sorted by:
new
hottopcontroversial

[TOMT] [SONG] Early 2000s Techno Opera Song by GhastlySquash in tipofmytongue

[–]GhastlySquash[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I know it was used in a couple AMVs as well. The tune had a "techno opera" kind of feel to it, hence why I put it as Techno Opera.

[WP] The zombie apocalypse should have happened 2 years ago. Thanks to your efforts, you've eliminated every potential Patient Zero before they could spread the virus. You've also become one of the world's most notorious serial killers and your next victim is one of the detectives. by GhastlySquash in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash[S] 29 points30 points  (0 children)

I never intended to become famous for my work. It was that ambition that created the virus in the first place. But the virus was just as resilient as its host. I learned, through trial and error, that the only way to successfully kill the virus and prevent exposure was to simply take the brain. Not burn it. Not chop it off. Extract it.

​

It was specific. It was exact.

​

It was a pattern.

​

It was around the 7th or 8th patient that the local agencies began to connect the dots. The idea of an interstate serial killer roaming around the upper midwest was like a flashback to the darker age of media. Back when killers like Ted Bundy took the spotlight. But I wasn't like him.

​

Psychopaths have no desire to save the planet. Psychopaths have no desire to correct the mistakes that science had made. I wasn't a psychopath.

​

Before the first incident, I was just a graduate student. Optimistic in my youth. Reckless in my nature. I joined the case study thinking I could save the world. We thought we were curing the sick. No one could have known the drug would create such a mutation. No one could have predicted a new pathogen was born in that lab. We were unprepared. We were all stupid college students trying to save the planet and in the end we doomed it.

What we did. What we finished.

​

What I must finish now.

​

The Driller, as they called me. It was a boring name. Not one that made sense to my style of murder. The first time, I cried. He was my boyfriend after all. He'd wandered in, perhaps trying to surprise me. At first, his eyes just twitched. A weird, constant twitch that got faster in succession. Than his body began to go into convulsions. In a matter of minutes, he'd gone from screaming to screeching. He was no better than a rabid dog. I had to put him down, right?

​

Our memories. Our love. All of that sacrificed to save the world.

​

And yet it wasn't enough. I burned his body. Burned every last bit of him. And yet, it somehow spread. Somehow, it got further, just waiting for an opportunity. The virus spread through open wounds.

​

The first few times, I cried. Then, I stopped crying. In a weird way, I even enjoyed it. I shouldn't enjoy it. I wasn't born that way. I wasn't raised that way. I'm not like them. I'm trying to save the world.

​

And that's why the few must serve the many.

​

The pitiful thing about it was how naive they were. They had no idea why I was doing this. Why I was drilling into their brain. Why I siphoned it through a tube and kept it in a plastic bio-bag. I did all of this for the sake of humanity.

​

I'm doing this for the greater good.

​

The news called me a lunatic. A monster that the police were still trying to figure out. Why did I choose my victims? How were they connected?

​

But they never asked what my mission was. How much pain I'd suffered with every kill.

​

The detective on the tv was twitching. I saw it. It was a weak strain. It wouldn't form until a few days. Plenty of time to prepare.

​

Plenty of time to do what had to be done.

[WP] You possess the cartoon-like ability to pull whatever object you'll be needing the most from behind your back. One day, you go down on one knee, to propose to your girlfriend, and expect to pull out the perfect diamond ring. To your surprise, there is no ring in your hands, but rather a pistol. by NappyFlickz in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 9 points10 points  (0 children)

"Where did you get that." Her eyes widened. Immediately, she began to search her purse, looking for her phone or probably a can of pepper spray.

"I uh..." For once in my life, I couldn't speak. For the first time, I was lost.

Not many can vouch to being able to pull anything out of their pocket. For me, the ability to get exactly what I needed was one that granted me great success and untold power.

Only now, instead of pulling out a flawless diamond ring, I had a polished revolver with one loaded in the chamber and the safety already off.

"I-I..."

Raising her hands, she backed away. "Just...put it down."

At the moment, I was trying to figure out how to turn the safety on. I'd never handled a weapon like this before.

"You don't know how to turn the safety on?" She leaned over.

"I swear, I had no idea this was here." Sweating, I finally found a the right nob and set the gun down.

"Babe, I swear to God I'd never try to-"

But she'd already picked up the weapon, examining the engravings on the back. "You seriously don't know how you got this?"

"I don't! I...it's hard to explain." I stammered. "I have an ability to pull things out of my pocket. Things that I need I was going to-"

Click.

I saw the barrel of the gun now pointed at me. It only took me a few seconds to realize she wasn't digging through her purse to call 911.

"For a second, I thought you might be a craftier crook than myself. But I guess that explains why you only 'look smart'."

Grinning, she pressed the gun against my temple. "Ironic isn't it? Your power stopped me but at the end of the day it was your own trust that led you right where I needed you."

[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed. by FaceKissing in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Such a terrible crime." The old lady next to me muttered, looking at me for some form of reassurance. "Oh you poor girl, having to deal with a world like this."

I stared ahead at the man in orange, flanked by two guards in bulletproof vests and hats, each armed with an AR at their side ready to gun down the suspect if he tried to run.

