The Adventurous Adventures of J

Stolen from the internets.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 01:35:25 GMT

“Welcome to Haven traveller” “Welcome to Haven traveller”

“Yeah, hi. Nice outfits”

“we here been unburdened by the trappings of humanity”

“That’s great. Are you my guide or something? Need to speak to the head cheese. Ah yeah- Is fembot number two okay over there? Looks a tad ‘close to seizure’”

“i have been assigned the task of escorting you to our God, i am happy to serve”

“Well- good for you- what’s your name again?”

“Names are meaningless in Haven. we are equals here, no need for distinction”

“Oh goodie. The big brain isn’t going to pull that ‘no name’ crap when I ask him to return Lib is he? Cause I’m not exactly known for my patience”

“Your purpose is misguided, you seek to remove one who has cast off her old life. we retain our memories of our previous lives, we simply choose to stay- we choose to obey”

“Of course you do”

“And when your niece appears and begs you to let her stay?”

“Not big on the whole ‘listening to the words of brainwashed drones’ thing”

“You are full of mocking and bile. You respect nothing yet you deign our lives somehow beneath your own. It is so predictably human- to fear and disparage that which is different”

“I’m not getting in to a whole ‘J’s just a brain-drone-racist’ argument with you. Oh and you put my actions down to ‘typical human trappings’ again and I’ll beat you to death with a stick- that human enough for ya?”

“To die in service to our god, one could think of no greater honour. i must advise against it however- a new guide may take several minutes to arrive. i have been instructed to make your journey as pleasant and efficient as possible”

“Well you’re doing a bang up job so far... you’re thinking ‘mocking and bile’ right now arn’t ya?”

“we can now think for ourselves? i am pleased that we have evolved so far in your eyes within the short time we have spent together”

“Yeah- next time I’m picking the zonked out drone.”

“my purpose is fulfilled- my task complete. Welcome to Haven trav...”

“Okay- sure why not. Be seeing ya- whatever. Creepy bloody uppity drones. Hello!”

“Welcome Pillar!”

“Oh there you are. Didn’t see ya. Which is kind of strange considering you apparently take up half the room”

“My size is but a physical representation of my massive intellect and power”

“Praise for you and insult for me in one. Well played. Anyway- about my niece, going to need her back”

“She is here of her own free will”

“Think we’re kind of mixing up the whole concept of ‘free will’ here. But I’d hate to get caught up in a philosophical debate- we’re both reasonable... entities. Let’s talk deal. You give me one girl, out of what I assume to be hundreds, and I give you a microwave oven or somesuch. What do you need exactly?”

“I am in need of nothing, all that I desire is to bring peace and happiness to those who ask for it. I am a benevolent god”

“Yeah but Liberty didn’t- sure whatever- benevolent god, gotcha. See the thing is that I’m a big meanie mean god- who hits things. Now I’m getting Lib out of this freakfest hippy commune- that’s not a question- the problem lies with the method that I choose to employ. You tell me a bloody price or I’ll be forced to start lighting fires- and blowing shit up”

“And at what price would you deign to sell me your son?”

“Yeah. Not selling my son. Getting off topic.”

“And yet you ask me to put a price on one of my children”

“Are you serious? Cause this place reeks of several different bodily odors- so I’m not really in for a lengthy tit for tat if you know what I’m saying”

“Very well human. I shall name a price to restore her to that which she was, to have her forget the bliss of service. But I warn you that what I ask- you may not be willing to provide.”

“You ask for one of my children and I’m going to ram so many things in so many places..."

“One human female!”

“One female? Any female?”

“Of appropriate age”

“One barely legal unconscious floozy coming right up Brainman. No problem whatsoever. Okay- I’m assuming we don’t have to shake or anything because if so my ‘typical human trappings’ may have to wince slightly. You prolly don’t get the reference, private joke, no harm done”

“I get all references!”

“Ya know- you’re alright gigantic brain. Let’s stay in touch. I’ll prolly be an hour or so, if you could get Liberty out of the string bikini uniform before I actually need to see her- I’d rather not be accused of incest or something similar. That’d be great”

Rock shatters. The roof of the cavern breaks apart. Light rushes to fill the room as a shadowy blur drops swiftly towards the base of the cave. The shape hits the ground with remarkable form- seemingly undamaged despite the large cracks made in the space in which it landed. With a learned fluidity the figure takes a stance ready to strike, a weapon produced seemingly out of air. The light reveals the figure. Bathed in light stands Micheal, Pillar of Light, brother of J, father of Liberty.

“Reckoning! Has come!”

“Oh brilliant”

“Kill them! Kill them both!”

Atleast it's not love.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 01:32:43 GMT

I feel like I’m dying, rotting from the inside. Day after day, blending into a seemingly endless pool of monotony. I have power and nothing to use it on, and as such I sit powerless on a hollow throne.

They see it, they all see my suffering. They see the straining lines that seem to cover my face. None care. They all just sit there with their false smiles and upbeat droning. I pray for the day that J would kill them all, an unholy slaughter that would give me purpose and shut their endless prattling maws. Double dividend, where is that from?

The double row of meaty grin masks turn towards me, twin lines of pleasantry shifting in a symmetry whose imperfections seem planned and false. Richard, Frank and Bill- 0.4 seconds slower than the rest, store for later use. Time for the show.

“The results of our actions are a clear result of our efforts. Personal responsibility, clear lines of communication. Current trends will perpetuate if no action is taken”

“I think I may have used the wrong speech, half the smiles have gotten larger in the strange overcompensation that intelligent weaklings use to avoid reprimand when a superior obviously had lost interest and given a thumbs down when they should give a thumbs up. The lines shift towards the next speaker. A test is required.

“Temporary figures are no indication of long term success” my voice seems to shake the walls. The lines are startled, their symmetrical shock succeeds without a single flaw. This confirms my suspicion. Their flaws are calculated attempts to drive me insane. Richard, Frank and Bill will be delivering cupcakes to their former colleagues by the end of the day. That’ll show the others. I want a cupcake, do we actually have cupcake deliverers?

When did all meaning in my life start to depend completely on defeating my adversaries? Where are my friends, hobbies, family? Machines, lay-abouts, ingrates. I’m surrounded by idiots and monsters. This house is a tomb, I don’t remember buying any of this junk. Why is there so much plastic in here? I feel like I’m in legoland. Why does my tomb smell like burning?

“Bad day?”

“What?” my muscles tense, an intruder. I am ready for violence.

Two claps turn the room into a blaze of light, the blockish form that appears on the couch, I didn’t buy, is revealed to be Steven. My shoulders sag forwards once more.

“You looked like you were about to destroy your desk lamp... and then my head, feel free to not break my head”

“Bad day”

“Before you go’n slash-wrist could you get me a serving from your daughter? Plugged in, can’t get up”

The pungent aroma of burning registers once more.

“You can still smell right? Why would you willingly ingest something that smells like partially cooled molten rock?”

“She tries her best, don’t start”

In the decade that Liberty had been cooking for family night she had managed to avoid improvement like the plague. Every dish somehow was reduced to ash, others were dropped or had fused themselves into an inedible block due to unfortunate misinterpretations of timings, measurements or names. When Liberty solidified meals there was takeout, burnt creations resulted in no such luck.

“Heya Dads”

“Lib”

‘”It like so wasn’t my fault this time, I followed the instructions to the letter but the phone rang and Circuits McGee in there was ignoring me and everything went kablam. And you don’t believe me” she was pouting, like she always does when faced with my disapproval. Her act has been picture perfect for years.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault”

“No you aren’t. You’ve got accusy-face on. You think I’m trying to starve you again”

“I never said that”

“I happen to be your daughter Father dear. I know your faces and I know your moods. You have an expressive face, like a dog”

A glare automatically alters my features, I correct it but not fast enough. One point to you evil bastard daughter.

“See?” she has the audacity to celebrate her victory, surrounded by knives, who would ever convict me?

“Plotting to kill your children is not a celebrated pastime Dads”

What?

“Expressive face”

“...Bad day”

“Oo! I can so be like psychology girl, or psychiatry girl, there’s a difference you know? Sit down and allay me of your troubles”

“Word of the day?”

