Unstoppable

The last light of the day is fading when a lone traveler steps out of a wall of trees and into a lonely meadow. He stops a moment and takes in the sights and scents of the land. It is large enough for his purposes, and suitably removed from the nearest inhabited settlement. He hadnt encountered a soul... not so much as a sketchy bandit hovel for miles and miles. There were towns in this part of the world once of course. He spots the ruins of an old horse cart, and what could have been the foundations of a shack of some sort off to the side. This must have been a farm a long time ago.

He kneels a moment and adjusts the straps on his worn boots, then stands to his full height, brushes the loose foliage out of his cloak and sets to work.

The first item of business was securing some light before the full darkness falls upon him. He lines the edges of the meadow with sticks and branches gathered from the thick forests around this place, and with a flick of the wrist, and a word that wasn't quite a word, he wills them to fire.

Next he'll need some wards. He removes the sword from from his belt, and kneels with it across a knee. It is not a fancy sword. Nothing flashy, ornate, or pleasing to the eye. It's obviously seen a lot of action, and doesn't receive the care that it probably should. He knew someone who was annoyed by that. He grinned at the thought of that annoyance. 

The one extraordinary quality of this particular blade is it's willingness to contain and channel spells. Most of your average. smith produced blades would simply melt or shatter with a charge of magic. This one was made for the task. 

He traces a pattern across the blade with his left index finger and it begins to glow a muted shade of green. Then he begins to walk the meadow, tracing large circles in the dirt with the tip of the sword. Each circle contained an array of warding sigils. 6 rows of three he traces them. From the north end of the strip of land to the south, and then at the southern tip of the circles he draws one final large circle... this will be where he makes his stand.

Inside the large circle he sets up a small pyre, lights it afire, and then empties his satchel. A makeshift branding iron formed into the shape of an ancient spell seal. The symbol translates roughly as "To Bind". He places the iron into the fire and soon it is glowing red orange.  The next item is a human skull. This particular skull was difficult to come by, but that's a story for another time. It belonged to an ancient sorcerer who called something terrible into existence while delving into fields of magic that are better left alone. A creature so horrible that it is all but stricken from the lore of these lands, or any other.

This is the very creature that he hopes to summon today.

Now he will need an anchor. He places the blade upon his knee and traces another pattern. This time the blade glows as blue as the clearest sky you could imagine. He sets it aside.

Coming to his final preparations he removes the last item from his satchel. It is a tightly sealed flask. He carefully removes the cork, and notes that the cold blue liquid inside has no odor. When he drinks the entire bottle, it tastes like all of the peppermint on the planet in one gulp. After some very unflattering coughing, he finally masters himself. His vision is blurry and he feels hyper aware. The mana potion will allow him to ignore his limits for a bit now.

He slips a small dagger from his belt, drags it across his left palm, and drips the blood down upon the skull of the sorcerer. While he does this he jokingly chastises himself... "Heretic! Blood Mage!" he smirks and then he tosses the blood soaked skull into the fire. 

"The bait is set..." he thinks. "No turning back now." 

He removes the white hot brand from the fire, takes a few deep breaths and then places it directly into the center of his left palm. He winces as the mark is made, and then places the brand back into the fire. 

He picks up the glowing sword with his right hand, kneels in the center of the circle and then plunges the blade as deep into the soil as he can manage. Then he holds on for dear life with the unburnt hand.

At first there isn't anything particularly alarming. He hears the rustling of leaves in the wind and the quiet crackling of his fire. After a few minutes there is an alarming absence of sound. Until that silence is broken by an unholy bellowing that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere.

He grips the hilt of the sword, his anchor, as tightly as he can and with his free hand he grabs the brand... 

At the northern edge of the field the color begins draining away from the world. The black of night becomes a sick gray/white mixture, and reality seems to fold into itself...

The bellowing again... Louder this time. It's coming through.

