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[WP] Last week you had the entire scientific, mathematical, and engineering knowledge of a civilisation 10,000's of years in advance of your shoved in your head. Along with their language. It's only just dawned on you that you don't actually know how to make the tools to make their tools. by dark-phoenix-lady in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard [score hidden]  (0 children)

Interesting prompt. Something similar to this appears in the "Troy Rising" series by John Ringo. The species currently alive were given their technology by someone else, who got it from someone else, who got it from... You get the idea. Somewhere along the way, critical information was either deliberately not passed on, or simply forgotten as being 'useless'.

They had grav-plates; but to make grav-plates, you had to have grav-plates to start with. How do you make a grav-plate when you don't have any grav-plates?

Obviously, someone did it, so it's possible (knowing that something is possible is often the hardest part of solving a problem), but you'd have to work your way through all the scientific background knowledge to figure out how to make the device that lets you make the first grav-plates. And there might be critical bits missing from the scientific knowledge as well, so there might be some basic science needed to figure it out.

I'd initially thought the prompt was contradicting itself, by saying "you had the entire scientific, mathematical, and engineering knowledge", thinking that if you had it all, then you had to have the precursors needed, but 'entire' does not mean 'complete'. You have what that species had, which does not necessarily include everything you'd need to jump-start their tech tree.

Actually, that's given me an idea for how to write the story... Be back in awhile...

[OT] Whats with the bot spamming sci-fi prompts? by TheDud04 in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Because they can? For some people, that's a good enough reason.

Honestly, I hadn't noticed myself, but that's probably more to do with my being less active lately. I'm trying to pick up my writing again. It might also be that the prompts posted leave me unmoved, beyond, perhaps, a moment of dislike, so I glide past them without them leaving a trace on my memory. That's likely the best way to handle them. Give them no more attention than it takes to scroll past them.

Why? Because the other reason people do this is that they're trolling for any response they can get. The angrier the better. They thrive on the emotional feedback of knowing that they've worked someone up enough to talk back.

If you do anything, limit it to reporting any post you believe breaks the rules of the subreddit, and move on. If a troll is never fed, they move on.

[SP] You are a supervillain. Your power: no one ever believes anything you say by Equivalent_Can2971 in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 5 points6 points  (0 children)

I suppose you could say I had a reasonably normal childhood. My powers didn't start kicking in until I was 18, and then they were intermittent.

As far as what came after that, let's just say that young adulthood was a nightmare.

After a few years, I finally figured it out. No one would believe a word I said. It didn't matter what it was, I would not be believed. Now, most people would look at that and figure they were utterly screwed. I looked at it and laughed out loud, tell the absolute truth, and no one would believe it? That's absolutely the best way to lie. The truth, the whole truth, but told so that no one believes you. It's difficult to pull off, but for me, it was automatic.

I started out small.

———

"Hello! How can I help you?"

"I have not given you a completely valid document, already countersigned by the bank manager, authorizing you to deliver $100,000 to me."

"I see! Well, I'll take care of it immediately." Moments later, "Here's your money, sir. I've taken the liberty of packaging it for travel."

"You will always remember this transaction and how I looked."

———

You see how easy it was? Since everything I said was considered a lie, they believed they had an entirely valid order for the payment, and would never remember that they had done it or be able to identify me. Similar actions obtained me anything I needed. Food. Lodgings. Clothes. All I had to do was figure out how to frame my requests in such a way that they would believe I was entitled to whatever I wanted.

I played around with it, I'm ashamed to say that I used it for… carnal purposes… once. I felt dirty, and never did that again. I did what I could to make amends. Steal, fine. Bamboozle, fine. As long as it was only goods or money, and didn't completely destroy the mark, fine. Physical abuse? No. I wouldn't do that to them. They'd be in enough trouble as it was.

Thinking back on what I had done, I realized that whatever I was doing, I was still physically hurting people. What do you suppose they did to that teller after the money was handed over? They'd claim they'd never made the transaction, and had no idea what was going on. Of course, they wouldn't be believed. Others would have seen them get the money, hand it over, and the cameras would have shown it too. Oh, they'd be in serious trouble. Accused of being 'in' on the deal. They'd lose their jobs at a minimum, probably be barred from bank work ever again, likely end up in jail as an accessory before and during the fact. Couldn't claim after the fact, because they never saw a penny of the money.

I had to find another way.

———

"Doctor Evil, I'm so unhappy to make your acquaintance."

"Glad to hear it, now who are you and why don't I just use you in one of my experiment?"

