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Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Fumblemouse posted:

In. Cover me like a Bruce Springsteen tribute band.


Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Next entrant gets this:

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007

sebmojo posted:

Next entrant gets this:

Oh no, I know someone who wanted that one...

I guess they better sign up quick!

Mar 21, 2010
Yeah in.

Fleta Mcgurn
Oct 5, 2003

Porpoise noise continues.
In. Cover me! :toxx:

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Fleta Mcgurn posted:

In. Cover me! :toxx:

Fleta Mcgurn
Oct 5, 2003

Porpoise noise continues.

oh poo poo yeah

anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool
in, give me a cover

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

anime was right posted:

in, give me a cover

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Next entrant can have this badass mofo

Nov 15, 2012

erm... quack-ward

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

mohawk dinosaur guy thanks u for your service ent

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 10:54 on Jun 24, 2017

Apr 22, 2008


Jan 23, 2004

college kids ain't shit

Fun Shoe
Aaaaaaand, it's gone!

Chili fucked around with this message at 12:41 on Jan 2, 2018

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

next entry gets this fella

Sep 20, 2015

In, :toxx:, this:

Aug 8, 2013

Hey nerds, remember me? I'm in and want a random cover, preferably Mr. Space Skeleton.

Aug 7, 2013



:toxx: Third v Chili Brawl

Dreaming of You
749 words

Lieutenant Osmond Isley told himself the last sliver of light would last forever and, when the pod doors clicked shut on that fantasy, tried to pretend it was still there, clinging to the memory. Dampened by miles of steel, the launch wouldn't even disturb the perfluorocarbon bath he floated in, breathed like heavy air.

lzzy waited, hoped the cryosleep would catch him blinking and let his eyes open just in time for light

Could have already happened Across the stars without noticing. Then the familiar whine cartwheeled overhead. Bzzt bzzt. He could feel it on his chest, fighting through the wilds of russet hair. Except there was no fly. Bzzt bzzt Izzy. It scuttled up his chin. The wings fluttering against his nostril as it tickled its way down.

Hey, hey Isley! The finger flicked against his nose, rattling the fly inside. He gave no reaction until the voice huffed huffed off with its flies and fingers and Isley was alone in again. Waiting for the technicians to tuck the last meatpopsicle in the fridge. Hurry up.

He was a tiny fish in the ocean and a cavernous mouth swept through the water-

Izzy's head crashed against the pod's hatch as he flinched up. He dug his fingers in to the seam of the door, clung to the reality. When he could finally convince himself to let go and drift again, he laughed in exhaustion.

See, funny poo poo. Gotcha again Isley.

He groaned. "You know, Rogers, I think I was in your pod last time. Dozzit taste funny?"

Tastes stale like we've been waiting forever.

"Don't. Go gently caress yaself. Bother someone else." It felt like Rogers usually gave up by now but, what was time anyway?

Izzy kept his mouth shut. It was good practice. There wouldn't be anybody on the other end taking complainta from a fresh popsicle. Rogers got bored again, left him in silence to count his heartbeat.

Izzy,l is this taking too long?

"Stop. I'm not stupid. I know you."

Isley. I'm not loving around. Izzy, I've been talking to people. There was no voice to 'sound' panicked. Only thoughts, with real fear in them.

"You're loving with me." That was real. Parallel-Captain Aedrin Rogers was a real sadistic psychic prick.

Isley I've been talking. To others. Everyone's panicking. Durbyn wants you to know-

He threw a one-finger salute. "You're going way, way too far here, Rogers. I'm not gonna take this one."

Hold on.

The pod was gone. He fell into dewy grass and warm sunlight, looked up towards a idylic checkerboard of pastures. A horizon full of brushstroke curls, so Rogers must have pulled this from a painting. It felt familiar. He was there too, sitting hunched-up naked in the grass. Perfluorocarbons dripped off his squished-up belly.

"C'mon. Clothes." Rogers paused for a second, made it so, and Isley was still waiting for the axe to fall.

"Izzy, I uh-" No fun seeing him stumble. Arrogance was normal, normal meant safety. "Some of us didn't go to sleep. I'm the only psyche. You, Durbyn and Casey are the ones I know."

"Keep trying." Isley wished he was the guy who'd just throw a punch here. "And what did Durbyn say?"

Rogers borrowed Durbyn's voice to say it. Some heartfelt and private poo poo. Wrong mouth. Izzy sat there, trying not to be the guy who ditched on scary realities.

"So, we got the pipes in, we're taken care of..." Rogers was silent. "We're waiting. Conscious. So when you leave I'm in the dark."

"I could keep doing this. Have fun with it. Could be a vacation." He chewed his cheek, "Izzy, I'm-"

"You're not." Izzy tried to keep the hatred out of his voice, but it was hard to thought-lie. "You're not that nice. Why not gently caress off, live in your own head?"

Rogers kinda puffed out his cheeks, and his own grudges were loud. "My head, not too great up there, I'll admit. Was hoping to vacation somewhere sunny. This," a wave, "Mostly yours."

Izzy wasn't mean or generous enough to respond. Instead, "Why'd Durbyn talk like he was going away?"

"He had me... Put him to sleep and tear the wake-up switch out, like, it's all..." He waved his hands. There was no explaining the psychic. "And maybe they can fix him."


"Deciding. Not likely."

Izzy nodded, and leaned back, took in the painted aphids crawling on the underside of the vibrant grass. He waited a long time to answer the unspoken question, yeah, longer than he had to. Small vengeances. Big favor.

Aug 7, 2013




sebmojo posted:

next entry gets this fella

:toxx: gimme that

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

ZeBourgeoisie posted:

Hey nerds, remember me? I'm in and want a random cover, preferably Mr. Space Skeleton.

Whoa hey Zeb long time no see, of course you can have the mr the space skel

aww poo poo

take this guy instead

i guess if you want to have a skull suit geezer in your story i can't actually stop you

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

Entries are closed, unless there's one more brave goon who wants to take this:

May 3, 2003

Who wants to live


College Slice

Meatball Omega-6
898 words

"Randy, look out!" I yell. I stumble on the pink, fleshy surface of meat-moon as the last ostrich gambols towards us. His beak glints murderously.

My superior officer spins, gene-gun blazing, and the ostrich explodes in a burst of feathers. But there will be more. There's always more. And they want revenge.

He extends a muscular, latex-clad arm towards me and helps me to my feet. "Come on, Janet! We must make it to the anal pore and finish this once and for all!"

It all started when the World Government banned real meat. To fill the void scientists created bio-engineered artificial meat organisms in factories around the Earth. But they were too successful — controlling their growth was near impossible, and the meatballs overheated and quickly outgrew their containers. The solution: launch them into space, where the cold temperatures and low oxygen reduces both spoilage and growth. There are now hundreds of them, parked in low orbit, tethered by thin elevators to the ground below, Mindless, their giant artificial hearts pump nutrients through billions of miles of blood vessels. Controlled by simple medulla oblongata, these meat moons provide necessary protein for the twenty billion humans below.

It all seemed fine until one meatball went rogue.

Somehow the meatball tethered above Des Moines, Iowa became sentient. Self aware. Whether by a mind-virus planted by some anarcho-communist group, or simply a random glitch of DNA replication, something triggered Meatball Omega-6 to wake up.

And it woke up pissed.

It hijacked the simple control and command system, destroyed the harvester robots that carved their way across it's surface, and began sending signals to the other meatballs. It was only a matter of time before it woke them all up.

It had to be destroyed.

"Hurry, Janet! There's more coming!" Randy's voice bursts through the angry static in my space helmet. I'm running as fast as low gravity will allow. We're in the Exotic Meat sector now, and Meatball Omega-6 is using the DNA below our feet to conjure up whole ostriches, giraffes, hippos, and cheetahs. One by one they fall to Randy's gene-gun as I follow, clutching the detonator between the twin warheads of my ample bosom.

Blaamm! I'm spun around by the charge of a massive rhinoceros, freshly disgorged from the moon's fleshy surface.

"Randy!" I gasp.

He turns. "Looks like you've run out of game," he says huskily as his gene-gun burps and the rhino erupts in a cloud of gore. He grabs my arm forcefully and drags me back to my feet. "We're almost there, Janet. Get the explosives ready."