A swirling vortex opens and from it the creature emerges. It is the size of a house, and it looks like the decapitated head of some kind of cow... but twisted and horrible. It is Unnatural and impossible in every way, and in a drained world of white and gray, it's deep red eyes are the only color that can be distinguished. It screams, and so does he.

The creature lurches forward, struggling against the wards he placed. They are breaking one by one. He never expected to stop it. He just needed to slow it down. It's huge maw opens and the smell of death floods his senses. Everything seems to pull toward it, but for now his anchor holds.

Closer now... The last wards are breaking as it pushes forward. It is nearly at the edge of the circle... Just a little closer... 

The blade in the ground begins to tremble. It is holding, but he's not so sure about the earth it's holding on to. 

The creature's horrific snout comes to the edge of his last warding circle and he knows this is the only chance he has. He grasps the brand in his burned hand and lunges forward with it. The binding sigil burns into the creature's snout. He flings the iron aside, and raises his branded palm to the creature and begins the desperate spell.

As he recites the black twisted spell, the creature screams directly into his face, and he sees his own death. It screams again and he sees the doom of all living things. One final time and he witnesses the final doom of all existence. A vast barren wasteland under the red light of a dying star. It is filled into the horizon with broken and devoured things. All the accomplishments of man, and every other sentient creature, piled into the garbage heap of the universe and forgotten.

The scar on his palm is glowing the same sick red as the beast's eyes and they are both screaming... and then suddenly it is over. The creature is gone and color returns to the world.

He falls to his knees and passes out.

The light of morning awakens him, but he's not sure which morning. The hunger he feels tell him maybe it wasn't just one night. He wants a shower and a bed, but they are both many miles east, so there was nothing to do but walk.

He straps his sword back to his side and surveys this place one more time. He has most likely cursed this land, but it was for a good cause... Maybe.

He rubs the now blackened scar on his palm and then covers it with a glove.

"Well you're into some dark shit now, Adver... Better make it count."

Daybreak

Shady Oaks Retirement Home

Dorge reaches out toward the television remote. It is far away but he finally gets a finger on it and pulls it to his side. He clicks the button off and then sits upright.

Taking a deep breath, he swings his legs off of the bed and into a pair of slippers with smiling Captain America faces on the front. He then grabs his walker and an "old man hat" that he's been wearing since he was 25 and stands up. He is on a mission.

After shuffling his way to the door he makes his way out into the hall. It is a beautiful spring day and the shades have all been opened. Rays of sunlight fill the halls and a calming breeze rushes through the building.

Dorge walks slowly, but with purpose. "Finally." he thinks. "I can finally put this gripe to bed."

Staff and other residents greet him as he passes. He acknowledges them politely but doesn't chance to stop for conversation. First he must end something.

Door by door he shuffles down the hall. Cafeteria... rec room... lobby... visitors lounge... janitorial supply rooms... Finally he reaches the lonely door at the end of the hall. Adver's room.

He pushes open the door without bothering to knock and shuffles up to the side of the bed where Adver reclines with his head facing the windows. Adver is smiling faintly as the breeze flows through the room.

"Adver" Dorge begins, "I've done it. I finally finished Battlestar Galactica. I'm ready to discuss the ending now."

Adver says nothing.

"Adver? Turn your hearing aid up... I wanna talk about Starbuck and the..."

The wind caresses the room again.

Dorge stares a moment, then sighs.

Adver's eyes are closed and he still smiles faintly... Like someone dreaming of cheesecake and a really good cup of coffee. He says nothing. Adver is dead.

Dorge sits for a moment and then stands back up, supposing he should tell someone.

A breeze fills the room once more, and Dorge would swear that he heard a faint voice carried along with it.

"... too late, asshole."

A Thursday

Celestial Cycle 747289-24. Simulation Date: January 27th, 1982

Seemingly derelict research Station 5951483 floats in the heart of a great void. But deep within, behind miles of churning gears, pistons, and processors, a race of techno-organic researchers maintain a massive simulation. There is not a sound in any of the simulant tongues to accurately name their species, but the closest approximation would be the Zelytronomstoraelotromelafulkitusbilectarpelleribuburigarpaliformastelabilitrusafarnus. 

