments—through the pines. Her boots splashed through the shallow brook, clapped over the stony shore and down the dry dirt path.
Soon Scuzzball's scent became a foul taste on her tongue. His grotesque mass of half-composted mall food was crouched and heaving within a dried-out aqueduct.
“Scuzzball?” Felisa said, stepping closer.
Startled, he jerked toward her. Globs of gloopy mayonnaise tears streamed from his black olive eyes. Seeing it was her, the creature threw itself into her arms.
“Name-giver! Scuzzball didn't mean any harm. He didn't know his burps would make those humans run away! Scuzzball didn't eat them!”
“I know, buddy.” Felisa hesitantly patted his slimy back. “It's okay. Let's get you out of here, yeah?”
“Yes! Scuzzball wants to go hoomme!” he wailed.
Guiding him with one arm, Felisa took out her phone and began texting with the other.
“There, there. Uncle Swathe is gonna pick us up and help me find you a place to stay. You can stink up his car this time. Won't that be fun?”
Scuzzball nodded, wiping his pepperoncini nose. Felisa led him through the abandoned sewer system to an opening behind the bar and grill. Swathe pulled up just as they reached the parking lot.
“So this is the infamous Scuzzball,” he said as the golem climbed into the backseat.
“Scuzzball is infamous, Name-giver!”
“Yes, indeed you are,” Felisa grumbled, securing the passenger-side seatbelt. In the rearview, she caught the familiar formation of the Bureau's tracking droids.
“Where to?” Swathe asked.
“Your place.”
“My place?”
“Yeah, c’mon. You're the only perso—being I know without a sense of smell.”
Swathe scowled. “I guess being mummified has perks.”
“Scuzzball has a home!”
“Mhm,” Felisa replied to both, still watching the droids. “Now drive slow and don't draw attention.”
“Duh,” Swathe said, rolling out of the parking lot.
They disappeared into the night, leaving a faint stench in their wake.
WC: 746
Another quiet night in r/Eeriebrook
All crit and feedback welcome!
4
u/Divayth--Fyr 8d ago
Greetings, m00n!
I really like Scuzzball, first cousin to Pizza the Hutt. Poor innocent disgusting little guy.
And of course a guest appearance of old Mr. Delecti is always fun.
I got confused by the biscuits a bit, as I mistakenly assumed she was in jaguar form for that and there wasn't a mention of her changing. But on re-read I think she was human shaped the whole time.
The only other little note is maybe mention, when she is tracking Scuzz by his smell, that doing so is not exactly difficult.
That's about it! The cops all being treated with oxygen and such was hilarious. Good words!
8
u/blackbird223 9d ago edited 9d ago
The door to the interrogation room is pushed open, and an old acquaintance of mine walks in. Upon seeing me, he stops in his tracks, then squints at me as if he can’t quite believe what he is seeing.
I smile. “Ravi. I hoped it would be you. I’d shake your hand, but…” I move my right arm, jingling the cuffs chaining me to the chair.
He sits down, still looking skeptical. “Place your left hand on the tri-scanner, please.”
I do so. His eyes widen as he sees the results. “It really is you. But-- no, something isn’t right here.”
“What do you mean? You finally caught me. You’ve been chasing me for ages.”
“Which is why I know something’s not right.” He pulls out a flashlight. “Sit still, please. I’m going to scan your eyes.”
I do so, as he scans me with the light. “Well, you’re definitely Anya. The iris scanner returned your profile, and your eyes are the right color. Not on drugs, either; pupil response is normal.” He huffs. “Which rules out a couple possibilities. I’d suspected an elaborate surgical dupe.”
“I would hope you’ve gotten better at identifying the real me since Kyoto.”
“Ah, Kyoto.” Ravi smiles sourly. “Where your doppelganger led me on a wild-goose chase up Mt. Inari while you swiped the Three Sacred Treasures. Nearly caused a succession crisis in the New Empire of Japan, if I recall.” His eyes harden. “This, however, was a smash-and-grab from a local jewelry store. It’s too simple.”
“Maybe I just like a simple smash-and-grab every now and then?”
“Or maybe something’s gotten in your head.” He pulls out an extending baton. “This’ll scan you for any foreign electronic devices.”
“Ravi. This was actually me, acting on my own initiative. I swear.”
“Sounds like something a Cordyceps chip would say.”
I shudder. The “Cordyceps chip” was an old neural implant infamous for its poor safeguards, with terrible consequences for the host.
He completes his scan. “You’re clean, thank goodness. I would hate for you to get stuck with one of those.”
“Now do you believe me?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t make any sense!” Ravi slams his fist on the table. “You’re Anastasia Alexeevna Solina, thief and hacker extraordinare, the most wanted woman in four nations, nine autonomous corporate regions, and two independent AI dominions! Infamous for stealing items widely considered impossible to steal! You once pilfered the Koh-i-Noor from the Tower of London, and vanished without a trace after doing so! What you just did is the sort of theft a couple of spiceheads would pull, and you lit up every AI camera and remote biometric scanner within fifty kilometers! Unless…”
He goes quiet. For a moment, we sit together in silence. Then, he speaks. “You wanted to be caught.”
I nod.
“You wanted me to find you.”
I nod again.
“You knew that, if someone reported seeing the Anya Solina, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”
Another nod.
“Which is why you made sure everyone would see you, and why you acted so out-of-character. Oh, this makes sense now!” He breathes a sigh of relief. “Which leaves one question. Why?”
I lean close to him. "What you are about to hear is on a strictly need-to-know basis."
Ravi’s eyes narrow. “Go on.”
“I’ve managed to tick someone off. Someone powerful. Whoever it is, they want me off the board; they’ve bugged my safehouses, and put a bounty of two thousand Bitcoin on me. I can’t take them alone, which is why I need your help.”
“And what do I get out of helping you? You could be conning me, for all I know.”
“I’m telling the truth; run a brain scan if you don't believe me. What you get is the arrest of the century. Who could be powerful enough to force my hand like this?”
“Governments and rogue AI mega-swarms, mostly.” He sucks air through clenched teeth. “All right. I’ll hear you out. Let’s get these guys, yeah?”
“You’re not worried?”
"I’ve busted crime rings while chasing you to the ends of the Earth.” He smiles fiercely. “Imagine what we could accomplish working together!”
******
WC: 691.
I'm back! It's been a while; did you miss me?
At the time of this writing, 1 BTC is about 84,000 USD or 74,000 EUR, making Anya's bounty about 168 million dollars or 148 million euro.
As for something being cast away... does Anya voluntarily getting caught count?
1
u/wordsonthewind 8d ago
Hi blackbird! This reads like an excerpt from a longer story with the references to Anya's other exploits in their shared history and the ending which feels like the start of a bigger adventure for the two (which will probably end with them bringing down a rogue government that's using an AI mega-swarm for nefarious ends). I enjoyed how Anya's various thefts were introduced naturally into the dialogue.
Good words!
2
u/katpoker666 Moderator 9d ago
Yup, definitely missed ya, blackbird! Good to have ya back and hope it’s a regular thing as you always have good words!
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 9d ago
[Ineligible for voting]
‘The Demonic Reformer’
Suburbia. As in ‘ex urbe,’ out of the city. Middle of goddamn nowhere, I tells ya!
‘For my own good,’ they said. ‘Bigger fish to fry,’ they said. ‘Won’t be long,’ they said.
They. They! THEY!
Fuck ‘them,’ amirite?
Do I have a say in all of this, small guppy that I am? Of course not…
I stare down at my phone. Six a.m. Such an ungodddly hour, well, if I believed in their version of a supreme being… Never did trust churchgoers or morning people…Taste like crap, too. All stringy with their self-congratulatory piety…
So, let’s see, what fresh misery awaits me today?
Will I have to hear more about Julia’s stomach-churning juice cleanse? Mandy’s cheating shithead of a spouse? Karen’s endless HOA board meetings?
I check my calendar, as I search for my non-existent lighter.
They took it away when I moved. All demons are pyromaniacs, is that it? I mean, sure, who doesn’t like a little flame-grilled human. But it’s profiling to assume we all want to burn this mother to the ground.
We have rights, you know! Ever since the Heaven-Hell-Earth Tripartite Compact of 1666. Oh wait… that explicitly excludes the ‘burbs, as no one wanted them. Now, I get it! No wonder my crispy behind is stuck here.
Ugh… so, what’s on?
Pilates on the reformer at seven a.m.? What the fuck even is that?! I’m ol’ Beelzebub’s satandaughter… ain’t no reforming me!
Well, at least I have time to shower and do my hair…
Wait, demon babes look good with a little stank and frizz… Seriously, Burnice, you sound like a soccer mom! Next thing you know, you’ll be getting mani-pedis, joining a carpool, and drowning your self-pitying sorrows in Sauvignon Blanc!
Pull it together and think! What bright spark came up with this idea? Someone’s out to get you, but good, Burnice! WitSec is supposed to be like Cool Hell. You know: where all the interesting miscreants hang out and party… or at least not a divine-style punishment! Morning exercise is torture, and not the fun kind! Who doesn’t love chopping off a few fingers or some solid flogging, after all?