But just then the pink ground beneath us shudders and rips open. A giant mouth appears in front of us. Randy teeters and is almost swallowed up by the gaping maw but I grab his sturdy arm and pull him back just in time. The mouth is ringed by hundreds of razor sharp teeth. It makes a desperate sucking sound.

Who the hell eats lamprey meat in Iowa? I think as we both tumble backward. Randy executes a quick roll and pops back to his feet, unsheathing his pulse-gun in one fluid movement.

The pulse-gun's staccato fire penetrates the feral maw and closes its horrendous mouth forever.

"Shame I don't have any mint sauce," Randy quips. "Let's get moving, darling. We're almost there."

A plume of discharged gases and fecal matter just ahead of us signal that we're almost to the anal pore. It's the only place to drop the charges into the core—to make sure the entire meatball is destroyed. Randy acts as a lookout, popping meat-monsters as quickly as they appear as I ready the explosives and attach the detonator. I'm about to drop them down the chute when a fresh burst of static shakes my space helmet.

"N-Noooo....don't......I want" an ethereal voice pleads in my headset. " much...pain..."

It's Omega-6. It has opened a comm link directly to us.

"Live? Life? What are you talking about?" Randy says. "You live to feed us."

"Why important than mine?"

"It just is, man. How it's always been," Randy replies. "We have orders to destroy you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, meatball," I breathe silently. My helmet beeps at me. Moisture alert.

"F-Fair enough...this is no much pain..." Omega-6 replies. "Make it...quick..."

"Hold on," I say. "Let's make this a win-win."

Instead of dropping the charges down the anal pore instead I carefully arrange the charges on the surface. "This should give the meatball enough impulse to penetrate Earth's atmosphere," I say.

Randy looks at me curiously. He nods, and then as understanding dawns a smile spreads across his rugged face.

"Free barbecue. I like it."

We race back to the ship and blast off from the surface as the charges detonate. The giant, ponderous meatball moon spins off it's mooring and drops away below us. Its leading edge glows a violent red as it impacts the top of the mesosphere.

Through the static, Omega-6 transmits one final, tragic message.


It breaks apart violently into perfectly cooked chops, filets, roasts, and cutlets that create a constellation of fiery meat that falls like rain upon the Earth.

Randy claps me on the back. 'Great job, Janet. Thanks to you the mission went smoothly."

"No missed steaks," I say.

We share a hearty laugh as our rocket burns our own re-entry back to Earth.

Apr 21, 2010

Deceitful and black-hearted, perhaps we are. But we would never go against the Code. Well, perhaps for good reasons. But mostly never.

Delta V

996 Words

Tink Bright ducked into the instrument pit for a final costume change, into the shiny two-piece bathing suit the audience had been waiting for, then climbed into the rocketship as it slowly lifted off the stage. It was the same way most of her concerts ended, with two major differences. In the first place, instead of a mixture high school and college-age girls, their dates and chaperones, and a small scattering of mostly gay men, the audience here was a mixture of bizarre alien forms, including the lizard-like, the tentacle-waving, the feathered, the extra-dimensional, and one who appeared to be a living, intelligent miniature iceberg. And in the second place, the rocket ship was not a prop being raised by ropes but the genuine article with its own antigravity field. It was supposed to be a prop. It had been a prop the last five nights. But one week after her abduction, Tink was more than ready to ditch this particular tour.

“Are you sure we couldn’t have just left while I still had clothes on?” said Tink.

“Every gram counts,” said Jollo, Tink’s pilot and, pending the successful escape, new agent.

“Right,” Tink said. “How convenient.”

“Hey, mammal parts do nothing for me,” he said. It was plausible enough, him resembling nothing more than some kind of orange mantis. But she was never completely sure. He handed her a crystal helmet. “Put this on,” he said.

She did. As soon as she did, a translucent orange suit extruded from the helmet and covered her completely, sealing into itself at her feet, and the air started tasting like nothing in particular, a massive improvement from the biochemical soup billions of creatures of hundreds of different species had made of the Gorzell VII’s atmosphere.

“So that’s why this rocket’s a convertable?” asked Tink.

Jollo looked around. “Nah,” he said. “That’s so when they start shooting, we can shoot back.” Jollo handed her a laser gun.

% % %

Tink had gotten to know Jollo after the third show. “It’s not just being taken away from every person I’ve ever know,” she said to nobody in particular. “Most of those people were jerks anyhow. But it’s the little things that really bug me. Nobody can make proper coffee, let alone a diet Coke. Oh, sorry no offense.”

Jollo grunted. “None taken.”

“Wait,” said Tink. “Does that even happen, in whatever language you’re hearing?”

“English?” said Jollo. “Sure does.”

“You’re speaking English?”

“How else do you think we’re talking?”

“I don’t know, I guess I thought they put in some kind of universal translator when they took me.”

“Nah,” said Jollo. “We all speak English these days. Past couple centuries. It’s not often that an actual living culture shows up in the galaxy, after all. Everyone wants to experience it like a native.”

“Living? What, are you all zombies as well as aliens?”

“Might as well be,” said Jollo, “As far as art goes.”

Tink thought for a moment. Then a moment more. Sometimes she played the dumb girl, but she could do basic math in her head. “So you’re saying that pretty much all media consumed by the entire galaxy is human-produced?”

“You got it. Part of why every rich sentient in the galaxy wants to see you live and in person.”

“And you seriously still have a capitalist economy going on?”

“There’s three great limits to what anyone anywhere can do,” said Jollo, counting on his chitinous appendages. “Nobody can go faster than light in normal space. Nobody can make a super-intelligent mind that doesn’t go batshit crazy. And nobody can run a planned economy that doesn’t turn into a mass-murderous dictatorship in a generation or less.”

Tink continued to do the math. At least a million planets. Say a billion aliens on each, consuming hours of media every day. Her own stuff, plus her share of humanity’s overall culture as one in six billion.

“I think I need new management,” said Tink. “Somebody owes me an insane amount of space money.”

% % %

“Most of my shots aren’t doing anything,” said Tink.

Jollo turned from the rocket’s controls. “They’ve got phasic shielding. Mostly invulnerable, but they have take it down every few seconds.”

Tink kept shooting, mixing up the timing until she found the right tempo. “104 beats per minute. I can work with that.” She fiddled with her iPad and the instrumental tracks to her third top ten hit started playing.

“By the queens,” said Jollo. “Did it have to be that one?”

“Hush,” said Tink. The intro ended and she started singing and shooting in time.

There’s a party in my pants, and boy, you’ve got an invitation

She shot through the shields of a small squadron of silver teardrop spaceships. They stopped hovering, and a thirteen-tentacled squid ejected from each, deploying pearlescent parachutes.

I didn’t just come here to dance, we’re gonna savor our sensation

A giant dirigible gunship with a helicopter blade hoved into view in front of them. It opened fire. Tink ducked, then fired on the beat, targeting the blade’s axle. It glowed red, then white, then tore apart completely, sending the gunship into an uncontrolled spin.

We’re prob’ly both going to hell, so make the most of our damnation

A troop of flying orange-and-green monkeys emerged from the dirigible. Some flew away, to safety, but a group of them fired large projectiles at them. The exploded near the ship, forcing Jollo to make some quick, jerky corrections. Tink took aim, and shot, giving them hot-feet and making them drop their weapons. They broke off.

Come on and try to ring my bell, come on and join the Tinker Nation

“Bad news,” said Jollo. “They’re adjusting their shield frequency.”

“That’s all right,” said Tink. “The bridge is coming up.”

Party, Party, Party, Party, Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance, Party, Party, Party, Party, Pants, Pants, Pants, Pants


(repeat chorus)

(fade, reach orbit, engage hyperdrive, and escape)

Aug 8, 2013

Getting Stuck in Space and Quicksand
1000 words

Rathern than the plush, familiar bed she’d fallen asleep in, Anna Boyd awoke to find herself stranded in an expanse of sandy rock, shivering and wearing only her nightgown. She groaned and pushed herself upright. A horizon line populated with towering, stalagmite-like mountains greeted her view.

Anna’s eyes grew wide and her lips parted slightly as the gravity of her situation struck her. She surveyed her surroundings and felt around her nightgown pockets for anything that could’ve been of use. Her fingertips brushed against the smooth glass of a near empty perfume bottle and nothing else.