We'll call them the Z.

The lights are dim as Naxys 8 enters the lab. It's supervisor wants to make some last minute preparations for additions to the simulation and Naxys drew the short splixo-tube to work the late shift tonight. It waves an appendage of it's lower quadrant in front of a collection of screens and dials, and they burst to life in otherworldly colors. Information streams from the countless displays and with the 36 optical receptors of it's Exo-Suit, Naxys begins to absorb it.

Pre-occupied with it's preparations, Naxys has failed to notice it's boss, Remular 96, sitting at a desk in the corner.

(Translated from the Z language of beeps and boops.)

"Hello, Naxys 8" Remular almost whispers "Thank you for joining me this evening."

Naxys is startled for a moment but recovers. "Hello Remular" it says. "Ready to finish up for the week?" 

Remular stares blankly out of the airlock viewport for a little too long and then says "Yes. Yes. I am ready to finish." it stumbles slightly to it's support appendages and one of them sparks as the guidelights readjust. Remular always liked the older model Exo-Suits. 

"Load up subject 333, Naxys."

Naxys begins typing and adjusting keypads and dials with it's 16 robotic limbs and upon the main screen in the back of the lab, an image of what we would call a "Human" infant appears. 

The child is surrounded by data fields waiting for input. It is Remular's job to make final decisions on the values of these fields while Naxys delves into the programming functions and sets the creature's final levels.

"Okay, boss" Says Naxys. "We're ready to go. The software updated last cycle so I am required to inform that all 100% units shall be considered "Normal" while anything above or below that shall facilitate lesser or greater ability or deficiency."

"Yes, yes..." says Remular "I know how it works Naxys... I was running this system when your synthetic gyro-matrix was still on the assembly line." Remular 96 pours a cup of neutron-4 (we might call it coffee), and stands at the monitor slowly dripping it into it's synthetic taste receptors.

Naxys 8 chuckles, and it would sound like "XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEER" to our ears. 

"Alright boss... lets start with the basics." it says.

The following is a long exchange between the two coworkers because I don't feel like typing it out in story form anymore. Deal with it.

Naxys 8: Alright, first up, Social aptitude.

Remular 96: 3%.

N8: 3%. Got it. Now we have Cynicism

R96: ...500%. Wait, Will it go higher?

N8: Uh... Most simulations have shown that Cynicism levels above 242% tend to throw the data way out of the expected parameters... You sure you want it that high, boss?

R96: 500%, Naxys.

N8: You got it, boss. Now we have religious fervor.

R96: Have they updated the system with extreme negative values yet?

N8: They have but... Religious fervor below 0% tends to create physically hostile simulants toward religion and religious people in general. They're still working out the bugs.

R96: *sighing* Fine. 0%.

N8: Done.

"I know where this is going." Thinks Naxys 8. "Serial killer aaaaaall the way."

N8: Okay boss, now empathy.

R96: Lets do 200%.

N8: I knew it... Wait... 200%?

R96: Did my vocal projection stutter, Naxys 8?

N8: Well no... but.. Okay. *adjusts dials* Laziness?

R96: Lets make this Variable. I want to go from 200%-400% but mostly leaning on the high side.

Naxys XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEER's again, and says "This is gonna be one worthless dude, huh?". Remular says nothing. And an awkward silence fills the room.

N8: Boss. Uhm... Are you alright? You seem a little... Ya know... Off?.

R96: I'm fine Naxys. I'm fine. I'm fine. Or I would be fine... I would be fine if my SKURPLOX of a life-mate wasn't NEURAL LINKING WITH EVERYONE ON QUARXOT 5. I WOULD BE FINE IF NOT FOR THAT, NAXYS. DOES THAT SATISFY YOUR QUERY!?!?!?

A long silence passes. Finally Remular lift's it's cup and drips more Neutron-4.

R96: Lets... Lets just finish this Naxys.