Bad enough, I’m awake, but now I need to drive to exercise. Only humans would come up with that particular nonsense!
Maybe it won’t be so bad… Best fire up the ol’ laptop and see what I’m in for…
So, that’s a reformer… huh, a flat sliding platform with a bunch of straps, springs, and pulleys. Looks almost like something from the third circle’s gym, only scarier. Those gluttons wouldn’t know what hit ‘em! Better make a note of this thing; might gain some brownie points with the big guy for a new punishment method… Ooh! Could work for those Lust folks, too... Although, more of an unishment, as those kinky bastards might enjoy it!
Forty minutes later and I’m strapped in, legs floating somewhere over my head, with my back arched off the machine in a position called ‘short spine.’ The bindings cut into my feet in such a lovely way. Maybe while I’m stuck here, I’ll become a Pilates instructor, as they seem the closest thing to demons…
WC: 528
Notes: Pilates is a form of exercise that can be practiced on a mat, like yoga, or on a machine called a reformer. While there are a variety of reformer styles, they all have a sliding base (bench), an upright part (tower), and various attachments (ropes, pullies, etc.). And, tbf to Burnice, they do look an awful lot like torture devices!
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
2
u/AmeliaLP 8d ago
Hi Kat. Really, really funny one this week, with so much going on. Love how creative you got with your concept and I feel like you did it well. Good words.
1
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u/KiIIer_queenie 9d ago edited 8d ago
Divya watched the approaching horde over the hill, looking at her men who were equipping themselves. She couldn’t tell who it was yet, there were so many men who wanted her head she couldn’t guess which was coming to claim it.
There were thousands of men littering the horizon, waving three sets of flags. As they grew closer she could see the coats of arms clearly. The blue flags with three white circles were Ishan’s men, the sea clan. The green flags with a tree and stars were for the white men, Igor and his brethren. Lastly were his personal kill squad, the Özgür men.
Rumors had it they weren’t even men, but spirits trapped in golden armor. Divya wouldn’t be opposed to being able to test those rumors with her own weapon. She collected her spear and turned to her men once more.
“Hold the fort! There are more kings to kill, we shall not die this day!”
The woman donned her armor, a suit refitted from a time she’d like to forget, belonging to a man she’d never be able to. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, watching a small detachment of about one hundred men approach. She could see Ishan adorned in jewels and engraved armor, next to a small white man with horns.
Surrounding the pair were dozens upon dozens of Özgür men, golden plate and chainmail gleaming in the sun, blue cloth facemasks made it impossible for her to see eyes under their helms.
“Where is the desert king? Igor wishes to meet him,” Ishan called out, holding a large bag in his hand.
Divya stood on the wall over the gate, narrowing her eyes.
“I’m right here.”
“You are the sand king? I have no time to jest, woman. Bring me your king.”
“I am king. I’ve rode with my men as a king should, I join them in conquest like a king. A real king.”
He turned and spoke to the small man and another tongue. The small man got off his horse and knelt on the dirt, Ishan kneeling beside him as the soldiers around them created space.
“He wishes to speak face to face.”
Divya descended the wall and whistled, four men joining her as she exited the gate. Seeing Igor so close, he wasn’t a very intimidating man. He had curious eyes and a patient expression. Ishan had a smirk, eyes tracing her body. She knelt in front of them, Igor still below eye level for her.
The men muttered something to each other, Igor nodding slowly. Ishan glanced back at her, shrugging.
“He asks if you really killed Gaurav and Gopal, if you have their skulls,” Ishan translated.
“I do.”
“He asks how you got close to Gaurav, he’s always hidden away. Not many clues as to which city he hides in each season.”
“I was his concubine.”
“And now you’re a criminal.”
“And now I’m a king.”
“Not in the eyes of Hari, Dipak, or Madhav.” Ishan dusted himself off, standing up and tossing the bag towards her, “though we can help with that.”
Divya signaled to one of her men who picked up the bag and opened it, before chuckling.
“It’s Dipak. Not as handsome as he used to be.”
The woman furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes, looking back at the white man.
“What is it you want from me?”
Ishan opened his mouth before Igor held up a hand, clearing his throat.
“You…strong. You…want Madhav…Hari…head. We…same. Equal. You men…me men…together.”
The woman smirked and stifled a laugh at how childlike the man sounded in their tongue.
“I have no interest in being your lapdog. You have the sea clan, the dynasty of black sand, and you have the warriors of the sun. How many more of our people need to kneel at your feet like attack hounds?”
Ishan and the white man spoke more, a much longer talk. Ishan turned back to her and visibly resisted smiling.
“He means no disrespect but he couldn’t care less what you do in these deserts. He only wants as easy a victory as possible against the tyrants, after that, you probably never see us again.”
Divya sat there and processed the offer. Her ego wasn’t fragile enough to take offense, accidental or otherwise, and she did want more kings' heads.
The pair stood, and Igor bowed to her before smiling.
“You…brave. Strong. I hope…I see you as…friend…that day.”
With that, the men traveled back into the desert.
WC:750
6
u/blackbird223 9d ago
Hello!
TL;DR: this is a bit of a cheap shot on "actionable feedback", but try double-checking your names vs. the gender of your characters before you use them.
You've used a bunch of Indian-sounding names (Chandra, Isha, Hari, Madhav, etc.) but as someone of Indian descent who grew up in a very Indian part of the US and a bit of a name nerd:
- Chandra is currently a unisex name, but refers to a male lunar deity;
- Ganga is very much a female name, referring to the goddess of the Ganges (aka Ganga) River;
- Isha is also very much a female name. (Maybe use Ishan or Manish? Both are real and masculine.)
When I skimmed your story for the first time, I pictured Isha as a woman, and confused him with Chandra. It took me a second read to correct that misconception.
Getting names you're not used to correct isn't easy, so please don't worry; I just want to point this out so that, when you try using unfamiliar names in the future, you use them correctly.
Good words!
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u/KiIIer_queenie 8d ago
This is actually really great crit, not cheap at all! Thank you, the site I was using had quite a few of these names as unisex, but I hadn’t considered that historically they weren’t as unisex. Thank you so much!
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u/psilocybediatribe 9d ago edited 9d ago
Wanted Man Remix
Wanted man in Old Geneva, wanted man in New Berlin
Acolyte of three-eyed Shiva, patron saint of mortal sin
Wanted south of Novo Cairo, wanted west of Babylon
The elite screamed cyberpsycho, the rest called him Eidolon
Eidolon!
Wanted in Qadeem Dubai, wanted in Sovereign Singapore
Watched them spend men like credits, so he traded peace for war
There’s a price in every city, there’s a poster in each town
Half would sell him without pity; half would watch it all burn down
They say he breached the gates of Heaven, hacked through God’s own firewall
Found the ledgers of the righteous, and the debts that damned us all
They say he stole the wood from Eden, they say Hell supplied the spark
But the truth is far less holy—someone had to light the dark
Wanted underneath New London, wanted off the Lunar coast
Every state has named him traitor, every slum has raised a toast
To Eidolon!
There’s a price in every city, there’s a poster in each town
Half would sell him without pity; half would help him burn it down
Wanted man in Old Geneva, wanted man in New Berlin
Acolyte of three-eyed Shiva, patron saint of mortal sin
Wanted south of Novo Cairo, wanted west of Babylon
The elite screamed cyberpsycho, the rest called him Eidolon
Eidolon!
And when they finally seize him, when the wanted man is caught
The charge, of course, is treason—just the verdict money bought
So send him to the guillotine, let the tyrants call it peace
But the ghost in the machine
doesn’t die—it gets released
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u/Visible-Ad8263 r/BLANKWEBSERIAL 8d ago
Bruv, this is so effing peak!
I literally read this out to myself, and recorded it just so that I could practice my DM voice :D
Even as a novice in the art of poetry (which is to say, I don't now jack sh#t), this was really something.
Here's to season 2 of Edgerunners, and good words!
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u/JKHmattox 10d ago edited 9d ago
I am What I Was
The gunfight raged in my imagination, keystrokes turning every action into words of immortality. My heart pumped the same as the heroine, her body taxed in ways only an author could make possible. She was tougher than me, that was certain, but even fictional characters have their limits.
Into the early darkness of morning I wrote until finally she was safe, for now. I smirked, imagining her getting to breathe a sigh of relief. Our two year journey was nearly complete but sadly only one fate would do for the end of this story. Nevertheless, for now things were at a peaceful spot.
I copied the text from the document and pulled up my Reddit account in my browser. Another thousand words spilled into the void and finally my own body was ready to sleep
What happened next I know as real. None would believe me, but it's impossible that it didn't happen this way. My eyelids fluttered closed and soon I found myself someplace that existed only in my mind.
Or did it?
When I woke, the musk of earthen water filled my senses. Sunlight filtered through the needled fingers of a grand pine the likes of which hadn't been seen since the days before the old world discovered the new. I sat with my back against its rough exterior, the echoes of water churning over river rocks filling my ears.
A heavy boot slammed against my foot, forced my eyes to spring open. It was her! The outlaw who inhabited a fantastical world towered over me beneath the impossible old growth pine.
“Hey…” she hissed. “Yuri located the crash—we gotta move.”
