WRITE Your Own Story: The Sun Also Rises for Writers

The sun rises.

The sky was a radiant pink as the yellow ball of fire rose above the horizon. The first glints of sunlight breached the windows and illuminated the surrounding bedroom. The room was dead; every object was as still as a corpse and as silent as a tomb. Even the gentle breeze outside was undetectable. In the center of this room was a bed covered in a light, red sheet. Sticking out of one end was a head covered in short, black hair, and the other end had white feet.

Suddenly, the peaceful serenity of the room was shattered with an audible groan. With the night vanquished, the human was entering out of his unconscious slumber and back into the real world. With a slight toss, he shoved the sheet off of him, exposing a body covered in dirty clothes from the day before. The human jumped out of bed, and started to procure new clothes to replace his old ones.

With his mission complete, he quickly walks downstairs. A hoodie was raised over his scalp, and he opened the front door to walk outside. The newspaper should be in his mailbox; which is needed to provide something to read for his breakfast. As he started to walk forward, the man warmly smiled. The warm breeze, the nice temperature, and pleasant breeze all together combined into a perfect morning.

After crossing the street, he grasped the paper out of his mailbox and removed the plastic wrap around it. He glanced at the newspaper, and confirmed it was his copy of "The Armpit Times", the most trusted news source in his New Jersey town of Hummel. When he looked up, however, something strange caught his eye. The cars in everyone's driveways were gone, as if they never existed. Considering it was only around six AM, no one should had left for work yet. Tucking the newspaper in his arm, he dashed over to investigate his house.

Once he arrived home, the human quickly raced upstairs, investigating the rooms of his family members. Each and every single other room was empty. Strangely, their beds were made and the rooms were immaculate, as if his family were never living there the day before. Something was going on in this neighborhood, but he didn't know what.

"Don't panic," he said, in a nervous tone that implied he was about to do exactly that. "There's probably a rational explanation for this. Just calm down."

The only way to calm himself, he rationalized, was to continue his day like nothing happened. He turned on the stove, and started to cook scrambled eggs, hoping that a nice breakfast would help him think better. However, he noticed not even the birds were chirping outside; he was truly and utterly alone.

After the eggs were turned into a fluffy, yellow consistency, he sat down with his meal and unfolded his paper. The human was desperately scanning the paper to see if this disappearance was simply a festival that no one alerted him about. Instead, he found useless articles about supposed superhero sightings in Metro City, how the Chinese economy was starting to break, and the epidemic of writer's block across the nation. All of this scanning, however, was interrupted by the doorbell going off. In a second, the frightened person was opening the door, hoping to find the collective neighborhood outside laughing on how they pranked him.

However, he was greeted by a man he never saw in his life. The man, wearing a black suit, appeared to be somewhere in his early 20s, his young face and messy brown hair completely ruining his feeble attempt to look intimidating. Behind him was a black van without any markings, and a pistol holster was on his waist.

The brown hair man's equally brown eyes widened. "I... I'm not used to seeing any survivors", he shockingly said.

"Survivors?," the survivor questioned.

With a strangely giddy tone, the suited man stated, "When Darkness strikes a town, usually it's a 100% fatality rate. Someone always has to check, and this is why! I can't wait to report this to HQ!" Seconds of silence followed that statement, the black haired human having no idea what to say.

"Oh," the brown haired man said, "how rude of me. My name is Steven. What's yours?"

"Omega," the black haired man dryly said.

"That's a weird name".

Omega shrugged, "My parents were weird people. Now, who are you? What's Darkne-"

"I don't really have time to explain it now," Steven said as he grabbed Omega's arm, "I need to get you to HQ. Come with me".

Omega ripped his arm free from the suited man. "You got candy in that van or something?," he sarcastically said.

"Sorry," Steven apologized, "I just got... excited. I think this may clear things up". The brown haired man extended his bare hand out, with his fingers shaped as if he was holding something from the bottom. After closing his eyes for a second, a tiny flame erupted from his hands, burning but seemingly not affecting him.

Omega stood there in silence, shocked at the display of pyrokinesis. First everyone he knew vanished, then a man who he never met was manipulating fire in front of his hand. His life, normal yesterday, was now like if he was thrown into a poorly thought out story.

Steven continued, "I can explain all of this later. But can you please trust me, Omega? Even if you survived Darkness, you're not safe here. You need to come with me, now."

Omega nodded. "Fine, j-". Before he could even finish, the brown haired man once again grabbed him and started to drag him towards the van. "You better anwser my questions, though," the almost abducted Omega said.

Steven gleefully smiled. "Don't worry, I will".

Don't feel too bad, I'm gonna commit the same sin.

Cass did not have many neighbors, and the few she had kept to themselves. Probably for the best, as they would have been concerned if they looked out their back door to see a sizeable crater being approached by a terrified brunette with a yard rake.

Swallowing nervously, Cass tiptoed towards the blackened hole in the ground. At any moment she expected some horrifying creature from another planet to pop out of the ground and eat her, impersonate her, lay eggs in her stomach, or any combination of the three. She gripped the rake tighter and stepped towards the hole, wondering what Sigourney Weaver would do before she realized she had no access to nuclear weapons. She was just about to make due by going for the can of lighter fluid in the shed when something reached out and grabbed her leg.

"I AM NOT PART OF A BALANCED DIET!" she screamed, taking an almighty swing with the rake. There was a loud clunk and the thing fell off her leg. Cass was surprised that the attack worked, and leaned in to examine what had grabbed her leg. Rather than a horrible alien appendage, it was a hand. Nervous for another reason entirely, she grabbed and pulled the arm out of the hole. As expected, it was attached to a limp body. Muttering swearwords under her breath, she dragged the body out of the hole and inside the house, depositing it on the sofa inside.

"Anyone awake in there?" Cass said, waving a hand over what she assumed was the head. The figure was clad in (or made up of) some sort of battered dark blue and black outfit, made of what looked like a mixture of leather and metal. There was some sort of helmet covering the head, with a pair of black eyepieces set in where the eyes on a human would be, and a dent where she had struck it with the rake. Remembering that she may have given this stranger head trauma, she leaned down an attempted to remove the helmet. She reached under the "chin" and tugged, but it wouldn't give. She tried to feel around for a latch of some kind, and the helmet opened up with a whoosh. Cass yelped as she pulled her hand away from the moving parts, then yelped again.

"Is that..." Cass stammered. "...a CAT?"

It came pretty damned close, at the very least. The thing's pointed ears and catlike facial features told her as much, and the fine gray fur covering his face pretty much justified the comparison. Cass wondered what the hell a cat's head was doing attached to a seemingly normal body, but was relieved that the cat man wasn't bleeding. Tentatively, she reached over and felt the cat man's neck for a pulse. Still there, but only just. She may have had an alien cat creature in her living room, but at least she didn't kill anyone.

"Here come bad news, talking this and that," came a sing-song voice just as the front door opened. "Well give me all you got, and don't hold it back!"

Crap, Cass said to herself. Tracy...

"Hey Cass, the professor called in sick today!" Tracy called out as she ran into the living room. "Did Matt get back to you about the..."

The bubbly redhead stopped in her tracks as she saw her roommate crouched over the cat person, her expression flustered and her face flushed.

"Tracy, I can explain this..."

"Hey, if you need a moment..." Tracy said cautiously, raising both of her hands in a defensive gesture.

"What?" Cass blurted. "No! Get your mind out of the gutter! This thing crashed in the back and I knocked it out by accident!"

"Ooh, neat," Tracy said, bouncing over to look the figure over. "Did it lay an egg in your stomach?"

"I told you I hit it with a rake, it's been unconscious since I found it."

"We have a rake?" Tracy mused.

"Tracy, this is serious! Some sort of alien thing landed in the backyard and it could wake up at any moment to-"

"Hello?"came a third voice from the door. "You guys home?"

"NO!" Cass and Tracy shouted. They jumped to their feet, and dashed to the door, only for Matt to meet her halfway as they almost collided.

"Desmond asked if I could drop the tickets off for you guys," Matt explained, showing her the pair in his hand. "He said he had to go-"

Matt stopped, looking at Cass and Tracy in turn, then looking past them at the unconscious cat person lying on the sofa.

"I didn't know you were into that sort of thing," he said, a bemused expression on his face.

"Matt, I swear to God..."