“Huh?”

“Allay”

“Obstinate, but I’ve already used it”

My fear and pain wash to the surface. “I feel like I’m dying, like I’m rotting from the inside”. It’s the psychologist Barbie pose that Liberty uses. It has some kind of devil extractive powers.

“Wow, emo much?”

“What? Where the hell is my sympathy? I raised you, gave you good and shelter and this is what you give me? I have armies, with guns, how emo would you like me to get with my finger on the button?”

"Your army has a button?” she’s smiling like this is some big joke, I should break her arm. J would break her arm.

“J came to see me today”

“Oh public enemy number one decided to stop in for a little heart to heart did he?”

“Wanted to wish me a happy birthday, bought me a robo-cat, it dances to music”

“Wait are you serious?”

“Totally, said it could be my first of many for my crazy cat lady days. J’s presents are always a strange mix of cute and insulting”

“What? No, wait, J can’t just talk to you, J is a fugitive”

“Well technically...”

“It’s war, were being attacked, I need to alert the media, do we still have a media?”

“Why wouldn’t we have a media?”

“They keep writing bad stories about me”

“Slow down Dad, J wasn’t attacking- he was giving me a cat” she points to a greyish thing on the table, it lights up and flashes. Dear god it’s a bomb. It hurtles across the room, a chair that I didn’t buy the only thing that separates myself from fiery oblivion.

Existence continues.

Liberty is scowling at me; the expression has been worn before in similar circumstances. Pets have been an unspoken topic since Cerebus’ overnight trip to the farm when Liberty was seven.

“Your insanity is really starting to become inconvenient Father”

“It could have been a bomb”

“So could the chair you’re holding, egads maybe everything is a bomb. Quick- break everything”

“Sarcasm is very unattractive on you Lib”

“I tailed him you know. He was on a school excursion, he has kids.”

“What? Who?”

“The cat-bomb mastermind”

“No that’s- J doesn’t have kids that’s...

“A reason for him dropping off the face of the earth for the past decade?”

“But he- I mean, he’d need a mate or a test-tube or- maybe he’s a kidnapper or he’s growing devil children”

“They looked sweet. A boy and a girl”

“Did they breath fire or have lasers for eyes? Did they have eye lasers?”

“No. But they did have these wing things on their backs”

“Wings? Like flying wings? Did they fly? Oh- joke- very funny”

“What’s with the noise in here?” the Tinman had finished recharging his heart, maybe he will help me. Maybe he’ll secretly betray me yet again. Damn new-age Judas.

“Dads is freaking out, going to push the button”

“Button?”

“Army button”

“Not making it any clearer”

“J is back” clearly my input is needed if this conversation is going to go anywhere.

“J attacked? Why aren’t my sensors showing anything?”

“He’s in town raising demon children with wings”

What is that on Steven’s face? Guilt?

“You son of a bitch”

“Micheal...”

“You knew- you knew he was in a bunker somewhere creating evil bird children”

“He isn’t breeding bird children”

“Then what in hell is he doing?”

“Raising a family”

“Oh god”

“What did you want me to do?”

“Oh god”

“He just keeps coming back, he can’t die”

“He can”

“He doesn’t stay dead”

“But he dies! I fight and he dies!” Idiot, he’s always been sympathetic to J. He probably has some kind of J virus- one of his engineers is in J’s pocket and now he has pro-J waves broadcasted straight into his psyche 24/7. No. He’s always liked J. He sat there smiling as my brother was eaten, by that alien thing that now wears his body like an ill-fitting jacket, a walking mockery of everything that my brother could have been.

J would have loved to be a father, an uncle. Would have bought his kids icecream, would know their favourite flavours.

“But others die as well”

“What?”

“In your wake you leave countless innocents, swept up by battles, in explosions”

“The price of survival”

“I would not allow people to die just so you could have your glory”

“Somehow I have become the monster. I am the hero, I stand where others cannot”

“He wanted it to stop, he wanted peace”

“He wanted a ceasefire. The moment the kids are frown he’ll be out there again, killing, trying to kill us all”

“But the world’ll be safe. He won’t destroy the planet that his children live on. I was doing what I had to”

“You can’t make deals with the enemy Steven, you can’t hand something like J the opening move”

“There’s no point discussing this, it’s done, and we’re finally able to rebuild”

“You’re right, this isn’t a discussion. It’s time to remobilise, strike while we still can”

“He’ll destroy us”

“He’s been trying to destroy us for as long as I can remember”

“Yes- but this, attacking him while he’s with children. It’ll push him, he won’t hold back. People will die, everyone will die, think for just one bloody second”

War upon war, battle after battle. I’ve been forced to kill my unbrother countless times, and every time I could see his certainty- that death wasn’t the end. Every time the doubt increased, every victory I slip further into uncertainty. What if. What if victory isn’t victory, what if defeat isn’t defeat. Death isn’t death anymore, why should anything else be constant?

“I won- he didn’t- I won”

“Okay, okay. Not saying you didn’t”

“He wouldn’t let me win, it doesn’t make sense”

“Regardless, if you start it up again it may never stop, the blood will flow”

“So what do we do?”

“Live? We go on living”

What if I’m already dying? Rotting inside.

Names have the ability to define a character.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:54:53 GMT

An alley that could be any alley. Dusk. Two men find themselves standing face to face, one has power, one does not. One has a knife, the other doesn’t. Knife-man...

“Knife-man?”

“The man with the knife”

“Okay firstly, Knife-man is not an acceptable title for a potential murderer of me, and secondly- you’re really abusing racial profiling at the moment- we earth people have to act with some degree of PCness, you don’t get a pass just because you’re black”

“I didn’t say what race the assailant was...”

“Could be...”

“Human this is my story, hypothetical situation, stop interrupting”

“You can’t just randomly guess how I died and expect to get it right”

“How do you know I haven’t already gotten it? Statistically speaking it’s bathtub, car accident, overdose or jilted ex-lover. Let’s face facts, you slipped on a bar of soap and got found with your ass in the air missing a mouldy drainpipe.”

“That isn’t it”

“How do you know? The answer by the...”

“I just do”

The dark companion gave up the pretence of walking, instead floating effortlessly alongside the human. The Alien’s face displayed signs of what could be boredom, however true emotion was near impossible to tell on its strangely structured features. To understand the Alien would require some kind of comparison, as far as J knew the Alien was the only one of its kind, or an imaginary hallucination, or a malicious spirit, or all of the above.

“How do you know anything about human death statistics anyway? Shouldn’t they use space-tubs in space, which should have different mortality rates than earth-tubs.”

“I’m not a separate entity, your feeble mind simply cannot handle dealing with two completely separate mindsets without overloading. Having me existing allows you to sort and select appropriate external responses. My response to disrespect is to skewer the perpetrator and his compatriots on a spike for display. Such responses would be inappropriate at least in present society”

“You were never hugged as a child were you?”

“I was abandoned along with my siblings in an institution designed to slaughter the unworthy, the human equivalent of primary school except with more death”

“Charming society”

“You already are well aware of all this”

“Am I? Well thanks for the update Skipper”

“You are repressing, attempting desperately to cling to what you were, paranoid that without clearly defined lines between us that you will in effect disappear”

“I want to survive, it’s a great motivator”

“You stopped being you the moment that the memories of a past existence were reawoken. You are a person with amnesia who will not give up their fabricated ideals and beliefs due to nothing but some petty refusal to accept that you have lived a lie for years in this shell”

“I’m in control, I’m me”

“A killer, a hero, a being willing to sacrifice for the greater good, does any of that sound like the human who despised his cohorts, who saw humanity as a deficient collection of grape pickers to be leeched off of? The issue isn’t maintaining your humanity, you gave that up long ago. The line between alien and human is a hodgepodge, ignoring the true origins of traits and beliefs”

“I don’t care”

“I know that human, you know that”

"The distinctions are important they keep us sane”

“And are we sane? Do I even exist? Have I ever?”

Fake explosions still hurt your feelings.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:50:41 GMT

“Can we please pay attention to the current situation?” the Alien alternated between sympathy and biting rage, clearly J had been being difficult.