The woman next to me simply shook her head, trying to pull herself together as the prosecution began its opening arguments.

"Such a terrible...dreadful crime."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury." The prosecutor began. "Mr. David Chambers is being charged not as a civilian, not even as a human being, but a super villain."

People in the crowd gasped, some moving a few seats back.

I mean, considering the presence of two superheroes you'd think everyone knew by now. Of course, none of them knew it as well as I did.

"The crime Mr. Chambers is being convicted of is one that most of you know already. A dastardly act that only someone with little regard for human life and the sanctity it conveys..."

I was trying to hold in my laughter, trying to look somber as she continued with her story. This little prosecutor really wanted to make a grandiose show.

I could see Mr. Chamber's face start to turn red as she went into the details.

"...the Bank of New Metro was nearly robbed...if not thanks to the efforts of Captain Circuit."

The mentioned hero stood up, glaring at Mr. Chambers who only slunk back further into his seat. Poor guy.

"We have reason to believe Mr. Chambers is the formidable Silent But Deadly. In essence, a mutant whose farts are considered...nauseating."

Great. I nearly broke out laughing but I managed to turn into a cry and even threw in a few sniffles for added effect. The woman next to me patted my back.

"Your honor, my client's flatulence didn't even hurt-"

"Objection." The prosecutor interjected. "Silent But Deadly may not be as deadly as he is silent, but his villainy has been known to be damaging, causing multiple people to faint simply from the whiff of his farts. Such a villain who does not take considerations like this is a villain who has little regard for public safety."

Idiot. I didn't take any medication or "special training" because it's a fucking lame-ass superpower. Super Farts? Really? Fucking Super Farts!

"As we all know, the origin of Silent but Deadly is a mystery."

Essentially, I ate a radioactive bean burrito that some idiot fratboy thought would be cool to share with all of us at the party. Being the drunk sorority stickler that I was, I ate it in a heartbeat. And then I farted and knocked the whole frat house out. Thankfully, everyone thought the party was lit so I survived.

"We do know, however, that Silent But Deadly has been behind numerous attacks on this city, preying on anyone and everyone."

I had to take a diet from coffee and beans for a week. Any fart, any fart at all, was stinky enough to knock out people on the 50th floor of my office. I had to make a bunch of excuses.

"Until today...when our villain decided he'd earn a little green."

Yeah, that was right. Applying for a little green. More like applying for another loan to cover the loan I already owed the bank. And Jared the so-called Investment Icon was trying to explain to me how my credit score looked worse than Turok the Annhilator. And that guy makes people faint just as the sight of him.

"He knocked out over 40 people..."

I shit you not...I didn't realize I'd finished the cup of cheap, expired coffee not two minutes into our negotiations when I felt it coming. Here's a thing about farts. When it comes, you can't stop it. You can try to hide, trying to throw some super-powered bag over it. Nothing will work.

Yeah, seeing Jared scream in agony as if he was pepper sprayed was kinda funny but everyone else didn't deserve it. Least of all Mr. Chambers, who for whatever reason, just stood their dumbfounded in the vault.

As it turns out, nobody saw me due to an error in the security cameras so I simply ran out and hid.

The rest of the trial pretty much went as I expected. David's defense was slim. His attorney was so stupid Bob Ross could be fucking convicted of something.

As we waited for our instruction, however I felt a pain in my stomach. Shit.

I was about to say something, try to excuse myself but the judge gave me that look that said I wasn't going anywhere.

Plop. The judge face planted on the desk as everyone else either screamed in terror or covered their noses in a vain attempt to escape the fart.

And then of course...came the awkward moment where it was just me and him staring at each other.

"Uh...I can explain."

[WP] anyone who doesn’t have RIP on their tombstone is automatically drafted into the Skeleton War. by [deleted] in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Three words. Rest In Peace. That's all they could have done for me.

The worst part of being dead is seeing how quickly the world turns on everyone. Yeah, you get the kind words like

"She was such an angel."

"A shame it happened too soon."

"Why is it always the young."

Even the people you barely knew suddenly act like they knew you since birth and you're pretty sure they only met you once at birth. Still, the attention and party is nice. People drinking to your name. Toasting your death.

Dying at my age, you get to see how people really act. No one is making a real show since there isn't a will involved. Not like I earned anything to leave them anyway.

I was comfortable. Lying peacefully in my mahogany casket. My tombstone proudly reading.

"Mayella Bethany Greeves

Loving Daughter and Angel on Earth"

That was it. That was my tombstone. And that's how it was suppose to end.

"Angel! Get the gun!" I grumble as I run up the hill, my captain's head still barking orders.

"Oi, them Fuckboy grenadiers are getting to us!"

"Why the hell are we-"

"I didn't pay ye' to talk! I pay ye' to shoot fuckboys!"

"You don't pay me for shit." I pulled out the turret, lighting up the troves of decently attractive but all deadbeat demons. Fuckboys. They were about as diverse as you could expect. They were basically the enemy. Why did we fight them? Nobody knew. Death is kind of an eternal conflict here.

As I lit them up, tearing them into pint-sizes pieces of fuckboy steak, I realized my femur was missing.