What exactly Cass was swearing to God for no one in the room found out. The three of them cried out in shock as a great flash filled the room, blinding them. When Cass' sight came back, there was someone in the room with them. To her shock, she was clad in the same outfit that the cat person was in, only with a green coloring instead.

"Friend of yours?" Matt asked plaintively. Before Cass could react, the green armored alien held out a hand, and Matt collapsed to the floor. Tracy gave a yelp in surprise, but soon she fell to the ground as well.

"What are you?" Cass demanded, her hands balling into fists. The green armored creature paused, before saying something to her. It sounded like no language she had heard in her life, but it instilled in her a great sense of peace and relaxation, almost like she was drifting off into a deep sleep.

Wait, no it didn't. That was just her falling unconscious.

Link to video.

-----

A loud buzzing woke Cassandra. She instinctively reached for an alarm, only to find that there wasn’t any on the bedside table. Groggily wondering who would steal an alarm clock, the events that occurred shortly before she lost consciousness came back to her. She suddenly became aware that the bed, while comfortable, was not hers, and that the room smelled strongly of antiseptic.

Rubbing her eyes, she propped herself up against what she assumed was the headboard and took a look around. The room was spacious and blindingly white, with beds and tables made from some plastic-looking material lining the walls. At the far end was a white desk made of the same plastic material, with purple shapes hovering over the surface, occasionally drifting back and forth of their own accord. Black squares attached to the walls above the beds lit up to display diagrams and numbers, only to go dark again seconds later. The entire place felt uncomfortably sterile, vacant of any sort of vibrancy or color. She looked up and checked her own screen, which was blinking in festive red and green. She scratched her head in confusion, only to find something rubber and circular attached to her forehead.
Something next to her snorted loudly. She spun around to find the source, and saw Tracy sprawled across the bed, her hand and leg dangling from the edge. In the bed next to Tracy sat a large lump covered by the sheets, which had to be Matt considering the room was otherwise vacant. Idly rubbing a sore spot on the back of her neck, Cassandra wondered how the hell she had gotten into this place, and more importantly, how the hell she would get out of said place.

Cassandra attempted to leave the bed when another loud buzz sounded. Cassandra spun around as the door to the room opened upwards with a whoosh. She turned just in time to see a humanoid creature in a white and red outfit walk in, clutching a metallic cylinder in its three-fingered hand. Its head was taken up by a single mechanical eye, with strange looking valves lining its neck. Cassandra was utterly shocked to see something like this, but to be fair, the alien seemed just as shocked to see her up and about. A series of mechanical blips and whirs resounded from the alien, who raised its free hand in a calming gesture.

“Where am I?” she demanded of the alien. The alien reached backwards to manipulate some of the purple shapes on the desk without taking its eye off of her.

“Station...7…G…9…Molcreul,” came a robotic sounding voice from the alien. Cassandra opened her mouth to demand more helpful information, but was interrupted by the door sliding open again. Two burly looking guys in black armor, strikingly similar to the armor that the cat man wore, strode into the room and approached her.

“Come with us,” one of the black armors uttered.

“Uh…can I get my one phone call?” Cassandra asked.

“Now."

Cassandra yelped as the black armors grabbed both of her arms. She kicked and shouted to no avail, and the two of them carried her out of the white room into the hall outside. Whisked through more sterile eggshell colored hallways, the trio eventually came to some sort of glass door that parted as they approached. Once they were inside, one of the black armors prodded another lit up screen, and the room zoomed upwards.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" she asked, feeling lightheaded as the blood rushed to her feet from the high speed of the lift.

"Interrogation," the armors responded in tandem. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced as the lift came to a jolting stop, staggering all three of them. As the doors swung open again, Cassandra realized that the guards had very briefly loosened their grip on her shoulders. Her mind worked furiously.

"Don't do something stupid, you'll just make things worse for yourself." the smart Cassandra reassured for her.

"You should make a break for it!" stupid Cassandra exclaimed.

Just as the guards began to regain their balance, Cassandra drove her elbow sharply into the left guard's chest, who collapsed against the glass wall, wheezing. The right guard reached for something on his belt with his free hand, but not before Cassandra had grabbed his arm, given it a powerful tug, and flipped the stunned guard over her back and onto the cold hard ground.

She didn't stick around to enjoy Stupid Cassandra's victory. Wherever the actual Cassandra was, it was pleasantly crowded, and, according to most of her favorite action thrillers, would be easy to get lost in. She took off, ignoring the shouts of the guards behind her, and began weaving her way through the masses. Passing hexagonal hubs and giant glowing holograms, she spotted two more thugs in the black uniforms making her way towards her. She detoured through a group of hairy humanoids until she reached an area that resembled some sort of bizarre shopping mall.

It was then she realized the fatal flaw in that plan: no one else looked human enough for her to blend in. Everyone here looked like they came from either a comic convention or the national zoo, and possibly both. Catching brief glances as she flew by, she saw all sorts of bizarre creatures, be they scaly, slimy, furry, or any mixture of the three. Many of them even resembled animals she had seen back home, meaning she saw quite a few more cat people. She hoped she didn't run into whoever she hit with the rake.

A shout nearby informed her she had bigger problems then vengeful cat people. Specifically, vengeful black armored guards. Two of which ambushed her in what she assumed was some sort of alien food court, judging by the tables and chairs that were set up as well as the pungent odor nearby. They charged her wielding short black sticks, blocking off her only exit. Except for the glass wall at the edge of the balcony.

"You aren't seriously considering it are you?" smart Cassandra asked plaintively.

"SWAN DIVE!"

Cassandra charged for the balcony, using a chair as a stepladder, and swan dived over the edge. Luckily for actual Cassandra, the drop was not that high, and she hit something soft on the bottom. She caught her breath long enough to see she had landed neatly in the lap of what looked like a humanoid kangaroo, which seemed mildly surprised at what had interrupted his lunch.

"Sorry Kangaroo Man," she apologized as she got to her feet. "Do you happen to know the fastest way back to Earth?"

"There she is!"

"Maybe later..."

Cassandra ran off again, the guards in hot pursuit. A stitch was starting to burn in her side, but since it hurt less than those batons probably would, she kept going.

Attempting to leap over a knee high wall, her foot caught on it just enough to send her tumbling to the ground in a heap. She tried to get up, but froze at the sight of a pair of brown buckled boots.

"That was quite a tumble," said a female voice with an undetectable accent overhead. "Are you alright?"

"Not really," Cassandra said apologetically, pushing herself off of the ground. The boots belonged to yet another cat person, tall and lithe with light orange fur. She smiled at first, but her expression turned to shock as she saw Cassandra's face.

"You're awake?" she exclaimed.

"I....think I am," Cassandra stammered. "Or is this all a really weird dream? I'd totally be okay with that."

"What do you-" the cat person began, before the heavy footfalls behind her meant the guards had arrived. Cassandra tentatively pushed herself to a sitting position as the cat person shot an angry look at the guards behind her.

"What the Sixth is going on here?" she shouted.

"She was making a break for it, Captain!" one of the guards said in his defense.

"They should not even be awake right now, what the hell are you thinking bringing them out here?!?"

"Aroden said he wanted the prisoners interrogated as soon as-"

"Damn Aroden and his paranoia..." the cat woman muttered irritably. "Go back to Aroden and tell him to slam his head into the wall repeatedly next time he wants to grill a new species."

Cassandra turned around to watch the black armors wandering off looking guilty. She turned back to see a hand offered to her.

"Sorry about the chaos," the woman said apologetically as she helped her up. "Our first contact procedures are usually more formal."

"Uh, that's alright," Cassandra said, smoothing out her shirt nervously. "How do they normally go?"

"Something like this..."

The cat woman cleared her throat.

"My name is Captain Sondi Sirko of the Brigade. On behalf of the International Federation of Systems, I'd like to welcome you and your species to Molcreul Station."

Whaaaat, not Katia?

she had landed neatly in the lap of what looked like a humanoid kangaroo, which seemed mildly surprised at what had interrupted his lunch.

Click to expand...

TK CAMEO!! TK CAMEO!!

Thorvald of Lym said:

Whaaaat, not Katia?

Click to expand...

It was considered.

"Tell me the ending!" screamed BarbKommandant, tightening his grip around the poor man's throat, "Damn your eyes, tell me now!!"

"Never!" wheezed Knut Limesson as he feebly fought to break the space marine's vise-like grip around his windpipe, "You'll hear it when it's ready, and not a nanosecond sooner!"