N8: You got it, Boss. Uh... well this is awkward. Sex drive?

R96: 80% I guess. Until he learns that love is just awkward silent treatment in your own domicile, and petty arguments interspersed with a few fleeting good days.

N8: ......... Uhm.... And after that?

Out of optical receptor number 12 Naxys spies Remular opening an unidentified container and mixing it with it's Neutron-4. 

R96: *Chugging the Neutron-4 in one gulp* 1%.

N8: Do you think... Uhm... Do you think maybe we should check the guidebook?

R96: Naxys. I recharged here last night. I haven't left this lab in 2 cycles. My lifemate is neural linking with our Exo-suit tuneup specialist right now. Do you know that? I have video if you want to see. I have video.

N8: ...

R96: What's next? Creativity?

N8: Yeah, boss...

R96: 0% most days, but with the occasional burst of 500%. BUT!!!! The 500% swing can only ever be at inconvenient times of the day, or just before sleep. Far away from any outlets. You can do some if/then statements and fix that right up, right Naxys. You were top of your class you were. Top of your class.

N8: That 500% swing is really going to cause problems with the laziness matrix...

R96: I know how the laziness matrix works Naxys.

Now Remular is XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEERing.

Naxys thinks it could use some Neutron-4 itself but suddenly feels afraid to stand up from the workstation.

N8: Humor?

R96: Let's do 50% for normal humor... 250% for dark humor, and uh... what's chaos humor? This is new. What is that?

N8: Oh... that's still in testing phase but it is usable. Basically its finding humor in things that have no real comedy value. I bumped it to 50% in a closed beta last cycle and my simulant laughed for a solid hour at a picture of an aardvark. 

R96: We're gonna go 500% chaos humor, then.

N8: I dont think... I mean... The option is there but should you really...

Remular is staring out of the airlock again and Naxys suddenly feels like it should stop talking.

N8: Uhmm. Okay... Well. Respect and affection for friends and family?

R96: 500%.

N8: Oh... well that's nice. Desire for human interaction?

R96: 32%

N8: I'm sorry, was that 320%.

R96. Thirty. Two.

N8: *Naxys hesitates...* Any uhm... Specific quirks?

R96: Sneezing. Lets make it really bothersome if someone sneezes more than 3 times in a row. oh and body hair. Specifically lets make him notice immediately any time someone's nose hair has become part of a mustache or beard and be really disturbed by that. And not just you know "That's weird." but I mean like dwell on it all afternoon disturbed, you know?

N8: Uh. Will the body hair variable extend to facial hair... because this laziness matrix is going to require a vagrant beard probably... I dont know... 80% of the time?

R96: Yes. It will extend to that Naxys. Nothing will ever be done about the body hair. It will just be a weird thing that will bother him. The vagrant beard will be there and always an annoyance. I want it to look down upon hairy arms and think "Gods... What am I?" All of this will stem from an unnatural and unexplained distaste toward primates, but a keen knowledge that somewhere deep inside, it IS a primate.

Remular 96 XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEERs loudly, then XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEERs once again quietly, and trails off. Moments of silence pass as Naxys quietly types. It starts to wonder if it should contact HR. Maybe even security. But decides against it. This lab made Hitler, AND Richard Simmons after all... Who would blink an eye at this strange monstrosity he was creating.

N8: We're not um... We're not activating back-hair 2.0 for this are we?

R96: *Thinks a moment* No. that would be too much. That might just push it over the edge. No back hair. Lets touch on memory though... I want it to remember things differently than the others. He will be able to remember VERY important things, but things of moderate importance will be immediately lost. Useless information however will be retained forever. And any slights upon him by other simulants. He will remember forever in vivid detail every conversation or action that ever made him feel disrespected, and will be able to call up that information immediately when needed. He will recognize bullshit immediately, but only call it out when it directly affects him.

N8: Anything else...?