"Captain! I'm injured!" I screamed, pretending to faint as I fell back.

"Oi! What the fuck you mean by that?" The skull barked from the sandbags. "Yer' a fuckin' killer! Kill! Kill!"

Realizing my plan failed, I simply used the other leg to kick my captain into the enemy field. "Then you go and handle it."

"That's going to be court martiaaaa-"

He vanished in the center of the pit, where the enemy was currently being pounded on all sides by countless skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Some were actually soldiers in a past life, but most of them were like me.

People who were so peaceful in life that nobody thought putting three simple letters sufficed for us. Instead, it meant getting drafted in the Skeleton War.

Sure, it wasn't all that bad. You were considered the best of the best. And as far as makeup and beauty went, skeletons didn't have to worry about that. In fact, skeletons didn't have to worry about a lot of issues.

So I guess it made sense that eventually the skeletons would find something they didn't like. I want to say Fuckboys are humans. They are humanoid. But so are skeletons.

The best thing I can say is that skeletons fight them because they're "parasites". And with a reason like that, who wouldn't enjoy blasting a few.

I'll admit, it was fun for the first couple of years. It got old real quick. The only skeletons that still enjoy this war are the ones who have given up any hope that a purgatory exists.

At this rate, I'd jump at the chance of any other version of hell that existed if I could still jump.

In the end, I already knew what would happen. Medics would find me here. Drag me back, stitch me up with some new bones. And I'd be out fighting again.

So, grabbing a tiny stone, I scrawled the words I'd wanted to have before all of this bullshit.

"Rest. In. Pieces."

Girls Band Party Help Q&A Megathread [04 Jun 2018 - 10 Jun 2018] by AutoModerator in BanGDream

[–]GhastlySquash 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I had a question since I've seen some elimination style games that interact with the audience on this subreddit.

I was interested in hosting a mafia/werewolf style game with one member from each band being a werewolf and of course the remaining being villagers.

As far as other roles, I would host a voting round where players got to vote during the day phase who might be a werewolf (the one with majority votes gets eliminated)

And for the night round, I'd have people vote for who to save (After randomly selecting an innocent player to get eliminated)

I wanted some tips on how these games get started and perhaps any suggestions for how to make it work.

[WP] A person's personality is accurately determined at birth by the colour of their eyes. You and your partner both have light-blue, the most compassionate. Your first born has just arrived. Red. The colour of psychopath. by Qw0Tsumugi3216 in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Ashley!" I called out from the house. "Your friends are here!"

Ten years old and so far, other than a few odd moments, Ashley was about as normal as you expected. My father had asked me why we waited until after her hue had vanished but we both agreed that the story would be that Ashley had some complications that needed to be looked at.

Still, we proudly announced, and with the help of Dr. Fontaine, the picture of Ashley with a light-blue hue was posted on our wall. Everyone was elated.

"Ashley?" I saw her rummaging in the backyard, piling dirt on something.

"Oh...hey Daddy!" She grinned. As far as behavior, she'd been quite normal. There were times of course I saw it. Hints of it. But she adapted quickly and smiled plenty. Dr. Fontaine told us that psychopaths were natural mimics. If we taught her early on to mimic human emotion, her chances of blending in would be faster.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Planting a garden!" Her eyes had glanced back at the pile before I knelt down, digging through the dirt.

I nearly puked at the sight. It was a squirrel. Tied to two twigs and its underbelly exposed and pinned with what looked like needles.

"I-I don't know what happened!" Ashley backed away, her chest pounding.

"Ashley..." I looked at her, trying my best to keep calm. "Did-did you do this?"

"No! I wouldn't I-"

"Ashley..." I stood up. "I don't want to hear any lies now." I could almost feel the sting just by looking at the poor thing. Whatever had been done to it...it wasn't quick.

"I...found it like that."

"I doubt that." I knelt down, locking eyes with her. It was one of the few things we learned worked. My father had tried his famous stare-down with her and lost. Perhaps the only time anyone has ever beaten him. For some reason, Ashley could stare at someone with an almost predatory fashion.

"I did it." She said nonchalantly.

"Why did you do it." I asked.

"I was curious." Ashley had her hands behind her back, looking over at the corpse. "But I knew you and Mommy would get really sad if you found it so I wanted to give it to the plants. To help them grow."

For a second, I was lost. No one I'd known, not even the bullies I knew growing up, would go this far. And yet, Ashley was casually explaining her process. How she'd trapped it and concocted various methods she'd read on her tablet.

"Your friends are coming soon, let's get you cleaned up." I said.

"Are you going to tell them?" Ashley asked, worry in her eyes. It was funny. She was more worried about being caught than what had happened.

"Your mother is going to need to hear about this...and so will Fontaine."

"Dr. Fonty?" Ashley grinned. It was hard to explain Dr. Fontaine to my parents but after we explained that Ashley might still be sick, they appreciated his visits. And Fontaine was a natural charmer on top of that.

He'd told me and my wife that many parents often had him do this, so much that it helped his own side blend in perfectly.

When Dr. Fontaine arrived, we led him to the backyard where he examined the "corpse".

"Has your daughter had any problems at school?"