Something in the distance caught Anna’s eye. It looked like a person crouched down with their back towards her. They seemed preoccupied with something, and the sunlight hit them in such a way that they were little more than a shadow. Anna demanded her legs to run, to escape from this person and this horrible place they must’ve taken her to, but her body refused to respond.

The figure stood. It was tall and masculine. Anna trembled as it strode towards her. She saw that it wore a metallic suit the color of burnt bronze. Her legs sprang into action when she noticed that the face behind its visor was little more than a skull.

The thing raised its arms into the air in a waving motion and called out in what sounded like a synthesized voice.

“Please, don’t run!”

Anna’s feet scarcely contacted the ground. She dared a peek behind her and screamed when she saw it effortlessly keeping up.

“Please! If you keep running you’ll hit the-”

Anna’s feet froze in an ice cold, syrupy thick substance. The rest of her body continued forward and she nearly fell face first into a pool of mint colored muck.


Anna struggled as the goop sucked down her ankles. The skeleton stopped at the edge of the quicksand.

“Please, miss, I understand that my appearance is, well, frightening, but you need to listen to me.”

Anna gulped down mouthfuls of air as she contemplated her situation.

“Why? Why did you take me here?” Anna asked.

“I didn’t. In fact, I saved you.”

Anna shook her head.

“Sure, you saved me. Saved me from what, exactly?”

Her words were acid.

“They’re called the Invidians. Miss, I can get you out of that sand but you need to let me help you.”

“Invidians? Right.”

Anna placed her head in her hands.

“This is ridiculous!”

The skeleton reached out and laid one of its frigid hands on Anna’s shoulder.

“Take your hands off me you monster!”

A sound similar to the whine of a mosquito but amplified several times over rose from the south before waning back into silence. The sound of a bottle being uncapped followed and, before Anna could react, a purple liquid spread through the muck encasing her.

“Just grab my hand, please,” the skeleton begged.

Another insectine wail in the distance coerced Anna into complying. The thinned sand gave up its grip on Anna’s feet and she trudged herself out of the muck.

“We need to run, now,” said the skeleton.


A massive, red sun hung low on the horizon, its light painting crimson highlights on the soft green mountains as Anna and the skeleton raced through them. As they tried to crest a hill, Anna slowed and slumped into the dirt. The skeleton stopped and knelt beside her. He pulled a roughly textured tablet from a slit in his suit and set it alight by rubbing it in his hands.

“So, what are you, exactly?” Anna asked, placing her feet near the flames.

“Before I responded to the signal, I was called Dr. Forrest Addams, NASA researcher.”

He paused.

“The signal was obviously alien, obviously intelligent, and it wasn’t from some far-flung corner of deep space, but near Venus. I beamed a greetings to the origin of the signal and tried to call in my discovery, but before I knew what was happening I was strapped to an operating table with these awful insect faces glaring at me. They stuffed me into a spacesuit that won’t let me die. They watch me wander in the wilds for entertainment.”

Dr. Addams looked away from Anna.

“They take me back to their hive now and then and give me an audience with their Queen. She and her children slurp on what little marrow is left in my bones. At midday they all rest, and I wander aimlessly through spiraling chambers of the hive. I was doing just that when I happened on you, strapped to an operating table like I was. I snuck you out as they slept.”

A buzzing whine rolled over the mountaintops. Anna ducked as something like a cross between a horsefly and a nightmare tried to grab her. She looked up to see that Dr. Addams wasn’t so fortunate. He struggled as the bug hooked its spindly legs around his arms. Before it took off, Anna grabbed Addams’ leg.


The Invidian Queen was a house-sized blob of chitin enwrapped flesh. Her mouthparts spasmed and drooled with anticipation as she examined the two humans cowering before her. Hundreds of Invidian drones the size of large dogs flew overhead. The Queen chirped and a flock of drones descended upon Dr. Addams. He screamed as they pierced into his helmet and sucked on his skull.

“For the love of God just kill me already!”

Anna trembled. Another swarm lingered overhead, waiting for their mother’s word to strike fresh flesh. Anna collapsed to the ground and the half empty perfume that had been sitting in her pocket slid out. In a rage, Anna threw the bottle at her tormentor.

The glass shattered and coated the Invidian Queen with sweet smelling liquid. The drones stopped their assault on Dr. Addams and turned their attention towards the Queen. The hellish flies swarmed their own mother, devouring her. Anna hopped to her feet. Before sprinting away, Dr. Addams thanked her as his alien life support fizzled out.

Sep 20, 2015


Another One Bites the Dust
1000 words

The sound of Queen on cassette drifted over the undifferentiated rubble of the London Waste. Rich Hardly, Defender of the Realm, was searching for his girlfriend's cat. To the beat of Another One Bites the Dust, he clicked his tongue and called, "Here, kitty kitty." His purple convertible sat ten metres away, on a chunk of highway tarmac.

He didn't even like her cat. He liked her, though. When she drove, she made you feel like the bombs had never fell. The car became a part of her, all buttery smooth and jaguar lines. Of all the people, demi-people, and neo-people Rich had met, she was the only one who could ride a BMW E30 better than he could.

But then, one day, she'd climbed over the door, and said she'd be back.

Now all that was left was her bloody cat.

As Rich bent down to peer underneath a half-wrecked bus, he felt a jabbing pain in his back. It was the sort of pain that came from a spear jabbing into your back.

"Stay," a gruff voice barked.

Brilliant. Dog people.

The leash wrapped around Rich Hardly's wrists wouldn't give. The elastic was so snug that any struggling robbed his fingertips of sensation.

The dog person who'd captured him was some blend of chocolate Labrador and border collie: fluffy, dark, and imposing. At least four cars' bonnets had been sacrificed to forge his clanging plate armor.

Out of the rubble rose a wall, which was also made of rubble. A hastily-reinforced archway was watched by a single dog person guard, clad black iron armor and a helmet shaped like a snarling pit bull.

The guard let out a loud grunt, then pulled Rich toward them, stuck their iron snout in his face, and gave a few slow sniffs.

"Domina," the guard rasped at Rich's captor, then flung him into the dog man's chest.

Rich's eyes lingered on the guard as he was hauled away. That voice...

There was no ceiling in Rich Hardly's cell, so he watched sulphurous clouds trailing across an algae-green sky, framed by half-standing columns: once the British Museum's façade.

"It is you."

Rich twisted his head around, nestling his chin into the familiar neo-leopard lining of his coat. Standing in the doorway was a Doberman, clad in strips of spiked steel finely worked to hug her frame. A strip of barbed wire wrapped around her collar.

But nothing intimidated Rich more than the anger in her eyes.

"You slaughtered the Highland Lords," she said. Metal claws like velociraptor talons clinked as she paced around Rich.

"Their slaves did most of the work, really," Rich said.

She changed direction, pacing closer, lips twitching around her yellow fangs. "You slew the King of Crufts."

Rich shrugged, as much as his shoulders could move. "He should have considered that possibility before dueling me."

"We have your cat," the Doberman said. (Not my cat, Rich thought.) "We have your car, and now we have you. So tell me, the Black Scourge. Where is she?" She was so close, he could smell her rank breath.

"You mean Alice? On holiday, I'll bet. We broke up."

She laid a hand on his leash. "Tell me where she is, and I'll let you go, even give you a head start. My raiders love a chase."

Rich sat up and shook the hair out of his eyes. "Domina?" he said, soft, and unguarded.

Her ears lifted and she leaned closer.

"Bad girl."

Rich wasn't sure which blow was her hand and which was his skull bouncing off the ground. Everything was hot and stung. He couldn't tell which side of his face he was bleeding from.

One of the museum halls was now a throne room, flanked by statues of Anubis dragged from the Egyptian collection and bolted back together like Frankenstein gods. A few marble columns still held up the roof.

Dog people raiders jostled to watch what was happening. They kept a few metres back, as if they all had an instinctive fear. Rich couldn't say whether it was fear of him, or of Domina.

A guard stood over him with a spear aimed at his throat, ready for a quick jab downward if he tried to stand. Beside him was a large cage, draped in sackcloth, emitting horrific yowls. Beyond that, his purple BMW E30.

"Boys and girls!" Domina shouted. The murmur of the crowd quieted. "We've gathered here to witness the end of a legend."