“What situation?”

“What sit- what- dear Holy Christ Human. Survival, our survival, you’re losing focus again aren’t you? How something with the mental capacity of a wet cloth can get brain damage I’ll never know”

With this J’s face came alive with a genuine smile, his eyes creased, the lines of his face shifted away from their fixed melancholy, clearly having thought up a response designed to irritate his alternative psyche. “Mirror, glue”

“That’s your come back? You stood there for twenty seconds. Why aren’t you doing something? Do something, J, Human, listen, J!”

Thing were buzzing around J’s head, he remembered his friends from before, in primary school. They hated him but he was too young to care, he missed youth. ‘Anxious dread’ J leapt forward in a style that would have greatly benefited from some kind of slow motion shot, but here in reality just made him look stupid.

“I assume there was some kind of reason for that”

J was brushing himself off, his eyes darted around in short bursts in an attempt to avoid looking at the alien “Predicated explosion” as if that was an explanation that made sense.

“And we’re ready to pay attention and listen to me?” the Alien asked as if speaking to a child.

J started taking large strides down the hall in defiance. Giving an inch to the Alien could lose him a mile. When dealing with people that exist primarily in your head you need to be diligent, people privy to your thoughts can really screw with your mind, people who were black from head to toe could not be trusted.

‘That was a tad racist’ the thought was accompanies by a slight grimace, J was always particularly concerned with what he saw as the trappings of humanity.

“I wouldn’t worry J, nothing strange about a human acting like a human”. J kept his pained expression from reaching his face, on some level the Alien’s ability to play him bad become expected.

Solace could always be gained from remembering how much the Alien envied his ability to control his body, to effect the world.

‘Anxious dead’. “Are we in imminent danger?”

The Alien’s face burst in to a hideous grin, his knife like teeth displayed in a mockery of happiness. J contracted in on himself without thinking, his shoulders slopped forward in an attempt to shield himself, when dealing with people in your head you could never give an inch. J had a distinct feeling that he’d lost a mile. He needed the answer so he ignored his instinct to lash out.

“No, but we have work to do”

“Don’t we always?”

“Emo”

Next stop, animal cruelty.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:43:33 GMT

The righteous crusade was looking like it may fail before is truly began. Virii poured across the horizon, flowing over the piles of rubble with practiced agility. The air filled itself with inhuman shrieks and the prisoners closed in upon themselves in a subconscious attempt to use their comrades as shields so as to extend their worthless lives for a few more worthless seconds.

Jason raced for the container, which had just begun an auto-unlock sequence to reveal weaponry of all shapes and sizes. Hefting two army issue automatics in both arms, a manoeuvre described by the majority of arm personnel as ‘unadvisable’, he positioned himself and waited for the Viral to get within a range that spray and pray would at least would a couple of the bastards.

Ancient McLockjaw was distracted by their collective and inevitable doom. Jason picked up a sidearm from the crate raised it to eye level and unloaded a shot right between the bastards eyes. Jason was rewarded with a sense of accomplishment and was able to concentrate on the now certain cause of his death- the hoards of gnashing and growling monsters.

Jason was distracted by a thrashing that rounded out of place within the screaming pleas of the weak and hurried panic, and gunfire, of the strong. Searching his surroundings while spraying randomly in to the black sea, he noticed the corpse of his newly departed and somewhat unsatisfactory adversary having some kind of violent seizure. As Jason was not a doctor he would have put it down to an unremarkable reaction to as a result of bullet in head, quickly after it began the corpse began to mutate. It’s features elongated, it’s body stretched and thinned. It’s hair changed to blonde, a colour almost wiped out unless bottled. It’s skin seemed to pale beyond that of a corpse.

An explosion knocked Jason down, apparently the idiots had found some mortars, their ability to locate weaponry far exceeding their ability to use it.

The corpse stood beside him, it had armed itself. Sure, why not? The corpse fired into the approaching virals with an eary calmness that instantly convinced Jason that the corpse would be a better friend than an enemy.

“Well this is somewhat entertaining” the corpse is a smartass.

“Kind of like my odds this side of a million to one”

“Wont hold it ‘gainst ya”

“Much appreciated Walking Dead”

“J”

“J, J J, the J?”

“I like ya kid, don’t make me shoot ya”

The thing that claimed to be a god picked up a mortar and aimed it at a large clump of virals. Holding the remaining tube like one would a bat the corpse ran straight in to the advancing lines. Either due to shock, or an unreasonable will to live, Jason followed the maniac without considering the inherent flaws in going toe to toe with an army. It wasn’t until they had cleared 3 lines, and 5 miles without a single Viral in sight that Jason stopped having what he truly believed to be a heart attack.

The pair walked through the haunted remains of a lost city street. Rubble covered the area, interrupted only by what once were skyscrapers made from the heavy rock formations used preDominica. J held his rifle over his shoulder in what seemed to be an imitation of a toy soldier. Jason was concerned that he could not remember when or how J had stolen his weapon.

“So solider boy, what’s your name? If we’re going to be all exploratory we’d best be sociable, and I did save your life by the by”

“Soldier?”

J looked genuinely puzzled “Uniform. Variation of the crest of Micheal, I assume he’s still master ‘n commander or somesuch”.

“I’m state property” this got a genuine smile from the corpse.

“Ooo I’m consorting with fugitives, that’s a new one for my record”

“You didn’t save my life, you saved your own- I just followed”

J’s face hardened, his hand snapped out and lifted Jason off the ground by his neck. Jason’s mind was put back in to the state of shock that seemed to be it’s natural position from here on out. J continued staring at Jason’s face, his eyes boring in to him with a distaste and menace that Jason had never witnessed in all his days. Jason didn’t know what was happening, his life flashed before his eyes.

“Jason” a subconscious mutter escaped his lips, J released his grip allowing the human to crash to the ground desperately gasping for air.

“Jase, a fine name. So Jase, I’m kind of at a loss to tell you the truth, at first I thought we were just in some kind of heavily polluted wasteland, but the sky looks more shimmery than I’ve been accustomed”

“Shield”

“Oh god I’m in the viral catchment, well that’s just wonderful isn’t it. You and your soldier buddies sent in here as cleanup or something ay Jasey?”

“Prisoner”

“Wow, that’s kind of barbaric. Micheal run out of prisons or something?”

“Was sent here specially, bad behaviour”

“Aw, well I think you’re tops. Putting aside the whole avoidy thing earlier- why we’ve had a very civil discourse. A melding of ideas, if you will. You can stand up by the by, not a taskmaster over here.”

Jason brushed himself off, the dust of decay covered him. He imagined it would cover him for the rest of his life.

Redheads have more fun.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:34:19 GMT

Jason was beginning to believe that he may just be unlucky after all. He’d breached the walls, avoided getting shot, taken a knife in to the 54th National Bank and hit the floor within two minutes and forty seconds of his arrival as soon as the first siren was heard. Despite briefly considering a short speech about predetermination and the inherent flaws in sector segregation, he finally decided to just swear with abandon and insult the Judge’s mother.

Judge Chen had lost his mother to cancer the year previous, an affliction that would have been cured decades ago were it not for a continuous and alarming string of near-apocalypses. What the judge had previously deemed a case for leniency became a case for vengeance upon the individual who had stirred up a still aching grief upon his heart, and who had implanted images within his head of his mother’s corpse in such compromising positions that they would haunt him for years to come.

The judge decided that for the good of society his current charge be sent into the shield zone as part of a program to eventually clear out the viral infection that plagued the lands. In reality it was suicide, a few little men with guns against what could be several million remaining virals- all with gnashing teeth and claws specifically designed to rip apart the human form.

The convenience of the program to the outside world was the inability to measure degrees of success or failure. Once given a toxic anti-replicate enzyme, participants were pushed through the shields never to be seen or heard from again unless the virals had been completely irradiated. Portal scans indicated presence of virals, not extent. It allowed progress to always be claimed while avoiding nasty things like figures, facts or trends.