"It'll never be ready!" he growled, "I gave you far more second chances than you deserved! You're too proud to admit that your precious project failed! It's doomed, and so are you if you don't spill the beans!"

"You can't rush art!" he gasped, "It's my legacy! You might as well kill me; either way you'll have destroyed my life!"

"YOUR LIFE?!" the man roared, flinging his erstwhile comrade across the room and into a bookshelf. As the lanky warrior struggled to extricate himself from the avalanche of texts, the Emperor of the Universe armed his laser sword; a menacing hum reverberated through the room. "I waited years for your so-called breakthrough. I twisted my own mission into a pretzel worthy of Escher for you! Can you begin to imagine the hell I went through? Tormented by the shadows of a past I never knew? You burdened me with a tainted legacy, yet stripped me of all ability to answer for it!"

"Don't try to guilt-trip me," the generalissimo shot back defiantly, "You pretended that we all aspired to the same myth, but when push came to shove, who really stifled the story? This world has been smothered by your ego, by mediocrity..." Panting, he began to circle his opponent like a predatory animal sizing up its adversary. "I didn't kill Kain Schumakinar... You did. You and your tired clichés, your predictable plots. You sapped the universe of its creative spark—"

"I DELIVERED!" thundered the soldier, slicing the table between them clean in half as he advanced on his rival. "You talk and talk, but what have you shown for your bluster? How many pages have you produced this year? Not a single one?" A mirthless smile spread across his grizzled face. "Who really holds the greater stake in this story?"

"We deserve better, God damn it!"

"We deserve answers," he hissed through gritted teeth. "And you will give them."

Knut trembled, but unsheathed his sabre with a nigh-silent, smooth swing, glowering at the man that had once been his colleague, his ally. "You want answers?" he whispered, "Come and get them!"


"No, no, that's waaaay too close to home."


Two men walked slowly down the bright hall, unnoticed by the bustling traffic about them. "Have you heard the latest reports from the American Empire?" asked one of the figures.

"No, I haven't," replied the second, "I assume it is not encouraging?"

The first man sniffed, grinning ruefully. "You assume correct, Friedrich. Their dolt of a president Christian has just declared war on the Québec Republic."

The second man froze, forcing his colleague to halt. "He what?" He quickly masked his astonishment with a coy grin. "Not that I'm surprised he'd start a war; Lord knows the warning signs were on parade for years before now... but how on earth does he hope to justify it?"

"Search me," he shrugged, "But from what I hear, it's some bull about protecting Anglo interests from the fascist Francophones."

"And what have the Canadians said?"

"That they will stand by their allies in the face of this naked aggression, meaning once American tanks cross the 49th, all of PATO's likely to get involved."

The man addressed as Friedrich rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. "Of course, that means we're involved, too."

"For better or worse."

His face contorted comically as he fought to salvage some semblance of logic within the action. "But... he must have known what such a war entails. I mean, sure, the Americans have the single largest army, but we're talking veritable world war! Even if Washington conquers the continent, it'll be so wrecked that—"

His colleague interrupted with a raised hand. "You forget, the President does not fit any accepted definition of sanity, Realist or otherwise. He is willing to put his entire country to death if he can somehow come out of this a penny richer. We should be glad that Iran's sanctions have kept nukes out of Washington's hands."

"As far as we know," Friedrich muttered.


"Ugh, now this is just low-hanging fruit."


"Men are such scum," spat Geneviève Delacroix, idly shuffling the papers within the dossier.

"Quite right, Mme. Président," replied Nadine Laforêt, seated on the opposite side of the desk, "Which is why our foreign policy will usher in a paradigm shift not only in Europe, but across the world."

"I hope you're right, Nadine," the President muttered, clasping her hands together. "I do worry, sometimes, that we're overplaying our hand. The revolution will come—it must—but I fear we may be succumbing to the same aggressive instincts as the chauvinists."

"Oh, pish tosh!" sang the Foreign Minister, making circles with her hand. "We must not let the prejudices of the male-dominated media pollute our discourse. Of course they'll insist on dragging us down to their level, but have faith, Mme. Président: once the global patriarchal system is at last abolished and female potential is realized in full, all the old sorrows of human history will forever cease."

The President of the République française gave her Foreign Minister a coy smile. "Please, Nadine," she murmured, sliding a hand across the table, "Call me Geneviève." The minister blushed as she extended her own hand to entertain the President's proposition. For a moment they sat in silence, simply seeking empathy with the other's viewpoint. Then, ever-so-slowly, they leaned over the desk to engage in closed negotiations. Nadine's heart caught in her throat as she commenced an impromptu tête-à-tête with her President. She was nervous at first, but, steeling herself to the duties of the Feminist cause, launched herself forward as their reciprocal oratory rapidly reconfigured into a full-on performance review.


"...What the hell am I doing."


Once upon a time there was a little boy named Blake Fieir who lived on a little island in the little Irish Sea.


I sat back from the typewriter. With calm and calculation, I reached forward, grasped it by its sides, slid it 52 centimetres to my right, held my hands above my stomach, and deposited my forehead upon the table. "Writer's block?" called my colleague as he entered from the hall.

"I give up," I moaned, staring unblinkingly at the floor beneath me. "I can't think of anything to get this thing going."

"What happened to the ingenious allegory?" he teased, walking around behind me to the typewriter.

"I don't even know where I'm going with that," I sighed, straightening up and rubbing my eyes. "I figure I should brainstorm a backup." Spying his grimace as he read over the sheet, I muttered: "Preferably one that doesn't end in Rebecca Cohen skinning me alive."

"Well, what about that time you were working at the customs office?" he suggested, turning to me.

I had considered it. I'm not usually one for autobiographies, but that episode has everything: comedy, intrigue, triumph, tragedy, laymen's debate over the great existential conundrums, and the human spirit's surmounting the soul-crushing anomie of the modern, bureaucratized world. And I didn't even have to leave my chair for most of it. "Problem is, that's a one-off. I'm aiming for something I can spin into a serial."

"Why not a story about how you can't figure out what to write?"

"You mean, a meta-narrative that sits above the rest of the story, yet takes place within the same universe? I dunno, fourth-wall irony is sorta the easy way out. One might even call it pedestrian," I smirked.

"Well then, the precedent's on your side," he grinned, patting me on the shoulder before leaving the room.

I faced forward with a forced smile, returning the typewriter to its spot before me.

Damn precedent.

"...We've come too faaaaaaaaaaar, to give up, who we aaaaaaaaaaaare..."

Omega silently cursed why he joined this strange brown-haired man into the van. He was promised some sort of answers while he was whisked away from supposedly and event that only he survived, but instead, this strange man kept on ignoring him. Instead, Steven was content to sing along to the newest Daft Punk album. Badly. For two hours.

Omega normally liked Daft Punk, but right now he wanted to grab Steven's gun and shoot himself.

However, Omega quickly realized committing suicide over his host's inability to hold a note was almost as terrible of an idea as the cacophony he was hearing. In one fell swoop, he reached for the van's radio and slammed the power button as hard as his body could possibly muster. Finally, he was free.

"Hey!," Steven shouted with indignation.

However, before he could say anything more, Omega quickly interrupted, "Steven. We've been listening to the same. goddamn. CD. for. two. hours. Can we please-"

"Oh," Steven naively jumped in, "Do you to listen to Discovery instead, then?"

Omega's head slowly fell to his hands as he let off an audible sigh. "Do you have anything here that's not Daft Punk?"

"No."

"Well, I wasn't really in the mood to listen to anything," Omega admitted, "I was hoping we could finally discuss, you know, the f*** just happened to me today?"

"Oh, sorry," Steven embarresedly flustered with a bright blush, "I... forgot. I'm really new to this organization and I'd never seen anyone survive the Darkness. Not like anyone else has either, but..."

"Can you start by explaining what the Darkness is?," Omega asked, impatience subtly dripping through his words.

Steven shook his head, "I think it would be easier if we started from the top, if that's OK with you, Omega."

A quick nod from the raven-haired passenger signaled Steven to continue, "OK, so I'm a novice pyromancer at FEAR-"

"FEAR?," Omega questioned, "Good lord I don't know what that could stand for-"

"Four Elemental Aether Reserch," Steven responded matter-of-factly, all traces of being a neophyte replaced with the confidence of a veteran, "We're a secret organization tied to the United States Government, that the public isn't exactly supposed to know about. We're independent of the FBI, CIA, or any group you know about, and we probably have better dental plans than them if you were considering joining them."