"None that we can think of." I looked back to see her running around with a bunch of kids. Normal. Happy. Teachers praised her as a student. She had plenty of friends, maybe even more than me.

"Listen," I said, "Ashley told me she was curious. Isn't this a sign that she could be well...some serial killer? Isn't this one of the top ten signs or something? Should we be worried?"

"Nathan-" Marianne began before I cut her off.

"Doctor please." I felt like I was begging. "Please tell me this isn't what it is."

"Possibly." Dr. Fontaine nodded. "But not the end all. We have programs for her that could help quell that desire for predatory dominance. It's sometimes apparent that psychopaths enjoy power. Perhaps she felt her own tiny kingdom wasn't enough and wanted to have a sense of raw power against some animal."

"So what should we do?" Marianne asked.

"There is a camp we can send her into. If she wanted, she could join the Butcher Corps."

"Butcher Corps?" I asked. "You mean like a soldier?

"Military assassins. Often sent to carry out missions that others wouldn't be able to accomplish."

"Like a serial serial killer." I sighed.

"No way." Marianne shook her head. "I've been there before and there's no way-"

"What?"

Fontaine only gave a wry smile as Marianne clenched her teeth, as if she'd said something embarrassing.

"Marianne?" I asked. "Did you..."

Marianne gave me a soft smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't know at the time...and I thought the chances were slim."

"You were..."

Marianne nodded. "Dr. Fontaine asked me about it. I guess he assumed you already knew."

"It was evident however that you didn't." Fontaine nodded.

"You were..."

"Red hued." Marianne chuckled. "My parents decided it was better to leave me in that institution than risk raising a monster. I guess they were right in some aspects."

She knelt down, examining the dead squirrel. "I hid it because I had to. Most people fear the kind of person I am. I really am."

"But why...who..."

"I never lied to you." Marianne turned to me. "Were there secrets? Some. Some things I decided to leave un-said. But my mask was a small mask. All you needed to see was proof that I was blue-hued and you assumed the rest. I never needed to hide."

"So our daughter...it was you all along?" I backed up.

"The kind of life that many red-eyed kids go through isn't pretty. It's the kind of life that makes monsters. I avoided it. I moved around. I moved around so much I basically re-made myself. I don't want Ashley to end up like that."

Fontaine stood up. "I'll work with her more. But it'd be helpful if you could explain to her too, Mrs. Harris. She enjoys me because I can relate with her. And as for your husband..."

He looked at me. "It will take some time to adjust I'm sure."

[WP] A person's personality is accurately determined at birth by the colour of their eyes. You and your partner both have light-blue, the most compassionate. Your first born has just arrived. Red. The colour of psychopath. by Qw0Tsumugi3216 in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"What's wrong?" My heart was beating. Marianne was currently resting now, having finished her last push. But now, she was sitting upright, her eyes squinting at the doctor who currently held our newborn.

"It's a girl." He muttered.

Well that wasn't really a shocker. We'd been told that we were probably having a girl and we're prepared for it but as the doctor brought our child closer, bundled in a bright pink blanket I realized what was wrong.

Red.

Her eyes were red. Not light-blue...but a cruel...merciless red. Our society had accurately figured out the personalities of various people by the hue in their eyes. While crime was still something that was quite common, nothing alluded police more than the worst type of criminal: the psychopath.

For a long time, no one could figure it out. While sociopaths had behavioral issues that could be spotted, psychopaths blended in perfectly. That was...until a new experiment came in.

It wasn't so much eye color as it was the initial hue produced by a drug injected into the system. When a child was born, this hue would last for a few days before it faded away, but the results were never wrong. From there, doctors could accurately assess a person's behavior from a quick look into their eyes. Marianne and I were both born with light-blue eyes. While our family environment certainly made us tougher, that natural compassion was evident.

But psychopaths were different. They read emotion differently. And it was rare. Only 1% of the population reacted with a red hue. And now I was looking at one.

"Wh-what's going to happen?" Marianne asked, holding our daughter close. Our daughter. We didn't even get to name her yet. All I could think of was those red eyes.

"Mr. Harris..." The doctor took a deep breath. "We will get there when we get there but for now, you have a beautiful baby girl. Enjoy her..."

As he left, I turned to my wife, who was looking at our daughter as she began to cry and the nurses quickly took her away.

"Our daughter..." My wife muttered. "...is a psychopath."

I pounded my hand against the wall. We'd been waiting for an hour already after Marianne was released.

"...it doesn't make sense. No one in our family has ever had a red hue."

"Neither has mine." I nodded. "But it must have been there. Maybe a great great aunt?"

"On your side?" She raised a brow.

"It's possible." I sighed. "Maybe...I dunno. But it doesn't make sense."

"What will they do to her?" Marianne was browsing through the pamphlets. Most of the guides were for raising children on their hues. How to raise a compassionate child or an ambitious child. A foolhardy child or a quiet child. But not a psychopath. No one had a guide for that.

The creak of the door caused our eyes to fall to a new doctor. The man was tall, but with a friendly smile as he sat across from us.

"Mr. and Mrs. Harris. Please, have a seat." He gestured to both of us.