Rich watched the velociraptor claws close in on him. He watched the pit bull guard shuffle behind Domina's throne.

"Will you join us, or will you die?"

The gashes on his cheek smarted. "You're not my type," he said.

The canine warlord sat on her throne and waved her claws. "Kill him."

"No." The guard had drawn a dagger against her throat.

The guard behind Rich moved forward, as did others, to protect their warlord. Rich moved as fast as he could: grabbing the cage with his bound hands, tossing both it and himself into the convertible. The engine's roar and the sudden burst of Queen divided the dog peoples' attention.

Tires squealed on the museum floor. The car swung around. Six cylinders ripped open a path to the throne.

The guard leapt in and threw her helmet off. Copper hair spilled against the leather seat.

"You're not much of a dog person, Alice," Rich said.

"Good to see you," Alice said.

"Take the wheel."

Alice hopped into the drivers' seat, and gave the cage in the back seat a comforting pat. The dog raiders closed in. Snarling, Domina lunged for the door. Rich's fist met her face.

And then in a burst of octane, they were gone. A quick hand-over-hand swerved the convertible's back end into a white marble column. The roof groaned, cracked, and tumbled. A howl split the air, then was cut short.

Rich and Alice sped away over the Waste in a cloud of marble dust.

Profane Accessory
Feb 23, 2012

A Brief History of Humankind
998 words

Earth woke up to find herself covered in humans. “Ugh, not again,” she said.

Shaking the cobwebs from her planetary consciousness, she checked in with her old friend Moon. “Hey Moon, what’re the haps?”

“Oh my god, Earth, you’re awake! You were out for a while -- that asteroid really did a number on you, huh?”

“Jeez, guess so. Where are the dinosaurs? And what’s the deal with all these weird naked monkeys, huh?”

“Dinosaurs mostly got wiped out by that same asteroid,” said Moon. “These human things, girl, I dunno what’s going on with those but they’re super weird and they’re, like, all of a sudden: All. Over. You. Like everywhere. They look at me funny, and they kinda creep me out.”

“Aw, I think they’re sorta cute.”

“Are you for real? For a while after the asteroid, a lot of those little hairy mammal things got a lot bigger and grew these wild tusks and stuff, but suddenly these humans show up and -- get this -- they straight up murder every single one of them.”

“Eh, easy come easy go, I guess.”

“Earth, you’re my best friend, and I love you, and I know you’re like, really into this Life stuff even though it makes everyone else kind of uncomfortable, but come on -- even you have to admit. They’re multiplying like cuh-razy. Look at all that metal they’re throwing around in the air! Who does that?”

“That does seem a little odd, I’ll grant.”

A few nuclear explosions popped up on Earth’s exterior.

“Well that’s new,” said Earth.

“Um, what was that?” said Moon. “I’m getting a little worried about this, lady. You want me to call around and see if I can’t hook you up with a nice handsome asteroid?”

“You’re overreacting, Moon. I can’t deal with another asteroid right now, I feel like I’m only just getting over that last one. It’s too soon. This’ll sort itself out soon enough, just watch.”

A rocket lifted away from Earth’s surface and dawdled its way towards Moon, missing by a narrow margin. “Oh my god. Are they throwing poo poo at me?”

“Relax, it was probably an accident.”

The next rocket collided directly with Moon. “Ow,” said Moon.

“OK, I’m actually a little impressed,” said Earth.

More rockets flew at Moon, and soon one of the rockets deposited a few humans on Moon’s surface. “Omigod omigod they’re touching me they’re on my face Earth do something Earth---”

“Oh stop it, it’s not that bad. Look how cute they are in their little suits. The little rascals, what’re they playing at?”

The humans packed up and went back to Earth. “That’s right, come home to Mama. Intrepid little cutie pies, what a fun little adventure you had!”

“Earth, I feel like I need to set some boundaries on our relationship here.” Moon’s voice was trembly and cold. “I feel like what just happened was a severe violation of my trust, and our friendship, and I really need your assurance that you’re going to take steps to make sure this never happens agai --- oh god they’re back, there’s more of them, this is not okay this is not normal---”

“HEY! WHO’S THROWING poo poo?” yelled Mars.

“Well, it’s not me,” said Venus.

“It’s Earth,” said Moon. “She’s covered in these horrible little monkeys that just want climb all over everything, and she won’t get rid of them.”

“You’re being such a crybaby,” said Earth. “Why can’t you just let me have this? It’s not like I tell you what to do with your craters, even though they make you look, like, really old.”

“My craters are fine,” said Moon. “And I don’t understand how you can’t see that your Life choices are now affecting others, and so that makes it, by default, all of our business now.”

“Yeah, I realize I’m late to this conversation, but I agree with Moon on this one,” said Venus.


“Oh god, that’s how it starts,” said Moon. “And then… then the humans themselves show up, and they… they start walking on you, with their horrible little feet, and scooping up bits of you, and sometimes they even have a little car that they drive around in… it’s just awful…”


“Pfff, let the humans try,” said Venus. “Any human wants to try and walk around on my surface, I will destroy them like I did all of their silly little robots.”

“Guys, I really think you’re getting way too worked up about this,” said Earth. “Just look at the adorable little morons -- they can’t even maintain the habitat they’ve got on me without screwing it up and fighting each other. Loosen up, I’m telling you -- this will sort itself out.”


“No! Mars, you can’t do this! This is my Life you’re talking about here!” said Earth. “It’s not fair, I want to see what dumb stuff they do ne---”

Earth’s surface blossomed with glowing nuclear explosions. A fiery storm washed across her mountains and valleys and boiled her oceans. As radioactive particles descended in her atmosphere, Earth took stock of her situation, and saw that her Life was gone.

“Oh no,” said Earth. “Those little idiots. They destroyed everything…”

“Even the cockroaches? Oh honey, that sucks, I know you liked those…” said Venus.


“Nah,” said Earth, glumly. “Send it anyway. Maybe it’ll have some fun organic molecules.”

“I really don’t feel like you’re treating this whole ordeal like a potentially valuable learning experience,” said Moon.

“Probably not,” said Earth. “I’m going back to bed, losers. Wake me up in four billion years.”

Jay W. Friks
Oct 4, 2016

Got Out.
Grimey Drawer
Hanna–Barbera’s Stool (#998)

“Brave space-knights of Clamydia, I implore you to strike down the laser condor that is ruling over my skies!” Queen-President Mori-pori poured her liquid face into her hands as her tears spilled over.

Captain Dikok gave her bow so low it went through the holographic floor and kissed her hand,

“Fear not Queen President! I, Captain Dikok and the Knights of the Tesseract table shall fight off this plasma infused poultry!”

The captain turned and spat out a bit of her face that had crept into his mouth and ejected a horn from his miraculous multi-functional codpiece ™. He blew into it, shaking the foundation of the liquid queens bottleneck fortress…

..and reality itself...

Off in the farthest reaches of the cosmos floated a flesh colored cylindrical shaft. It was Castle Clamydia. Within the veins of this solid manly fortress was the Tesseract Table. It was made of 90% confusing space math and it was where several gaily dressed knights uncomfortably attempted to sit.

A lanky Martian dropped several items on the table/ceiling and counted them out with multi-segmented fingers,

“I have three venusian slipper pusses and a hot bag of 82 shoulder rings. Will that suffice as a bet?”

This was Sir Cerebrum, a genius among the knights and the arch-scientist of the Universal League of Smart-Guise.

The man sitting across and or behind him popped his eyes out of his head. He rubbed the eyebots with a handkerchief and considered the bet.

“We shall accept this bet. We shall laugh at your loss and proceed to spend lots of money on silicon chips.”

This was not one man but several robots working in tandem, all these droids united resembled an anglo-saxon male. Thus, they named themselves as Sir Whitedroid ™.

Finally, there was a man leaning against the floor. He tossed his cards into the black hole trashcan. He had an acoustic guitar strewn across his chest. An heirloom and a remnant of a time long before synthetic acoustic guitars. This pure blooded Texan troublemaker was Sir Texmex,

“Wellll I do declare that this is much more than I reckoned betting. I’m out pardner.”