"Four elements, like... the classical ones? Fire, water, earth, and wind?"

"Yes, those elements," Steven clarified, "You see, we're not just a government branch. We're actually an old, secret society of benders that dates back to Anglo-Saxon England. The word 'fear' came from us, in fact, because those silly Normans and Vikings were terrified of us. The United States has set to be our most recent patron ever since the beginning of the Cold War. Our expertise in manipulating elements was supposed to give America an edge in a hypothetical conflict with the Soviets.

However, we fell on the wayside once the Arms Race started. A nuke is more useful than a mage; therefore we were just kind of there, sitting around, doing nothing in particular. Of course, Truman was enough of a sucker to sign a 100 year contract with us, so we're on payroll until 2045.

But either way, the Darkness. We have a prophecy, which the Darkness ties into. I'm not the best storyteller, so I'll just recap it to you:

Bending is not natural. My ability to mance pyro should not exist. Yet somehow, I was born with the ability to manipulate fire, defying what humanity is actually capable. Less than one percent of all humanity has this ability, which we confirmed with modern technology is not genetically related. Something gives us this power, Omega."

"And I'm assuming the Darkness is related to this gift, right?"

Steven nodded. "Something controls this world, and binds it together with a force that we can not explain. Except, it's not just one something. There's a bunch of these cosmic forces, that seem to be competing with each other over the fate of this universe."

"Like, gods?," Omega asked, wondering if any of the religions on Earth actually had it right.

"No, I wouldn't call these forces 'gods'. Like a chemical reaction, they can not create nor destroy; only change. One of these forces, however, unlocks the ability for humans to sort of 'mutate' and control one of the four elements. No one can use more than one, nor can we find a way to force the process; it happens randomly at birth."

"So," Omega confusingly added, "If people are born with this talent, then how come elemental bending hasn't become a part of the mainstream?"

"Ah," Steven said, "because they don't manifest at birth. In fact, they usually don't manifest at all. They have to be unlocked, usually with only simple prodding. That we can do; they actually did it to me. I can't tell you the ritual because of rules above, but I can tell you that the element you control is based off of your soul and personality. I'm warm, carefree, and supposedly dangerous when unattended, so pyromancy was expected from me.

Now... the Darkness..."

Steven looked down and shook his head after mentioning this omnipresent event, not sure exactly what to say. After sighing, he looked straight at Omega's green eyes, not breaking focus for even the empty road in front of him.

"When I said everyone afflicted by Darkness has a 100% fatality rate, that's... not technically true. Darkness doesn't kill you, which makes it even more horrifying. It unravels your entire existence, molecule by molecule, with you being aware and conscious of it destroying your entire being during the entire process, while everyone eventually forgets of your existence, unless you went through a ritual like the one we use to grant our powers. Like a black hole, it only takes a second for us to see someone unraveled, but the person affected... it's an eternity of torture...

The Darkness, like elemental bending, is not natural. However, unlike, say, bending, it doesn't come directly from the cosmic forces. None of the beings are cruel and despicable enough to create it willingly. The Darkness, instead, is a byproduct of their cosmic power. The energy they use to change the universe has to come from somewhere, and that somewhere is the universe itself.

Every time something is altered, the universe itself is depleted. However, the universe is expanding, meaning that hole needs to be filled. The Darkness is that hole being filled; starting with humans it will eat up an entire area and convert it into energy for the magic the forces use to change the universe. Hummel, in a few hours, will never even have existed.

However, you survived it, Omega. That makes you special. No man or woman has ever faced the Darkness and did not get wiped out. And we are the few that actually remember those who perish, mind you. This goes back to the prophecy. It foretells the rise of a hero, one that is able to control all four elements and is immune to the Darkness, and will destroy the Darkness entirely and end its destruction.

Omega, it's obvious. You are that hero."

The van remained silent for over a minute; an awkward silence resonated within the vehicle like an elephant was hitchhiking in the back. Suddenly, Omega slammed his hands on the dashboard in anger.

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A TERRIBLE RIPOFF OF THE LAST AIRBENDER AND THE ORDER OF THE STICK," Omega furiously yelled, "YOU HONESTLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT?"

Steven, obviously not expecting this outburst, flinched back. "W-w-well," he desperately tried to retort, "your face looks like a terrible ripoff of The Last Airbender and the Order of the Stick!"

The brown haired driver then slammed his foot on the break, bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt. Recovering from the shock, the FEAR agent reasoned as he built another fireball in his hand, "Omega, look. I know you don't trust me right now, and I understand that, with the whole everyone in your town doesn't exist anymore and a weird dude in the suit basically kidnaps you without the kidnapping. But why would I lie to you about /this/? Well, besides the whole 'I'm already lying to the entire world' thing to save my identity.... bad example in hindsight.

But still, if it means anything to you, I'll tell you where I'm going. I'm heading to our American HQ in Philadelphia. When I arrive, you can follow me, or you don't. I won't hold it against you if you do the latter. But please, if I can ask you to do one thing... just let my boss talk to you. She might convince you better than I can".

Omega groaned, "Fine. It's not like I can just walk back to New Jersey anyways. But can you at least put something not Daft Punk on for the rest of the ride?"

Without saying anything, Steven pressed the power button, and flipped the radio onto a random channel. However, instead of music filling the van with perhaps a more jubilant mood, a woman was passionately reading a speech; no matter what frequency they switched to, this was the only thing playing.

"...and due to these reasons, the Senate and the House unanimously voted for the declaration of war on the Republic of Québec. Already, brave elements of the US Army has crossed the border to fulfill the pacifying of the freedom-hating Québecois who, for the past few months, posed a significant threat to this grand nation..."

"Oh god," Steven started to gasp, "We got Québec citizens in our organization. If they try to touch Marie..."

"Wait," Omega demanded, "What the f*** is going on? Yesterday, Québec isn't even a country, but yet today, we're at war at them? Wh-"

"The Forces," Steven cut off while silently cursing at himself, "I can't believe I didn't remember Québec is just a part of Canada. The Forces even try to wipe our memory from the changes, despite our limited protection from it. Although Marie is from Montreal, that is still true...

Either way, Omega, one of the forces just messed with the geopolitical landscape of the Earth, in a major way. I don't think they ever acted this drastically in centuries, which means-"

"More Darkness?"

"...."

That was a great story Omega, love all the meta in this thread!

Omega124 said:

"The Forces," Steven cut off while silently cursing at herself

Click to expand...

Is this a typo or genuine reality shift? I'm confused.

NinjaCow64 said:

Is this a typo or genuine reality shift? I'm confused.

Click to expand...

Typo.

Omega124 said:

Typo.

Click to expand...

It better have been.

Captain Sirko and Cassandra stared at one another for a few seconds.

"I'm guessing you didn't understand any of that?" Sirko suggested.

"Hey, give the dumb human credit," Cassandra said defensively. "You're a captain and this is a space station of some sort. Everything else...no dice."

Captain Cirko smiled, her catlike fangs barely coming into view. "We'll get to everything else soon enough. Are you hungry?"

Immediately, Cassandra's stomach gargled louder than a fighter jet. She shrugged her shoulders offhandedly, her face slowly turning a deeper shade of red.

"Go and find a seat over in that area," Cirko said, pointing out the lower area of the food court Cassandra had just dived into. "I'll get us something to eat, then we can discuss the situation."

Cassandra nodded politely, then found a secluded two-person table nearby. Twiddling her thumbs, she couldn't help but feel that every eye in the place was on her, suspiciously examining every detail. One alien, a reptilian creature with black eyes, openly snarled at her as it walked past. Trying to ignore the chilly reception, she instead turned her mind towards guessing what sort of food aliens ate, and more importantly, what the cat Captain was bringing back for her to eat. She almost gagged when she saw a beefy alien with four arms tearing into a bowl of pink slime with chunks of green in it. She was shocked out of her nausea when the Captain returned. To her utter surpise, Cassandra's plate was stacked with fries, which were covered in cheese and bacon bits.

"I did a little research on your culture's cuisine," Cirko explained. "If it's not to your liking..."

"No, it looks great," Cassandra butted in. She grabbed a handful and shoved it into her mouth ravenously. "Couldn'f be beffer..."

Cirko stifled a laugh before getting started on her own meal, something resembling a raw piece of meat. "The workers here are good at preparing unusual dishes."

"You don't have replicators?" Cassandra asked, painfully swallowing a mouthful of fries. "You know," Cassandra continued after seeing Cirko's confused look. "Computers where you tell them what you want and it creates it."