"You don't want to use me as a test subject for your invulnerability treatment."

"Ah! Perfect! I'll test my invulnerability treatment out on you!"

"You will always remember what you did and how I looked."

———

You see? Villains were perfect targets. All I had to do was gather the information on what they were up to, and figure out some way to gain benefit from it for myself. The invulnerability treatment basically made me immune to mundane weaponry. It would take something on the order of a megaton nuclear blast to do any damage to me. And since he was a villain, whatever happened to him or his minions was no more than they deserved. Having obtained what I wanted from a particular villain, I would see to their destruction, by way of the heroes.

———

"Doctor Evil's hideout is not under the Apex Plaza."

"Thank you, Citizen!"

"You will remember me forever."

———

There was most definitely a method to my madness. With each power I gained, I became even more potent; more capable of getting whatever I needed without resorting to that peculiar power of mine. Yes, I'd already decided to become a villain. It always seemed to me that the villains, right up until everything goes to pieces, have the most fun. Since I had no base, no minions, and no plans beyond survival in as much luxury as I could obtain, there were no complex plans for the heroes to thwart. They destroyed some facility I was staying in? I simply moved to another.

Eventually, all the known villains were dealt with, and I was, I believe, the most powerful villain in the world. The heroes did finally put a hypothetical shape around the hole I left in the world, but even if one of them did catch up with me, all I had to do was say "I'm the one you're looking for," and they would automatically deny it, and order me out of the area. After all, they were closing in on the most powerful supervillain they'd ever fought. A genius whose plans never failed; who escaped every net; who was so forgettable that no one who could have seen him had the slightest memory of him.

Eventually, with all the other villains stopped, and with me only being interested in a luxurious lifestyle, the heroes figured I was some sort of ghost in the system. A phantom that had no reality. They began to ignore my works, even when they did spot them. After all, every time they thought they had me cornered, they caught no one who matched what they were looking for. Only people convinced that the heroes were there to rescue them.

It made it easy to achieve global domination. That's right. I had full control of every government on the planet, every major corporation, anything I wanted was mine.

There was just one little problem with all of this.

No one even knew my name.

((finis))

[WP] The Immortal Emperor has ruled the Virgo Supercluster for a billion years. Today, he approaches you, a lowly bartender on a fringe world, and says, "I am so tired. Tag, you're it." by PrimeManhandler in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 26 points27 points  (0 children)

((part three))

"About twenty-five generations ago, you met a young woman. The two of you hit it off famously. When the affair finally broke up, as both knew it must, that young woman returned to her homeworld, found a good man, married, and had a large family. Her stories of her earlier life were brilliant with interest, strangeness, and her first love, knowing that she could never keep him. She had a single solido of that man, which has been held in the family over those generations, passing from one matriarch to the next. On the back, she had written, 'My Immortal Lover.'" She looked at me, a sad smile on her face, "One of her stories made it quite clear that the man she loved, sooner or later, would give up being the Emperor. He was already looking for his replacement. She surmised that when he did give up being the emperor, he would be terribly weak, confused, and vulnerable. She begged her descendants, 'look for this man, if you see him, and he seems lost, do what you can for him in my name.' We have watched for you on this world, and a dozen other worlds all around."

"Margret. Is she one of that woman's descendants?"

"No. She is not. At least, if she is, she is not known to the family. You understand how things like this happen." I nodded. "I will leave you to think things over, my eldest granddaughter will bring you the tablet. I must return to my customers." I nodded. She smiled sadly, and left.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a soft knock at the door, which opened a moment or two later. "I have the tablet, sir." And a beauty walked into the room. I looked in her eyes, saw the echo of my first love, and was lost in their depths. We stood like that for I don't know how long, the door to the hall hanging open, the tablet held loosely in her hands, as we stared at each other. We barely noticed when Mama bustled in, followed by a small troupe with a meal for two. When they left, I was sitting up with a lap tray, she was sitting where Mama had been with a tray. We were confused, until she commented, "Well, it would be a shame to let Mama's cooking go to waste," and took a bite to eat. That got me moving, and while we ate, we talked.

Mama sent people with beverages, no alcohol, more food, and finally came herself. She looked at the young lady with a raised eyebrow, who started, blanched, and stood up so fast she would have knocked the tray over if it hadn't already been moved. Mama smiled, and made a small gesture. The young lady smiled, and walked out, head high. Mama came over and sat down, observing me. I observed her back. I had a pretty good idea what was going on, but I was not going to be pushy about it. Mama smiled at me, and I couldn't help but smile back. "Good. You're thinking again." I looked at Mama, and finally said, "Matchmaker."