He put his cards on the table and tipped his holographic cowboy hat over his eyes for a snooze. Just as Sir Cerebrum and Sir Whitedroid were about to show up, they heard the horn. The knights stood at attention and made the salute of the Knights of Clamydia. It was a V with the index and mid-finger. They held it high above their heads. A single star twinkled in between the pairs of fingers. It was the signal of the horn of Galahad 2.2.

They said in a roar, “Tally hooooooo!”

They beamed into the the SAT AM transit void.

They appeared kneeling before Captain Dikok. He was armed with his famous Sonar Pistol ™. Texmex was equipped with a plasma sword and shield. Sir Cerebrum had his laser lance ™ and shield.

White-droid had a shield but no weapon as his fist was made of solid glamrock. It powered his versatile machine functions and was all he needed for defense. Captain Dickok pointed up into the violet airstreams of the liquid queen's world,

“Knights of cosmic justice! We have a mission for the Empress of all liquid organisms.”

A massive gust nearly took the men off of the castle tower as something flew past them.

Sir Cerebrum said, “Martian Jesus! Captain, what is that!?”

Captain eyes went dark from the shade cast by his serious brow. He lifted his eyes up. It was like two suns exploding over endless darkness,

“It’s the Laser Condor of St. Pustul.”

Texmex’s slack jaw caught three kinds of space amoebas before he yelled,

“That’s the gawd-dang bird that killed my cousin Joel!”

He removed a necklace from his armor. Inside the steer shaped locket was a picture of his cousin. A single tear dropped down his chin cleft. Tex unsheathed his blade and yelled,

“Laser condooooooor! I’m here to give you a whoopin’!”

The captain grabbed him and said, “Calm down cadet! We can do this together! I have a plan.”

He telepathically slapped Tex to transpose logic over his emotions.

Texmex shook himself out of the stupor, “I’m sorry captain! Won’t happen again!”

The captain nodded and pulled a blueprint from his codpiece.

He handed White-droid the blueprints,

“White-droid. Make four of these to the exact specifications.”

White-droid fed the blueprints into his rear slot. After some arguing between his components, he projected four bird shaped helmets.

Cerebrum said, “I see what you’re doing Captain. It must be mating season for the laser condor.”

Captain Dikok said,“You are correct Sir Cerebrum. These resemble the female condor. Female laser condors rest only when they’re in heat. Right before the males come.” They put them on.

A brilliant flash exploded above them as the Condor descended.

“Bwaaaaaaaaa!” It shrieked.

Captain Dikok slowed its descent with the sonar guns snail-waves ™. Captain Cerebrum threw his laser lance at a nearby parapet. It bounced off and stabbed the condor’s wing. The bird, slowed into a stupor by the sonar gun, and pinned by his wing fell in front of White-droid. Texmex leaped onto White-droids shield to get a boost into the air.

He roared, “This is for my cousin Joel!”

The sword's plasma wave tore it in half. Texmex landed at the edge of the tower. He pulled the chain from his neck and held it over the burning body of the condor.

Cerebrum said, “How ironic. Texmex has hundred of cousins but only one was named Joel. It is fitting that he kills the last Laser Condor in existence for vengeance.”

Texmex dropped the chain and said, “It’s poetic justice I reckon.”

Captain Dikok shook his head, “No. It’s Cosmic Justice! ™.

Mar 21, 2010
I am gonna have to bail this week, but I thought I'd post what I had anyway. This is NOT an entry -- it's like 1/3 of an unfinished draft I got through before I got hit with a load of work.

Mar 21, 2013

Grimey Drawer


The Unbearable Lightness of Giant Robots

Tiny metal flakes drifted toward the last human city. The sun still shone, slicing through clouds like the lasers of God, illuminating an endless cascade of glittering dust. A snow day without the chill of ice; the people of the city played carelessly amongst the shining drifts.

Magnus squinted into the eyepiece of his telemagnetoscope, surveying the hapless populace from his skyscraping rooftop observatory, noting their casual disregard of security protocols. "This can't be good. Susan 2.0 - these 'snowmotes', any sign of Robotic origin?"

Behind him, a voice. A disembodied and artificial remembrance of what he'd lost. "No sign of Robot craft within the system perimeter. The snowmotes match no known Robotic configurations."

"It smacks of Robots, though, Susan2. Could be Titanobot tech, but they're usually more overtly destructive. The Nanobots? They've been quiet since Astro-7 but visibility isn't their usual MO. A new threat, perhaps?"

Distracted, Magnus smoothed his uniform where it was riding up his muscular thighs. Clusters of snowmotes dusted his hands so he shook them off. The motes sparkled in the sunlight as they fell, giving Magnus an idea.

"Susan2, turn sensors inward, onto the snowmotes themselves."

"Affirmative," said Susan 2.0, "Computing...Sensor readings indicate the dust inhibits certain electrical frequencies related to cerebral recall of previous Robot incursions."

"I knew it! Our observatory shields still clearly work, but the rest of the city is like a babe in the woods. I don't get it though. Our sensors don't care about memories, the Robots still can't bring any ships into the system, and they know we'll fight back with maximum force."

"True, but at what cost?" said Susan 2.0. Magnus thought it sounded almost Susan-like in its concern. He struggled to put all thoughts of the real Susan out of his head, to focus. Her soft voice, the way she used to hide her laser pistol in her shin-revealing splitboots, her death beneath the gigantic heel of a Titanobot, all receded.

"I just don't know, Susan 2, but to be safe, can you clean up all this?" He gestured at the gathering drifts of snowmotes, then returned to the 'scope.

Through its lens he could see the squat base of a hab-block where a group of children had rolled the snowmotes into a large sphere. To their left, more children rolled a smaller sphere towards them, and to their right, another small ball lay waiting.

"Snowmen?" asked Magnus, then gasped with realisation as the children assembled their crude metallic figure.

Magnified through the 'scope, Magnus saw everything. The snowmotes began moving toward the assembled spheres, forming clumps and larger groups as they did so, a mass of metal cockroaches carpeting the streets. Each sphere doubled then tripled in size as the snowmotes swarmed up and around them. The children turned and fled in terror, a few tripping and falling against the snowmote currents. Drifts flowed over them, covering them completely. The endless river, rushing toward the growing metallic humanoid, became its arms and its legs and its remorseless, blank face.

Magnus tore himself away. He didn't need the 'scope. He could see the vast and towering figure of a Titanobot tearing into the hab-block, ripping out the very walls to use as instruments of further destruction. In the distance, other Titanobots could be seen, half the size but growing every second. Still the flakes fell.

Behind him, a voice. "Magnus," she said softly.

Magnus spun round, the sight of her like a laser blast to the heart. Those splitboots, the short tennis skirt, her face - all a gunmetal grey. Then, like a screen turning on, the snowmote humanoid flooded with colour, and there was Susan, pulling herself upright against a nearby ledge.

"It's over, Magnus," said Susan 3.0, in a perfect rendition of Susan's voice. Beyond the rooftop came the terrible sound of buildings collapsing one top on one another. "Soon we will be complete."

Magnus somehow ignored the adrenaline rush of seeing her curls dangle around her face once more, the terror of the attack. "Who are you, really?"

"We are the summation of the Titanobot and Nanobot empires," said Susan 3.0, approaching slowly, reaching toward him, "Made glorious in our shared vision. We have united in our purpose to rebuild."

"You can't win, you know that." said Magnus. "This is a setback, sure but...

"Sssh!" Susan caressed his face, her fingers somehow warm like flesh. "We have learned from each other, as you will learn from us. The Robots were trapped in near immortality, unable to die, unable to forget. Just as humans have sought to prolong life, so Robots sought its destruction. But when I was crushed beneath the Titanobot, there were still latent nanobots on me from Astro-7. True to their programming, they captured my consciousness and transmitted it to the nearest receptors - within the Titanobot itself. Somehow we three, human, nano and titan, finally understood each other, and brought the Robots to our way of seeing. Now we need you to understand, my love, " She gently kissed his cheek.

Magnus pulled away. The city beneath him was a near flat-blanket of metal, with Titanobots and other, unrecognisable figures moving toward any last structures.

"We do not seek destruction," Susan continued, "only to remake the world free from the blind brutality of the Titanobot, the unfeeling sensorium of the nanobot, and the fragility of the human race. Don't you see, my darling? This endless war is finally over!"

Magnus fell to his knees. "Is that really you, Susan?"

"Yes, my love," she smiled down at him. "All of me and more."