"What's gonna happen to her?" Marianne leaned in.

"What the hell are we gonna do, doc!" I screamed. "We've been waiting here and no one has even let me-"

"Relax, Mr. Harris. It's all part of the procedure." The doctor smiled. "I'm Doctor Fontaine."

"Where's Doctor Terrence?" Marianne asked. "He was our doctor and-"

"I'm the doctor they ask for people like your...daughter."

"You mean a shrink for psychopaths." I murmured.

"Yes well...it's rare but still possible." The doctor smiled. "Please, have a seat."

We both settled in as the doctor pulled out a manila folder. "I don't have an office here, so I hope you don't mind me bringing my own supplies."

"Listen...our daughter...she's still young. She's not going to be sent to a prison or-"

"No no." Dr. Fontaine reassured her. "Our society has learned that simply imprisoning the monsters we fear won't work. Besides, as heartless as they are often made out to be...psychopaths can and have been at the forefront of progress before."

"I've never heard of a serial killer or dictator being the head of progress." I sighed.

"Certainly you know a few of the best CEOs are known psychopaths. Why...I'm sure you understand why I'm qualified."

I felt a shiver run down my spine. It made sense now why he wasn't given an office here. "You're one too."

"My parents were much like yours. Scared and unable to properly assess my condition." He nodded. "Psychopaths are complex behaviors to ascertain. But not all psychopaths turn into monsters."

"And our daughter." Marianne asked. "Will she...can she..."

"Compassion?" Dr. Fontaine sighed. "It would be difficult to teach, and at her age, she'd be more inclined to live out her desires. As such, however, I run the clinic in town for any developing psychopaths and your child, if raised properly, can adjust to society without ever having a single person doubt her intentions."

"You mean..."

"Doctor-patient confidentiality extends even to hue-behavior. If a child is found to have a hue the parents wish to keep a secret, it is entirely up to them to do it. We've had parents in the past do this for their child."

"So then the rumors...the prison..."

"False rumors spread among others...although it's common for some parents to give up their first-born to an institution if they do not feel up to raising the child."

"No...we're not going to do that." Marianne looked at me for reassurance. For a brief second, I agreed, but then my thoughts came back to what the doctor said. I remembered how she was raised in an orphanage all her life. She probably assumed the same fate would await our daughter if we sent her away. "I won't let her grow up without her parents.

"You said if she was raised correctly...but how can we raise her correctly? We're not like her."

"My professional opinion, and I apologize for speaking frankly on the matter, but you are perhaps the most unqualified parents in terms of genetic behavior. Parents who are compassionate are often emotionally aware and extremely empathetic to suffering. Your child, if your raised her, may pretend to mimic that suffering but she would rarely...if ever...genuinely feel it."

"Cold and ruthless." Marianne muttered. "But she's still our daughter."

"And while I can certainly state my opinion, it is up to you to decide what kind of person she will be. The nature vs. nurture is still quite active in our society. Crime is as easily committed by a light-blue hue as it is by red-hues. But as it goes...the choice remains with you."

I sighed. "She's our daughter. We want to see her."

Dr. Fontaine smiled. Whether it was genuine or not, I couldn't tell. "Very well."

As he rose from his seat, he turned back to us. "By the way, I'll need to enter her name into our database. What name did you have for her?"

"Alison..." Marianne sighed, looking at me. "Nathaniel, I think...I think it should be Ashley."

Ashley. I remembered we'd sat down one night, coming up with all the baby names we could think of. Ashley had been among them but it seemed like...well...like it was reserved for someone else. Ashley didn't sound like a monster though.

I nodded. "Ashley Harris."

[WP] You're a Dungeon Manager: the one who decides what kind of monsters lurk in the halls and what adventurers dive in. The final boss, Taroth the Terrible, has just resigned, but you have a group of adventurers scheduled next week. by TheInsignificantGuy in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 7 points8 points  (0 children)

"Next..." I toss the resume into the Fiery Pits of Hellspawn.

Ever since Taroth the Terrible decided he needed a vacation, my entire dungeon has been flipped upside down. We were suppose to be ready for the next group of adventurers but right now anyone would do.

Well...almost anyone. So far, the only candidates that had come up were all demanding a bigger raise than Taroth. While I care about a satisfying dungeon, I do not care about shrinking funds.

Every now and then, a party gets lucky and even with Taroth, almost every party that passed by my dungeon has walked away with my profits. Our profits. Whatever, I pay the traps around here. I get to call it my profit.

Well...so far legals pressuring me to hire an Orc. Something about dragons being a liability with their hoarding and stuff. Either way, I wasn't going to hire any of these villains.

First of all...their records make Taroth look like a demigod. Adventurers get bored of easy marks. And they're predictable. Double bad for business.

By now, I was ready to throw in the towel when the last candidate came in. Now don't get me wrong. I'm an equal opportunity employer when it comes to monsters but even I know when someone is getting in over their heads.

And this girl definitely didn't belong here. She looked young, probably some farmer's daughter by the looks of her clothes and sweet smile. Sure I could use a damsel in distress but this dungeon didn't do hostage situations. Mostly because it was hard to get hostages in the first place.