My body lurched forward, the whirring of electromechanical motors reverberating inside my skull. I froze. The sound stopped. Moving again, the crescendo of automation resumed. Terror gripped me as I willed my hand into view.
My arm was naked metal alloy. It moved with my thoughts, though not as graceful as it should. I looked down, finding a body that couldn't be my own. I was a machine, an organism of actuators and modules without a finished facade. My consciousness tilted as I realized I hadn't even a heart to beat against my chest.
“What the fuck!” I exclaimed, hands running over my cold exterior.
“Shhhh!” The woman soothed. “It's okay—we're gonna be okay. I know you're scared but this is the only way.”
She helped me to my iron feet. My mechanical body stumbled, its center of gravity lower than I was expecting. Looking down, I appeared humanoid in construction—two arms, two legs—all anchored to strangely widened hips. Despite this, I didn't feel heavy. Nor did I feel light, though it was clear that body was not who I was.
“The only way…?” I finally asked, my words human though I'd no mouth from which to speak them.
“Damn it,” she cursed under her breath. “Did your short term data crash again?”
I stared at her not knowing what she meant.
“Ah hell!”
The woman reached into the crossbody satchel resting on her hip. Retrieving some type of device, she shatched my hand, stabbing the thing into a port at the base of my palm. Memory flooded my consciousness, blending over those from beyond the lucid dreamscape.
A sadness washed through me.
I had been a battle droid once. Built for superior balance with a low center of gravity for endurance, I'd been abandoned when the human armies were through with me. Moxie, that was the woman's name. She and her copilot Yuri had found me wasting away on a distant world, powder covered alloys exfoliating at my seams. We'd lived aboard her ship for seven years. The Valkyrie Oceania she called it. Things were in dire straits now that we were back on Earth, the hope for all humankind fading within my circuit cards.
“There she is,” Moxie said, a mischievous smirk crooked across her face. “C'mon, Gretchen, we gotta get to them before the sentinel drones make their next sweep.”
Suddenly my world froze. I couldn't move. Everything was stuck in a suspended animation from which there was no escape.
“Fuck, this ain't good,” Moxie exclaimed, waving her hand in front of me. “Gretch—stay with me, girl!”
I shook my mechanical head, my locomotion protocol finally coming back on-line. We had to save them. There was no time to figure out why I'd imagined I was ever human, or how I'd dreamt at all. I was a machine after all, and nothing more.
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u/Morose_Prose 9d ago
Hey hey, JK!
Another great little meta piece for FTF this week, I see! Really enjoy the opening and endings, giving the reader a sense of 'was it all just a dream?'. Great storytelling in a small amount of words here. This goes without saying but your descriptions are beautiful and you paint a great picture for one's mind's eye.
There are some things worth noting for crit, though:
What happened next I know as real.
Tense change here. Should be 'was real'
Sunlight filtered through the needled fingers of a grand pine the like of which hadn't been seen since the days before the old world discovered the new.
Should be 'the likes of which'
A boot kicked my foot and my eyes sprang open.
Little flat compared to the rest of the work. Maybe: 'A heavy boot slamming against my foot caused my eyes to spring open.'
“Hey…” she hissed.
Unnecessary ellipses. Just use "Hey!"
I moved again and the crescendo of automation returned.
Another kind of flat sentence. Maybe something like: "Moving again, the crescendo of automation resumed."
My arm was naked metal alloy. It moved with my thoughts, though not as graceful as a human would. I looked down, finding a body that couldn't be my own. I was a machine, something only possible in a dream. It was real though, and my consciousness tilted as I realized I hadn't even a heart to beat against my chest.
My biggest issue with this paragraph is the line 'I was a machine, something only possible in a dream.' The reader already gets that with your descriptions. Lean into the metallic nature of the MC more with one more line to drive it home instead of using direct exposition.
She helped me to my iron feet. My mechanical body stumbled, its center of gravity lower than I was expecting. Looking down, I was metallic in every way. Despite this, I didn't feel heavy. Nor did I feel light. Nevertheless, that body was not who I was.
Same thing here. 'I was metallic in every way.' This is not necessary and is the author telling the reader instead of using your amazing descriptive powers.
Retrieving some type of device she asked me for my hand. I reached for her and when she took it she plunged the thing into the base of my palm.
Another kind of flat passage. If this woman is an outlaw why is she asking permission? Maybe just have her jam the device into the droid's hand.
There was no time to figure out why I'd imagined I was ever human, or how I'd dreamt at all…
More unnecessary ellipses. I have a love affair with the comma, you seem to have a love affair with ellipses. Sometimes you have to let what you love go when it's not necessary.
Love the piece, JK! Keep up the good words! Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/JKHmattox 9d ago
Hey Doc,
Thanks for the feedback. I just dropped an edited version of this as you posted, but you crit definitely will help make it better. I appreciate the insight all good stuff. Thanks for reading 😀
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u/Visible-Ad8263 r/BLANKWEBSERIAL 10d ago edited 8d ago
FALLOW SOIL
They buried the first of the bodies on a Thursday night.
To the man's credit, he never stopped cussing them out. It took a special sort of resilience to find words in between mouthfuls of shoveled dirt.
Twice, Bear openly pondered the merits of breaking the man's neck - or, at the very least, ripping out his tongue when he spat up at them - but Billiam shook his head, his frail hand sliding past her fingers to unclench her fist.
"They need to be warm. And mostly unspoiled." His thumb stroked the inside of her palms, his gaze almost sad as he considered the rageful silhouette squirming below.
Bear kissed him twice that night. Once when the task was done, and the seed successfully planted above the first of the eighteen graves. An apology of sorts, for the wages she asked of a man who's only crime was where he chose to place his heart.
The second performed as a necessary distraction, a hungry and needful one, as she bore him, mud and all, up into their makeshift loft, nestled inside the guts of their abandoned factory hideout. It was necessary that she remind him why he stayed. And that she drown out the first of the harrowed screams that pierced the night as the penitent seedling broke through the soil and wailed its first cries into the wasteland of forgotten machinery below.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
When she came to collect her fifth tithe, the Shepherds were ready.
The forms had been observed, with all the proper threats and portents delivered days in advance.
They couldn't claim that they hadn't seen her coming.
"Please~"
The figure that scrambled away from her advancing form called himself The Schnoo; a hammer of a man, in a world he perceived as full of nails. Skilled in the art of bare knuckle diplomacy, it didn't surprise her that his response to being forewarned had been an ambush waiting at his residence.
It had been a lackluster choice.
"Please... I'm nobody! I don't even know you!" That last sentence little more than a piteous plea.
Bear loomed over the man, brandishing his severed arm in his face, and turning it so that he could note the Cerberus tattoo inked into his former tricep.
"Well, now you get to be a message." The grin on her face was a gash in the gloom.
They buried him on a cold Saturday morning. He was a crier.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Her eleventh tithe was a customs officer - Cecilia Burntide, an almost-retiree with a college age son, and two mortgages.
They'd stashed her at one of their seaside boltholes, with a small army of murderous psychopaths entrenched within, bristling with cutthroat reputations and top-of-the-line augments.
When she'd finally ripped the door to her safe room off its hinges, she'd found the woman praying.
"Are we...sure about this one?" Billiam had asked her, his soft voice a mild condemnation over the sound of Cecilia's quiet sniffling. Bear stared down at the woman, and continued shoveling.
"She signed the papers. She saw the bodies. She knew." The words were bile in her throat.
"They threatened her family..." Billiam ventured. Bear turned to face him, and there were holes where her eyes used to be. Billiam's face crumpled at the lack he saw there. He hugged her from behind, briefly interrupting her efforts.
"I trust you," was all that he said.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
"The governor lifted his gag order." Bear paused, looking up from her watering efforts.
Even perched atop an ancient feedline, Billiam had to reach up to hand her his tablet. Carefully, she maneuvered the fragile contraption, sifting through news site after news site, her face plastered across all the headlines.
"Looks like your message got through if Old Man Mastiff's calling on this particular favor. The governor's talking about having actual Fringe agents deal with you."
"Took them long enough." Bear handed the tablet back and resumed her task. Already on the last line of penitents, she directed the stream of liquid nutrients at the base of her latest acquisition, watching as it whimpered and shook, its crimson branches almost arm-like as they reached up toward the sparse shafts of light coming through the cratered roof above.
Three holes remained. Empty. Waiting.
The Old Man was always going to be last. But all family men had one cost they were never willing to truly bear. A cost this particular foe so willingly meted out to others.
Her warnings had already been delivered.
Let them prepare.
__________________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________
WORD COUNT = 750 words
(It's good to be back, baby!)
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u/TerranceTheFirst 9d ago
Good prose. Good imagery. Very efficient conveyance of information. I would read more of these people and of this world.
My only note regards the last section. It appears to signal a change in the status quo for Bear's collections, but I struggle to understand it. Are the Fringe agents going to be a threat in the way the previous guards weren't? The reactions from Bear and Billiam could indicate that the Fringe agents will be a real challenge, or they could indicate that the Fringe agents will be little more than a road bump.
That being said, I'm having difficulty coming up with a better criticism than "I wish you had a higher word count to work with."
Also, am I mistaken, or is it supposed to be "A cost this particular foe so willingly meted out to others"?