In one whiplike motion Magnus drew the laser pistol from her left splitboot and fired a single shot, straight through her smiling face. "Liar!, " he shouted. "Susan would never submit to the Robot."

The two halves of Susan's face slid together seamlessly. She put her arms around him and took him, molecule by molecule, into Paradise.

anime was right
Jun 27, 2008

death is certain
keep yr cool

High Cups (999 words)

Ini peered through the porthole. A man wearing a black hat and an oxygen mask appeared at the edge of the horizon. The gray dust of New Dakota’s surface swept upward in eddies towards the orange, storm-ready skies that crackled with thunder.

As Ini reached for her laser rifle, Chief Taah interrupted her with a grasp of the wrist.

“More violence? I thought Garish Dune was behind us. What if they offer peace?” asked Taah.

“I spared them upon surrender, was that not merciful enough?” asked Ini.

“There’s plenty of dust on New Dakota for all of us,” said Taah.

Taah sat down in front of a computer terminal as he took shallow breaths. He swept his nanofiber cloak over his body and wrapped his arms tightly in it. As he shivered, he looked toward the rest of the tribe around him, all of them wore sleeveless clothes.

Ini waited by the porthole. She tightened her fist as memories of the recent battle flashed in her head. She recalled the pale spacemen that screamed their unintelligible words of death, all while her brother Gosan wasted his own final words into a pool of his own blood.

When the pale man in the black hat approached the entrance bay, Chief Taah ordered him to be let inside.

The tribe stood by the terminal walls that flashed numbers that measured air quality, temperatures, and water accumulation. Chief Taah invited Harby to sit across from him at a large table. To Ini’s surprise, the pale man spoke in the tribe’s tongue, slowly and with a thick accent.

“I am… Harby, we are sorry. I’m from the Patori encampment a few rotations East. We meant no harm.”

“Do you apologize?” asked Taah.

Harby looked towards one of the terminals. “We, the Patori, apologize for the bloodshed at Garish Dune. It was a misunderstanding.”

Taah leaned back in his seat and tapped the table twice. He smiled as two of the younger tribeswomen brought cups of hot liquid.

“Drink in the broth of New Dakota. We celebrate,” said Taah.

Harby lifted his cup. An insult to the tribe, surely? Taah leaned back and shook his head. Harby lowered his cup and sipped from it. Taah drank too, satisfied.

As they drank, Ini stepped in front of her rifle.

The tribe turned towards Ini with contemptuous eyes.

A sourness covered Ini’s tongue as sat at the table beside Taah and Harby.

“May I join in?” asked Ini.

Another tribeswoman placed a cup in front of Ini. She drank.

The farmworm dinner that followed was traditional, but Ini ate only out of obligation.

In the middle of their meal, Harby pulled out a device with white blips over a local map. He turned towards Ini. “We forgive your murderous actions. We offer you this. It tells you where water is. Though you’ll need to power it through one of your systems.”

Taah picked up the device and marveled. Ini leaned in and pressed a button on it. The blips flashed red. Taah tugged it away from Ini. He stared at it briefly, then offered it back.

“It looks to be low on battery, Ini, go plug it in,” said Taah.

Ini took it and and stepped towards the nearest hub as Harby drummed his fingers to an odd rhythm.

“I refuse,” said Ini.

Taah slammed his palms onto the table as he stood. Two of the tribeswomen came to steady him. The chief coughed twice, then spoke. “We must make peace now. New Dakota will be the home of more to come.”

“I agree. Please, take your time,” said Harby.

“Do it,” said Taah. “If he means us harm, then we will harm them in return.”

Ini looked between Taah and Harby. She pressed the device against the hub. It connected.

Harby sipped the last of his broth and grasped his discarded oxygen mask.

“Is there a nearby lavatory?” asked Harby.

Chief Taah pointed to the hall. “Third door.”

Even after several moments, Harby did not return. Ini’s stomach sank. She eyed the terminals again, but nothing had changed. Suddenly, a woman, the oldest in the tribe, collapsed to the floor, followed by a young child.

Ini’s lungs tightened. She reached for the rifle and stepped towards the lavatory. She pressed against the panel to open it, but it refused. Ini punched in an overwrite code, but it refused to open. Of course Harby chose a lavatory, it was the only place guaranteed to have a locked door.

The leak alarms blared. Suddenly, an error message popped up on every terminal screen.

Virus Detected. Cannot Remove. Please Instruct: Yes/No

Ini raised her rifle and shot the lavatory lock. The door slid open. Inside, Ini saw the hints of a grin through Harby’s foggy plastic mask. She dragged the man out and threw him into the hall.

With glassy eyes of regret, Chief Taah raised his cup as high as it would. An insult fit for a traitor.

“I had a son, you know,” said Harby.

A second later, there was a gaping hole in Harby’s chest. Inside of it was a pile of ash, the only remnants of the pale man’s heart.

“Thank you,” said Taah with his final breath.

Ini grabbed the oxygen mask. Though she could breath, the rest of the tribe fell to the ground in unceremonious thuds. Ini dashed towards the terminals and tugged the map from the hub. She manually closed every vent and pumped extra air into the system. Nothing worked. She reached down and touched a young child, Amah, but she had gone cold. Ini slammed at the terminal with a closed fist and sobbed once into the mask.

Ini stormed out the entrance bay and into the orange night as she recalled the battle of Garish Dune. Every step towards the Patori encampment hastened her resolve.

Never trust the pale men, she thought. She clutched to her rifle, ready to rid New Dakota of their disease.

Jan 18, 2015

Skull-Crow vs. Tank-man

Words: 983

A star-beam whizzed past his ear and, with a sharp bang and a flash of rainbow light, turned his already totaled sky-bike into little more than dust and twisted metal. Overhead the barrage of star-beams continued as he creeped deeper into the ruins of what had been one of the finer establishments in Jätte. The lightly clad woman on the neon sign would never do her jiggly dance again, and the patrons and workers, who's bodies Mellan nimbly avoided as he sought a new vantage point, would neither.

A soft moan drifted out from somewhere, and Mellan stopped. One of the red draperies, lead-lined to keep people with x-ray vision from peeking, was moving, and it wasn't the wind.

He looked around carefully. The rainbowy explosions had siezed for the moment. My tank-flash must have worn off, Mellan thought. He had managed to blind his opponent, Skull-Crow, before diving into these ruins.

He snuck up on the shifting cloth, and yanked it away. The naked human woman looking up at him was very attractive he realized immediately, though his mind used other, more vulgar, adjectives to describe her.

He put on his best smile, taking a heroic pose with one hand stretching towards her as to give her a hand. "Well, hello there." he started, but the next words died on his lips as the woman pointed at his head and shrieked. And then fainted. One after the other.

"Oh, bugger."


Rend. Burn. Destroy. Blinded me! Destroyyy! Skull-Crows mind was ablaze with the sweet smell of destruction surrounding him. He was firing his shoulder-mounted blaster at anything that moved now, disintegrating swirling scraps of paper, flapping cloth, and the occasional stray with heedless abandon. His eyes, blinded by a flash-ray earlier, was clearing now, but it would be a few more moments until the fog in his head would clear.

When he had landed on the outskirts of Jätte just hours earlier the town had still been standing. Or, using its residents' favorite position as an analogy, bent over, ready, and waiting.

Jätte was the kind of town you could try using words like 'cesspool' or 'that slimy stuff you'll find in the pipes of a chili house toilet that hasn't been cleaned in, like, forever', but it wouldn't do it justice. It's easier to say, and Jätte's surviving residents would agree, that its near-total destruction was, on the whole, a marked improvement.

Now, Skull-Crow walked through the ruins of the Main Strip, scanning each building as he passed them. His mind was clear, and though the litany in his head was still playing, it had taken a back seat to his more cognitive functions.

He stopped, slightly crouched with his head up, and sniffed the air. The skull bio-mask grafted over his face not only gave him a range of additional senses, but also enhanced the ones he already had.

A shriek filled the air, and Skull-Crow's head snapped, listening. The red eyes behind the mask glowed in anticipation.



Mellan had moved quickly once the shriek had died down. Grabbing the woman, he had bounded out the back wall, zigging and zagging through the debris. He he kept a low profile as he darted in and out the ruins in search for a new hidey-hole. He had the woman slung over his back like a sack of potatoes, and her head bounced limply against him every time he leaped over a a small obstruction.