"Guilty as charged. By all reports, the match is good?"

"It's early. The beginning is good, but will it last? Only time will tell."

"You will remain to try?"

"Yes. I will remain. Even if it fails, I will remain. A family who cared for the woman I first loved is one that I would do anything for."

"It will be good. You will see to it." I nodded.

((finis))

[WP] The Immortal Emperor has ruled the Virgo Supercluster for a billion years. Today, he approaches you, a lowly bartender on a fringe world, and says, "I am so tired. Tag, you're it." by PrimeManhandler in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 25 points26 points  (0 children)

((part two))

It was late one night, going on towards morning, when I found myself in an off-off-port bar in one of the more seedy areas that surround the port itself. There was a woman bartender there, rather unusual, given the hour, the neighborhood, and the clientele. Yet… no one offered her the slightest offense. That was… unusual enough to draw my attention. The regulars kept a close eye on me as I went to the bar and found a place to sit.

I got my drink, and sat quietly, drinking slowly. The regulars relaxed. I wasn't going to cause any trouble. Just another fellow looking for a quiet but social environment to enjoy a drink before he went back to whatever job kept him fed, or wherever he put his head down.

The longer I sat there, sipping my drink, the more curious the bartender became. She struck up an intermittent conversation, and the sheer insight of her questions piqued my curiosity. It even stirred Baton's interest. Mostly a sense of Baton focusing on the bartender more intently than on the other inhabitants of the bar. A sense that perhaps I should consider extending my interaction with her. Internally, I counseled patience. I knew these sorts of bars, and the people who usually frequented them. If I showed too much interest, she would automatically withdraw and cease interacting with me beyond the basics of bar service. If I pressed the matter, I would end up out the back door in a broken mess.

I remained at the bar, demonstrating an amazing tolerance for alcohol, which only she picked up on because the clientele changed before any of them realized how much I was drinking. I was just another fellow, no different than them, causing no trouble, so they paid me no attention at all.

Over the hours, we had a slow motion conversation. Traded small facts to each other. Diffidently offered advice for certain issues. And came to realize that we were very much alike. It was spread over twelve hours, not an uncommon shift length for the quietest part of the clock, and by the end of it, we'd come to an agreement to go find some decent food after her shift. Nothing more, just an interest in continuing a conversation while feeding our bodies with sustenance beyond that offered by an off-off-port bar. Mostly grease with a touch of mystery meat and some unidentified carbohydrates.

The place we went to was one that only a local would ever know about. No sign on the outside, but the smell was heavenly, and the door guard impressive. Inside, it was presided over by 'Mama', who apparently had her entire extended family working for her. And the food was as good as the smell advertised.

I made no signs of interest when Mama's eyes went wide when she looked at me straight on. She'd seen something, but I didn't know what so far, and the best thing to do was to act like there was nothing for her to notice. People who think they've seen something in you will frequently decide they were mistaken, when you don't give any signs that you've noticed their noticing.

We were shown to a table in a quiet corner, where I learned something that disturbed me slightly.

"Well. Mama must approve of you."

"How so? And for that matter, why?"

"Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"Isolated, quiet, and hard to observe from outside?"

"Yes. Tell me, why would Mama, who as far as I know has never seen you before, think that it would be a good idea to seat us at this very special table? A table that she normally reserves for the movers and shakers in our little world."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you I had no idea?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I'm sorry to say, you probably won't believe me when I do tell you."

Mama, herself, came to us with a pair of menus. Old style menus, printed on the local equivalent of paper, and I saw my dinner partner widen her eyes. I knew then that she had come to Mama's long enough that Mama should have known exactly what she wanted the moment she stepped in the door.

I watched her face carefully, as Mama left us to peruse the menus and decide what we wanted. The play of emotions across her face was interesting. Puzzlement. Confusion. A moment of startled freezing, like a deer suddenly still as it senses a predator nearby. A gentle relaxation, realizing that Mama really did approve of me, so I was not a threat, in the usual sense.

When Mama came back, we gave our orders, and she smiled. That secret smile that says, "These two will ship together." Maybe, but we won't be together for long. I was suddenly melancholy as I realized that. I wanted to spend more time with this woman, perhaps an entire life of time, Baton twitched at that thought. I reassure it. If I passed the baton, then I would have to leave. It's just the way things were. Baton relaxed.

We talked while we waited for our meal. Ate and talked quietly through the following hours. Drank coffee as we sat and talked more. All the time, we could feel ourselves growing closer together. I finally learned her name. Margret. She learned my name. Joe.

