I have something good lying around but I would need confirmation that this is legit.

“Good morning to you all,” said the man in the coat and tie. He was intelligent, that man. Very intelligent for his own good. He knows far too much, and must be exterminated.

I have prepared my USMC DMR. I have more than enough bullets to kill everyone in the room. No one can see me from my spot. The door towards the corridor has been jammed by my colleague. There is no escape. Nothing could go wrong now, my dears. You are all going to have a quick and painless death. It is not my favorite kind of death, though, but it is the kind best suited for this kind of mission.

I pull the trigger. A soft bang. Headshot. Down goes the man in the coat and tie. 5 men try to leave, 2 panic, 3 jump out the window. They fall down the tall building. Plummet. They’re dead now. 7 are left. I then remember that they have mouths. I look towards the rooms beside that one. No one there. I’m safe. Another bullet goes through another man. His glbumes fall and crack. His head falls on them. He’s dead. It’s almost too easy.

6 are left. I aim for the head of the panicky one. Boom. Another headshot. He falls to the floor. Dead. At this point all five of them are panicking. This is one of my easiest missions yet. I aim at the head of another fellow. He looks at me. I pull the trigger too soon and miss. His eyes penetrated through me like a sharp knife, as if he has seen me. I quickly reload and OH MY GOD HE HAS A GU—-

I open my eyes. I’m in a dark room. It has some light but it’s still relatively hard to see. It’s a miracle I’m still living. That bullet went through my head. I try to get up. I can’t. It feels like I’m all tied up. Footsteps. I hear them. They slowly get louder. It means they’re coming. Who are they? Why am I here? Why am I still alive?

The door opens. 2… things. I can’t tell. They are wearing trenchcoats and fedoras. I can’t really make it out. They come near me and I still can’t make it out. They raise a finger. They slowly point it towards my bullet wound. Suddenly some sort of mechanism comes out of one’s sleeves. It glows radiantly, almost as if having much power. It’s very OH MY GOD IT HURTS AHH ARRGHH IT HURTS IT HURTS

Oh dear god why. They actually fit in that mechanism through my bullet wound. I realize some things afterwards. Fun facts really. I knew this one. I knew that. God this is OH DEAR GOD WHY AHHH NOOO TOO MUCH THIS IS TOO MUCH AHHHHH

Ahahahahaha. Ey guys? Can you let me out now? Ahahahahaha, I seem to be in the wrong place, I need to be in Jupiter in 10 minutes. I’m gonna be the Prince of Wishful Thinking, you see. I’m gonna revolutionize the universe, eh? Guys? Don’t leave me here, guys, we’ve still got a legacy to consider! WE WILL DESTROY TRAITOR YURI! IS THIS ALL THE GODS COULD THROW AT US!? YOU FOOLS!

I suddenly remember this man. I think he was the one who is stupid. Bushy, that guy. He wanted me to kill some guy with the magic bullet found in the Grbum Knoll, you see. He hired me from the depths of hell to exterminate some guys. He said I can have fun with them. Are you the people I killed? Tell me. I am getting bored by these colors of awe and wonder. I wonder if I’m gonna die in 5 minutes. I wonder if there’s a conspiracy going on and this thing is actually for me to go insane, haha. Tell me, little dearies, have I lost it? Is it too much to ask of my status? Hey dearies, Are you still there?

Hehehhehehehehhe… Hoooo, this getting tied up till rotting is becoming very boring. Do you have the time and date, pillow? Oh look, a man in all black lookin’ all spy like. Hello there! What’s your name? Shh? I don’t think that’s a proper name for ya, ya hear me here!? I dub you Chair, after my friend here! Don’t you think he’s a very nice guy? Hey, where are you going!? I want to tell you some stuff! I know where to take the right turn to Albaqurque! God dammit. It’s getting lonely in here.

Wait, didn’t that guy I tried to kill last had the same mechanism as I had now? Hehehe… I couldn’t remember actually. How about you, Pillow? Do you remember? How about you, Chair? Do you remember? Sigh, I wish I had someone to talk to, actually. I also yearn for the day I finally eat. Speaking of which, I’m really, really, really hungry. Do you still have the time, Chair? How about you, right-face wall? Mmhmm… You do say? Well I must be sleeping now, I see. I shall commence my daily activities again tomorrow, my friends. Till we meet again…

...sigh.

EDITED 3 TIMES.

as i said, if you’ve posted it somewhere else it is not eligible for this contest

internets are srious buisness

more stories! i wanna see some competition!

I like these stories. It will be interesting to see the final results.