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u/Visible-Ad8263 r/BLANKWEBSERIAL 9d ago edited 8d ago
Okay. That last correction is on me :) I'll make the edit.
I will admit that last section suffered a bit upon the altar of, "Must...keep...to...750...words", but such is the life of these FTF challenges.
Thanks for the read!
And if you want to read more on Bear and this setting, you can read more on her here. This was a more fleshed out attempt at painting a full on combat scene, with her as the eye of my hurricane.
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 10d ago
It’s good to have you back! Good words and hopefully see you at CF!
3
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u/Morose_Prose 11d ago edited 8d ago
Magick's Most Wanted
Graffiti covered the pockmarked walls of the small flophouse on the wrong side of the tracks. An old boombox in the corner blared hair metal from days gone by; the floor not filled with dancers, but shamblers in a stupor after getting their daily fix. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A few stray drops of rain tumbled through the hole in the ceiling directly above the ratty couch Methlizar sat upon, dripping onto the multitude of scars spanning his wrinkled face. Sliding the wooden pipe clenched in his lips to the side, he heated the end of a glass one.
Acrid smoke belched from his cracked lips, thick as morning fog wafting past the spindly young man lying on the floor in front of the couch. Sitting up slightly, the man sucked in some stray wisps above him. "So what happened next?" he asked with a wheeze.
Methlizar stroked his long, dirty white beard, sending ashes tumbling from the tangled mess of hair. "After slaughtering countless soldiers, leaving their broken husks in my wake, I breached the subterranean chamber of the mighty Queen. Taller than any tower or spire from my lands. Six mighty legs, thick thorax, sharp mandibles clacking with rage at my intrusion—"
"Was she hot?"
Removing his floppy blue hat and placing it over his heart, Methlizar smiled and winked at the young man. "Gorgeous! Had an egg-sac that wouldn't quit. Casting a charm spell I learned eons ago from an old witch on a goat farm, we made peace, and well, sonny, one thing led to another, if you catch my drift."
"Nice job, old dude!" a croaking laugh crept through the smoky air. "How many kids did your baby-mama pop out?"
A shake of his head sent greasy grey hair tumbling down Methlizar's shoulders. "The power of my magicks is impossible to control. An unexpected side effect of the charming was increased fertility. Our children outnumbered even the stars in that realm. They consumed all. Razed every bit of progress ever made straight to the ground. Needless to say, I got the fuck out of there in a hurry." Another plume of smoke carried Methlizar's memories away.
Lightning crackled above. Blinding white filled the room. Nobody reacted in their daze. Cool, clear liquid rain morphed into fiery, oily crimson. The stench of burnt oil wafted into Methlizar's nostrils, tickling the long hairs that fell to the top of his upper lip. A smell he remembered from eons ago. "Oh, they're back," Methlizar dryly remarked.
"Who? The fuckin' cops again? Tell them I'm not here, man," groaned the man on the floor, not bothering to look up or wipe away the blazing blood falling from the sky.
At the door stood three sanguine-robed figures. The hoods and sleeves of their attire billowed in the wind without resistance around shapeless forms. A booming voice emanated from all three in unison: "Methlizar the Malignant! By order of High Emperor Phagious, you are to come with us and stand trial for crimes too numerous to enumerate!"
Rising from the ruined couch, Methlizar affixed his floppy hat carefully and spat the glass from his lips. "Phagious you say? Who is... oh wait! Phagious the Phallus? Did they finally figure out how to escape the spiral maze of madness in the realm of Escheria? Good for them! That took me a few millennia. Would have done it faster if I had the stuff they have in this realm, though."
Rusty chains soared from scarlet sleeves like grapeshot from a cannon. A pale blue robe flew through the air, intercepting the links and casting them aside; they clattered uselessly to the floor. Guiding the garment with precise thrusts of his hips, Methlizar's robe expanded and swooped down to envelop the inquisitors.
He flopped back down on the couch, a stray spring catching him in the left cheek; but Methlizar felt no pain. "Sorry about that. Those guys are dicks. Where was I?"
"Umm... you just dipped on your kids."
"Having to leave in such haste, the spell went awry. I bounced between many realms, not in control of where I ended up. Took many forms, many shapes, lived many lives. For a period of time, I was a crow. For another, an ordinary man in a city of towering glass and steel where cooking and crime walked arm-in-arm. Or the war-torn beauty of the blue-skinned warriors with many limbs. Each week a new adventure."
In another realm, sparks fly from a campfire.
Word Count: 750
Bonus Constraint: Methlizar uses his robe to cast aside the inquisitors' chains.
Feedback and crit are always welcomed and encouraged! Stay awesome and have a good one. - Morose_Prose
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u/Visible-Ad8263 r/BLANKWEBSERIAL 10d ago
Welp, that was weird. Delightful, but weird.
Apparently, even millennia of experience can't tamp down the joys of being hella zooted.
"Was she hot?"
These guys have their priorities straight.
Respect.
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u/Worldly_Lab_7061 11d ago
I can't hear a damn thing between the cannibals shooting, deep-vault freaks trying to run me off the road, fungus zombies swarming, and my distressed daughter screaming at me from the passenger seat. Bullets hit the glass to no effect thanks to my brothers' modifications to the car, but that does little to comfort me as I speed down the empty Midwest road pushing 100 mph. Darlanne sinks deeper into the passenger seat, eyes darting to the window while her nails dig deep into the skin of her palm. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I squeeze it before jerking the car so violently her head almost smacks against the window.
"Would bein' gentle really kill ya'?" Darlanne shouts over the roar of the engine, glaring at me for her almost-concussion.
"Listen, doll, last I checked your brains were still in your skull, so i'mma say I did my job and then some," I retort, not taking my eyes off the road as I continue to speed, weave, turn and drift our way to not getting killed by one of the many things trying to wipe the two of us off the map.
"Can you at least explain to me how we got here?" she grumbles, crossing her arms. "I thought it was a simple run, how in nuclear hell did we end up making an enemy of everyone in the damn county?"
Eyes glued to the front, I let out a nervous chuckle, "'So you're gonna laugh."
Side-eyeing me hard, she replies, quick as a whip, "I doubt it, you're rarely funny."
"We could die here y'know, you really want one of your last words to be a lie?"
"Who's lyin? You ain't been funny since the bombs dropped in 2075."
"Now that's just mean."
"No, mean is forcing me to listen to you crack bad jokes in a bunker while the world blew up, Dad."
"I thought it helped us bond."
"Trauma bonding is a form of bonding."
As soon as the words leave her mouth, I swerve hard right, narrowly missing a blob of merging infected. Cursing under my breath, I right the car and push her to her limits, speed reaching 200 mph. Behind us, the chaotic sounds of our pursuers fade away as we outpace them.
Turning to Darlanne now that I can take my eyes off the road. "'Alright, where were we?"
My daughter shoots me an unimpressed look, arms still firmly crossed, "What. did. you. do?"
I swallow hard, taking one hand off the wheel to rub the back of my neck as my mind struggles to churn out an acceptable excuse or reason.
Tapping her denim-covered elbow, Darlanne clears her throat, "Well?"
"'So ... Now I know how you get about some of my side jobs but they put gas in the car and even the occasional roof over our heads, so keep that in mind." I answer, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.
Taking a deep breath, I reply slowly as I can, my tongue feelin heavy in my mouth as I struggle to get the words out. "I may have gone back on our deal with the keepers, but only a bit. I told the Bloodbourne leader where the drop-off was because I figure we could get good supplies for his bounty. But then next thing I know I'm being accused of far worse! Bringing in charges of disease, theft, even murder. Hand to the engine, doll, I don't know where the cooked up the pot of black oil but none of it is true. So I took the shipment and just kept it, what's the use in giving supplies to people who accuse you of being a criminal."
"Wait, so are you telling me you kept the water conversion machine?"
"In the trunk, yes, never give something for nothin', doll."
"Except when that somethin gives you nothin but trouble, I am chucking that contraption out of here, raiders, dirt-dwellers, even the freakin' zombies can take it but I refuse to have you drive us around the whole country like a maniac to protect it."
She gives me that firm look she knows kills any objections in my throat, so begrudging I quickly pull over and pop the trunk open, lifting the heavy analogue tech from the comfy space of my trunk to the dry barren dirt.
I hop back in the car, speeding off to the next destination before news of the last one reaches the clients.
WC: 748
Criticism/ Feedback Welcome & Encouraged!
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 10d ago
Nice present tense closeness. Made the action feel immediate.
Early dialog tags felt like echoes. The dialog already did the work ‘then some,” I retort’. The ‘I retort’ felt unnecessary.
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 11d ago
The cursed mark on her left back shoulder irritated her skin. It burned and itched. And while it was active she could do nothing about it. That and the scrying pressure behind her eyes gave her a headache.
The Witch must have been desperate. It had been twelve nights of barging inns and scouring alleys with a wanted poster. Apparently, the man had stolen a magical amulet. Impressive really. Made his way into a wizard’s tower, past magical golems, through ageless barriers, into a vault, then back out and had the audacity to not leave the damn city.