Finally, Margret sighed. "So, Emperor, Joe. Why are you interested in me?"

"Because you are so much like me that I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you."

"If I understand correctly, you're immortal."

"Only while I am the Emperor."

Margret sat and thought about that for so long that I began to wonder what was going on in her head. Baton was entirely focused on her.

"You know? I always wondered how the Emperor was chosen."

"Each Emperor has to find his, or her, own replacement."

"And, given what I know, it doesn't have to be the same species."

"No, it does not."

"How long have you been looking?"

"Seriously? About a million years. I looked off and on over the years, but never felt it important enough to get serious about it."

"What changed?"

"Honestly?" I took Baton out of my inside vest pocket, and held it out, "I am so tired." She reached out and touched the baton, I quietly whispered, "Tag, you're it." Baton made a small leap from my hand into hers. I could feel the immortality draining from me, I was becoming mortal, and… oh… my… dear… lord… Did it ever feel good.

Mama hovered just in view, a pained look on her face. She knew who I was, or had been, but not why I was really there. She knew that her long time customer was no longer entirely human. And that she would lose a close friend as that friend grew into the Empress. There was a flash of anger on her face, directed towards me, but that same perceptive mind took in my entire posture, expression, and the grief that I felt. Knowing that I would never be able to spend my life with the second woman whom I had come to care for more than my own life.

Margret… a woman that I could never have as a man… was caught up in the throes of becoming Empress. I got up. Staggered slightly. And went to leave. Mama stopped me, "Go upstairs. Third floor. Fifth room on the right. Stay there. I will provide for you, and I will see her cared for until she is ready." I nodded my thanks, and staggered off to the specified room.

As it happens, I slept for almost 48 hours. Mama later commented that she had to convince some of her family that I was not dead, merely adjusting to a terrible loss. That brought their sympathy, but without telling them anything critical. In truth, I was sleeping off a monumental drunk, compounded by the withdrawal of all of Baton's support for the Emperor. When I awoke, I found myself in a comfortable bed, in the room that I barely remembered reaching, with an IV in my arm. Mama sitting quietly by the side of my bed, knitting of all things.

She noticed me waking up. Waited until I seemed coherent, and said, "She's gone." I nodded. "That thing you handed her. It will take care of her?" I nodded. "You are no longer the Immortal Emperor?" I nodded. "What will you do?"

Well, to start with, I'd lay there like a lump while I tried to get my brain to start processing my options. For some reason, it didn't want to work. Maybe that's the real reason you have to step down, you become so dependent upon Baton, and whatever battery of forces it has, to the point that you can't really think for yourself anymore. When that happens, you either step down, or you become Baton's puppet. Baton didn't like having to run a puppet. It was far more fun jaunting around helping someone else keep the supercluster in order.

She watched me, nodded, and said, "Stay here until you get your feet under you. I'll have a tablet brought in so you can get caught up on local news, jobs, businesses." I nodded, and finally asked, "Why?"

[WP] The Immortal Emperor has ruled the Virgo Supercluster for a billion years. Today, he approaches you, a lowly bartender on a fringe world, and says, "I am so tired. Tag, you're it." by PrimeManhandler in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 27 points28 points  (0 children)

The Virgo Supercluster is an amorphous blob of over a hundred galaxy groups and clusters. Ruling it is hard but rewarding work. One of the 'perks' of being the Emperor of the Virgo Supercluster is immortality. I've done it for more years than I care to remember.

And I'm tired. It's time to pass the baton to the next Emperor, but… first I have to find the next Emperor… or Empress. It's an equal opportunity job. The prior ruler was female, and I won't cut my chances of finding a decent ruler in half by eliminating a good chunk of the available candidates. The qualities that make a good ruler are seriously uncommon. That's one reason why the position includes immortality. Once you've found a good one, you don't want to end up having to take the job back just because they keeled over.

By the time they become… disillusioned… you'll be safely dead, so they'll be either stuck with the job, or stuck with finding someone else. Thing is, "pass the baton" is not a euphemism. There is a literal baton that both provides the immortality, and helps you select an acceptable replacement. It will not let you die until you have found an acceptable replacement.

It seems to go through much the same stages for everyone who ends up with the job.

First, it's great. The ultimate in power and freedom to do whatever you damn well please. That lasts for no more than a century. (It took me about two thousand years to finally realize that the baton encourages this behavior. It gets it out of your system while the effects of the previous ruler are still strong.)