I’ve never been good with other people. That’s all there is to it, really. They’re all the same. They laugh, and joke, and smile, but when I try to join in, try to be wanted and loved by other humans, they just stop. They all hate me. Not her, though. She was different. But then, I suppose she was never really human. She looked human of course; a trick by the designers to get us to open up to her, to care for her. And it worked. “Hello, Mr. White. How are you today?” She said, a smile ever present on her face.

We would talk, and she wouldn’t push me away. She would laugh at my jokes. She would compliment me. I loved her. She was the only thing I had in my life worth a damn. Then it all changed.

I went into work one morning, the thought of seeing her friendly face making my life seem meaningful again. But when I walked through those doors, she wasn’t there. In her place was something 10 times more efficient, or so they say, but also 10 times colder. “Mr. White. Here are your bumignments for the day. Please try to finish them in the optimum amount of time suggested by each individual case. Have a nice day.”

“Where’s the person who used to sit here? Where’s Rose?”

“I am not programmed to hold conversations. Have a nice day.”

A mix of feelings rose in me that moment. Sorrow. Anger. Loss. Rage. “Answer my question, Goddamn it!”

“I am not programmed to hold conversations. Have a nic-”

It stopped there because I had punched it with all my might and crushed its fragile skull. Office robots are not built for durability. I ran out of the building, trying to conceal my tears. But still, I know all of the people were watching. Judging me. “Freak.” I heard one mutter.

That’s all I am to him. Some freak on the sideline. A source of ridicule.

But I don’t care what he thinks. All I cared about was finding Rose. I know it’s an acronym. Robotic Operating System. But why do they give them names and form if they’re just going to throw them out like yesterdays garbage? Regardless, I had an inkling of an idea where to find her. When a robot is deemed to be obsolete, they are replaced with a new model and sent to the robot junk yard outside of town. I remember when I was younger I would journey there, and talk to the more lucid ones. It was always the same story. They were all too human. People were frightened and disturbed by how similar the robots were to humans, so they replaced them with machines that did the job and did not stir emotion. They bared no malice though. They didn’t understand as I did. They didn’t require appreciation and had no feelings to speak of. I appreciated them though, and I sometimes I fancy that they thought of me as a friend, and that my relationship with them was more than one-sided. I know better now, but that doesn’t stop me needing them. Needing Rose.

When I reached the junk yard it was sometime around noon. After exploring for a while, I began to give up hope. Rose, my Rose was but one of the many Robotic operating systems produced. I would see her, plain in front of me, and rush to meet her. But then she shows no recognition of me, and I realize that it’s just the same model as her. Not my Rose. Not my love. I was about to give up, and resign to my loneliness when I heard her voice. “Mr. White?”

I turned to look at where I had heard her calling me. “Rose? Yes. Yes, it’s me. I’m here. I’ve come to rescue you. Hang on. Please, stay with me.”

She was in pretty bad shape. The people who collected her didn’t know her like I did, and took no care in transporting her. What did it matter if her arm fell off, or her head cracked? To them, she was just an obsolete tool. To me, she was everything.

I could see that she didn’t have long left. The least I could do was stay here for her, to comfort her just as she comforted me. “Mr. White?”

“Yes?”

She paused for a moment, and then said something that I will remember for the rest of my life: “Thank you.”

And then, she switched off. She died.

I cried that day. I cried until I had no tears left. I know she was just programmed to say those words when anybody offered her bumistance, but they touched me deeper than anything else before. And still I wonder, just before she faded, did I see something in her eye? Emotion? Love? No. Impossible. She was just a machine.

—-

Copyright King Krimson 2008.

Edited once, to fix some minor spelling mistakes.

Meerh Hrn Hmp Hmm, hmp der hernaher. Merner hm derder hmd, hernaherna mer hmm hmp merh hmp. Hmp der hm hernaherna mer hmm derder. HRRHRRHRR!

lol at effort being put into a fake contest.

zigzagoon Posted:

is not fake Log in to see images!

Proof?

Sharif shifted his weight to his right leg on top of the church steeple. He felt the cold steel of his blade pressing against his white robes. All around him was complete tranquility; the breeze was as much a part of him as his killing hand. The ring finger on his left hand had been removed as part of a Hashbumin initiation during the middle ages, and his ritualistic dagger was still attached to his left arm, ready to burst out of the hole left from his ring finger with only the slightest twitch. However, what had once been a weapon to deliver its’ victims to the hands of god was now used to protect those very victims from the dark lord himself.

He felt a disturbance in the trees and knew something had gone askew. Out of his periphiral vision he could see what he had feared would be there; a shamanistic imp. These agents of satan were of the lowest caste; only used in missions where there was a low threshold for error and mishap. He knew that the target he had been sent to protect was the same that this lowly demon had been sent to posess.