R96: Lets make him unable to take a compliment, and incredibly awkward at giving them. Any compliment should be met with sys. file "Whatever.ugr". XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEER Oh this'll be great... lets name him for greater men of his line. The holy one, and the mechanic. That'll get a laugh right Naxys? Right?

N8: Remular, I have warning lights everywhere here... The system... It's not going to let me do this. I think... Why dont we take a break, and just go somewhere and talk?. I feel like... You're having a rough time and you know... Maybe projecting a little bit?

R96: ... Maybe you're right Naxys... Maybe you're right.

Naxys sighs a bit of relief and reaches to reset the parameters for a later run. They could delay this child a day or two with no problem. But suddenly Naxys finds it's quadrant limbs non-functional, and with that, the rest of it's exo suit goes dark as Remular 96 shoves a borium rod through the motivator of it's exosuit.

R96: I'm sorry Naxys. I want you to know that I always liked you. Your audio sensors should still be active... I didnt hit your backup power. You'll be fine. You'll be back online in a cycle. I'm sorry. I know you do not see it now. But this creature will be happy. It may even be the happiest creature in the simulation. It will just be strange. And... That will be okay. They're just bits of data anyway... Hell you should see what they're working on down in section X... Trump 2016. They wont even bat an eye over it Naxys. They'll just go about their little lives like everything is normal. They'll just ignore it. That's what they do. This one will ignore it too. But this one will ignore EVERYTHING except the few things that are important to it's tiny little data processor. And maybe that's the key. Maybe that's the key. He'll gravitate toward humble simulants who are kind despite their nature, and simulants who arent so afraid to just like what they like and do what they want to do without worrying about shattering the precious little image they've crafted for themselves. He'll find very few of those. Very few indeed. Trump 2016, Naxys... Look it up sometime. Later. I would show you myself but... Well.

Remular 96 shakes it's neural cortex from side to side in sadness and then overrides all of the system warning parameters. He then uploads his creation for immediate queue. 

He downs another cup of laced Neutron 4, takes one last look out of the airlock viewport, then back at the seemingly lifeless Naxys 8. It then opens the airlock safety door and steps inside the isolation chamber. Remular 96 XXRTYREW-UOUOUOUOBLAEEEEERs loudly one more time, and then spaces itself.

IOU - 1 Dragon

Adver checked his watch.

He sat alone in his car in an empty parking lot. The rain was battering his windshield as his mind wandered. He thought the rain might actually fill the world this time... Like a cup left under a dripping faucet until it overflowed and drowned us all.

He tried to banish the incessant downpour by projecting himself backward in time to the last day he remembered without rain. He was a few moments into a memory of blue skies and bright sunny days when he realized he was only thinking of a movie he saw once, and he actually had no recollection of a time before the storm.

He was checking his watch once more when a car pulled into the lot and positioned itself opposite of his. It was Dorge.

It was very obviously Dorge... He knew his car... He could see him in the driver seat... But Dorge had insisted on an intricate headlight flashing code to signal that this exchange was a go. The lights began to flash in varying patterns... Long flash... several short flashes... a period of medium length flashes... Adver checked his email, and barely noticed it in his peripheral vision. He knew that Dorge didn't actually think this code was important... He just acted like he thought it was important because it would annoy Adver.

Finally, the flashing stopped. Adver returned no flashing reply and stepped out of the car into the downpour. Dorge followed suit, but with an umbrella, rain coat, and hat that made him seem like he belonged on the pages of some 1930's detective novel. Adver did not own an umbrella. It was maybe a little silly, but he always thought if he had one, it would just be one more thing to remember to carry with you, and look like a jackass when the weather forecast was wrong. How many times do you really get caught out in the rain in your life? Quite often lately... Maybe he should buy an umbrella.

Adver walked to the trunk of his car and it popped open. Dorge appeared from around the passenger's side. Inside the trunk was a long slender tube, double sealed to protect from the rain. A wraparound label visibly read "Spl-" and then trailed around the edge of the circular tube.