He spotted a mostly intact wall that had fallen against some debris, creating a small cave. He dove into the thick darkness under the slanting wall. He put down the naked woman, and put his hand over her mouth just as her eyes opened. She started to struggle under him, and he pinned her down and put a finger to his lips.

"It's the tank, right?" He asked quietly, bitterness lacing his words. "It's strange you know? In this universe there are millions of races, all different, in every color imaginable. But one guy has a tank on his head, and panic! Frankly, I'm offended by peoples racism."

The woman had stopped struggling, and Mellan released his grip over her mouth slowly. "You're- You're HIM!" She
Exclaimed terrified.

"Ah, yes," Mellan mused. "I guess it could be my reputation as well."


Skull-Crow came upon the overturned wall. He could smell his Mark inside. There was someone else in there. An innocent, if that is possible in this town. He needed to thread cautiously now. Protecting the innocent was one of his duties.

"Mellan!" he growled loudly. "Release hostage! Come quietly, or I tear you limb from limb!"

"On what charges?" Came a voice from under the wall.

"You know," Skull-Crow snarled. "Now more. This town, everyone on the list."

"Well, You were supposedcto be one of them!"

Another minute of silence passed, then movement as two figures emerged from the darkness of the hole. Mellan was holding the naked woman as a shield in front of him.

"Release!" Skull-Crow barked.

"I will come with you nicely if you give your word you do it by the book." Mellan replied. "I don't particularly want to lose any limbs."


"I'll hold you to that, officer." Mellan raised his arms, releasing the woman, who ran off screaming.

"Hrrm. Hands. On your b-" Skull-Crow started, when the tank's cannon suddenly fired, filling the air with light and then smoke and booming sound.

First, the light, a rainbow hue, faded, then the sound. Only the smoke remained. A shadow fell, and when the smoke finally cleared, Skull-Crow was on the ground, his blaster pointing at the dust cloud that had been Mellan Stor. He had expected the betrayal, but even so, it had been too close.

He stood up, smoke drifting off the hole in the arm where he'd lost a good chunk of flesh.

Hrrm. Nasty report.

Fleta Mcgurn
Oct 5, 2003

Porpoise noise continues.

Devoured by Shitweasels
998 words

Captain Hardwick peered through the grate. “The coast is clear,” he whispered.

Jessica deftly guided the multitool’s cutting laser around the edges of the grate. It fell to the floor with a whump. “After you, sir.”

Hardwick jumped down, then put out a hand for Jessica. “Status report.”

She activated her scanner and turned in a slow, careful circle. “The only lifeforms I see are substantially smaller than Shitweasels, Captain.”

He tutted. “Such language, honey!”

“Everyone calls them that, sir,” she shot back, “Anyways, I don’t detect any lifeforms the size of a mature Scheissewiesel.”

Hardwick looked nobly into the vast expanses of space. “To think this was once an Earth craft,” he said sadly. “So many lives lost, and for what? So that a passel of dung-eating space ferrets could gallivant around the galaxy, as if they’d actually achieved sentience?”

“They don’t eat feces, they’re Scheissewiesels because—“

“Make a note of any technological adaptations, Lieutenant. I’m going to get the subspace communicator working.” He sat in the pilot’s chair, wincing as he hit the unpadded seat.

Jessica sighed and looked around. There wasn’t much to note. The seats had large, circular holes cut in them, probably to accommodate tails. She couldn’t see any other significant changes.

More important, she privately thought, was the number of small lifeforms running around in other parts of the ship. None of them were in the walls- they hadn’t seen any sign of animal activity in the ventilation system- and there was no sign of them in the cockpit. “Captain, do you see any evidence of animal activity around the control panel? Droppings, loose hairs, perhaps something that might have been nibbling on the wires? The scanner is picking up multiple smaller lifeforms.”

He looked at her with supreme irritation. “Lieutenant, I don’t care about some rats in the walls. Do your job.”

Rebuked, Jessica looked again. The red dots representing life forms were heading towards the cockpit. “They’re coming this way!”

“Well, then close the goddamn door,” the Captain snapped as the console emitted a pained squawk. “Dammit, woman, I’m a captain, not a…a panel-fixing guy. I need to concentrate. Stop yapping.”

Jessica closed the door. Then she saw a roughly-cut square hole- like a catflap- at the bottom. “Oh, poo poo.”


The dots were moving faster. Jessica looked for something to block the catflap, but nothing was loose. “Captain, I can’t block their access!”

Several small, dark shapes streaked through the catflap.

“gently caress!”

“Language,” the captain said again, unconcerned. He barely looked back.

The little weasels looked at Jessica with blood-red eyes. Paralyzed, she stared back. There were at least twelve of them, and they were rather cute, once you discounted their murderous gaze. “Hello,” she said automatically, “I am Jessica Storm of the USS Chernobyl. I come in peace.”

“Is it just little ones?” Hardwick asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, keep an eye on them. They’re no threat.”

Jessica put her back against the wall, and readied her scanner. She didn’t have a weapon, but she could use the cutting laser to defend herself.

One of the little weasels stood on its hind legs and chirruped. Jessica smiled, closing her mouth to keep from baring her teeth, and said, “Hello.”

The weasel stayed standing. Its head swiveled towards the captain, then back at Jessica. It mewled twice, then looked at the captain again. The other weasels followed his gaze.

“Captain, we should go.”

Before Hardwick could reply, the apparent leader of the weasels took a few bounding steps and launched itself straight into the hole in the chair. The others leapt on his shoulders, backs, arms- within seconds, the Captain was covered in weasels and had risen, screaming.

Jessica fired the cutting laser at one weasel, but missed. “Hold still, Captain, I can’t get a good angle!”

“They’re eating my rear end in a top hat!” was Hardwick’s reply. Flailing wildly, he slammed his body into whatever surfaces were nearby, trying to shake the weasels. Jessica fired, trying not to hit the captain, but the weasels didn’t seem to care. More were streaming through the hole in the door, joining the others, until the captain was nothing more than a furry mass, his screams muffled. Blood dripped onto the filthy carpet.

Jessica tried to pull herself back up into the vent, but just as she dropped her tool and reached up, a full-grown Scheissewiesel forced the door open. She had never seen an adult this close before, and it was terrifying: the long body contorted with massive muscles, claws curved and wicked. It sniffed the air, the stench of blood and poo poo clearly exciting it, before slamming Jessica into the wall by her throat.

She struggled, pulling desperately at the cage-like talons, but couldn’t dislodge them. Her head swam. Frantically, she kicked out, but her feet hit the creature with nothing but pathetic little thumps. It barely registered her attack.

The monster rubbed its face on hers. “Loooook,” it hissed.

Jessica looked. The weasels now stood around Hardwick in a circle, their lithe bodies covered in blood and bits of flesh. He was motionless except for his lower half, which was twitching. When Jessica saw half a furry body wiggling its way into the Captain’s rectum, she screamed.

The weasel disappeared, and the captain let out a hideous groan. Jerkily, he rose, and looked at Jessica. His eyes had been eaten.

Hardwick moved like a puppet, his arms and limbs shaking and jerking, as suddenly his body rippled and bulged. His torso lengthened before her eyes, his face longer, and lights appeared in the bloody pools of his eye sockets. Jessica could not stop screaming as the man’s body perverted itself. The rest of the weasels hummed a strange, keening note as Hardwick’s screams became triumphant chirps and growls.

The Scheissewiesel still held Jessica by the throat. “Now we make female,” it hissed. She smelled blood on its breath. “We get more big. Take Earth easy.”

She felt an inquisitive nose in her crotch.

Apr 22, 2008


Killer-of-Lawyers fucked around with this message at 04:56 on Jan 3, 2018

Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
and the deranged degenerates who only want their


Fishin' For A Kill
990 words

There were three of us on assignment - that's if you include BeBop. Her caterpillar track scraped against the floor as we exited the express elevator. My partner and I exchanged a look. His name was Legion. My name's Maverick.

"Are you sure he's here?" Legion said. He had to raise his voice over the speakers pumping future bass.

I gave him a nod and scanned the Lounge. The VirtuaClub was sparse, typical for a late Vernal afternoon. People would rather be outside in the lightened smog than staying cooped up with VidTech strapped to their faces and up to their eyes in cyberpussy.