The one he had been sent to protect was not a very high level persona, but rather a small infant. This infant had come down with a sickness, and made an easy target for demonic possesion. He had seen the child before, but only while he had been sent to protect another person in this small village from demonic possesion. The satanic influence over this village had been growing exponentially in the past century; the old town crier had even resorted to animalistic sacrifice of multiple residents of the village. That incident had become somewhat of a legend inside the town, and was the reason why a death angel such as Sharif was bumigned to this town.

Sharif sighed at the sad attempt by the dark lord to wreak havoc to this village. The last few weeks had been littered with attacks like this one, and all had failed miserably. He expected that the dark lord would attempt a more daring attack if he was willing to expose himself at all. Sharif flicked his wrist, and his blade extended from inside of his cloak. The imp began his descent from the trees, creating only a whisper worth of noise. The reason imps would be used was for stealth. Sadly for this imp, Sharif was the most skilled Death Angel that He had in his kingdom. Sharif extended his wings and dove towards the imp. His left hand sprung forward like the tail of a scorpion, and made contact with bile flesh. The imp let out a cry of terror, and stumbled a few steps before falling to its final resting place, only a few feet from the tree it had started in. Sharif’s hidden blade retracted back into his cloak, cleansing itself of the demon’s blood in the process.

“Lok Tar!” Shouted a voice from behind Sharif. For the last century, a behemoth of a trap had been set in motion. He had been the target all along.

A tyrant of a demon was towering over him. If the villagers had the ability to see this demon or any of the others surrounding him, they would have died on sight. Humans were oblivious to the etheral world around them; they could only see the first three dimensions. All spiritual activity existed on a higher plane.

“You die now!” The tall demon shouted at him. The spit that flew out of the demon’s mouth when he spoke burned Sharif’s leathery skin. Although he had angelic white color to him, Sharif had skin comparible to kevlar. The only thing that could do real damage to him was demonic entities. Apparently, spit from a demon qualified in this area. Sharif leapt back as a demon smashed a club into the spot he was standing only moments ago. After a quick once-over of the area, Sharif counted around twenty demons in all. The odds were against him. He smiled to himself, realizing this was the first time in hundreds of years that he has had the pleasure of being challenged.

Sharif leapt into the air and pulled his bow from his back. As he hovered in the air with help from his wings, he pulled the string of his bow back. An arrow of magnificient light bloomed into existence between his fingers, ready to be fired at the closest attacker. The demons responded to this light by squinting and snarling at him, angry that something so beautiful was allowed to be alive. Sharif felt his muscles tense as he prepared for battle. He let loose the first arrow, and it found its target square in the eyes of the tall demon that had so eagerly fortold his death only moments ago. A heavy thud accompanied by the screams of the demons trapped under the hefty giant’s corpse resonated through the village, and the remaining demons readied themselves for battle, no doubt afraid for their lives.

Sharif allowed himself to fall to the ground softly as he drew his sword from its sheath. The sword resonated a cherubic tone as it glided through its protective casing. A stout imp ran towards Sharif and raised his clawed hands, reaveling a poison tipped blade in each. Another demon leapt onto his back and held Sharif’s neck. Two identical looking imps jumped at him and grabbed his arms and legs. The tips of the poisoned blades barely scratched his skin before he broke loose from his captors and pulled his sword out of its sheath.

A shiver went down his spine and Sharif felt his right arm go numb. His sword clattered to the ground, ripping apart the small layer of leaves that had fallen into the church’s courtyard. He had only a small amount of time before the rest of his body went numb. If he was to get himself to safety where he could cleanse his wounds, Sharif had to finish the battle quickly.

A scream of terror was emitted from the imp directly in front of him as an arrow punctured its head. The imp crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The remaining four imps looked around, trying to spot the source of the attack. Sharif looked up and saw a shrouded figure behind the church bell for a moment as it turned around and vanished. Four more arrows came from different areas and silenced the last imps. The hooded figures came down and circled Sharif. He could tell from their robes that they were also angels of some sort. However, they did not seem to have the standard issue wings given to death angels. Their wings were buzzard like; these Death Angels were of the highest order, sent only when the Dark Lord himself was about to make an appearance.

And appear he did. A three headed dog appeared and snarled at the Death Angels. This very dog was the reason the Cerberus myth had been created. The villagers in the area screamed and ran. This beast was able to be seen by humans. The dog stood at over twenty feet tall, and each head was accompanied by horns and red demonic eyes. The problem was not the dog, however, but the figure standing on top of it. On the middle head, a black robed figure with a crown of fire on his head was standing, hands in prayer position. A deep, resonating laugh filled the village. The laugh of the devil.

“Hello, my fellow Death dealers! I am glad I have such a happy welcoming commitee!” spoke Satan. He lifted his hands, producing fire in each of them. As he rose his head and tore off the hood, the head of a young man was what stared at them with malice. They were staring at death.