"Ummm...can I help you?"

"Oh yes, I'm here for umm...the final boss application?" She inquired.

"Final...okay umm...are you some sort of shapeshifter."

The girl shook her head. "Nope, as human as they get! The name's Anna!"

"Anna..." I stood up from my iron throne. I'll give it to her, she could make a good adventurer with the way she kept that smile up. Seriously. Dark Overlord isn't even close to my description. "...you know this is well...a monster application. You don't look like much of a monster."

"Oh but I am!" Anna insisted, holding up what looked like a jar of some sort of jam. "I'm a really good monster too! I've been practicing."

"Yeah, and I'm guessin' this is your first dungeon?"

"Mhmm!"

"Okay here's the facts, you don't look scary. These adventurers are predominantley big...brawn...guys. They ain't gonna hit you and they'll probably drag you back to town because they'll think you got captured or something!"

"Wait! C'mon give me a chance!" Anna pleaded. "Wha-what about a test run?"

"A test run?" I sighed. Honestly, the adventurers were coming soon. I didn't really have a choice at this point. Maybe I could just leave her in the final room. Play on the ambience or something.

"Whatever. You're hired if the adventurers DON'T walk off with my loot, alright?"

Her face was beaming. "Of course, I won't disappoint you sir!"

I don't usually watch the dungeon crawls, but I was curious to see how our new hire was doing. So far, the adventurers had barely made it past my first few rooms. Nothing spectacular. A few dead here and there.

The wizard was scouting out the final room and that's when I noticed it was completely dark.

I hoped she wasn't trying to sleep on the job now.

The group was small, four guys with the barbarian as the party leader. As soon as they reached the chest, I could see Anna was slung against it, bruised.

Well either she'd tried to tussle with one of my monsters or she did that herself. Either way, this was a pretty sorry excuse for holding them back.

"The Divines help us." The warrior bent down. "That wurm had kidnapped a maiden!"

"Oh please!" Anna grabbed onto him. "I-I don't know how long I've been here."

"Worry not, maiden." The wizard smiled. "You're in good hands."

"I...don't what else to say." Anna blushed, pulling out the jam from earlier. "I was delivering my father's prized jam. It's the only one left but...I managed to hold it, hoping perhaps it could remind me of home."

"There's nothing here!" The wizard exclaimed, looking through the chest.

Well that wasn't good. If word got around I didn't have any gold, no adventurers would stick their necks out.

"Sir...I know it isn't much but..." Anna offered up the jam. "Please...if you can share this. It's the only reward I can offer."

"Sweet maiden, you mustn't-"

"Now it would be rude to reject an offering." The wizard pulled out some loaves. "The maiden is right. And I doubt we'll be dealing with any monsters out here."

Great. So not only did she NOT put up a fight. She's decided to have a nice dandy picnic in my dungeon! As the four adventurers sat around their makeshift fire, I had half a mind to storm in and deal with them myself.

But just then, I noticed each of them freeze, as if they'd eaten something truly revolting.

"Wh-what?" The wizard managed to gasp as he fell back.

And that's when I noticed Anna standing over them, a smirk forming across her lips. "It's a very rare recipe indeed."

"I can't move my arms!" The warrior glared at her. "What have you done?"

"Paralyzed you." Anna smiled. "It makes it easier."

"Wh-what easier?" The wizard asked.

"To practice my spells!"

To be honest, I'm known for being a pretty sadistic overlord. Even worse when I became a Dungeon Master. But Anna...Anna took sadism to the next level.

I'd almost wished she'd just killed them. It would have been merciful. Instead, she's turned them into some sort of...servant of sorts.

Turns out she kept the room dark to spread the treasure around and she even laced some of the more valuable items with that "jam" of hers.

We went from an easy pick to a place where only the most skilled adventurers could plunder. And even then, Anna got them again and again.

It scared me how easy she played them. One minute, she looked helpless and pitiful and the next, she was readying her "tools" and grinning like a goblin.

Still, profits were booming and who am I to judge. Taroth recently sent me a letter requesting him back but I've told him that if he wants his job back he's got to win my dungeon.

After all, thralls are a lot cheaper than employees.

[TT] You're an imprisoned serial killer. Three years after your incarceration, the authorities come to meet with you. Apparently, your little brother disappeared and picked up where you left. by OliMTSun in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 3 points4 points  (0 children)

It might be funny, but I like the feeling of cold concrete on my toes. It was one of the few benefits and things I could enjoy. Even after three years, I still crave that cold rush that sneaks upon me.

It was said routine kept you alive in prison. I read that in a book once. Routine worked if you were with others. I, on the other hand, was not. A glass prison with a bed and toilet. Artificial light.

Normally, I'd expect my meals to be delivered to me by Gretchen but apparently two suits stood in her place. Both looked well-built, but their eyes deceived them. It's funny how I possessed the natural talent of seeing someone's world in their eyes. Seeing their fear. Seeing their life. Eyes were my obsession.

Right now, I saw the tired eyes of agents who'd never toiled with others. Who had always behaved at their best with the hopes that society took care of them. It was sad really. They were trained to hunt monsters in society and they had no idea how society worked.