"That it?" Dorge asked eagerly. "Yup" Adver replied. Dorge was leaning his umbrella across his shoulder and spinning the tube in his free hand. "Everything looks in order." he said. "Yes" Adver replied, "It's all there... there's just the matter of the dragon...where is it?"

"The dragon?" Dorge looked annoyed... "I just told you with the headlights that there was a problem with the dragon..."

Adver sighed. "Dorge...She's not gonna like this... The deal was art for a dragon. Now you have the art... What do you think she's going to say when I return with no dragon?"

"Stall her" Dorge said "It's coming, I swear! There were just a few setbacks... Do you know how hard it is to transport one of those things? Besides, what were you going to do with a dragon anyway? You're just here in your little car?"

"My back seats lie forward to make the trunk larger..." Adver said absently while looking up into the streaming water... He was soaked to the flesh now, and his spirits were drowning with him. "No dragon." He thought. "How am I going to explain this."

"Fine" He said, wiping water from his face. "Take it... But I want an update on the dragon as soon as you know something."

Adver shut his trunk and walked back toward the driver door, his feet making splashing sounds as he went. The bottoms of his just slightly too long jeans were soaked. "But Dorge," he hesitated "If you don't deliver... You know she wont stop with just my head, right? This is a fine mess you've gotten me into."

Dorge said something that sounded like "It'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine" but he had already shut the door.

"No dragon." he repeated. "Well this is just lovely."

3 is the Limit

White lines.
They stretch on into the darkness at the edge of the headlights reach.
The car is silent. Adver's mind wanders. His passenger stares into the blackness at the side of the car.

Dorge stirs... He seems to be staring at an undetermined point in space.
"Uhh...Ahh.... ACHOOOOOO!!"

Adver says nothing. Assaulting people with "Bless you"s after their nasal passages have just exploded is insufferable.

The white lines keep flowing, like that scene at the end of Terminator.

"Ahh.... uhhh... ACHOOOOO!!!"

Adver follows the lines. Maybe he should turn on the radio. Maybe there should be some sound other than the road and...

"ACHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

His hands tense upon the wheel. "Surely he knows the rule." He thinks.

"Uhh..."

His inner voice screams. Dont do it.

"Ahhh..."

DONT

"ACHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He jerks the wheel hard right. The car leaves the ground. They're in a free roll now. Adver maintains a hate stare throughout the whirlwind of blood and metal. Dorge is... Is he... Laughing?



Adver startles awake at the sound of a passing truck. Fallen asleep at the rest area. Dorge is walking toward the car.

"Did...Did they have any coffee?" Adver mumbles.

"Nothing." Dorge says, "They had some chips though. Sea salt and black pepper. These are going to make me sneeze like crazy."

Adver's eyes narrow.

Everlasting(?) Love!

Hello readers.

It's February 14th, and that means it's time for O.A.D.S. to celebrate the futility of love. Even in popular fiction.

Aragorn dies.

And then Arwen wanders the forests of her long departed people, alone, and eventually dies of loneliness.

Flowers and hearts.

Clean

I never really expected to amount to much in life...

I was an aspiring writer who was too lazy to write. An aspiring sketch artist who never really had the talent to merit continued work. An aspiring musician who grew to hate playing music. All of these things were products of my youth, and their excitement burned itself out by the time I was 25.

I spent the latter part of my 20's playing video games, and working in an office. I didn't hate the job. Didn't love it either. But it paid the bills. And the games kept me blissfully sedated and mostly unaware of how much I despised everything.

Everything about me was pretty average and unexciting. Until everything changed.

For now, I'll tell you how I came to be standing outside this bank in the rain, about to do something very illegal... about to finally make a name for myself.


I rolled into my 30's without much fanfare. Life continued as it always does. Work, home, video games, feed the dog, sleep, repeat. The monotony of it never got to me. In fact I loved it. But at some point I started wondering about my legacy... What would I be leaving behind in this world? I call myself an agnostic, for the simple fact that it implies to people that I don't give enough of a shit about their views on god to even argue about it with them (Doesn't stop most of you... But you cant blame a guy for trying.), but if we're being straight up honest, I really don't believe in anything, or even entertain the possibility that I should.