Jason was calm, resigned and hungry. Hunger seemed redundant considering his readily approaching demise. PIS seminars had shown diagrams about a pyramid of needs, before they got shutdown that is. Apparently safety was the base, good only number three, with friendship and happy self-love at the very top. “Humanity aims to satisfy that which is lowest on the pyramid that is not already being met”. The pyramid was wrong, everything is wrong, freedom forever, oh God I’m going to die. Jason was a model detainee, no one he’d ever known would be proud.

As Jason raised his head he saw the face of the man sitting across the transport from him. The man was staring at him with an anger that should only be reserved for the bitterest of enemies. The man’s entire body seemed to seep forward and down, a droopy menace that gave him the appearance of an ancient, Jason could picture him with a club and a beaten snowfox over one shoulder.

The transport stopped, it’s door opened and the harsh glare of the outer defence zone poured in, a thick red designed to highlight metal and blood. ‘To stay not head, stay a step ahead’ Jason was sick of his mind. “Problem?” the monobrowed caveman seemed to expect the question “Oh, no Sir- Mister saviour of the people” he’d been practicing that line; one of them would be dead by their next sleep. Jason was betting on himself, if only because the other way around would be counterproductive.

The doors of the outer rims were gigantic, stretching in to the skies. Made of metallic silver they shone bright red under the search beams from the various sky panels. The fated began their march, the uneven jerking between the beginning and end of the train stood in clear contrast to the metallic entourage- reprogrammed dysfunctionals, disconnected from baseComm.

The movements of the robots had periodic deviations, as if their rebellion was a base component of who they were. It reminded Jason of the slave races of preDomonica, a travesty quickly written out of the history books, likely existing solely in the tales told throughout the restricted zone.

News of the newly established milking stations had made in in to the walls of the restricted zone, clearly someone with power in central Demonica was trying to start riots throughout the outer spheres for whatever reason.

They clearly did not understand that the restricted zone had long since given up on caring about the other outer spheres, our problems are great enough without the burden of others. None raised a hand as we were quartered off, as the walls were raised. The restricted zone learnt quickly that being alone meant only caring about oneself.

The procession halted suddenly. Almost instantly the poorly formed lines fanned out to cover the room in which they found themselves. The room was enclosed, the prisoners were accompanied how a levitating crate of uncertain purpose around the size of a standard dumpster unit. As the room erupted in to a seemingly random pattern of flashing lights the main doors rose to reveal the barren landscape of the inner shield zone. Dust covered the ground, large piles of rubble the only thing that could be seen, the sight offered little hope of hidden pockets of life or hope of anything.

The congregation were pushed out in to the open by a rapidly approaching back wall. At last they were alone, what could be call free if you wanted to be overly ironic. Jason had never felt more resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes and accepted his death. It was at this time that the screams started to fill the valley.

Future returns remain heavily discounted in the hearts of men.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:28:35 GMT

Jason had never been a good man, statistically speaking he’d never had a chance. Born in to a family of bad men, he had grown up viewing bad as just a means of survival. Born in to a community of bad men and fading women he had grown up viewing bad as essential to survival.

His friends were criminals, his school had closed generations ago. The people around him were shuffled from the restricted zone, in which he lived, to gaol. The only difference between gaol and home was that in jail you got 3 square and a roof. The trick was getting the cops scared enough that they’d get over their fear of the neighbourhood and arrest you without plugging you full of holes.

Jason could never work out if he was lucky or unlucky. For him every silver lining away had a cloud. Ever good turn would inevitably lead off a bridge. His luck wasn’t of the stub your toe, find fifty cents on the floor variety. His luck was always a matter of multiple interpretations, and only worked for the big things.

His mother was sweet and loving, a near miracle considering the wraiths and whores that made up the rest of the female population of the restricted zone. She died with a needle in her arm, warning off a young Jason who had himself been about to inject the poison in to his veins. Bad luck, good luck. His father, after Jason had stabbed him in the leg, was about to beat him to death when a stray bullet hit his father square in the middle of his head. Good luck, but then Jason was alone.

Desperate times suited Jason, the clear threat helped to motivate his survival instincts, fighting tooth and nail whereas a lesser danger may have encouraged him to lay down in the gutter and fade away. His father’s words “Boy, you either aim big or you lay down in the gutter and die” seemed appropriately relevant. For the first time in his life, with blood still ingrained in his shirt, he loved his father. Deciding that the drunk bastard likely stole the wisdom from another drunk bastard, his face set back in to it’s natural creased hardness and the young boy never thought of his father again.

He aimed high, earned a place with the local kingpin by passing a gang of independents who were causing complications. No one would have picked Jason for a unionist, but people have a way of surprising you.

He rose fast, and at each level combined a ruthless instinct for efficiency with what could be described as compassion, but was closer to being relatively less brutal. Despite himself he earned a name for charity and cruelty, gaining respect, wariness and adoration without the perceived weaknesses that could destroy a person who dealt daily with thieves and liars.

Jason knew that his reputation would get him killed, the Kingpin was growing in power and paranoia. Every random killing, beating or slander committed by Jason was attributed to his superiors. Jason was deified as the last good criminal in the restricted zone. He only had one escape, and it had 3 square and a roof.

He dug up his mother’s corpse and stashed enough cash and jewels next to her bones so that when he got out he might retire, or eat, he never did understand inflation. He hoped it didn’t happen to diamonds. In 20 years the walls might of come down, citizenship given despite where you were born. Anything could happen when gods walked the earth.

Faith is what you believe in.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:23:49 GMT

Despite what is widely believed, the rebellion of morals was not based, or even centred upon, the public execution of Johnson Green Minister for Public Affairs. Infact the rebellion was centred upon information reveled by J, Pillar of Destruction, in a work entitled “Path to Eternity: A practical guide” named such to mock the travel guides of J’s youth.

Within his publication J set out the system of the afterlife as he saw it. The work made clear inferences about the system of souls and reincarnation. What has previously been believed was a system where on those who were considered to be ‘good’ were granted eternity in heaven, while those whose were whose souls were heavy with sin were sent to suffer eternal torment in hell.

What J put forth was quite different. Souls were infact not individual but rather reincarnations. Upon death the soul reverted to the previous inhabitant who it considered the most prominent and influential unless the current inhabitant has surpassed all others. Regardless of revision souls were ladened with the sins of all past and subsequent inhabitants leading to a steadily declining chance that souls were reincarnated and instead filling hell with the innocent and the naughty to accompany the decrepit and evil.

J’s conclusions were designed to mock the righteous and the pure. By securing hell from the reverents, he had infact created the eternal resting place that the holy so desired. Due to the impossibility of heaven, the promises of nearly all of the world’s religions were invalidated. Religious texts became irrelevant, overnight there was widespread burning of church property, none have ever been charged for the destruction.

More important were the analysis by other authors that followed. Despite the clear possibility for, and gains to be made from, deception- a combination of scholarly proofs and silence on the park of Micheal had given credence to the Deceiver’s claims. The public demanded answers, during this period the late Minister Green wrote a book speaking out against what he saw as “a fixated and increasingly irrelevant immortal dictatorship”.

The public execution of Green attracted far an beyond what was expected. The reason for the execution was “spreading false bile and hatred for the express purpose of destroying society itself”. Before the execution Micheal made his first speech to address the claims of his brother. Councilor Zelcolme offered tired rhetoric, denial and laced threats. Upon completion of the speech J appeared and uttered his famous speech.

“My time short, my message eternal, I offer but the Cliff Notes to the soul. Do not weep for the late Minister Green, for here by Lord Micheal, in the courtyard, with the lethal injection, Green has become a martyr. Given the possibility for eternal life. Weep instead for yourselves, as without a crowd of on lookers such as exists here and now you are each doomed to fall and fade in to the ether. You compete with kings, queens, warlords and gameshow hosts. Pray, pray that we meet again.”

By nightfall the upper classes had fled the city and lower class riots had consumed the majority of the once great capital of Demonica.

-A. J., Bradley (142PDm). "The Seed of Doubt", Journal of New Science, v22, p123-145. (Exerpt)

Money, power, women.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 00:17:55 GMT

It always happens gradually, that’s the only way things can get by. If you notice a descent you can fight against it- eat fewer donuts, don’t kill, start voting conservative- but gradual change gets you nothing but fat, friendless and unemployed.