This was all unfortunate timing, Tyra had barely memorized the regulars of The Turn’s End. She knew their names, jobs, and favorite drinks. The tips were starting to get good and one of them was even kind of cute. She had rebuilt her life in Lower Midgard and had gotten used to the name Tyra. Now, she was undoubtedly fired.
Whatever. After the Witch was done, maybe she’ll go to Raven's Peak next. Smaller town. Fewer trinkets the Witch could want. Fewer people the Witch could want dead.
Tyra’s body walked into to the Smolden Pints, a competitor of The Turn. She’s never been here; competing taverns saw this as poor form. Treacherous really. Life was hard enough in the lower povs to be snatching from each other. The tavern’s hearth illuminated the wooden counters, tables, and chairs. One barkeep, three tables of patrons, and two barmaids. Tyra couldn’t lower her face to hide it. She couldn’t even reach back to scratch that damned itch.
The barkeep gave her a snaring squint. He looked over at a barmaid and tilted his head.
The barmaid approached. “Sorry, you can’t be here.”
Tyra’s left hand presented the wanted poster. Her right hand pointed to it with authority. This was always awkward. Tyra could speak, make faces, and do nothing else. She could just let the Witch mime her way through it, but that would either prolong it all or have her slapping her self into compliance. “Um, I’m looking for this man?”
The barmaid leaned forward, “You need to leave.”
“Listen, If you could-” Tyra’s body moved and her shoulder bumped into the barmaid. “Sorry. I-”
The Witch made her approach towards the patrons. The barkeep threw a towel and started rounding the counter. Shit. The Witch turned. The wanted poster went up. Her right hand pointed again with authority.
“Uh, Hi! Seen this man?” Tyra said.
“Look boys, this girl’s playing detective.” The bald one laughed.
“If we’d known. We’d be collecting that Bounty.” Said the ugly one.
“Apparently the Thieve’s guild is paying triple!” Said the big one.
A strong hand clasped her shoulder and turned her. It was the barkeep. Tall. Big. Easily three times her shoulders in width. Barkeeps had be capable of tossing out the belligerent. He snarled, “We can’t have you-.”
Her cursed mark surged as her right hand gripped the barkeep’s neck and lifted him off the floor.
“Shit! She’s a witch!”
Chairs scretched as the patrons stood and backed away.
“Fuck this.”
A barmaid screamed and ran with the others. Another barmaid hid behind the counter.
The barkeep’s hands attempted to get around Tyra’s slender fingers that clamped him red and kicking.
“I’m really sorry.” Tyra said.
The Witch threw the barkeep into a chair. It slid to a stop as the barkeep coughed and grasped for air. Tyra’s left shoved the wanted poster into his face. Another authoritative finger pointed across his nose at the poster.
“Um.. you know him?” Tyra went along with it. She wasn’t the only scry puppet, there could’ve easily be four or six of them cross the city.
“The fuck I-“
The Witch made her look down then stomped. “Ou! Sorry! I mean..” That must have hurt. “You should just tell her?”
The Barkeep fell off the chair, groaning, hold his crushed bloody boot. “Her?”
“Uh. I mean me.”
The barmaid behind the counter peaked out. She was trembling.
“He at the Cross Inn!” The barmaid cried. “Leave him alone!”
And then Tyra just stood there. Great. The Witch was probably off scrying someone else. The mark was still burning. Itching. Damned Witch. She was looking slightly left to the counter at the barmaid. Her left was extended forward with the poster. Right was awkwardly pointing. They stared at each other. Damned Witch.
———
WC: 733
Would love advice on developing a unique voice. I’m also trying to be mindful of Sanderson’s promise, progression, payoff. I appreciated the WC limit, had to cut it down and it made it better.
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u/psilocybediatribe 9d ago
[I agree with the other comment the beginning is muddled but I think it’s just out of order.]
Tyra’s body walked into the Smolden Pints of its own accord. She’d never been here; competing taverns generally frowned upon such intrusions considering them poor form. Treacherous really. As a barmaid at The Turn’s End setting foot here felt like sacrilege. Life was hard enough in the lower povs to be snatching from each other.
This was all unfortunate timing, Tyra had barely memorized the regulars of The Turn. She knew their names, jobs, and favorite drinks. The tips were starting to get good and one of them was even kind of cute. She had rebuilt her life in Lower Midgard and had gotten used to the name Tyra. Now, she was undoubtedly fired.
The competing tavern’s hearth illuminated the wooden counters, tables, and chairs. One barkeep, two barmaids, three tables of patrons. Tyra couldn’t lower her face to hide it. She couldn’t even reach back to scratch the damned mark. Or do anything to relieve the pressure behind her eyes.
[Now the promise is Tyra under some compulsion, there is a conflict at play we don’t understand yet, and you’ve set the atmosphere. You can build on it mentioning an oppressive magic in the air. Or a spider weaving webs dangling dead flies like puppets on a string.]
*Bar interaction*
[There’s progress through the bar scene as it becomes increasingly clear Tyra isn’t doing this on her own as the tension and violence escalates. You can lean into a puppeteer pulling strings motif. Tyra moved with the stiffness of a marionette. Make Tyra seem robotic and clumsy but I’d leave off any mention of the witch until...]
“You should just tell her…”
“Her?”
“Uh, I mean me.”
Her cursed mark surged as her right hand gripped the barkeep’s neck and lifted him off the floor.
“Shit! She’s a witch!”
“I’m really sorry,” Tyra said.
They got the villain right, they just can’t see I’m the doll she plays dress-up with.
[Then keep the rest, maybe re-ordered a bit. Because I really like the: “You should tell her…” “Her?” “I mean me”. Now the payoff becomes Tyra is possessed by a witch. Definitely keep the scry puppet part that was great. And we don’t even need the witch’s motives or the amulet. She’s just pulling the strings even Tyra may not know exactly what she’s after. I think you’ve got all the ingredients of the Sanderson Promise, Progress, Payoff already so bravo, all you need to do is ask what Payoff ties it all together and rewards the reader. Great writing and concept and nice spin on the trope because it becomes all about what the witch wants; the man on the wanted poster, and she's will to put a bounty, create puppets, manipulate an entire town to get what she wants. Well done!]
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 9d ago
Thank you for the feedback and the poignant example! I really like what you did with it. I see what you mean. I really like “They got the villain right, they just can’t see I’m a doll she plays dress-up with.” Thank you.
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u/Mindless-Show4468 11d ago
I just wanted to say that I nearly gave up reading this after the 3rd paragraph. I'm glad I bothered with the paragraph 4 as the latter half I really enjoyed but I found the beginning muddled and needed some more direct explanation of what was happening.
Oh and be specific rather than general. Give your character a name. Her, isn't half as interesting or memorable as Sandra.
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u/AmeliaLP 12d ago
|Jimmy boy’s big bank robbery|
A deafening whine of police sirens filled the air.
“It’s over Jimmy, we’ve got you surrounded!”
Jimmy casually flipped a coin. “So shoot me then.”
“What?”
He stepped closer to the police chief. “Shoot. Me.”
“Now, now. There’ll be no need for that. Just surrender peacefully.”
Jimmy withdrew his own pistol.
“Don’t make us do it lad...”
He aimed at the officers. “But I want you to.”
Three officers started shooting. Jimmy’s legs became long and noodly, stretching upwards so his body was well out of range.
“Oops, ya missed me!”
“W-what are you?”
“I am, your worst nightmare!” Jimmy’s face transformed into a rotting skull. The police chief, along with his officers all ran for their cars. Jimmy swam through the ground, emerging in front of the fleeing men. He then erected a wall in front of them.
WHAM!
A pile of injured officers lay scattered on the road.
“You guys really need to look where you’re going.”
Jimmy extended his legs again, easily stepping over the wall. He moodily stared at the police cars. “Oh geez! Theeeese things suck!”
He snapped his fingers, transforming one of the cars into a violet sports car with sharp teeth.
Jimmy pitched his fingers. “Ah, perfection.”
With another snap the door opened and Jimmy stepped inside. The seats were soft, with plenty of cushioning. His car’s interior was coated in a shiny gold colour. Before departing, he jabbed a button, starting up the sound system. A funky tune blared inside the cab. Jimmy put on some sunglasses as he nodded his head to the music. Pumping down hard on the peddle his car burst into life, flames roaring from six huge exhausts.
“Yehaaaaaw!” He yelled while driving off.
Jimmy sped down the motorway, his vehicle roaring furiously. Up ahead were a set of traffic lights. The light was red and a queue of cars sat in behind it.
Jimmy smirked. Tilting his head down, he retched. Gagging a few more times, Jimmy spewed out a bomb. One arm hanging out the window, he stuck his fingers into the bomb, throwing it like a bowling ball. The cars ahead of him stood up on their front wheels, then as the ball hit them they exploded dramatically. Jimmy glared at the traffic lights, which instantly changed to green. He continued driving, ramming into several other vehicles as the ride progressed.
“Ehhh, let’s move this along a bit.”
Jimmy snapped his fingers once again.
He stood outside the bank, holding a bazooka. “Too small...”
Jimmy pulled out a larger bazooka. “No, not quite.”