So to me... when you die, you die. That's just how it is... Boom, game over folks.

And my game over was looking more and more like it would be quite uneventful.

Things got worse when I lost my job. Economy was rough... Unemployment only goes so far. My family was having it just as rough as I was. I didn't know what to do. Didn't know who to turn to. But that's when I discovered my special gift... and everything changed from that point on.

All the bills were overdue... I was going to lose my house if I didn't get things straight. Nobody was hiring people of my particular skills. So like many who are backed into a corner by the system, I started looking for other ways to pay the bills. Ways outside of the system... Outside of the law.

It started small... a gas station here or there... A jewelry store... I pulled off an armored car once. The thrill of it was getting to me. And so I decided to go bigger and bigger. Push my limits. See what I could really do. The jobs became higher profile, and I started to get a reputation around town as someone who could get things done.

The thing was, nobody could understand how I was doing it. I was never very subtle about anything... I didn't worry about alarms or police. Locks would open without me even touching them... Police in pursuit would suddenly crash their cars, or fall to the ground choking. It was like I was untouchable. Invincible. Nobody could figure out how I was pulling it off.

I was becoming a legend. A god.


I got wind of a job from a jewel fence I'd been working with... Aside from my type of smaller potatoes dealings, he handled some pretty high profile activity in town... Score of a lifetime he called it. "Right up your alley" he said. All I had to do, was get into the most heavily fortified vault in town, and retrieve a disc from a safe deposit box number 3127 for a very wealthy client. The reward was left to my discretion, so I jokingly threw out a number. "5 Mil. up front." I said "And another 5 on delivery." My fence didn't laugh. Didn't even blink. He just said "Let me make some calls." and an hour later the job was mine, and my bank account looked a whole lot different.

So here I am. Standing in the rain. 3 PM was the appointed hour. It is 2:59.

As the minute hand rolls over I begin walking. I stop at the door to shake the rain from my coat. Stepping inside I remove it and hang it on the coat rack by the door. I will not be retrieving it later. I am not concerned with leaving evidence. When I'm finished here, it will matter little.

I glance at the private security officers roaming the main room. They are armed and wary. I walk to the counter and a smiling woman in red asks me if she can help. I tell her that I am here to retrieve an item from a safe deposit (which has been set up for me by my fence). She calls to another employee, takes my info, and we begin walking.

Suddenly everything goes to shit.

Some punk kid has pulled a gun at one of the tellers. The next few seconds involve a lot of screaming. A gun goes off. I'm not sure who it belonged to. My escort drops to the floor and I run for the stairs. I know that he sees me go. The guards will be right behind me. Of all the fucked up luck.

I reach the deposit room floor but find that I'm barred by a key card door. There are sounds of people coming up the stairs behind me. Security has been alerted. It's now or never.

I turn back to the door and concentrate on the space between the door and the wall. I close my eyes and squeeze my fists tightly as the door starts to pop, crack, and finally collapse in upon itself from the built up pressure. Score one more for "special gifts".

I make a mad dash down the right hall toward the number 3 section, where I will find my safe deposit box. Unfortunately, because of the incident downstairs and the building wide alarm that I am noticing for the first time, I find the vault door locked. It is a thick steel door... I could pop it with my abilities, given enough time and concentration... small spaces are tough to visualize... especially when I'm being hurried. But larger spaces... Like the room behind. Those are much easier.

I step a safe distance from the door, but just as I'm about to start concentrating one of the guards rounds the corner and a shot is fired. These guys are playing for keeps...

He is a terrible shot, but his buddy behind him might be better... I don't have time for this...

They both level their weapons at me, and instinctively I pulled my hands up to shield my face... There is a 'whoosh' sound... and suddenly... Wash cloths.

The corridor is filled, side to side, top to bottom with a ten foot thick wall of tightly packed wash cloths.