"Oh, we have something like that a few years ago," Cirko explained. "It made everything taste like plastic. We just save them in case of emergencies now."

"Oh," Cassandra said, slightly disappointed. She reached for more fries, only to find that they were all gone. "Was I that hungry?" she asked, rubbing her stomach awkwardly.

"Well, you were out cold for three days..."

Cassandra nearly fell out of her seat at this revelation.

"I WAS ASLEEP FOR THREE DAYS?!?"

"Just a precautionary measure!" Cirko assured, raising her hands in a calming gesture. "Our medical officer had you and your friends pegged for a week. Transporting species not used to interstellar travel across star systems can be dangerous."

Cassandra calmed down slightly at the explanation, rubbing the back of her neck again.

"Is the implant bothering you?" Cirko asked, craning her neck to get a better look.

"What implant?" Cassandra asked, her eyes widening.

"Nothing major," Cirko explained. "Just a small program that plugs into your nervous system and translates languages into the one you're most familiar with."

Cassandra blinked.

"You didn't honestly think that everyone here took the time to learn your language in the three days you were in bed, did you?"

"In short, no," Cassandra said. "Where I come from, I don't think people would appreciate getting a weird thing plugged into their brain without them knowing about it."

"Oh," Cirko said weakly. "I apologize for that. Here implants like that are so common that we don't ever need to ask. Heck, I assumed you had something similar done to your reflexes seeing what you did to your guards."

"Nah, I just take judo. Speaking of that," Cassandra continued. "Where exactly IS here? I get we're on a space station, but what's this Federation thing?"

"Ah, the International Federation of Systems. It's an interstellar collection of planets and smaller interplanetary nations that have bound together for the purposes of mutual self-defense and the spread of knowledge, wealth, and above all, equality. At least on paper, that is."

"Ah, so like the Federation in Star Trek..." Cassandra mused.

"Star Trek?"

"It's a TV show, you'd like it," Cassandra said with a smirk. "So everyone here is a member of this Federation?"

"More or less," Cirko confirmed. "Most planets agreed to be members without question, but a few of the larger empires like the Mejani and the Leth have some degree of self-rule within the Federation."

"Sounds like a mess," Cassandra said, queasily watching the four-armed alien regurgitate the pink slime into another bowl.

"It is. But luckily the authority of the Federal Brigade is pretty high up on the list of Federation priorities."

"I'm guessing that's some sort of policing unit?" Cassandra asked.

"More like a conglomerate of them," Cirko said with a sigh. "The Brigade is the overarching structure that enforces the law in the IFS. It respects the authority of local law enforcement, like those guys..."

Cirko nodded her head at a group of the black-armored guards walking by.

"...while making sure the larger bodies like PsiWave and the Legion have the authority to pursue criminals across systems and such."

"It makes our line of work much easier, to say the least," came an unfamiliar voice behind her. To Cassandra's surprise, or lack thereof, it turned out to be another cat-person, in suspiciously familiar blue armor.

"Glad to see you're up, Gerran," Cirko said with a grin as the new cat-person sat down. "How are you feeling?"

"Considering I fell through the atmosphere of that planet at high speed, I was lucky to just get a headache." Gerran said, rubbing a shovel-shaped bruise on his forehead. Cassandra gulped.

"Oh Gerran," Cirko piped up. "This is the...human I mentioned to you before." Cassandra gulped again.

"It was an accident!" Cassandra stammered, trying not to stare at the cat-person's bruise.

"Then it was a lucky accident," Cirko interjected, much to Cassandra's bewilderment. "If it weren't for you, Gerran may have suffocated."

"I never did get the chance to thank you," Gerran said with a smile.

"Wait, so hitting him on the head with the shovel helped?"

Cirko and Gerran stared at her, the latter's smile slowly fading.

"You actually activated the emergency respirator in my collar," Gerran said cautiously. "What's this about a shov-"

"And I'm really glad you pulled through as well." Cassandra interrupted with as much sincerity as she could muster before hastily changing the subject. "So...why were you on my planet anyway?"

"I lost control of my suit thrusters and had to find a soft planet to crash on," Gerran said with a shrug. "I caught a Brigade-level transmission so I figured crashing there would be my best option."

"Hold on," Cirko said suddenly. "You're saying that you caught a transmission from her planet?"

"A weak one, but it was there," Gerran said, tapping buttons on his arm pad. "I couldn't get what the message was, but my communicator picked it up and it had Brigade-level encryption, so it sounded like my best bet."

"Maybe it was an error? I don't think my planet has anything to do with your 'Brigade' thing," Cassandra said.

"I highly doubt that," came a low voice.

Cassandra spun around again, coming face to face with a tall creature with an eerie blue glow. It was human shaped, but had no facial features besides a pair of large, white ovals where the eyes would have been. It was almost like someone made goop inside of a lava lamp into a human shape and put a uniform on it.

"Commander Aroden, I presume?" Gerran said smugly. The creature merely narrowed its "eyes", seeming to glow a bit brighter at the sarcastic question.

"Aroden, the humans aren't going to cause any more trouble," Circo insisted.

"Are they, Captain?" the creature named Aroden said. Cassandra shivered when the man spoke, feeling like the words came from inside her head rather than from the creature itself. "This one already attacked two guards in an attempt to escape interrogation. Even ignoring her current felonies, she still needs to tell us about the Legion emergency extraction signal coming from her home planet."

"I don't know anything about a signal!" Cassandra insisted. The creature made a short, sharp noise, possibly an attempt to scoff in disbelief.

"How do you even know the signal is Legion anyway, let alone a distress signal?" Gerran interrupted. "I could only tell that it was Brigade, and I was pretty close to the planet."

"Ah, but the medics and I have gotten closer," the creature said. It held out its "hand", and holograms sprung up from it, detailing something utterly unfamiliar to the only human there.

"How did you get close enough to the source to calculate that?" Cirko asked, disbelieving.

"We didn't go to the source," Aroden said. "The source came to us. The signal you found originated from the human that Nashiru brought here. The one called 'Tracy'."

Continuing the tradition of positing right after KE, you're my muse mate.

In all seriousness, I realized that this ballooning out of control in terms of length and that it was going to be too much to cover in one part so I decided to split it. Enjoy.


John got up with a jolt. He slowly walked to the hall way so he could see who was knocking at his door. Where his door once stood two people in brown robes, with hoods obscuring their faces, one of them was slightly shorter than John and the other one was about one and a half times taller. Since John was around average height, this was an exceptionally tall person, for the second time today John was mortified.

“Let me guess…you’re here about the door?” said John, he had called the door repairman a few hours ago, but he doubted that this was who he sent.

“No, you know very well why we are here John.” said the tall one in a deep, booming French accent “You must come with us.”

“Um…thanks, but no thanks,” said John “I should really wait for the door guy, someone could come and break into the house while we were gone! Again!”

“I can make you come with us if we must.” said tall one with notable irritation in his voice.

“Look mate,” said John, “I’ve had an exceptionally bad day. Firstly there was the writer’s block, then there was that bloody duck and this is the second time today that I’ve almost peed myself. If you want to make it even worse by kidnapping me and leaving what I’ve got left in open to be stolen by whoever, then be my guest.” John immediately regretted his choice of words.

“Okay.” said the giant man, as he started to walk forward. John stood frozen in terror, yet again.

“Oh come on Rene,” said the shorter hooded person, who judging from the voice was probably female. “This guy is scared out of his brains, I mean look at him. I knew letting you do the talking was a terrible idea, I don’t know why I let you talk me into it.” She pulled of her hood.

“Hello, my name is Joan and I’m sorry about Rene, he’s a bit…odd.” Joan had a pleasing round face, with a few piercings and short spiky black hair. She wouldn’t look out of place at a punk rock concert, but she wouldn’t look out of place outside a punk rock concert either.

“This goes against all the traditions!” said Rene “We needed to initiate him before we tell him our names or show him our faces! He could be untrustworthy! Mon dieu!”

“That whole initiation thing was made in a time where coming to someone’s door dressed like this actually meant something!” said Joan “Traditions are meant to be broken!” She turned back towards John. “Look, I know that you’re frightened. But this is important and we can help you. And I think I have something that can convince you to come with us.” She pulled out a checkbook from her bag, ripped a check off, scribbled something on it and walked over to John to put it in his hand.