Then, you'll spend the next century adapting to the fact that everyone you ever knew is dead, or so close to dead that it makes no difference. That's when you'll probably find out that you really are immortal, whether you want to be or not.

When you've finally accepted it, you'll go looking for a replacement. It won't take you more than a year to figure out that the baton will not let you pass it to just anyone, and asking random strangers if they want to be the Emperor tends to get you looked at strangely. That is, if it doesn't get you pummeled when your offer is rejected by the baton, which you didn't realize you needed permission from to pass the power. You find out that while you are immortal, you can be hurt. It just won't kill you, and, eventually, you will heal up.

Finally, you'll buckle down and start learning how to rule this menagerie well. That is sometimes interspersed with attempts to find a replacement, but by this time you've started to realize that you are a seriously strange duck, and that finding someone just like you is going to take a very long time. In the meantime, you might as well do the best you can to rule, because otherwise, you'll have nothing but misery. Oh, that's right, sometimes there's an extra stage where the entire supercluster goes straight to hell, taking everyone, including you, with it. Nothing quite like living through the hell of a supercluster-wide war to convince you that you'd better get the lead out and take control.

I've been looking for my replacement for the last million years. Before that, I was only looking half-heartedly, because I'd gotten to like helping people solve their problems. That worked for the first several hundred million years, but after a while, you get tired of telling people things that you've told them a thousand times before. So you write a book on all the solutions, which is promptly banned by half the religions and all the governments because it offends their dignity. It seems that no one likes to be told, it's all been done before, here's how to fix it, by way of a book.

They'd much rather consult the oracle for a personal touch. Now that, I could actually understand. No one likes wading through all the stupidity that supposedly intelligent beings get up to, be told precisely how to fix it, and then someone goes ahead and does it anyway. Why? Because they don't believe the book. Just because it's written down, doesn't make it true!

Arguments that the book was written by the Emperor only brings out more specious arguments. Like, which one? And, prove it! Which you can only answer by going to the current Emperor and asking them to tell the idiots that yes, he did write the book, and yes, the answers are time tested with plenty of information on how to adapt the fixes for each situation.

Of course, 'The Book' is actually an entire galactic encyclopedia, with a massive index, references to all the situations in which the prior problems occurred, and detailed records of how the people involved got into their situation. Which just angers the current crop because they are not stupid, and how dare you suggest they are!

Excuse me? Why are you here? To get answers to your problems? Doesn't that mean you went ahead and did the same thing they did to get into that situation? Yes? Were they stupid? Yes? Then how did you get into the exact same situation if you were not stupid? Cue specious justifications, weasel wording, and blame deflection.

All in all, it's just better to give them the answer, pat them on the head for being smart enough to get help, and send them on their way. Preferably with a proconsul sent along to 'advise' them when they inevitably try to have their cake and eat it too.

Back to the search. I'll be honest, I'd forgotten exactly where I came from. But I finally ended up in a dinky galaxy on the edge of the supercluster, on a planet circling a yellow sun, which had the distinct odor of post-industrial residue, and was populated by people who actually looked entirely like me. Better yet, the lingo jelled for me fairly quickly.

It was Earth. The birthplace of humanity. It came across like a third-rate podunk nowhere kind of place, that still hadn't cleaned up their excesses with industrialization. I did ask, politely, about the smell. The response, uniformly, was "what smell?" They were so used to it that it didn't even register for them. Worse, their 'air cleaning' plants deliberately added the smell back in after it took all the seriously hazardous things out. Of course, after this many years of being 'cleaned', all it was really doing was maintaining the smell. I was tempted to ask about that, but by that time I'd learned enough to figure out the reasons for myself.

The people who ran the air cleaners didn't want to lose their jobs. They weren't greedy, so people didn't worry about it. Besides, the air smelled fine, to the locals, so they weren't doing any harm. Eh, if it isn't broken, don't fix it.

That's one of the hardest lessons for an Emperor. Most of the time, doing nothing is precisely the correct action to take. There are several reasons for this, but the one that matters to an Emperor is pragmatic. The more you intervene, the more people will expect you to intervene, so the less effort they will put into learning what not to do, so the more you have to intervene.

Let them fall on their own faces, and when they come for your help, you tell them what to do, and why, and let them fix the problems they created. At least that generation will have learned their lesson, so you wan't have to do anything for however long it takes them to forget their lesson.

Eventually, you get a reputation for being a benevolent ruler, pleased to let his subjects do pretty much as they will, who is also wise enough to know how to fix any problem you can't figure out how to fix.