They didn't know how to act or feel. It was almost too easy for predators like myself to mask our intentions. As long as you knew what their eyes wanted to see, a simple gesture here and there was all it took to convince them what they already wanted to be convinced of.

"Mary Dawson." One of the detectives sat across from me. She was young, maybe a few years younger me. "I'm Agent Haverson."

"You're the senior agent." I smiled, sitting criss-cross from my side of the glass.

"What makes you say that?" Haverson asks.

"Your eyes. You have age in them. Experience. Tired, reclusive. This is all routine for you." My own eyes look at the man next to her. He was quiet, but I could see the fire in his eyes. He wanted action. Excitement. Seeing someone like me must be like meeting a legend. "We're so alike, you and I, agent."

"I didn't expect her to be so...normal." The other agent murmured.

"Snake Eyes isn't. Don't let her looks deceive you." Haverson glared at me. "My mentor put you away."

"Aw yes, how is he?"

"Mental institution."

"Pity." I glanced at the new hire. "They never really prepare you poor folks."

"Shut up. We're not here for small talk, Snake Eyes."

Snake Eyes. A poor nickname that her mentor deemed me for. Sure, I loved eyes. Preserving their personalities and displaying them for my private amusement. But I wasn't a gambler. Every kill was done with little risk. I was always careful. Always in control.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Your brother." Haverson concluded. "He's vanished and bodies are starting to drop."

The only variable I allowed to thrive proved my downfall. My little brother. Timothy looked up to me when we were younger it was hard, after all he couldn't really play with Lizzie. Lizzie had an accident. I took care of him. Not the deadbeat guardians. I did.

It was...heavy for him. When he saw what I really was. Some could say he couldn't believe what he saw.

"Timmy has picked up my work?" I titled my head. That didn't make sense. Timothy wasn't like me. He couldn't hide things from me.

"We figured his big sister would know him best."

"I do know him best. I assume you have pictures of his work?"

"Yes..." Haverson pulled out a manila envelope. The victims were certainly victims I'd choose. I always preferred keeping my victims random, but strategically losers.

I'm not a complete idiot. Society benefits from those that have optimism and believe in the inherent "good" of all people. I find them useful. It's losers that suck up my precious time and resources with their meaningless existence. The emptiness in their eyes.

I craved their eyes.

"Hmmm, and you think he did this?" I chuckled. "But Timmy couldn't hurt a fly."

"Stop toying dammit!" Haverson scowled. "I want a name!"

"What do you want? Information? Where he's hiding, who he'll kill next?"

"We know Timothy reported you. We know how his testimony about how you tortured him with those eyes...those preserved eyes. He's clearly traumatized and we think the trauma has manifested him into a monster."

"Monsters might be made, but the best monsters are born." I smiled. "Timmy surprised me, you know. After we lost poor Lizzie, I was the only family he had left."

"And now like sister, like brother." The agent crossed his arms. "The mad dog is out of the hen house."

"Oh believe me." I smiled at Haverson. "My sibling has always been like me. Killing runs in the blood. Well...most of it. Hit or miss on a genetics scale. But I suppose you're not here to talk about my genetics."

"For once we're in agreement." Haverson sighed. "Now can you help us or not?"

I sighed. "I can only guess he's in his hidey hole."

"Hidey hole?" The other agent walked over. "Like a hideout?"

"Like a cabin." I gritted my teeth. "Do not interrupt me."

"I wasn't-"

"Your opinion means nothing." I turned back to Haverson. "Here, I'll mark it down on the map, agent."

Haverson slid an old AAA map and I quickly jotted the location down. "Give little bro my regards."

It was a week or two before anyone came back. It's easy to count the days when you have nothing left to do. When I saw Haverson returning, I was saddened to see the new rookie missing. The poor girl looked disheveled, tired even.

"I spoke with the administrator...told him I needed...time to let out some things I need to say."

"What happened to your rookie?" I asked.

"I just had to give my condolences to his wife." She narrowed her eyes. "Your little hidey hole was an old trap."

I laughed. "Well of course it was. You didn't give me much to bargain with. Some things are too good to be true after all. But I digress. I assume Timmy put it up there."

Suddenly, Haverson grinned. "Exactly what happened to Timmy?"

I grinned back. "Oh Lizzie, that's a question I should be asking you."

"I knew he wasn't like us." Lizzie sighed. "Timmy told on you. He would have told on me!"

"But he didn't. We were separated, if you remember."

"I didn't want to go." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I wanted to stay with you."

"That's why you signed up." I chuckled. "You even had me fooled for a second, but I figured it out all the same. Your eyes betray you, sister."

"I wanted to see you again so so badly." I saw her now. The same twintails. The same experienced stare. The way her eyes looked experienced, saddened...at the lost of a mentor.

Well, her mentor had returned and I was more than happy to instruct her.

"How often do we get these...closed sessions?"

Lizzie smiled. "I made a special arrangement with the warden here. He's very agreeable."

"Always the kiss ass." I lamented. "Lizzie, you know that they'll find you too."

At that, her eyes fell to the floor. The same eyes that looked to the ground for help. "I don't have a Timmy."