“There’s a thousand dollars,” said Joan “And there’s another two if you come with us. I’ve been in your situation, I know that you’re not going to be getting this kind of money any time soon.” John looked down at the check.

“I…I’ll get money from the insurance.” said John weakly.

“Please,” said Joan, “This isn’t your apartment. You know as well as I that as soon as your landlord gets wind that you are getting an insurance pay out, he’ll take it all and you’ll be left with bupkiss.” John sighed.

“I’ll come.” he said.

“See?” said Joan “That’s how you convince someone to come with you. Not all this mumbo jumbo hood baloney.”

“I’m sure that Lord Chen would be extremely disappointed in your use of his money.” replied Rene.

“You’re just jealous that I was right.” Joan said as she poked out her tongue at Rene. Rene muttered something in French under his breath, then all three of them walked out of the apartment.


“Is that a limo?” asked John in disbelief. “I guess you weren’t bluffing with that check, ha!”

“Yes, our patron Lord Chung has provided us with a great deal of resources.” said Rene.

“Pah,” said Joan “He’s no Lord, he’s an eccentric millionaire with less-than reputable sources of income, if you catch my drift.” John could see that Rene was annoyed by this, even though he had not taken off his hood.

“Although to his credit,” continued Joan “If it wasn’t for his cash we’d just be a couple of loonies in a basement. Well, we still are I guess, but at least I don’t have to have a day job.” The three of them climbed into the Limo, with John sitting uncomfortably next to the enormous Rene. Joan sat on the other side of the Limo, smirking at their discomfort.

“Well,” said Joan “I’m sure that you have a lot of questions John, so I’ll-”
”Not in front of the ouvrier!” interrupted Rene, gesturing towards the driver.

“Urgh,” said Joan, “She’s not just some ‘ourvier’, she has a name! Besides, I don’t think she can speak English, can you Jules?” The driver did not respond. “See?” Rene glared at Joan.

“It would be improper to talk of our work in front of the uninitiated, my liege.” Said Rene.

“Oh fine,” said Joan, as she crossed her arms angrily and looked away from him “Be like that!”

Rene mumbled something that John could not pick up, but it was not a friendly remark. The rest of the drive was dead silent, John started to wonder if he had made the right decision.

After what felt like an eternity, although was only about half-an-hour, the limousine approached an elaborate mansion in an isolated area just outside of the city. John was surprised that something like this could exist, who would build such a place outside of the city?

“I have to warn you John,” said Joan as the car approached the house, “The guy who lives here is a little crazy. Just do as he says, the quicker we get this over with the quicker I can give you answers.” John was really wondering whether he made the right choice now.

The group walked up to the front door, where they were greeted by a balding man wearing a three-piece suit.

“Excellent, you’ve arrived.” said the man with an extremely British accent, “I assume the newcomer is Mr. Burrows. Mr. Chung is waiting for you in the study, please come in.” The man, probably a butler of some sort, walked them through the house. As they walked through the house, John could hear badly played piano music, it reminded him of the noise his younger cousins used to make by “helping” him play the piano during Christmas. When they entered the library, a large room with two stories of books, they found the source of the music, a man in a suit was furiously playing a piano.

“Mr. Chung, Mr. Burrows and the Order of the Wordsmiths have returned.” said the butler.

“Excellent!” said Mr. Chung. He was a middle-aged Asian man, with short black hair that was starting to grey. He was wearing one of those suits that conductors always wear and he spoke with a very light Chinese accent, he definitely wasn’t born in the States, but he sounded like he had been living here for a long time “You must be John Burrows,” continued Mr. Chung as he vigorously shook John’s hand. “My name Edward Chung and I welcome you to my home. Tell me, what do you think of it?”

“Lord Chung,” said Rene “I implore you, we must begin Burrow’s initiation as soon as possible.”

“Now, now Rene,” said Edward, whist shaking his finger “I don’t get to show off this house very often, I’m sure your meeting can wait a few minutes. Please, tell me John, what do you think of this house?” Edward stared at John with a huge and slightly off-putting grin. John looked over to Joan, who smiled and nodded.

“Um,” started John, “I guess it’s like Gatsby’s…I mean it’s fantastic!” Edward chuckled.

“It is indeed,” said Edward “When my investments finally paid off and I could afford to have this house I wanted to replicate the great fictional Western businessmen, the eccentric I am. Jeeves, please leave.” The butler nodded and walked out of the room.

“He…he’s called Jeeves?” said John.

“Changing his name to that is a requirement for employment.” said Edward, “But then again, I do pay well. Don’t I Jeeves?”

“Yes sir!” shouted Jeeves from the other room.

“Anyway,” continued Edward, “I couldn’t decide on which man to emulate. So I thought I’d take inspiration from them all. A little of Wooster, a little of Gatsby. And a little of Wayne.” Edward pulled a book out of the bookshelf, the bookshelf opened and revealed a secret stairwell. Edward walked down the stairwell and the rest of the group followed. At the bottom of the stairwell was a large underground cavern with a large metal floor, which was stopping the group plummeting to their deaths. It wouldn’t have looked out of place of Batman if it weren’t for all the books lying about. John could swear he could hear a waterfall nearby.

“This is the secret lair I had constructed,” explained Edward, “I always wanted to host something here, a superhero, a group of magicians, something. So when I found the Wordsmiths, I finally found a use for this place. Anyway, I better let you all get started on the meeting, John please take a seat.” Edward gestured towards the table, John and everyone else sat down.

“Now we must begin the initiation of the adept.” said Rene.

“I…initiation?” asked John fearfully. Although he had seen this taken place, he had heard horror stories of what frat boys would do to those poor unfortunate souls who wanted to become part of their cult.

“Damn it Rene,” said Joan, “Can we not do the whole thing with the candles and chanting? I mean the poor guy is intimated enough as it already is.” John had to admit, she was right about that. “Is there a way that we could skip that whole thing?”

“You could enact Tumultuarius Potestatis,” said Rene, “But that is only intended for the most dire-”

“Fine,” said Joan, “I enact the whatevertartis poststatis, John’s an initiate now. Can we get on with this please?” Rene sighed, then continued with the meeting.

“The Inner Council of the Ninth Order of the Wordsmiths this meeting in the 2014th year of our lord Jesus Christ, on the first day of December at 3 hours and 43 minutes past midday.” said Rene, “In attendance, Order Grand Mistress Joan Goslin, High Golem Rene, Lord Patron Edward Chung, Adept John Burrows. Absent, Arch-Smith of All Disciplines Simon von Wessely, first order of business-”

“Is telling John what the heck is going on, as we promised him ages ago.” said Joan, interrupting Rene once again. “So…Rene, could you give him the low-down?”

“By ‘low-down’,” said Rene, “Do you mean the entire oral history of the Wordsmiths?”

“You mean that seven-hour speech you gave me?” said Joan “Yuck, no, we don’t have time for that, give him the CliffNotes version.” Rene was silent. “The abridged version?”

“It is traditional for new initiates to be given the entire oral account of the history our order,” explained Rene, “The initiates write what they heard and compare it to the official version. This demonstrates how the spoken word is unreliable and that true knowledge can only be captured in the written word. To have an abridged version would be pointless.”

“So you’re saying that there is no abridged version?” said Joan.

“Yes, but the traditions-”

“I don’t give a flying frack about traditions!” shouted Joan. “I’m a bloody socialist for crying out loud!”

“Ah,” said Chung, while sipping red wine “These arguments that these two have make these meetings all the more worthwhile.”

“Alright then,” said Joan, “I’ll just have to make an abridged version myself. Well, here goes nothing.”

NinjaCow64 said:

Continuing the tradition of positing right after KE, you're my muse mate.

Click to expand...

"Who will rid me of this turbulent writer's block?!"

The hall sat silent for a moment, then slowly turned back to the tables to resume its ambient din. Defeated, I lowered my arms and trudged over to the leftmost row, reaching under my helmet to retrieve a sandwich.

Mmm, salmon.

Some of the grunts from my unit began waving frantically and I took the spot they had hastily vacated on the bench. I'd barely sat down before being battered by questions about the story to which my dramatic outburst alluded. "Oh, there's a round robin thing on the Internet that I thought I'd join, but I can't figure out what to do with it." I delved inside my jacket and slapped a paper roll onto the table. The men seated closest immediately began pawing through the sheets as if I'd brought back maps to New World treasures, while I peeled the cellophane from my lunch. "I mea, I haf i'eas o' wha' I wa'a do, 'u' I ca' fi'ur ou' how 'o ma'e 'm wo'."