My current ‘area of focus’ in my life is stagnation. Endless meetings saying the same things, decisions on things that occur the same way regardless of my answer and the increasing obscurity of my two remaining friends- the only people that don’t fit under the “young enough to be my great-great grandson” or the “required to kill on regular rotation” categories.

Steven has become a victim of gradual change and I didn’t even notice. One of his chips got fried and he lost the ability to speak in anything but conjunctives, possibly one of the most inconvenient word sets he could have picked.

Better than the time he was stuck on happy and suggested holidays for more days than the year actually had. Prisoner rehabilitation day, where the prisons are opened wide so that offenders have the chance to know what they are missing was proposed without a single falter- the vision of 2% of the population marching the streets raping and pillaging still flashes in to my mind from time to time.

I havn’t been speaking to him lately. My friend has somewhere along the line been replaced by an overpriced toaster. Whenever I see him all I can see is a walking tomb.

Mark remains as uninteresting and unremarkable as when we met. Where I put him he somehow drops into obscurity. In public transport he turned a near mutinous train syssmte in to a moderately acceptable clockwork operation. In education he brought the high schools back up to historical norms, while dragging our once shining universities out of the spotlight. In administration he came in to a pit of nothing and has kept it as a pit of nothing.

Mark wasn’t even my friend if I think about it. He was brought in by J, one of his projects. I have no idea why he didn’t just lose interest and dump him. Who knows why J does or doesn’t do anything.

Someone is making a point out of order, gavels are banging left and right. When did meetings get more than one gavel? Rebellion, uproar, betrayal from within- at last the meeting burst to life. A councilman has spoken out, written a book (how do so many books get published? I should write a book, J has three). It has been silent for so long, an example must be made. This lingering disruption from J’s latest tome will be quashed before it begins. Murmurs of eternity cut short by abject fear in the present. Humanity has an abundance of short sightedness (never invest in something that requires optimism for success- note to self).

Potential.

Sun, 25 Nov 2007 23:55:33 GMT

For once in my life I woke up with certainty in my life. For the first time since my father turned out to be the prince of darkness, I could finally predict my fate. A monster is slain, a fallen hero is cast out into the shadows, murderers are punished not only for their crimes against society but also for the primal sins of pride, greed and rage.

Since the day has begun my fate has unravelled. It would seem that there has been an “unfortunate misunderstanding”. That the consequences of my actions would be “rectified”. That I will retain that which I cast away along with that which was stolen from me.

Never in my life have a loved or hated my uncle more.

What does this mean? Am I truly able to get away with murder? Am I above the very law I claim to serve? Has it always been this way? Will it ever not?

I doubt my uncle could have predicted the outcome of his betrayal. Where he expected despair he was met with a sea of blood and gore. Where he expected pleading and sobbing he was met with an unending rage and darkness. Perhaps I am my father’s son after all.

But is blaming my actions on lineage not just putting the blame off myself? I have enough people lying to maintain my good name, perhaps it is time I stop lying to myself. If I am to be evil then I will use my affliction to assist humanity regardless. The blackness that runs through my veins can be harnessed, cast onto those who would otherwise do civilisation harm; I could be a true hero.
Or a desk job, giving things names. That sounds equally fun.

High numbers add mystery to otherwise uninteresting exchanges.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:42:49 GMT

*Car 34 there’s a 238 reported heading South down 2nd away from the barrier*

“34 acknowledged heading asap”

238 another escape from the restricted zone, a city devoid of everything but parking tickets and suits stealing pennies and I get stuck with the only source of violent crime in the recognised federation. When I was younger I would have welcomed this kind of shakeup, now I just want to get back to my office and put this 1 day per year of forced street patrol behind me. I’m going to get shot, I always know when I’m going to get shot.

Actual clothes, dead give away. Clothes that cover more than the bare minimum are apparently barbaric in our elevated society, I’d say it was a conspiracy but so many industries have lost out on the paradigm shift.

“Halt, you have violated the sancticty of Demonica. Your presence is considered an offence and you will be detained” God I sound like a dick, considering I approved the line it seems like some huge cosmic joke. Or justice. Just pay attention to the guy with the knife. Knife. Has a knife, shoot him, shoot him.

“Sir put the weapon down and raise your hands over your head, take two steps back... you’re not- you’re not putting the knife down, you are going to the forget steps and I’ll shoot you- I shoot people, bang bang”

“Whoa, I need to not get shot here.”

“You need to put the gun down, knife, knife down, do you have a gun by any chance” maybe he grabs my gun, step back.

Fleeing, jiggling and failing along the footpaths, no mystery about the human form anymore. The sex industry just can’t make money with everyone walking around practically naked. And the fashion industry, barely scrapes by, you can’t make money designing things when minimalist is the flavour of the day, it's like communist Russia except everyone is happy and naked. Maybe there is a thriving porn industry that I’m just oblivious to. I need better friends, ones that don’t think I walk on water, I never asked to be Jesified.

Oh great, he’s running, and I’m out of range. Into a bank, perfect, just perfect. Fine you want a bloody siege you’ve got a bloody siege you crazy restricted zone knifey man. Stay out of line of fire, still havn’t been shot yet. I’m going to get lunch after I call for backup, it’s a shame everything tastes like ass in the future.

PG-13.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:28:12 GMT

Most of you didn’t know a fucking thing about my father. You fucks with your fucking toe in the water, waiting for the fucking ball to drop. Parasites, fucking pigs the lot of you. Well I can tell you wanking bitch-whores that you wont be getting a wiff, a nibble, a single motherraping bite. So fuck off, the lot of you, fuck the shit off. You want evil, you want to see what true evil is? I’ll skullfuck your pissant eyesockets, you dopey shitting assraping cumg-uzzling fucks.

“Inspiring”

“Fuck off wormbreath, just- just fuck off”

“Chaosss, I know that going through the 5 stages of grief is the thing ‘all the cool kids are doing nowadays’- but you need to realise that J wasn’t a good man. Wasn’t even a man technically, a half possessed parasitically reanimated corpse. A HPPR if you will, has quite the ring to it”

“What fucking part of fucking fuck off arn’t you fucking getting?”

“You’re upset, that’s natural...”

“He was your father too...”

“He was never my father”

“I am grieving. I don’t have time to tell you that you’re special, can we just pretend I give a shit about the evil reptilian science experiment with abandonment issues that my father created and pretend that we had a good talk about our ‘issues’, maybe a hug and a pat on the fucking back. Great, now get the hell out of my house”

“Fine. But we’ll meet again human. J doesn’t stay dead, never has. Oh and the rage, hold on to it- will be useful once you accept what you are. Just another link in the chain.”

Wait 230 and stir.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:26:50 GMT

Forty eight. 499 days of running, of seeing the world pass by through windows. Constant momentum to avoid death. The presence at my back in unrelenting, yet it is entirely possible that my pursuer has long since given up the hunt.

I betrayed a powerful man, and ever since I have regretted the day. The people who forced me in to this position have abandoned me. It is more than likely that they would welcome my death, the powers that be have learnt the value of playing nice. I am an ugly reminder of times best forgotten. Fifty two.

It was not unusual for me to go through periods of what I believed to be despair and unhappiness in the time before. It becomes apparent that I knew nothing of despair and unhappiness, that my life consisted of complex strings of goals, objectives, needs, wants and desires. Now my life is reduced to a single line, survival. To know that you will only have one purpose for the rest of your days creates a hole in the pit of your stomach, unable to be filled or ignored.

The worst feeling is when you start to believe that the hole itself is a part of you, that it is as essential as your lungs, your heart. That is the worst feeling, when the pain and emptiness becomes a given, an expectation, when even for a moment you forget that it could be in anyway different or better. Because it is then, in the second after you forget, that the pain becomes infinite and unending, that the truth comes hurtling back. You remember the time before, a time where unhappiness and despair were playthings that you rolled around in your head in order to bring some flavour in to a chaotic and dynamic life. Fifty eight, nearly there.

Never in my life would I have imagined missing someone like J, my pursuer, my inevitable executioner. Lack of purpose can take a person to unexpected places. I suppose that’s my lesson.