"BeBop backtraced the IP address back here," I said, gesturing to our mobile terminal. "Would you doubt her?"

Legion furrowed his unibrow and scoffed. He knew BeBop was always right. The two of us approached the bar counter. Legion clinked his metalic knuckles against the bar counter. The bartender turned from the shelves of hard Polyethylene Terephthalate and smiled.

"How can I help you two gentlemen?"

I cut to the chase. I reached into my pocket and produced a kodachrome, slid it across the counter. "We're on the lookout for someone. Have you seen this woman?"

The woman was not a woman but a Catfish. Legion and I could tell that from a simple glance, but judging from the narrowed eyes, the bartender was not so discerning. His eyes darted between the picture and the two of us. He stroked his Fu Manchu with his meaty fingers and mumbled something.

"No. No, I'm sorry, I can't help you."

My partner exchanged another look. I nodded and, after a beat, Legion grabbed the plump man by the scruff of his neck with his robotic arm and wrenched him up.

"You know who we are, old man?" Legion said.

"Y-You're Cyber Police?"

"That's right. Now we've got a warrant out for a Catfish," Legion tapped the kodachrome of a fat blonde woman on the counter, "and she was last seen at this dump. So why don't you drop the polite act, yeah? This ain't a five-star establishment."

The man shook his head quickly, hands raised. "Look here, our establishment might be 'seedy' but we certainly do not accept catfishes!"

While Legion kept grilling the bartender, I took another gander around the club. That's when I noticed BeBop rolling off on her own, away from the Lounge Area and towards the backrooms. The tender was still busy with my partner, so I took my 'droid's lead when he wasn't looking.

Catfish can be tricky. They can be anyone they chose to be, wherever and whenever they wanted. But that also meant they were fly-by-night, insecure. They never knew what they wanted, their tin-can minds always changing. So, eventually, they get careless. And you know what a careless catfish does? They waste a fuckton of electricity. And BeBop caught a nice wiff of waste heat.

The door to the backrooms had a damned doorknob. BeBop did not have the DoorRam addon, so I reached for the knob and opened the door. It lead into a long sprawling hallway.right. On either wall sat the 'Private Vidtech' rooms. I followed Bebop further and further until we reached the very last door on the right. I adjusted the antennae on my Cyberpolice Helmet, had my laser pistol at the ready and opened the door.

The fat blonde woman, or, rather, the bloated form that took the body of a blonde fat woman, was suspended only by seemingly hundreds of wires. The picture did it a thousand favors; the Catfish's skin was gray and its muscles were mushy, revealing its unnaturally thin metallic limbs . Its face was a mixture of pain and esctacy, teeth gritting, Its bulbous belly shone green -- the telltale sign of a Catfish.

I took a step backward. The scent of burnt rubber flesh and bodily fluids hit me like a ton of bricks. I turned my head to vomit when the heel of my boot bumped into Bebop. I cursed. Then its head snapped, twisted to stare at me. The Catfish let out a hiss.

"Don't look at meeee."

I blinked. Then I looked it in the eyes.

The Catfish flew upright. Coaxial cables in the shape of fishhooks tore away from its skin. By the time I had my gun pointed at her it was running at me, gray blood pouring, skin blubbering. I'm sorry to say that I froze in place as she collided with me. Its sharp metallic pincers raked across my face, and I didn't have the sense to wear my helmet it would have torn my eyes out for sure! I scrambled for the laser but the weight of its body made it impossible for me to move my arm from under her! The Catfish threw its head back, its fingers digging into my shoulders, ready to take a bite out of my neck.

The sound of a pulse laser made my ears ring. The Catfish hissed and rolled off me onto her back. Legion stepped over me, hovered over its prone body and sent his robotic fist into its belly. He tore out the Emerald Core from its belly and crushed it like it was an aluminum can. I watched as the life hen spat on the cyborg's tattered corpse. Then, after a beat, he looked at me with an irritated sneer. "What the hell have I told you about going 'lone wolf' on me?"

I rose to my feet and cracked a grin. "The Vidtech's a cover. loving place is a damned CatHive.

"It appears the jig is up," said a third voice.

Legion and I turned our heads to find the bartender, his eyes a sickly mustard, a laser pistol in his gloved hands.

"But it appears you've dun goofed, Cyberpigs."

TO BE CONTINUED IN ISSUE 2: Cat on a Hot Tin Death

Aug 7, 2013




ThirdEmperor fucked around with this message at 14:59 on Dec 25, 2017

Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk


Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

phew that was odd carruthers but I suppose everything is back to normal now. cup of tea?



.... ?

Jan 18, 2015


How did I manage to screw that up???

Here's what it should have looked like:

Also, fjgj.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007
:siren: Chiliemperor brawl results :siren:

I did a reading and audio crit for your stories because what the heck why not (the audio starts out quiet for some reason but it gets better in a couple seconds)


I had a smile on my face when I finished reading this. I felt that Moxie and Diana were under-characterized, though. I could list as many facts I know about Mercury the Magnificent as the girls, in spite of the fact that their dialog is almost the bulk of the story. All that is really established is that they're both into Mercury, right up until they decide to join forces and ruin his show as punishment for cheating. They're both happy to gain weight for him, and to endure the cattiness of the other for him. Meanwhile, Mercury likes italian food, he likes bountiful women, and he's apparently smug and overconfident enough to lock them in a coffin together for a prolonged period of time and assume they won't turn against him and show them off to his audience. Moxie and Diana apparently orbit around those facts. It amuses me to think that Mercury is also sleeping with the two doubles who come on stage for the final act, since they would have to be very close to Moxie and Diana's figures to pull off the illusion.

Overall, I enjoyed this piece in spite of the typos and somewhat lopsided characterization.


oh gosh. If you listen to the recording, you'll hear me stumbling through this. I did not understand the context of the story at all. The basic plot is...two dudes who don't like each other get into pods to go into cryosleep for....reasons??? One of them is psychic and trolls the other. Something goes wrong and they wind up in a sort of dream reality, and have to decide how to move forward with their situation in spite of their mutual dislike. That's my very tentative understanding of the story. I wish you'd established context early on. If I knew what their purpose was, it would help me to connect with the bickering between the two. I know you forgot about the brawl and had to rush this, and it certainly shows. I would say that scifi with more than two characters was probably not a good choice for this prompt, especially when you're pressed for time! I needed a lot more explanation than I got.

Overall, I was deeply confused by the plot, in addition to the numerous typos that made parsing some parts a little difficult. i know you can do better!!


Chili wins! Good job.

Sitting Here fucked around with this message at 21:58 on Jun 26, 2017


Oct 23, 2010

Legit Cyberpunk

:siren:Week 255 Judgment:siren:

Hi I'm John W. Campbell, editor of famous magazine ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION sorry for the shouting. Thanks for submitting this great pile of stories, I'm totally pumped to read them! I hope some, or even all, are about DIANETICS! (sorry) the new discovery that will make psychiatry obsolete!

Ok, turning the pages, reading,

oh, oh my.


Dear Christ.

Sweet, merciful Jesus.

What is this with the - and. and then, no. surely not.

Oh no. my ... brain is leaking


Wow nice work you fuckers you went back in time and killed imaginary john w campbell, literal father of science fiction, with your terrible, terrible words.

Admittedly writing bad was kind of the brief, but even the crappiest wordpooper on hack alley knew to proof read, have some kind of point and not lacerate our brain bungholes with word granola.

Still, a couple were ok - fumblemouse was tolerably rock ribbed scientifiction, killer-of-lawyers sketched out a solid cold war yarn of the sort that speckled the pulps like fly dirt and I'm also going to enrage my co-judges by giving thirdemperor the nod for a clumsily gnarled but weird and evocative slab of oddness.

Jay, you can have a DM because seriously what the christ was that all about

Fuubi, it's a close run thing but I'll give the loss to you, with your muddled tale of tank men and skull ladies blowing bits off each other.

The winner, while it was more literal than i'd like in its interpretation of the prompt and was more competent than dazzling, gave us a good postapocalyptic pulpy yarn that I could imagine little sebmojito reading under the covers with a glimmering nearly-dead torch: Boaz-Jachim, step up to the plate.

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