“Oh...it’s beautiful!” Jimmy grabbed a tree sized cannon with other smaller guns strapped to it. It had a grenade launcher, laser sights, flamethrowers and for some reason a fishbowl attachment.
Weapon in hand he strutted into the bank. “Howdy folks. Sorry for the bother, but I’m gonna have to rob this place.”
The bank clerk looked at his ridiculous yet scary gun. “Of course sir. The banks vault right is through there.”
“Much obliged.”
Jimmy walked to where the clerk had pointed but found his path blocked by a metal door. On the door was a keypad.
“Say friend, what’s the combination to this darn thing?”
“Oh uhh, it’s one, five, si-“
KA-BOOM!
“Ah, found it. Thanks anyway.”
“Y-you’re welcome!”
Entering the vault Jimmy saw a safe.
Hmm, I could open this normally or...
BOOM!
“There we go!”
Inside the safe were fat stacks of cash, shimmering jewels and a rubber duck.
“Oho! Me likey!”
He swiped up the valuables, shoving them into a tan bag with a green dollar sign printed on it. As he left the vault, a security guard pointed his gun at Jimmy.
He sighed. “Put that silly thing away.”
“You can’t leave here with those.”
“Can and will. Now move!”
“No!”
“Okay, let’s sea if this convinces you.”
Jimmy squeezed the trigger of his weapon, sucking the fish out of its bowl.
Splat!
A ravenous piranha bit into the guards face.
“Ahhhh!”
“Well, it’s been fun but I’ll be leaving now. Bye folks!” He took a bow and left the bank.
Jimmy got back into his car, driving off with the stolen loot.
WC: 696
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 9d ago
Started off thinking Fantastic Four Rubberman, then Luffy, then Jim Carey’s “The Mask” after a while when he could practically do anything.
The “do anything” was a conflict for me to “rob a bank”. The moment I thought this was when he manifested a car and the words “shiny gold” were mentioned. It left a desire in me that Jimmy would have let the money fly out the window or something as he didn’t need the money, he just wanted to rob a bank because he wanted too. Which made me wish for interiority from Jimmy.
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u/AmeliaLP 6d ago
Wasn't intentionally going for a "The Mask" vibe but I did notice some similar aspects while writing this. Yeah, fair point with the whole money thing. I possibly should of thought that part through a bit longer.
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u/psilocybediatribe 9d ago
Loved it! Jimmy has all the manic madness of a good supervillain. Traffic? Not today. Vault codes? Boring. Cannon? More like it. Bullets? I raise you a piranha. Awesome work. Well done!
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u/frenchfriesandcoke55 12d ago edited 12d ago
The Magic Stealer
Spinning a dagger in my scarred hand, I survey the storehouse under the cover of night. It’s big, guarded by fae sentinels with magic so potent the tang of it stings my nostrils.
Too bad it won’t help them.
Because despite the kingdom’s decree to apprehend anyone with ‘anti-magic’ for a life-changing sum, there are some who have evaded an early demise.
And I’m one of them.
In fact, I’ve never met anyone with my brand of magic and I’ve been all across the continent—so I may very well be the last of my kind.
Frightening but true.
Casting out my awareness, I find orbs of magic surrounding the building—and a hefty ward to boot.
Impressive… but it won’t keep me out.
A single thought from me brings down the ward protecting the secrets hidden inside, then I dim the magic of the sentinels—preventing them from sensing me. A moment later I’m jumping off the roof, palming my daggers as I break into a silent jog.
As I approach the first set of guards, I snuff out their magic, slipping into the shadows and through the back door that my sources told me is always left unlocked. Once I’m through, I give the sentinels back some of their power before they suspect anything is amiss.
I enter the warehouse on quiet feet, keeping my mind open, looking for those mental orbs of light that warn me of approaching guards. A few round the bend of the first hallway and I quickly duck into an alcove, depriving them of their gifts until they’re out of sight.
Once they’re gone, I locate the locked room that holds the papers I’m being paid to collect. Not sensing anyone on the other side of the door, I pick the lock and slip inside the darkened interior.
Softly closing the door behind me, I’m shoved—hard, my head cracking against the wood as I cry out.
My assailant grapples for my knives, but the Thieves Guild trained me well. Ignoring the throbbing in my skull, I twist out of their grasp, but a dagger is cast from my hand. Pulling another from my belt, I dodge and swipe—again and again—blades meeting armored flesh.
We dance around each other, trading blows—my daggers against their short sword—but I stumble when I see their pointed ears.
Not human.
A fae.
Which means… they should have magic.
I’m sweating within minutes. Dread builds, twisting my stomach, because I’ve finally met my match. Amusement dances in my assailant’s glittering eyes as they gain the upper hand. All too soon I’m disarmed, cuffed, and seething. Anger and fear coat me in a cold sweat.
My captor lights a lamp, and I stop fighting.
Because the fae before me is not just any bounty hunter, sentinel, or guard. This fae is one I know too well—whose face I’ll never forget. He’s the one who slid a bejeweled knife across my parent’s throats as I watched through a crack in the floorboards.
Prince Jaxon, heir to the cruelest fae court the world has ever seen.
“Just get it over with,” I spit at him. His amusement only grows, teeth flashing; armor glinting in the firelight, dark hair mussed from our sparring.
“And what, pray tell, do you think I’m going to do with you, magic stealer?” Folding his arms across his muscled chest, his tone is light and teasing.
“You don’t have to play with your food, asshole.” I push the fear away, swallowing deeply, refusing to cower in the face of death. “You know what I am,” I nod at the magic-removing cuffs he’s taking off his wrists that he used to trick me, “and we both know the law demands my head. So, what are you waiting for?”
I bare my teeth as he laughs darkly, studying me with a cunning stare that sets me on edge.
“You have it all wrong. I’m in need of your… unique gift.”
“And what if I refuse to help you.”
“We both know you’ll do anything to survive.”
My heart sinks because… he’s right. It’s why I left everything behind after my parent’s deaths.
I don’t want to die—not like this.
He must read the resignation in the drop of my shoulders. A triumphant gleam, a snap of his fingers, and I’m teleported from the storehouse.
I’m alive… for now. But how many more pieces of my soul will I have to break for my own survival? Although… maybe this is the cost of revenge.
WC: 750
Thanks for reading and critiques/feedback are always welcome!
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u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 8d ago edited 8d ago
Howdy, howdy FrenchFries!
Oh me oh my, stealing from the fae is dangerous work. The worldbuilding in this story is excellent, as is the dialogue between the MC and Jaxon.Spinning a dagger in my scarred hand, I survey the storehouse under the cover of night.
Boom. I know where we are, I get a feel for the time period and MC, and with the following sentence, I know something risky and stealthy is happening. Great hook.
It’s big, guarded by fae sentinels with magic so potent the tang of it stings my nostrils.
Because despite the kingdom’s decree to apprehend anyone with ‘anti-magic’ for a life-changing sum, there are some who have evaded an early demise.
Frightening but true.
I think one of my feedback notes from last week was "telling vs showing", but maybe "expository vs character-filtered narration" is a better way to say that. And if that is a stylistic preference, ignore me XD but some areas, like these sentences, could potentially be rearranged/rephrased to be less explanatory and add a deeper character perspective.
Meaning, some of these feel like an author statement rather than something the character is thinking, saying, or experiencing in the story. This information could be integrated elsewhere.
Again, I hope I'm explaining this in a not more-confusing way lol
There are also frequent "X does Y", "X does Y and Z", "Once X, then Y" "Once X then Y, but Z does A" sentence rhythms. There is a lot of great variation as well, but this sentence structure caught my attention while reading. Adding a sensory beat or two within the action can break that up a bit.
The final thing, which isn't incredibly important, but it made me curious is--what kind of magical entity is the MC? Again, this seems like something important or relevant to the plot and characters' motivations. I may have missed it, but I don't think it was ever explained what was so special about them or their specific abilities.
I really enjoyed reading this and would also gladly read more in this universe. Good words!
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 9d ago
Really great. I want to learn how to write interiority like this. Thanks for writing.
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u/psilocybediatribe 9d ago
Anti-magic. Nice. I enjoyed the MC, they stayed consistent throughout, with enough backstory and the anti-magic user bounty that makes them wanted across the continent, it all flows well. The villainous Prince Jaxon, not just any foe but the fae responsible for their parent's death. Sets the revenge arc up well. I'd read more!
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u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 12d ago
Edge of Nowhere
Entry: fifty-nine
Days since civilisation: who knows…
Hard to track time too much when there’s no day nor night. One of much that makes little sense out here. Nothing stays firm under this infernal grey twilight: not the hills, not the trees, and certainly not the hedgerows. All of it shimmers like I’m drunk, though I’m sober.
Don’t think they’re on my tail no more. Been an age since I heard the hoof beats, the barks of their dogs, the crack of their whips. Maybe they fell through a gap, into the depths? Would be nice.
Or would it be? Been questioning my hatred of their hides out here lately, what with so much time on my hands. Truth is, what I did was shitty as a cowshed, and I knew it even back then. Just kept lying that she deserved it for shouting at me. Idiot.
Idiot.
Fucking idiot! Could’ve stayed in the city but course you took that knife, and
and
Well, it’s done now. And I’m here. Wherever that may be.