I hear the muffled sound of their guns on the other side. But the bullets are useless against my power. And now I have time to deal with this door.

I kneel down and focus all of my energies within... I visualize the other side of that door, and start filling the room with as many wash cloths as I can possibly imagine. Seconds pass and I can hear the hinges on the door start to creak and buckle. I concentrate now on the spaces between the already tightly packed wash cloths. I will more wash cloths into those spaces. More and more until every centimeter of possible space has been filled. Then I pushed a little more.

The door buckles and topples outward. I grin, and with a thought the flood of wash cloths pouring from the room disappears.

I glance back at my protective wall just to make sure I didn't dismiss it as well, but find it to be perfectly sound. The gunshots have stopped... the guards must be standing on the other side trying to understand what just happened.

Entering the deposit room I immediately find the box I need and fill the spaces around it's door with wash cloths. The hinges pop and I see my prize. But, strangely... It's not a disc. It's a disk. A 3.5 inch floppy to be exact... Old if the label is any indication. I bring it closer to my face to read the fading ink label.

"Big Burl and his Big Burly Band?"... What is this shit?

Whatever. Pocketing the disk, I decided it was time to make my grand exit.

With a thought I dismiss my wash cloth wall. The stunned guards try to reach for their guns, but they immediately find that each of them has a wash cloth lodged in their throat. It's really hard to breath with a wash cloth in your throat. Several of their friend's meet the same unfortunate fate as I make my way to the roof exit.

Looking over the edge of the building I see that the police have arrived and are canvasing the exits. They think there is no escape for anyone inside. They neglect a small alley between the bank and the apartment building next door because there is no exit there, or in the back. I step to the edge of the roof and concentrate my power into the alley... a small row of stacked wash cloths begins to form at street level... it rises and rises up 6 stories until it reaches the roof.

After crossing my wash cloth bridge, I dismiss it and look back toward the building. Time to finish this.

This was the biggest undertaking I had ever attempted. But I had to know if it could be done. It was time that everyone knew what I was capable of. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists and began to channel my energies. From side to side, top to bottom... I tried to visualize every inch of the building I'd just left. Everything. I was going to fill everything.

My hands were shaking and I could feel that my nose was bleeding... At first I questioned if my ability was even working on this scale... But then I heard people yelling to get out... I heard screaming...windows popping... Foundations cracking... It was working.

It took longer than usual... But eventually I managed to compromise the structure of the entire building, and it toppled outward. Spilling into the streets as rubble and multicolored wash cloths. I would not be dismissing this mountain of fabric. It was going to stay right here as a testament to my power. From now on... Nothing could stop me. Nothing could stand in my way. I am a god.

It started so simple all those years ago... All I wanted was to find a clean wash cloth and I discovered I could conjure them at will. At first I thought it was the stupidest super power I'd ever heard of. But slowly I came around... Slowly I realized that it's not about 'what' you can do... It's about 'how' you use it.


In all the panic and confusion it was nothing for me to exit the building next door playing the part of the panicked bystander. I slipped away from the police barricades and news reporters. Down the next street to freedom. Smiling all the way.

"You did very well." came a woman's voice from the back of a car. It was the woman in red from the bank.

"You've passed my employers little test with ease. You even survived the wrench he threw in your plan."

The other robber. It had all been set up.

"Oh don't look so worried..." she said. "The deal is still on. The remainder of your funds have been deposited, plus a 10% bonus for the extra... inconvenience." she nodded toward the mountain of wash cloths. "I'll take the disk now, please."

I hand her the disk, and she hands me a card.

"Call us in two days time. There will be more work for you."

"What's on that disk anyway?" I ask.

"Personal matter from my employers past. It is best you do not inquire." She places the disk inside a black case and sets it aside. "Wont you be needing a code name or something? Isn't that how this works? Perhaps 'Wash Cloth Man'? Cloth King?"

I didn't like either of those.

"No."

I looked back toward the remnants of the building. The monument to my power.

"From this day forth, you can call me... Fabric Forger."



The End?