Dima brushed the crumbs off his sheet. "Have you thought about polling the audience?"

"Oh, God, no. You ever heard of Twitch Plays Pokémon? ...You, be thankful. Besides," I twirled my sandwich, "I'm trying to make this thing almost connect with what everyone else writes."

"We can help you there!" piped up Fedir, "Our job's about teamwork, after all." He was met by a great many "yeah"s and nodding of heads.

"I don't know," I muttered, "No offence to you guys, but I'm having enough trouble keeping myself from going off on a tangent."

"Why not stitch 'em all together?" called Alex from the back, brandishing three pages.

I smirked. "Tell me what any of those pilots have remotely in common."

"Well, nothing on their own, sure," he replied, "But with a little inspired planning I bet it'd work."

"Exactly," said Fedir, "All you need is a strategy, and we can help you lay that out!"

"Please, Sarge?"

"Pleeeease?"

"Oh, all right." The words had barely left my lips before the table exploded in a whirlwind of activity.

"...So we've got the two bozos heading to Philadelpha, and the Avatar dude meeting with the cultists..."

"No, no, the Avatar dude is the guy in the van. The cultists are... Templars, or something?"

"I thought the Templars were the bad guys?"

"That's Assassin's Creed, you dolt."

"Wait, that guy's French. Aren't the Québecois a pack of ********s?"

"No, that's France, and if we're assuming the coup's still recent, he could be part of the resistance."

"So then why would America invade Québec?"

"Because it speaks French and Americans fail Geography."

"Does anyone know how those space plots tie into this?"

See? This is why I didn't want to crowdsource.

"So we have, like, three tracks that are all exposition right now. We should probably throw in a fight scene soon."

"Like with that other space crew? They've got a ready cliffhanger..."

"Nah, that's too obvious. 'Sides, zero character development."

"What about, the van stops for petrol and they're ambushed by ninja catgirls?"

"I'm not putting in catgirls," I stated.

"Hey, if it was good enough for Shakespeare—"

"He only did that because Mercutio suggested it!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh right, you don't read Irregular Webcomic!."

"Like I said—"

"I'm not putting in catgirls," I repeated.

"But it'll link to the aliens plot!"

"One, I don't get anime. Two, that's a slippery slope into furry."

"And the space cats aren't?"

"No. Do I have to explain it again?" The wall of blank stares indicated I did. "Ugh," I sighed, tapping a fist to the front of my helmet. "Alright, now pay attention..." I found a piece of mostly-blank paper and withdrew a pencil from my jacket. "We start with Subject A, the Artist, and Object A, an animal. Subject A applies anthropomorphic qualities to Object A, creating Object B." I drew an arrow from Objects A to B and a tributary line from the Subject. "Subject B, the Furry, is the consumer that gets off to Object B." I drew another arrow from S_b to O_b. "Now, S_a can be S_b, and that's when you get the hardcore porn, but no matter how hard one may try, S_b cannot, by definition, be O_b, since S_b has to be human." I summarized by sketching the following equation:

F = O_b ÷ S_b , where O_b = O_a × S_a .

"It's rudimentary, but it gets the point across."

"Hold on," Lary leaned forward, "What about stories where the characters refer to themselves as 'furry'?"

"Human author. Externally-imposed categorization."

"What about the people who literally think they are animals?" Denis called from the back.

"Nutcases. No further questions?" Before anyone could ask, I pressed on. "Good. So, getting back to—" I interrupted myself as I noticed Oleg snickering at a page in his hand. "What's so funny?"

"This pilot," he giggled, "You absolutely HAVE to do this!"

"Which one's that?" asked a comrade, craning his neck over the soldier's shoulder.

"'Men are such scum,' spat Geneviève Delacroix," he read aloud.

"Aw, no, noo," I groaned, trying to snatch the page back, "That was for the shredder, we're not using it!"

"But it's hilarious!"

"It's stupid, and horribly out of taste." I scowled as the sheet circulated amongst the group. "I mean, how many of you'd want to read a whole story like that?" Everyone raised their hand. I slammed my head onto the table; of course it was a dumb question. "Besides," I sprang back up, "I think I exhausted my diplomatic thesaurus for that scene alone."

"Then switch to corporate jargon," he stated matter-of-factly, "This is seriously too good to pass up."

"Look, I'll settle this once and for all." I stood up and scanned the room for a suitable officer. "Lieutenant Karenskaya!" I called, waving my arms as though trying to fly. Catching her attention I beckoned her over. "Show her," I ordered, and Oleg passed the page to her. "Lieutenant, please explain to my men why this is a bad idea."

Her eyes widened as she read down the page. But rather than reddening in anger as I had hoped, she began convulsing in laughter. "Oh, not you too—!" I wailed.

"What?" she chortled, passing it back, "It's the perfect lampoon of Western feminism when carried to its most extreme ideological exaggeration. Politically incorrect, yes, but the best satires generally are. Also, the double entendres are pure gold."

"But it's a total farce!" I cried, "It's not even a serious attempt!"

"Well, start treating it seriously, and the farce will be even funnier. That's an order, Sergeant," she winked before walking off. The men turned to me expectantly.

"I'm not doing it unless I have a full consens—"

"Aye," they all called.

I took a moment to flail my forearms about in frustration. "Fine," I sighed, "But only if we can work everything else together first. Alright?"

An hour later, we'd done just about that, figuring out an over-arching link between the Avatar guy and the space cats. I hadn't thought of a direct tie-in for the cultists, but given their theme it would be piss simple to add later. The other space plot was likewise up in the air, but I could come back to it too, maybe even save it as a tangential sideshow. As the mess hall began to empty I ordered the men back outside as I bundled up the fruits of our session. That evening, I sat before the typewriter with the pages laid out on either side of the desk.

Where to begin?

How to begin?

I'd done roughly equal work on the three main themes, was feeling no real inspiration for the fourth, and was putting off further adventures with Delacroix and Co. until I could write it cleverly. "Eeny meeny miney mo," I began, before grabbing the closest sheet. I fed it through and aligned the platen.

How to begin? That is the question. I thought briefly to Raymond Chandler, but I didn't really have a ready door. Then I thought back to Jasper Fforde, and recalled a similar plot device so iconic that it had been packaged into a ball and gifted to the protagonist as a reward for outstanding service.

A shot rang out.

Of all the craziness I was preparing for with this little escapade...a mathematical formula of the furry fandom was not on that list.

Now I feel like I should get in on this, if Thorvald is bringing his awesomeness to this thread.

"I really don't understand why you had to blindfold me, Steven."

With a black cloth covered over his eyes, Omega couldn't even see a single inch ahead of him. Already he regretted deciding to follow Steven into the FEAR base in Philadelphia; he would had been better off just trying to find a living on the city streets or something. At least he wouldn't be human sacrifice to some weird element bending cult.

"Stupid rules," Steven conceded, "But don't worry, we're right where we need you to be".

Omega could hear the click of a key being inserted into a door, followed by the creaking of the door opening. With a light push, Omega was shoved into the room; the lack of visual coordination made him fall flat on his face. The brown haired agent swearing underneath his breath, Omega could feel Steven grabbing him as he was lifted back on the feet, before removing the blindfold.

"I'm pretty sure Hansen would want you to take a seat," Omega groaned as regained his balance.

"We're here," Steven noted, ignoring his guest's accusation. Instead, with a fell swoop, Steven grabbed Omega's blindfold. Blinking to get used to the shining light, Omega could see in the faint glimmers a bunch of men and women dressed in identical suits, most of them burying their faces within their hands. This was certainly a very interesting first impression Omega made...

In the center, an older woman, with graying hair and a necklace of pearls, was flanked with a few guards of various different appearances. Everyone was starting directly at Omega, as if he was the only other person in the entire room besides themselves. That is, all but one. One woman, about the same age as Steven and adorned with a raven crown, was strangely staring Steven instead; a quick glance to his side revealed to Omega that Steven's sole attention was on her too, complete with a blush and dumb smile.

Before Omega could investigate about any of these people, the older woman turned her attention to Steven. "So," she inquired, "this is the boy that survived the Darkness?"

"Yes," Steven responded with a nod, "He was the sole survivor in Hummel."