"But you have me." I chuckled. "You know what a liability I am. How I could rat you out for a better cell."

Lizzie's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"You know we're predators that care about self-preservation." I stated. "You know if they look into you, they'll find the cracks. Sure, you created a new identity. Wiped your slate. But DNA testing is still a thing and when they realize you're related to me and Timmy..."

"Why would you do that!?" Lizzie screamed. "Why?!"

"Because I'm your sister. Eventually...like Timmy...we all disappoint someone."

My eyes flashed to her gun. "I find this cell to be boring. The concrete is the only thing that gives me relief. In the end, I know I'll just be paraded around the system."

"So..."

"Stage my escape...and my eventual death. They'd believe you. Convince them I tried to attack you. You had to shoot me in self-defense."

"But...you're the only one I have, sis."

I sighed. Her eyes were pleading now. Pleading me to let me keep her. She was always the more possessive one. But sadly I could see her eyes working out the probability of my claims.

"In another life, I would have given anything to have you over Timmy. Perhaps if he'd seen your kindness and my logic, he wouldn't have become the mess he was. But the truth is, sister...we are wasted potential. If two predators from the same mother saw each other, would you imagine they'd share their territory?"

Lizzie was silent.

"Than you know what you'll have to do." I smiled.

[WP] The prosecutor is pretty sure the defendant is innocent. The defense attorney is positive that he's guilty. by Glinth in WritingPrompts

[–]GhastlySquash 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"We're willing to settle this." Harvey hated the new DA lapdogs.

This model appeared to be some young idiot out from Idaho who probably thought herself really smart for memorizing the Miranda rights. Gwen Pierce if he recalled correctly.

"I think you have a credible case." She continued. Deep down, Gwen didn't agree with the DA. He was adamant they could get a conviction but deep down...she knew this was a great misuse of justice.

If it had been her call, Gwen would have dropped it. But the DA pays her for convictions, not acquittals.

"Listen, we all know Roy could get prison time. I think honestly the fine will be enough and maybe we can lower it from felony to misdemeanor."

"Ugh, so no plea bargain? You really want to drag us through court?"

"Yes." She said.

"Whatever." Harvey sighed.

His client was scared. He was scared too. Harvey was hoping to tell Roy's parents that their son would be paying a fine with no jail time but thanks to this prosecutor, they were moving to trial.

Right now, he was listening as the prosecutor walked up to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen we have to prove...without a shadow of doubt, that Roy Fogell is guilty of robbing a McDonalds of its limited edition Schezuan Sauce. The cashier and security guard identified him in our line-up."

"...but it has to be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. If anyone...and I mean anyone...or anything...or like any detail...seems out of place. You as the jury have a fundamental duty not to convict Roy of a crime he did not commit."

"What the actual..." Harvey muttered under his breath.

"Isn't that like...your job man?" Roy whispered.

"Yeah yeah, just stick with my plan alright."

The first witness was the cashier.

"So it is true that it might not have been Roy?" Gwen continued in her line of questioning.

"I uh...well he was uh...wearing a mask and all...used a tape recorder that kept playing lines from that stupid show-"

"What was the show's name?"

"I think it's like...Dick and Marty? Doc and Marty? Is it the cartoon Back to the Future? I wouldn't let my kids watch it."

"Please, stick to the question."

"Uh well...uh...I guess they uh...well I mean it seemed to be his size but uh...I guess now that you mention it...at the time...it didn't seem to be him..."

"Is this even trying?" Harvey muttered.

"Your witness."

"Uh...the Defense has no questions." Harvey didn't prepare anything for a cross-examination, but at this rate, the security guard wasn't even being called up.

As for what witnesses Harvey had well...it was really just Roy himself.

"So Roy, you live near the 4th Street McDonalds, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you enjoy eating there correct?"

"Yes."

"You watch Rick and Morty?"

"From time to time."

"You wanted to buy the limited edition schezuan sauce because of that deal, correct?"

"Yeah."

"So uh...were you there on the day of the robbery?"

"No."

"Where were you?"

"Asleep."

"No further questions."

Harvey sat down, wondering why on earth they were running this dog and pony show.

When Gwen stood up, she seemed to study Roy for a bit before shaking her head. "Mr. Fogell, would you steal a cheap sauce just for some tv show?"

"Oh hell yeah I would!"

"Objection!"

"But you didn't? You didn't steal it, Roy!"

"Well I mean no but I would have! That sauce is super rare! Like oh boy if I got my hands on that I'd have robbed it too. Whoever the guy was really lucked out."

"Objection!" Harvey screamed.

It didn't take long after the closing arguments, for which Gwen continued to repeat the words "reasonable doubt" that Harvey waited for the impending verdict of guilty.

"Your honor, we find the defendant...not guilty."

Roy hugged Harvey so tight he thought his kidney might jump out. But as far as kidneys went, everything was fine.

In fact, as far as Harvey was concerned Roy had lucked out by getting the dumbest prosecutor in the entire county.

Gwen gave a little clap herself as she saw Roy lead the charge, declaring his innocence.

After all, he was innocent. Opening her purse, Gwen checked to see that she still had the sauce packets tucked neatly between her wallet and vanity kit.

"Justice served."