Twelve. Five hundred, I wonder if I’ll get a cake.

The quintessential question.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:23:59 GMT

Honour, strength of will, and courage. I am the personal embodiment of these things. Propped up by shadowmen who find it convenient to have an previously unsullied symbol that can be used to get messages across to a population laced with bitterness and mistrust for anyone and everyone. I get parades and speeches from people who themselves get parades and speeches.

I’ve never felt more powerful or more alone. I no longer care about either.

The barrier to my defiance is the fear that I will lose my current station. Somehow self imposed barriers, manufactured as they may be, seem less constricting than those that would be directly imposed by others.

It has become apparent to me that the way in which others view you will nearly always determine the way an individual will act. Ark has been viewed by others with hate and mistrust, and he became a hateful warlord aligned to no one. Jade was treated with distance and restraint and so became cold and distant. My father’s insanity and unending bloodshed seems partially explainable by the assumption that he will act insane and pay very little care to substantial blows to the total population of the globe.

I am regarded as unshakable. As just. As strong. As mighty... As human, ironic. But in my heart I feel like a traitor and a thief. A person who carries corpses around in the boot of their car. I wonder if everyone hates the mask that is forced upon us by perception. Is anyone truly what they seem to be? It comforts me that I’ll never know. It gives me hope. I’m the physical embodiment of hope. I’m going to go lie down.

Top bloke, would friend again.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:20:32 GMT

Forced to forever look up at the rest of the world. My life. Sometimes I suspect that my father purposefully chose my fate, that he hated me even before he knew I existed. Such an unnerving degree of unjustifiable spite is uniquely suited to him.

I am gifted immortality and yet confined in a body that denies the respect that eternal life should hold. However it seems that my genes forbid surrender, I seamlessly rise above my limitations. Through action and machine I compel those around me to hand their fates over to my own, to link themselves to me despite the state of constant death and destruction that typifies my every-day.

It is the same for my sister’s blindness, and my brother’s stupidity. Unfortunate but conquerable. Compelling if combined with an otherwise strong strength of character.

Ark Fenrir, God of War. A nice ring. The one god to offer humanity true ascendance. To think that I become the hero of the people. I- who it seemed inevitably apparent would fill the role of supreme monster. While my clansmen struggle with unending despair and uprisings, I sit on an unshakable throne. Surrounded by friends, allies, and lovers I am the most respected, the most loved, the most adored.

Ark Fenrir, whose voice can shake all 5 corners of the globe. Yet still I grape and grapple for the support of my family. I blame my genes, others are not so compelled to favour the doomed, corrupt and unpleasant.

Deputy Senior Administrative Officer Gregoras Allister.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:18:23 GMT

I can feel the morning sun on my face, the soothing heat caresses my face, the gentle warmth stirring me from my slumber. I begin my morning routine, exact measurements fluttering through my subconscious as I guide myself through my room without the benefit of vision.

Blindness from birth has meant I have never had the chance to miss eyesight, my calm calculations allow me to glide around the world around me with a grace that seems to amaze and impress those not used to knowing me. Balance, predictability and calm are the steadfast requirements of my world, everything broken down in to calculated components so that I can avoid the trappings of enfeeblement.

It isn’t until the middle of my journey from brushing my hair to the kitchen that I notice something is wrong. All actions have met expected reactions, all items are in place, but something still shimmers at the back of my head, something is out of place, something is wrong.

Heat, desire, passion. All three fill my memories from the night before. A heavy combination of nausea and glee flows through me as I near the bed. My hands confirm my fears, cold flesh adorns my bed, a lifeless husk that is not an acceptable fixture of my calculated routine.

Panic sets in. Choices rush through my head ranging from disposal to hysteria. I can’t think. Dealing with dead bodies is not something I have a mapguide for, from what I can ascertain sight would be invaluable in this kind of situation. My overwhelming desire to run is clearly based on some primal instinct within me that presupposes an ability to dodge or avoid objects, cursing my humanity is oddly calming.

Phone. I need to call someone. The phone isn’t scheduled until another 43 steps have been carried out and completed. I think the circumstances warrant a deviation. Kitchen, crossed with toast, left, left, down, gotcha. Although the exact situation has never come up I’m fairly confident that this problem would be best handled by my brother Chaos, the least evil of my family members. People underestimate the fact that he’ll sacrifice nearly every scruple or value he holds dear in order to assist those in need. His nobility is a trait I would scoff at if it wasn’t fundamentally useful to me.

“Jade?”

“Chaos, I need help. I.. I slept with someone last night”

“I’ll be right over”

The morning isn’t going entirely as planned, but soon I’ll have Chaos to help me. He has always been able to put me back on track. It’s comforting, knowing that you’ll always have someone there that will love you no matter what- no matter how high and mighty they present themselves to the outside world.

Within two weeks of his promotion to chief lieutenant somethingorother of the DPD and he is going to be carting a corpse around rolled up in a rug. Do I have a rug? The wall feels cool behind my back, it soothes my worries, chills my thoughts.

For the first time I can feel my prize from the night before. Twirling within me is the soul of the recently departed shell that has disrupted my morning. The feeling of its edges being frayed within me is amazing, adorable, safe. A smile rests effortlessly across my features and I let the world fade in to nothingness.

Readily approaching horizontal.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:15:28 GMT

At the end of it all the thing that really scares me is that I may be just another ignorant degenerate slob just like the rest of them. For all I know I could of been a fan of butter-grilled nacho-fried Oreo pizzas if it wasn’t for fear of being classed as uncouth. I can’t really see how Oreo’s could possibly go with pizza but for all I know it’s the sanest culinary choice ever.

Sometimes I feel like I am desperately flailing up the side of an ever steepening hill face, harder and harder, stumbling and sliding back towards the ethereal mudpool of humanity. What is it that I detest about being normal. Would it be so bad to just ride through life, being as happy as I could be.

Why must my existence burn everything around me to cinders just so that I can exist? Every goal, every achievement becomes stale the moment I achieve it. The impossible satisfies me only for as long as it remains impossible.

It’s unsustainable, eventually it’ll kill me- or worse, I’ll simply run out of things to strive for.

Humanity. I could be human. I have a job, money, acquaintances. People tell me that I’m remarkable, sociable. All I need are people to like me, friends. How hard can that be?

Gravity- mass murderer, friend of apples.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:12:08 GMT

Dragged here without clear motive, it seems reality has fractured. I am surrounded by the past, a forum, surrounded by people moving in and out. Near misses, crying, the silence of many. I know this place, from where I know not. I am here, but a me that is not me. Atleast I have not resorted to something as crude as time travel, I am submerged in the memories of the past.

They surround me as would a hologram. My psychosis is visible to me, even lost within the midst of chaos I cannot escape it.

“Vermin..” the words slide out his oily black jaw, reverberating from deep within his throat. Even after all this time the memory of this incarnation of my insanity still sends chills down my spine.

“ There is such a thing as manners Alien. If you are going to insult you must give full sentances. Quality conversations require tit for tat, quid pro quo, you’ll get the hang of it I’m sure”

“Not you Human, them” it’s bladed oinx spear indicates the crowd that surrounds them, passangers pass by unaware of the monster that lurks so near.

“Ah! The humanity are scum speech. That one never gets old. But for now, how about we concentrate on the task at hand...”

Oh god. This isn’t the train station, it’s the power exchange. I’m here for a reason after all.

“See that you succeed Human, would hate to be forced to think less of you.”

Blades burst from my torso, a cloud of death and steel. The whirlwind glides across the room, each blade twirling, weaving, cutting in patterns of organised chaos, like a stream. Blood and screaming filled the room, the busy scuffling turned to unrestrained panic. Survivors of my attack have become tramper or tramplee. The knife tendril has reached it’s target, the circuit box for the entirety of Dominica, heart of the transportation system.