"And any place that Darkness struck," the woman corrected. Turning her attention back to Omega, she interrogated, "So, boy, I'm sure Steven here told you everything about the Darkness and the fear"

"The basics," Omega conceded, "Steven told me a story that sounded like a really poor rip-off of Avatar-"

The woman audibly groaned. "A broken watch is right twice a day, and that applies to pop culture. Nothing more than a mere coincidence, but you will not believe how many recruits say the same thing ever since that blasted show was aired..."

"I didn't!" Steven flusterdly protested, "I thought it was pretty cool story!"

"That's because you live under a rock," the black haired woman sarcastically said, a thick French-like accent punctuating the accusation.

"Can we get to the point?" Omega meekly protested. He honestly did not want to deal with the discussion of who watched what show that aired a half a decade ago; he just wanted some stupid answers to the stupid situation that he found himself in.

"Right," the grey-haired woman said, "Questions of the similarity of the prophecy to a well-known TV show aside, we do have two major situations we have to deal with immediately. Since the boy is here, we mind as well deal with him first.

I used to have many different names, boy, but now I only go by 'Alpha'. It was my codename of old, and the only one anyone else alive remembers. And what would be yours?"

"My name is Omega", the protagonist said.

"Don't be a wise-a**", Alpha indignantly responded.

"I'm being serious," Omega defensively protested, "My parents were super weird!"

"It was the name he introduced himself as," Steven pointed out. "I don't think he's trying to be funny, Alpha".

With a sigh, Alpha continued, "OK.... 'Omega'. I am the Grandmistress of FEAR. And as Steven mentioned to you, we have a prophecy. A prophecy you so far have partially fulfilled. That makes you special to us, whether you like it or not. I want you, along with Steven and Marie, to go and complete the ritual-"

A tall, bald man that flanked Alpha spoke up, pointing at the black haired woman from earlier. "Shouldn't Marie be with us with the second discussion? It involves her directly-"

"Which is why she should not be present, Mr. Anderson. The testing room is deeper in, so if President Christian decides to act rashly, she'll be deeper within the base."

Omega could see who he was guessing was Marie debating on speaking up herself, but deciding at the last moment not to say anything. Instead, she walked up to the confused Omega and his agent friend. From the corner of the eye, Omega could see Marie grabbing Steven's hand.

"Not even a day since he's back", Alpha sarcastically interjected, "and the two of you are fraternizing already? Tsk tsk." The room erupted in a cacophony of laughter, which got the two agents, along with Omega by proxy, to quickly leave the room.

As the flustered pair of agents started to navigate the corridor of rooms, Omega couldn't help but ask, "So, Marie, what is the second situation?"

"I'm Québécois. And thanks to a sudden reality shift, it somehow became an independent nation, and I'm a citizen of it by proxy. Now that America decided to invade us, President Christian is demanding that they hand me over for 'loyalty questioning', which is really 'execute me as a spy'"

"That's... bleak," Omega stammered out.

"It's also the truth, sadly," Marie continued, "But Alpha never would hand a single operative to their death willingly. She already told Christian no already, but Christian apparently called again, and was on hold when you showed up."

"Don't worry," Steven consoled "I'll- We'll make sure no one hurts you. I promise." Marie only responded with a quick embrace with the pyromancer, right in front of a door that read "TESTING SITE"

"We're here, Omega," Steven redundantly added, "We're going to test which element you are."

"It's a waste of time. I don't have any"

"Only one way to find out," Marie coyly countered.

Entering the room, Omega could see the room was very spartanesque. A few candles encircled the middle of the room, with a small black rod in the very center. A small faint picture was drawn in the circle, a deception of a sunrise. Steven effortlessly lit the candles on fire with a puff of fire magic.

"This is the exact place where I discovered my latent pyromancy," Steven noted.

Marie nodded. "And my aquamancy. And here, we'll most likely find that you'll have all four abilities. Since you're the chosen one-"

"I'm not"

"-So, just sit down right on the sun and place your hands on the conductor, AKA that black thingy. You're probably going to get knocked out, but that's normal. You'll have a vivid trip, and soon your body's potential will be unlocked."

Not seeing much choice in the matter, Omega sighed and sat down in the circle. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands on the conductor. Marie and Steven started to murmur in a dead language; he couldn't tell what but it sounded like a broken English. Probably Saxon, Omega concluded, based on their origins. The two stopped their chanting, obviously expecting something to happen.

Nothing happened.

"That's strange," Marie confusedly said, "He should had been knocked out by now"

"I told you," Omega protested, "I don't h-". The black haired teen instantly fell down, hands still grasping on the conductor.

---

Waking up, Omega found himself in some sort of strange bar. The building had windows, but outside was complete darkness, with no discernible features leading outside the bar. Inside, however, the florescent lights were brightly shining, but no light ever dared illuminate anything outside of the exact room he was in, even with doors open and the aforementioned windows.

Scattered across the bar were a bunch of people, blissfully unaware of his presence in the bar. Two soldiers in the same uniform, one male and one female, were at the bar itself, drinking and discussing war stories about conflicts that never happened. The man had a grenade launcher strapped to his back, and with a Danish insignia on his arms, while the female had a sniper rifle and a Belgian patch. Over by a pool table, a short redhead man dressed like a black bloc anarchist was discussing his adventures on an island over a game with another redhead, only a woman, and dressed in jungle camouflage complete with facepaint. Near the back, an Asian woman dressed in traditional Muay Thai attire was practicing various attacks, without a care in the world to the people surrounding her. Omega never met these people in his life, yet, they all seemed oddly familiar to him.

However, suddenly, all five stopped their activities. As one, they quickly stopped moving, even breathing, and stared down the newcomer with expressionless faces.

"Omega..." the five cried out, with various accents but no emotion in their voices.

The five slowly started to march towards their new guest. Omega, afraid for his life, quickly grabbed a stool near himself and started to threateningly stab the air with its feet. However, none of the five even flinch, and they paused once they completely surrounded him.

"We've been expecting you..." they emotionlessly cried out in unison. "Don't be afraid of us..."

A gust of wind started to blow inside the room, strong enough to blow bottles and other objects around. The fluorescent lights above the five stopped shining; the light they produced was replacing by a cackling fire. A fissure opened underneath Omega, slowly dragging him inside, and water started to gush into the room.

"Who are you?" Omega demanded, fear in his voice.

"We are you..." they responded, before pouncing on top of the black haired teen.

Suddenly, nothing existed. There was no wind, there was no fire, there was no fissure, and there was no water. There was no bar or even the strange people. For a brief second, there was nothing in this whole world but Omega himself.

Then, the darkness around him flashed into a brilliant light, and a lightning bolt crashed down on Omega. The bar returned, and the people were there, but nothing else was. Omega raised his palm towards his assaulters, and almost instinctively, fired a bolt of lightning at the five. They all screamed in pain, but, filled with a bloodlust, Omega continued to zap over and over and over again. They were his, he knew, and he was going to make them pay for messing with him.

---

"OMEGA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING," a familiar female voice cried out.

Omega blinked, and he was back in the room with the circle in it. The wall in front of him was covered in burn marks, and Omega could feel and see electricity sparkling all over his hands as residue.

"I feel... weird," Omega admitted, grasping his hands tightly in pain.

"Omega," Marie said in complete bafflement, "What you did... should be impossible"

"I thought... that's what benders do?"

"Yes," Steven conceded, "But we bend the four elements. Fire, water, earth, and wind. What you used... lightning..."

"In our thousand-year history," Marie chimed in, "NO ONE has ever bent lightning. EVER."

Steven continued, "When I said you would bring balance to the world, Omega, we generally assumed you'd be able to use all the elements, not introduce a fifth one! Unless..."

"Lightning is what brings balance...," Omega concluded.

The two agents stared at each other, nodded, and then said in unison:

"Omega, you are the chosen one".

Suddenly, the door was forcefully opened, and Mr. Anderson was at the door.

"We're in danger, you three. Christian and Alpha talked on the phone a few minutes, but then Green Berets entered the place and started shooting at us! They captured Alpha and-"

With the thunderous roar of a gunshot, Mr. Anderson fell onto the ground; the back of his head was gushing out blood all across the floor. With his body on the ground, the three could see a US Special Forces soldier, with a smoking pistol.

Another shot rang out.

Can anyone contribute any story - ie, not necessarily connected to existing DYOS or WYOS stories?

If not, just ignore what follows. Or I can replace it with ... I dunno ... some sort of rant, I suppose.

If so, I've got a story...

EDIT: I'll see if I can come up with an appropriate rant.

Whoops.