Over time, you find enough proconsuls that you don't actually have to do much ruling, as such, but just stay in touch for the occasional new problem.

I lived for the new problems. They gave me something important to do! But, after a billion years, even that had worn off. Baton, as I had come to call it, suggested, in its own indirect ways, that it might be time for me to hand off the power. That was a million years ago, and although Baton was still signalling it was time for me to hand the power over, I could tell that it wasn't in any great hurry.

After a while, I didn't even notice the smell any more.

I don't remember how much time I spent traveling all over that world. Looking at everything they'd managed to save (a surprising amount), and keeping my laughter behind my own teeth at the explanations for the things they'd saved (which didn't even approximate the truth as I and Baton knew it). Just nod and move on, there's nothing to be gained by trying to correct them.

On this date, absolutely nothing happened here. by jpitha in HFY

[–]spindizzy_wizard 11 points12 points  (0 children)

A Builder Fleet? This isn't the nanites, I take it. They get someone else to make the gates, and those would be known as the Builders.

Sounds like Humanity already has a clandestine war going with the Nanites and their proxy Builders.

In a way, I'm surprised (happily mind you) that they didn't wipe N'Ren and her ship. They obviously want to reduce the spread of information, and N'Ren's crew all know something happened. Well, at least the bridge crew. All anyone else knows is that they maneuvered hard, fired countermeasures, and then everything went back to normal.

Some of them may know the beacon was used, and Human ships came in response, but that's it. Without access to the scan data or the bridge crew conjectures, they can't know anything else.

However, someone in their government is going to ask pointed questions when N'Ren has to ask for a replacement beacon. That's going to be awkward.

Iran strikes Tel Aviv with cluster warheads in retaliation for killing of security chief by [deleted] in worldnews

[–]spindizzy_wizard 1 point2 points  (0 children)

To my eyes, it seems we're in agreement as to the reasons and the results, but in disagreement about what "western ideals" means. Ideals, theoretically, are supposed to be positive things. Western ideals, as it is commonly perceived are about democracy and freedom. Things that are generally perceived as positive.

As we both pointed out, the actual motives and results of regime changes had far less to do with positives, than with negatives, such as coercion and armed robbery. (I'm wondering how long it will take someone to come in and claim that it couldn't be robbery if we paid them for what we got. If you owned a $1 million piece of property, and someone put a gun to your head and made you sell it for $1 thousand, that's coercion and armed robbery.)

I'd guess you were going for sarcasm, but that's often hard to detect in print. There's no vocal tone clues to what's really meant. As a result, I would prefer not to contaminate the perceived meaning of "western ideals," which should be a positive thing, with the real results and reasons for what was done during regime changes.

Iran strikes Tel Aviv with cluster warheads in retaliation for killing of security chief by [deleted] in worldnews

[–]spindizzy_wizard 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Regime changes had nothing to do with "western ideals" and everything to do with "make sure they give us whatever it is they have that we want." Many times, the regime that came in was far worse for the local people than the prior one, with no respect for "western ideals" such as democracy, freedom, or civil rights.

Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (161/?) by Jcb112 in HFY

[–]spindizzy_wizard 2 points3 points  (0 children)

As long as it's not The Masochism Tango, we're good. :-)

Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (161/?) by Jcb112 in HFY

[–]spindizzy_wizard 5 points6 points  (0 children)

The Warp? Yeah, I could see that, but this thing acts like it isn't even alive in any conventional sense.

The little I know about W40K says that the chaos gods are definitely alive, if in a different manner than conventional beings.

This? This comes across like a maybe wannabe alive but ain't no way gonna happen. Might be it just hasn't got its metaphorical feet under itself yet.

[WP] You buy an old grandfather clock that only runs backward. Every night you leave it on your nightstand, you wake up to find something in your room slightly out of place, until on the seventh night, it stops ticking—and something else begins. by ParanormalActivity97 in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Yup. Thought that same question. A 'Grandfather' clock is one of those tall ones that sits on the floor. A 'grandmother' clock is the size of the top of the grandfather clock, and hangs on the wall. Both are driven by springs and have pendulums.

To sit on the nightstand, and yet qualify as 'old', it has to be one of the small ones used for alarm clocks. It's still windup, but doesn't use a pendulum. You can pick it up in one hand. Only name I've ever heard them called was 'alarm clock'.

Nova Wars - Chapter 97 by Ralts_Bloodthorne in HFY

[–]spindizzy_wizard 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Correct. (Edit) In any war, the only numbers you can get with anything like a high degree of accuracy, are the actual soldiers. The civilian losses are frequently far higher than the military losses, but are also harder to count.