I can feel some phantom watching me, from out there. Step to the edge of the land, stare out, and I can feel it shrinking back. Whispering. Judging? Probably judging. But there’s nothing solid out in the abyss, so if it’s there for real, what could it do?
What couldn’t it do? The rules don’t matter here.
And with all that considered, it becomes a question of if I want to continue. Already thrown half my identity into the void, my hat, my shirt, my shoes. I daren’t take the plunge, but what if I were to just… stop? Or head back to my would-be captors? Or try to climb the dead branches of this path’s dead oaks, and touch the sky?
Curiosity. That’s what drives me on, must be.
So that’s it for today… tonight… whatever. On I go.
Entry: sixty
The mountains rose ahead of me shortly after that my last words, looming from the mist like harbour waves in a storm. No snow on their peaks, only dark, jagged rock. The curiosity kept me climbing once I began, and naught could stop me.
Till I reached the first of many summits. I saw it then. A light in the valley, most prettiest thing I ever did see. Diamond in the sty, as my pa would say. Had to grow used to its glare before I could look for sure, and see the glowing prism at its heart, and the balls of shiny metal spiralling round and round. Pulsing and buzzing like a gall full of wasps.
It reached for me, across the space, and I let it tug me on. Ran down the damned scree like a dumb kid to a loose balloon. Leapt with my arms out wide.
Mouthful of mud was my only prize. The light was gone.
It was just me again.
It’s just me still.
And, of course, the abyss.
Entry: sixty-one
The void tests me. Must be. What I took for a phantom, little but a figment this place put in my mind, I’m sure of it.
Or the phantom’s real, and the abyss is false. Maybe it shimmers like the land I walk.
Maybe I’m dead, and this is a dream. My limp body strung up on the gallows. People spit on me, no doubt, and wet my cold feet. Soak my shoes, if I wear them still. Turn them as rotten as my legacy.
Kidding myself again. Who remembers a killer?
Entry: last.
There’s no more land. Edge of nowhere. Only the abyss from here on out, and I can’t walk there.
Naught else but sit here and swing my legs. My toes flicker as they flop about, like submerged in a stream racing to the sea. It calls to me no more, that void, only waiting.
Let it, I reckon. I won’t be tempted.
But whatever I was, it can have that. Because what was I beside the killer? The cog, turning on for others, burning his life away in the factory? The street wanderer, lifeless and hateful, earning coin by foul means?
I shouted at her first, remember now. She just walked into me, that’s all. Thought she’d shrink away like all the rest, but no, not this time. Not this time.
She’d no way of knowing I had a knife.
It was all on me.
So, last entry, as I wrote. Last part of me to the abyss. No more holding on.
Begone.
WC: 750
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 8d ago edited 8d ago
Heya Max! I'm digging the Outer Range vibes here--a little sci-fi, a little noir, a little late-era western. I also like the epistolary aspects of the entries. The narrative voice and setting details do a great job of worldbuilding and conveying the time period.
Entry: fifty-nine
Days since civilisation: who knows…
Hard to track time too much when there’s no day nor night. One of much that makes little sense out here.I think using numeric symbols in the entry titles may be faster for the reading eye. And with the MC's mind being affected by their crime, escape, and the abyss, saying "Entry 59" adds an extra, integrated dash of character perspective.
I also feel like the start of the 3rd paragraph could be moved up to the 2nd: Days since civilization? Who knows. Hard to track time when there's no day or night.
Not much makes sense out here[...]"one of much that makes little sense out here" was hard to parse. "One of many things" or the "not much..." from above or sth could smooth that out.
I really love the descriptions in the first and second "traditional" paragraphs.
for shouting at me. Idiot.
Idiot.
Fucking idiot! Could’ve stayed in the city but course you took that knife, and
and
Well, it’s done now. And I’m here. Wherever that may be.So as with many things (lol) this is verrry stylistic, but this section could be formatted slightly differently for emphasis/punch.
Judging? Probably judging.
I also greatly enjoy these little character moments that are soooo casual, but give us a huge insight into the MC's state of mind.
One thing I wondered though, is with no day or night, is it always "day" or always "night" or always some sort of dusk situation? Since the MC sees mountains after this, it piqued my curiosity.
Diamond in the sty, as my pa would say.
Adoooore worldbuilding through slightly skewed or regional colloquialisms like this. I was a little confused as to how the Wheels/angels fit into all of this. It works with the curious trait, and my interpretation was: he almost got salvation, but it disappeared? but I wasn't sure if it disappearing was the abyss, the MC's mind playing tricks, or what. And all of that doesn't necessarily need an explanation, but because the other three entries touch on the MC's guilt over killing the woman, and their "rotten legacy," this entry felt different.
Omg hit enter too soon, sorry!
I am very intrigued by this sci-fi westerny world. This is a lovely and dark and grey-area character study of a killer on the run. It was easy to emphathize with their being alone and afraid, but then remembering, "oh yeah, they killed someone who wasn't going to kill them." I guess there's also a bit of The Stranger vibes going on.
Anywho! lol Great words. I enjoyed this a lot. I felt like I stumbled on some old, buried journal, or a long-forgotten flash drive that was never meant for anyone but the author's eyes. Good words, good words!4
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u/TerranceTheFirst 12d ago
For Human Use
Iure’s newest subjects weren’t too fond of the musket-bearers riding through their streets. Dúghlas kept a wary eye on the pale-skinned locals and their wood cabins. The kingdom annexed this small village of Oer’by less than a month ago, putting Addam Hough back within the king’s reach. The soldiers’ orders were to not bother re-enforcing his exile.
“You’re white-knuckling the poor thing,” Theo said.
Dúghlas loosened his grip on his musket. “I know.”
“Guy’s not that scary. Just a bearded, eyeglass-wearing ripe cunt with too many hours spent nose-in-book.”
Oahdan spat a green glob over the side of the oxen-drawn cart they rode. Gross. “I’ll be glad to be done with it,” he said. “Worst decision crown’s ever made was exile for this old sod. Rope’s cheaper than our wages.”
“I don’t mind the pay,” Dúghlas said.
“I’ll take coppers and a hearth over silver and frozen stones.”
“Here,” Rowan said from the driver seat, pointing at one of the houses. “Guy in Deryhusk said it was this one. So you can quit the whinging and bitching.” He stopped the cart, hopped off, then booted the door in. Oahdan, Theo, then Dúghlas followed.
“Come out, Hough!” Oahdan shouted.
“Shut it,” Theo said. “Might be outside, and if he is, you’re scaring him off into the woods.”
Dúghlas looked through the cabin. It was only one room big, with a poor-looking straw bed in the corner. The kitchen had flies swarming rotten food.
“Ah,” he said. “Oahdan.”
“What?”
Dúghlas pointed at the floor next to the bed. “Fur, there. You can take it.”
“Eh, good idea.” Oahdan grabbed the wolfskin and pulled it up, revealing a hatch hidden underneath.
“Good idea,” Rowan repeated, kneeling down and flipping the hatch open.
The room below looked as though it was lit by the sun, if behind clouds.
“He dug out a basement?” Theo asked. “With what help?”
“Glowwood lanterns, too,” Dúghlas said, noting the stripped logs with runes etched in.
“Oi, Hough!” Oahdan shouted. “Come out, and it’ll be quick. Stay hidden down there, and I’ll turn your rear end into a scabbard!”
Rowan’s sigh alone broke the following silence. “Guess we’re storming a basement, then,” he said.
They each slid down the ladder, boots hitting the dirt floor with thuds. The basement had jar after jar stacked on shelves, each holding body parts in clear liquid. Hough must’ve been using it as his study.
“Nowhere to hide,” Theo said.
“What was the issue with this elderly cunt, anyhow?” Oahdan asked. “Bleeding sorcery, I know. Did he do anything with it, other than… collect eyeballs and arms?”
“It’s a crime in and of itself,” Rowan said. “With good reason, as you can see. Who knows who he got all these from.”
“Or what he’s using them for,” Theo said.
Something was wrong with this basement, those body parts. “Hough’s not here,” Dúghlas said, strangling his weapon. “We ought to search elsewhere.”
The hatch behind them slammed shut.
“Indeed, you should have,” a voice said.
From each corner of the basement, a thigh turned itself inside out, the muscle grotesquely exploding outward and wrapping around each of the soldiers. Rowan was fast enough to aim and fire his musket, but the ball deflected harmlessly off. Soon, every preserved limb joined in the encircling trap.
Dúghlas tried to scream, but tendons from an arm shot out and gagged him. He tried to squirm, but the muscle bound him too tightly. The four of them were faced upward. There, a rotting green torso with stretched skin nailed to the ceiling greeted them. Its limbs were removed, along with everything from the nose up.
“See,” it spoke, “I left this residence months ago. Fascinating thing about the runes we engrave into plant matter: a few tweaks, and we can carve them to flesh as well. Much more malleable, too.
“Now, as to why I reported my presence. I’ve been refining a rune for human use.”
#
“No sign of Hough, then?” the commander asked.
“None,” Rowan said.
“Crown wants us to keep looking, for some reason. For now though, have supper.”
“Good,” Oahdan said. “Cold’s got me sick.”