I know what happens next, yet I am stuck here unable to change a thing. Even if my body was able these events remain essential to ensure that future events occur. For the future to survive this city must die. The tendril sticks, the light go out. The floating vehicles that circuit the city streets as a constant flow of metal and flesh suddenly stops. The cars lose lighting, for a second the city suffers from a moment of pristine quiet. The moment ends and a third of the cities population, on their trip home from work, begin plowing in to the sides of buildings. The unlucky remain falling deep in to the cities core, only to find release on the long deserted ground up to 300 feet below.

Tommorrow there will be riots, the underclass will use this tragedy to rise up. The upper class will be unable to support the demands of the riotors, the city and it’s surrounding areas will disperce in to the wilderness and Dominica shall be no more. But tomorrow is tomorrow. Today all I am faced with is my choice. My choice to slaughter indiscriminately for what I believed to be the greater good. How could I ever have been so arrogant as to believe myself to be able to make sacrifice on behalf of the human race.
“A job well done”

“Would have to agree Human, reminds me of home”

I’m of course deluding myself, there shall never be a day that I wouldn’t do it again. I will do worse before I’m through. Does that make me a monster? Is that my purpose?

“Not the most encouraging comparison Alien”

Banter.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:08:00 GMT

I can’t stand these parties. Well that isn’t exactly true, I happen to love certain parts of these parties, the wining the dining, great power has awakened the extrovert in me. “Hello Giant Filthy Smile Monster from the Planet Smilemonsterian 74” I would say in the voice that sounds like it’s half-joke, half-endeering, half-drunkenness, how many halves is that? Nevermind, it doesn’t matter- there are no giant slime monsters in the future, I’m bitterly disappointed. Took them centuries to make flying cars, and they don’t run on magnets or whatever they were supposed to.

No moon bubbles, apparently not cost effective- lack of demand, who wouldn’t want to live in a moon bubble? I wouldn’t want to live in a moon bubble, damn me for wrecking the cool future. Point, and I do have one, is that the future has it’s good and it’s bad, and I really should stop refering to the present as the future. People get really tetchy about it, reminds me of Nicholas Cage and the future people being tetchy about him insulting their clam based toilet system.

‘That was Steven Stilone’.

‘What are you the movie critic?’

‘The least you could do it get your own internal ramblings to be factorially correct’

‘The least I could do is for you to shut up. Wonderful now I’ve been standing in the middle of the ballroom for at least a few minutes and people are carefully not staring at me like an idiot. I blame you for this.’

‘Trust me, you don’t need me to make yourself look like an idiot’

“Miss Waterhouse, I am so pleased that you came to me little gathering, your radiance halves the money we would otherwise have to spend on lighting”

‘You’ve reached a new level of sap, congratulations Human’

“*Blah blah blah blah*”

‘Very mature’

‘Don’t you start, I’m perfectly within my rights to ignore boring chitchat’

‘Staring’

‘What?’

Waterhouse is displaying a poor ability to avoid making the ‘this guys a nutter’ eyes at me. I wonder what would happen if I impaled her head upon a pike, would anyone notice? Would there be fleeing for the exit? Where would I get a pike?

‘Perfectly reasonable internal process, not psychotic at all’

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of humour Alien’

‘I think this entire situation just highlights what I have been saying, we need to fix the lines, we arn’t how we are supposed to be. Violent and pike using is not the acceptable norm for human society, and I speak more and more like an English university professor every day’

‘I don’t speak like a university professor’ the hurt slips on to my face without me realising it, Waterhouse seems put off, why is she still standing there?

‘Time travels differently in the head’

‘I’m not falling for that one again, last time you said that I had to listen to people for weeks afterwards, whispering about me standing in silence for 20 minutes doing nothing and making weird facial expressions’

‘Maybe it would suit us both to move to a more private locale’

‘I think you’re right, you do sound like a ponce’

‘I’m always right’ the library, a design of decadence and overcompensation for a lack of real learning. Created to impress, filled with tomes of near infinite numbers, containing knowledge both special and secret. Authors long dead, books long forgotten adorn the walls. I hate reading, when did I start having rooms for the sole purpose of presenting an image.

‘Your children read’

‘My daughter is blind and my son hates reading’

‘He has read’

‘You’re becoming increasingly less helpful’

‘That can be fixed’

‘I’m not letting you rattle around in lazy attempts to correct what amount to trivial issues’

‘Violent megalomania, universal hatred, and a willingness to decimate are trivial issues to you?’

‘I have it under control, I’ve only wanted to impale 3 maybe 4 people today. And I didn’t impale one. That could be considered a 100% nonimpale rate in certain circles- can’t beat that’

‘Human...’

‘You know perfectly well why tight constraints need to be maintained, sense of self is a fragile thing. One slip and you’re same name, different guy. Violent daydreaming is a perfectly reasonable and acceptable pass time for someone in my position’

‘You desperately and arbitrarily cling to something you have already lost. The moment my psyche became available to you the ‘you’ that existed ceased to be. Even if you choose to stay ‘as human as possible’ the mere availability of alternatives, to see the horror, the chaos, the glory that was my destiny altered everything that you were’

I am J, I am forever. That is all I need to know. I am a human, I am more- a pillar. Chosen by destiny to lead, to guide destiny. Chosen to take reality to the abyss, and to determine if it will continue or fade.

‘The sad thing is that you actually believe that’

I am J, I am forever.

‘If one were to search for an abyss that would consume all those who dared to stare upon it, great or small, they would need look no further than purpose- there is no other pet as vicious or cruel. A snippet of wisdom from the late J Zelcolme I believe. Any relation?’

I hate you.

‘I know’

Relative Insight.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:01:24 GMT

My father taught me many lessons, I am yet to learn many more. One that he did not wish me to learn was the truth behind reality. The meaning of life. The meaning of life is simple. One day we die, and upon death all that we have done all that we would do comes to an end. When we die we finish, when we die we fade. Upon death nothing else matters, nothing has or will ever matter.

Upon death everything reaches zero. No matter what you have in life, no matter what you have achieved, how many people you’ve saved, touched, killed, loved- who love you- once you die everything becomes meaningless.

The lesson, the guide, the catchphrase is not, I repeat- NOT, to live, not to achieve, not to die trying. The bumper sticker reads thusly, life happens and then you die. This is not defeatism, this is not giving up, do what makes you happy, do what makes you sad, achieve what you wish to achieve, destroy what you wish to destroy but in the end it doesn’t matter, in the end we die.

The lesson that I learnt from my father showed me the way, the way to live. The meaning of life is to exist. The meaning of life is not to look back, but to look forward- to ignore the past, the future, the present. Do what you want to do. Do anything, do nothing.

It’s freeing.

If you want to live forever you need a few things, immortality is the deal clencher, but you also need to know the above, understand what it means. Because otherwise you’re going to latch on to a purpose, a destiny, a calling. And once that happens, you’re as good as dead.

March of the walri.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 08:00:17 GMT

Forever, a long time. Forever, my life. Forever, and a day- what were we talking about?

Chaos, the primordial will to change, corrupt, destroy.

Chaos, the essential fibre that allows reality to move from one state to another.

Chaos, the seed that gives free will within a prewritten destiny.

Chaos is who I am, my name, my nature. From the outside I am perfect calm, perfect clarity. In truth I am a storm, a tempest. My sister is love, my father is balance, my mother is hate. I sit in the centre, without side, without purpose. My destiny is my own. I can be nothing, I can be everything.

I am Chaos Fenrir, but you can call me Sir. Trapped in the body of a 19 year old, my prison suits my purpose. I am forever- give or take a day.

Townhouse northleft of centre.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 07:57:41 GMT

When surrounded by people who believe you are dressed every morning by cute cartoon Disney forest animals it can be hard to keep your perspective. I never saw myself as impaired, afterall I knew of nothing other than the world in which I had always lived, a world of darkness. Sight is not something you can imagine, if you havn’t experienced it then you simply don’t know what everyone is talking out. To the naturally blind you don’t see the blackness that everyone sees when they close their eyes, you have never had the sense to miss it. The brain does not simulate senses that a person does not have that person simply doesn’t have that sense.

It may be instructional to think of the wind, invisible to all, yet when you know wind in near you don’t feel an emptiness though you fail to see it, black flashes do not pop in to view to warn you that you are illequiped. A person unable to communicate via ESP does not feel cheated or empty, a person without gills does not become confused when they fail to breath under water. So no, my disability isn’t an issue. But it may have been so if not for my brother Chaos.