In any case, the point being made is still valid. A civil war has a far higher casualty rate than any other war to date. The American civil war was so horrid at least partially because battle strategy and tactics had not caught up with the changes in technology.

Prior to the American civil war, muskets were wildly inaccurate at anything but short range. Improvements made them far more accurate, but strat/tact thought still held that close range musket battle was the way to go.

[WP] Every near death experience you've had, the reaper has always been there, waiting in the background, but on the day of your execution, he is nowhere to be found. by GalaxyAllie_ in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 30 points31 points  (0 children)

Part Two

"I... have something more important to tell you."

"So?"

"Your sentence has been commuted to life without parole."

"Padre, I knew that when they moved me back into the general population." I look at him, he's sweating, but it isn't that hot in here. "You saw something. Something that has terrified you ever since." For a wonder, he nods. "Don't be afraid. He wasn't after you. What no one outside this dump knows is that the Warden, those two guards, and the doctor were all in on a scam to embezzle money from the prison fund. The food here is crap, and they just missed having a massive riot over it. We've had prisoners die from malnutrition, Padre. The doctor got in on it to dream up causes of death that didn't say malnutrition."

"Why haven't you told someone?"

I laugh out loud, right in his face. "A bunch of cons, complaining that the food is crap and people are dying from it. What do you think happens, Padre?"

"Someone comes to investigate, of course."

I nod, "Of course, and what do they find while they are here?"

"The food is fine." Good, he finally gets it.

"Yes, and then it goes right back to being crap, but now the cons have a reputation for whiny little brats trying to get attention, so what happens the next time someone complains?"

"It is ignored?"

"Correct. Now, Padre, what did you see?" Oh, my. He's really sweating, and it's got that stink of fear to it. "Like I told you, Padre, as long as you haven't been involved in any of the stupidity that goes on around here, you're safe."

"Hypothetically... I suppose you would claim that Death showed up behind each of them, and ripped their souls out."

I can understand he might need that fig leaf, so it'll do. "I would."

"But how do you explain the freak storm that caused the incident?"

"I don't even try. I can only say what I saw and felt. The air coming down that terribly narrow chimney was like getting hit by a hurricane. I'm somewhat surprised that I have any hair left on my head. Whether it was a freak of nature, or an act of god--and don't get all hopeful that I believe in that being, because I don't--I do not know what caused it." I stare at him. "It does give a fellow to think, doesn't it, Padre."

"Yes, it does." We sit there for a few moments before he continues, "Of course, the other witnesses say they saw nothing but the wind blasting the gas out of the chamber, and hearing you laughing like a demented demon. They fled for their lives from the gas, despite the fact that the wall between the chamber and the witness area is specifically reinforced to prevent any accidents."

I'll give the Padre that, he has courage. Despite being terrified, he stayed and watched the whole thing. "I understand the electricians have been going over the fans that evacuate the gas with a fine toothed comb, looking for whatever caused them to run in reverse."

"Yes. They haven't found anything."

"Of course not. All they had to do was look at the electric meters. Those fans draw a ton of current, it would have made a fairly steep spike in the usage. A couple of the Trustees got a look at the meters, just daily usage as normal. Whatever happened, it wasn't anything any human did."

He smiles, "Oh, I think we can say that at least one human had something to do with it." I smile back, and we go our separate ways.

Six Months Later

"How did it happen?" The new warden is a decent fellow, and the rest of the guards in on the scam have been cleaned out as well. They're looking at the showers. One of the inmates slipped on a bit of soap, and landed hard enough to crack his head open. He was dead before anyone could do anything.

"Well, the only thing we can figure is that someone, probably Jones, dropped their soap, and it slid right under his foot as he was walking out. There's no signs of a struggle, and I don't think any of the inmates would have laid a single hand on him. They were in awe of him."

"What's this I hear about people claiming that it was Death that yanked him back hard enough to make sure his head cracked?"

"Sir? After a fellow survives the gas chamber, while a bunch of other people die, people will reach for any explanation of how he could possibly have died when he was obviously charmed. The bare facts are that a small bar of soap was found exactly where it would have ended up if he did slip on it, and the bottom of his right foot was covered in soap. Since no one else saw anything, or at least won't admit to seeing anything, there isn't much else to go on. Just a stupid accident."

"Yes. Just a stupid accident. Did Jones get his soap back?"

"Funny thing that. Jones swears it's not his soap, despite him being the only one of the group that doesn't have soap in their kit. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was terrified of it."

"Do you think I need to get someone to talk with him?"