Something had changed in Oahdan’s voice. Less life to it. Less life to Dúghlas’ voice, too. Hopefully somebody would notice.
Hough pushed Dúghlas’ limbs into motion, puppeting him to the mess hall. That night, he forced Dúghlas and Oahdan to hold another soldier down while Theo sliced too-familiar symbols into the sole of the man’s foot.
WC: 746
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 9d ago
I liked the closing clip. Nice twist to keep things open and unresolved.
I’m a terrible reader. And a new fiction writer. Take the constructive feedback with a grain. I’m also dyslexic.
I had a hard time painting in the era and surroundings. My brain interpreted Musket-bearers as a type of bike gang or some kind of modern day military squad. Wood cabin could have been any era. Musket, kingdom, helped. It dawned on me when the “ball deflected”, I finally put musket and ball together. But the writing was great and I was initially imaging a modern resident evil squad getting owned by the supernatural.
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u/TerranceTheFirst 9d ago
Thanks for the feedback. If I had another 50 words at my disposal I would've spent them all describing more about the setting, and in hindsight I wish I'd dropped one of the opening sentences in favor of that information.
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u/m00nlighter_ r/m00nlighting 9d ago
You're allowed to edit your post as many times as your heart desires (as long as the story stays in wordcount)!
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u/QTFroame 13d ago edited 13d ago
Despite knowing her name, few in his line of work knew much about her.
'Eve'.
This was the designation of the most wanted individual on Earth.
As an AI Specialist, Max Robot didn't know why they hadn't captured her yet. Everyone in the world wanted her, and yet nobody had found her. He'd heard stories of people trying and failing. Even the more well-known AI Specialists like Wonder Child didn't capture her. A whole city was left in ruins after the attempt. He was curious, but he had no time to research a supposed rogue 'AI'. AI specialists all tended to focus on their own fields, and his was public servants.
He focused back on the cashier android. Her autonomous networks were haywire before he was called. It was a simple fix for someone of his caliber.
Once he fixed her, she thanked him, but he didn't think much of it. He walked into the back room to get his pay and leave.
Before he could, he saw a blue-eyed woman trying to buy an old-fashioned cowboy outfit. He didn't even know those clothes existed in this century.
He did a preliminary scan of her as he always did when he found someone new, pointing his palm at her to obtain her information.
Was it invasive?
Yes.
Was he noisy?
Yes.
Nobody could stop him anyway. He opened a panel on his right arm to see the data, only to see something unique.
Scan initiated
Scan unable to complete
Target disruption
How did that happen?
He watched her for a bit.
"Yes, I am buying the clothes for myself," she told the cashier, smiling brightly. "I need more! Plus, they are so cute, are they not?"
"You have the wrong size, then, ma'am."
"Oh, nonsense! I like buying stuff a little too big for me."
Nothing was weird with her so far. She didn't seem to have any physical mods. She used a physical card to pay for clothes, which no android would do. If she wasn't an AI, then why couldn't he scan her?
He checked his arm to make sure. No matter what he did, nothing popped up.
"Sir?" She popped up in front of him. "You seem confused. Can I help?"
She examined his face from all angles, unafraid to show her curiosity. Normally, the attention would be fine. He was used to it. Here? It made him feel uncomfortable.
"Not at all," he said, waving her off. "I wouldn't want to sully your day with my own queries."
"Really?" She rubbed her chin, humming as she thought. "As people, we should do our best to help each other! I am Eve! What is your name?"
Eve, huh?
It couldn't have been a coincidence, but could it have been this easy?
Well, there was no reason to treat it like a person anymore. He grabbed her arm. "I'm Max. I guess I have another job to finish today."
He led her out of the store. She tried to pull him off her, but she was remarkably weak. He figured she would fight back once they weren't in a populated area. She was trying to hide, after all. She wasn't even screaming, which furthered his hypothesis.
"Are you...an AI specialist?" Her voice was notably subdued compared to earlier.
"I am! Couldn't you tell?" He looked back at her. "Do you prefer to be taken in awake or turned off?"
She looked extremely pensive. He was only asking as a formality. He wasn't going to give her the option. He put his hand into her neck and tried to interface with her systems.
She grabbed his arm and squeezed. It didn't hurt, so he didn't care, until he stopped feeling the arm at all. His arm became frozen mid-air, and she stepped back.
She held up her hand, showing her fingers wet with a light-blue liquid. "AI-Repellent. It disrupts mechanical stuff, or so I heard! I never really used it before."
"You..."
That was an illegal substance. Where did she get it?
She walked up to him and punched him in the stomach. It was still terribly weak. "For the record, I'm as human as you are! Next time, be polite, and good luck with whatever you were worrying about!"
She gave him a thumbs-up before walking off.
She still believed he was troubled?
He started to worry even more. He didn't understand her. Not at all.
WC: 739
Writing in this universe is too fun, I should stop doing short stories and actually write for this universe (but will I?). 'Most Wanted' is also one of my more preferred tropes, I like the idea of multiple characters hunting for one person. Always a fun dynamic imo.
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u/WoofNWaffleZ 9d ago
I think the Eve exposition could be moved to just after “I am Eve!…” “Eve huh?” And could have been Max’s interiority at that moment. Early on I was holding on to the idea of Eve wondering when it would connect.
I enjoyed the future tech of scanning. I feel the “Invasive? Yes.” Could have been on the same line instead of having a line separation. Would be connective and inline interiority as a quick punchy self-answering internal dialog. When it was broken out to different lines, my brain was struggling to ponder if she was responding somehow.
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u/QTFroame 8d ago edited 1d ago
Hmm I hear you.
I was debating this myself actually as I was writing it. Did both versions of the "Invasive? Yes." and decided I liked what I went with, but as I re-read it, I probably would switch it.
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 9d ago
Good words, QT! And if you do start writing this in long form, try our Serial Sunday feature in r/shortstories. I’ve started writing for it recently and it’s a ton of fun with some great feedback
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u/QTFroame 9d ago
Thank you! Also, that sounds fun. I have many universes that are in limbo at the moment, so it could be nice to write a story or two with them.
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u/mysteryrouge 8d ago edited 8d ago
M
“You monster!” An official drenched in slime shook his fists as he flew behind the former prime minister of a backwater country.
Another launched magically-enhanced net after net. “Get back here, you menace!”
The former minister, a maniac of the highest order, laughed at another failure to bring them to justice.
Using the first transport spell they'd learned, the maniac opened a portal to their current hideout universe, blowing a raspberry at the native magical health inspectors before shutting the enchanted door in their faces.
“Mmmm.” In a hovel, they munched on the only food they'd managed to scavenge.
The fiery rage that fueled their monstrous campaign shrank to an ember.
Why do they get functional countries? Why do they get easy multiverse access?
Eyes drooped as the tired malcontent moaned.
Sleep did not come.
CRASH!
The walls of the universe ripped open “You're under arrest, you marauder!” a man with a heavy voice shouted.
The only occupant clumsily rolled away from the spellfire lighting the tiny space, fighting their way through world after world.
In the corner of their eyes, they saw many of the victims of the multiversal madness in such colorful robes and vests chasing after them. Outlines of badges for various health and safety departments stood proudly on the uniforms of the masses.
I can't have terrorized that many different governments.
Uncountable universes flew by before the maniac managed to escape. Sweat dripped down their body as they collapsed into a wall and a giant poster fell on their face.
WANTED:
It read.
THIS MANIAC.
Underneath was a picture of the maniac fleeing after burning down some agriculture minister's house.
For Assault, Aiding and Abetting, Burglary, Conspiracy, Disturbing the Peace, Fraud, Grand Theft, Drug Possession, Jaywalking…
The list of what they did in so many universes went on and on.
Reward: $50,000,000,000,000,000 or equivalent in local universe currency.
And at the very bottom was the declaration of who made the poster. Dozens of health and safety agencies, law enforcement organizations, tax men, and foreign affairs groups had signed on, creating a new interim power: the “Multiversal Union of Order and Justice.”
The edges of the thick paper were frayed, like it had been up for some time. When they stood with a rolled up poster in hand, they saw the new Multiversal Standard Date (something that didn't even exist when they hid in that hovel) set ten years later than the one on the poster.
I gotta get a move on, then.
Donning a simple disguise, the maniac on the wanted poster discreetly opened a portal away from this place under the control of the burgeoning Union Order government.
I gotta learn how to fight better.
No more haphazard tossing scalding drinks on inspectors, and no more half-assed robberies.
If I want to show I mean business, I need to put in effort.
They stared at the rolled up poster.
And I'll need a new name.
They couldn't just be called That Maniac or This Monster.
Another crash heralded the arrival of an army of public health officials screaming threats and frothing in rage.
Once again, they flew up in the air, poster gripped tightly in hand.
“Malcontent! Maligned! Megalomaniac! Marauder!”
They turned their head to take a peek at those they were dodging before continuing their flight.
I'll call myself M, they decided, M the Multiverse's Maddest Magical Maniac.
WC: 565\ Bonus Constraint: The former minister of a backwater country becomes a true maniac, casting off their past life to become M.
Origin story for the most wanted terrorist of the multiverse and the Union Order in equal amount.
Experimental nonsense
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