I wonder sometimes what my father would have done if I had not needed my brother, I wonder if the innate need to manipulate and destroy would have been applied to our sibling relationship. Arbitrary competitions for attention, generation of conflict through insidious favouritism. I wonder if father has ever idly thought of the possibilities.

Every morning Chaos would wake, ensure that the path was clear, that mother hadn’t cluttered my path without thinking, mother never thought of us. He would wake me, ask me of my dreams, he found them interesting, or he loved me far more than he should.

At school he lead me to the classroom. At lunch he appeared early to lead me to the playground to avoid the rush. At home time he lead me home. We always got on well, we both excelled at learning and as such were able to actually talk to one another without one carrying the conversation, he read the newspaper, I surfed the internet using the most expensive disability-assist programs money could buy.

At the time we didn’t know that our father was evil, we were well assured that our mother was evil however. To be honest being raised by the best father ever who happened to be evil and the worst mother ever who happened to be evil really screws with your sense of right and wrong, good and evil, whatever.

The point, and I do have one- shutup, I do, is that it’s hard to keep perspective. But if it wasn’t for my father, my brother, hell even my mother, I wouldn’t be here today. And I like here, here rocks. CEO, power power. Something can be said about having the power to kill a man with a push of a button. But the best thing- being the female CEO of the most powerful organisation in the world that may be evil (the organisation, not me), you get an excuse for being a cold, heartless bitch.

Happiness.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 07:54:12 GMT

I don’t believe myself to be evil, but I suffer every day from what can only be described as sinking despair and rising detachment. With every passing minute I crack, I fade, I become something that more closely resembles that which I fear, that I avoid, that I detest.

Humanity is not well suited to immortality, corruption comes with time, with choice. Unavoidable, constant. Every decision that we make brings us closer to the abyss. Every step is greeted with a slippery slope, a hill of corruption... a hill of corruption? Nevermind, I’m overthinking, it’s a curse of my lineage- I come from a long line of overthinkers, of monsters with good intentions.
Perhaps it would be easier to describe my symptoms rather than just taking stabs at naming the disease. I’m not a doctor or anything, but I am an economist if that counts for anything.

Many of my defining moments have occurred in closests, I suppose that says something in itself. Closets are everewhere, useful and out of sight, dark, hateful, sometimes I feel a great affinity for closets, sometimes I don’t. What resides in closets are our fears, our hopes, our jackets- things that we wish to forget about just for the evening so we can enjoy ourselves, so we can live life.

I have problems, doesn’t everyone? My problems stem from my parents, from my genes, then again isn’t that true of all problems? My father always hated psychologists, genes, destiny, anything that predicted the future- or tried to, but I see the world and I cannot deny that the future appears to have been written in one form or another. I believe, in my heart of hearts, that we are masters of our own destiny, but we ourselves are written so as to decide the paths that we are able to take.

I am without sight, blind from birth. My disability was combined with a family that loved me with all their hearts. It is hard to grasp the reality of someone who is missing a sense from birth, it is commonplace to think of them as simply missing something. For the individual they never had it to begin with, you cannot miss that which you never had.

My blindness is compensated by a natural aptitude for learning and a complex set of ingrained ruitines that allow me to flow through the world with style and grace. Measurements, angles and a constant demand from my family members to maintain order in any areas I frequent allow me to avoid enfeeblement.

I suck the love from everyone except for those who share my blood, it has been this way since grade school. I learned of my affliction, unsurprisingly enough, in a closet.

Joseph Parker, cute, brown hair, bumped into my canoe on camp, said hi to me at bus stop, I was in love, 8th grade. In a closet together, innocent reasons, helping teachers, I always helped teachers- blindness allows those who exploit it a certain degree of freedom and adoration. Everything stacked neat as could be, to avoid me tripping, needed to stack previously used texts in their labelled area, I couldn’t see the labels- I used my memory, I’d never read the texts, had my own, father bought them especially.

Wandering hands, grasped palms, unending heat, ripping, tearing, crying out. My brother found Joseph on the floor gasping for air, the boy scrambled out as fast as he could, Chaos was fuming I could tell without seeing, he breathed out meaningless threats, meaningless reassurances laced with threats, he told me everything would be okay. I told him it was okay, that nothing happened, that I was hot, flushed, that I liked it, loved it, that it scared me. I blamed mother, Chaos understood immediately and we never spoke of it again.

Joseph never spoke a word, he didn’t want to. Chaos told me of his eyes when he looked at me, the eyes of a person who feels like a piece of their soul has been stolen. It shouldn’t surprise me, after all what else could you expect from the daughter of a succubus?

In that closet on that day I realised my greatest secret, that everything I loved would become empty, meaningless, hollow. That all I could expect from others was burning passion that would consume itself as quickly as it has begun. Eternity without companionship. I’m not evil. Not yet, but I am not naive enough to believe myself a saint. I crave it, however brief, whatever the cost. One day I wont care anymore, I wont stop. One day I’ll be the only one coming out of the closet.

Crowd member #27 412.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 07:45:31 GMT

There is something comforting about predictability. The corporations of old gained untold fortunes by providing standardised, hymoginised processed food products to the general populous. Through these institutions you could receive the exact same burger at the east and westmost points of the globe. There was something comforting about predictability, but the crowd that Sharon was in was not being predictable.

The crowd was calm. Crowds were not supposed to be calm without someone giving some kind of speech. No one was giving a speech, at least not yet. The crowd stood outside the imperial palace, covered in gold and perl, reaching into the sky like a hand reaching to the heavens. The palace represented the pinnacle of hope, the symbol of the entire society. The palace belonged to the champion of the people- Micheal Zelcolme, Lord Protector of the realm, favoured of the light.

Predictability was not faring well this day, the unshakable confidence in those that led the nation had been shook. The truth that held up the people’s view of reality had been ripped out from under them. Religion was questioned, fate was unsure, destiny no longer mattered.

The crowd waited for an answer, for hope. They needed to know the truth, they needed reassurance. Sharron needed to know the truth, she needed reassurance.

“People of Demonica, lend me your ears. Today we have all been tested by the nefarious lies of true evil. My brother, the scourge of hell, has for centuries attempted to break the will of the people- attempted to corrupt the morals of the common man so that he may lay waste to humanity from within.

It is through the combined strength of man that he has been stopped, through the will of the people to hold on to their morals, their humanity, that the human race has survived his terror. Today humanity is burdened once again with that which has previously been lifted, uncertainty. Years ago in the time before gods uncertainty was expected, it was logical, it ripped it’s way through society breeding evil, mistrust, greed and suffering. The day that uncertainty was purged, through the experiences of myself and of other immortals, when I gazed upon the face of the Lord God and he spoken onto me, was a day of great hope and happiness for humanity.

I stand with the absolute confidence that humanity, having known the love of God and of afterlife, shall spring from the poisoness fog created by the demon lord’s lies and emerge greater, stronger and more vigilant than ever before. That instead of allowing ourselves to be ripped apart by evil, we can use this day as a foundation, a foundation to secure humanity for a new age, an age of peace, proprietry and love.”

The crowd doesn’t make a sound.

Order.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 07:43:26 GMT

The burning landscape, the circle of fire, the horizon up in flames. As it was as it shall be again. The cornerstone of destiny. The arena of choice.

"Is this what you wanted?”

“Can we please stop being so melodramatic”

“No- no, you don’t get to downplay this, this is it- this is the end. Reality burns and we burn with it. This is where we decide who lives, and who dies”

“This is just another chapter Brother”

“It’s the end of the world”

“A small section, a significant portion at best”

“When did you replace my brother, when did he die?”

“Celebration?”

“Funeral. Closure”

“And why exactly would you suggest that I am not J?”

“J wouldn’t do this”

“J would do exactly this. J would destroy the world- kill every wombat on the planet, poison the water supply...”

“Not for nothing, not for kicks”

“Not for nothing... No, not for nothing”

“Insanity is not a reason J”

“The sane are always so picky. And they wonder why they’re always disappointed”