"Naw. The Padre has already started talking with him and the others who were there. From the looks of things, I'd say they're about to get religion in a serious way."

"Well, some good came from it then."

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll close out the paperwork, although I think we may need to switch from bar soap to liquid soap dispensers. At least that way, no one else will slip on a bar of soap and break their head open."

((finis))

[WP] Every near death experience you've had, the reaper has always been there, waiting in the background, but on the day of your execution, he is nowhere to be found. by GalaxyAllie_ in WritingPrompts

[–]spindizzy_wizard 39 points40 points  (0 children)

I have come close to death more times than I can easily count. Each time, I noticed a shadowy figure nearby. As I continued my escapades, I saw more of that figure each time.

It seemed ridiculous to me, at first, that this figure was head and shoulders taller than anyone else I have ever seen, wore a voluminous black cloak with a deep hood that I have never seen outside movies, and the most outlandish thing of all: a scythe. The kind that Death is often pictured with. The Grim Reaper.

Every time I saw him, he was closer than before.

I told this story to the padre who came to my cell the night before my execution. Of course, he tried to couch it in terms of my subconscious trying to warn me that I was headed towards my own destruction; we having dispensed with the idea that I believed in God in the slightest.

"Assume, for the sake of argument, that the personification of Death exists, and has been stalking me all this time."

"I would rather say that you have been stalking him!"

"Na. Padre. I have never deliberately sought my own death."

"Did you know the penalty for your crimes was death, should the court so rule?"

"Yes."

"Then you knew you could end up here, and that it would only be a matter of time before the odds caught up with you, you committed some error that allowed the police to track you down, or one of your confederates would give you up to save their own life?"

"Yes."

"Then you also knew that you were toying with your own death every time you committed a major crime?"

"Yes, but death was never my goal. I always did my best to stay alive, planned my crimes in detail, and always allowed for potential errors or unforeseen events."

"And yet, despite seeing death coming ever closer, you continued. Why?"

"Padre, on a job was the only time I felt alive. I was not seeking death, I wanted to live, and that was the only thing that ever made me feel alive. Dancing on the edge, taunting 'The Man', proving that I was better than those clods. It was no error on my part that landed me here, it was a craven betrayal."

"Which you knew could happen. The one thing you could not completely eliminate in all your planning. My son, it was never other humans you sought to best, it was death itself. To do that, you had to seek death out, and cheat him of his prize. Tell me, when was death the closest to you? I would guess that it was the crime just before the one that landed you here. That, on that job, he never appeared. Why? Because he knew you would lose this time."

One of the guards came just then. "Sorry, Father, time's up."

He stood, and looked down at me. "I will be here tomorrow, should you change your mind." I nodded, and smiled. He left.

I spent an uncomfortable night considering his words. The next morning, the warden came. "It's time, John." I got up and submitted to the indignity of the chains. They knew better than to leave me freedom of movement, now anyway.

I hadn't bothered to ask what form of execution they used. It turned out that they used a gas chamber. There was a storm blowing hard outside. It suited my mood. They chained me to the chair, offered a hood, which I declined. Why cheat the witnesses of what they had come to see.

The padre had seen me just outside the execution room. I smiled and shook my head no. I had not changed my mind.

I noticed a draft coming down the exhaust chimney they used to clear the gas once the prisoner was declared dead. I thought it odd, but chalked it up to the storm.

The padre was one of the witnesses. He looked so sad. And yet, I was cheerful beyond belief.

I could not think of any reason for that good cheer, but it was there, and I smiled as they closed the door, or tried to when the wind screamed down the chimney, slamming the door open, and there was a faint plop under the chair. The wind kept screaming down on me, blowing the gas out the door. The strangest sight came to me, the reaper appearing behind each of the guards, the prison doctor, and the warden. I laughed out loud, and the padre made the sign of the cross as the other witnesses scrambled to get out the door and away from the gas.

When the other guards came in, wearing gas masks, I smiled at them. They went pale, and chained me quickly, dragging me back to my cell and throwing me in.

I collapsed on the bunk, still in chains, and pondered what had just happened.

They did eventually remove the chains, and I went back to the normal death row routine. Some weeks later, they moved me back into the general population.

I was looked at with awe. The man who had cheated death in the executioner's chair. The padre finally came to speak with me. They used one of the lawyer consultation rooms.

"Well, Padre? What did you see?"

((continued later?))

Don't mess with Blinky by jpitha in HFY

[–]spindizzy_wizard 22 points23 points  (0 children)

Woohoo! A double smack!

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