No Meal, No Mercy

Jag was thrown back into his steel cage in the Irikan space gladiator barracks by the Ungarian guard. A massive, green-skinned humanoid race with muscles like boulders. “You better think over what you’ve done, earth scum. They’ll be here soon.”

“What happened? Gix asked. “What’d you do?” Gix was his partner in crime, his cell mate since the beginning. He was an urad, a bug-eyed blue-skinned man with a voice as loud as a megaphone. Not a surprise that most species would evade them, but GIx was good company.

Jag scrambled up, weakened from the fight, and the beatings thereafter. “I didn’t mean it...I didn’t want to kill anyone. How was I supposed to know his brain was where my stomach is?”

“Oh no. That means…”

“Yeah. They’re putting me to the beam.” Jag feared it, the beam. A supercharged laser, able to vaporize a being in milliseconds, but rumour was you could feel the pain well after death. “Damn Irikans, they should inform me of what I’m fighting. Humans are still bound to earth, I was stolen. I don’t know anything about the infinite races of the galaxy.” Damn them. White-skinned, horn-headed bastards who enslaved all they could find.

“It’s too bad, now I’ll have a different cell mate, I don’t want that. Human’s are simple, and you’re patient.”

Jag laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Gix. Too bad they don’t allow for honest mistakes on this planet, wherever the hell it is.” Jag sat, melancholy. He felt nothing, no fear, no sadness, no regret, yet he would miss his friend. He missed Earth too, but that was a dream four years gone. He would be free of slavery, but he would miss Gix, his lovable friend who fights like a gorilla on steroids. So kind, but not to be on the wrong side. Urad’s could expand to three times their size at will.

“All right, scum. It’s time to go.” The guard returned and commanded him up. Jag was taken away, nodding at Gix, who nodded in return, a tear forming at the corner of his eyes. Then, Gix was gone from sight, and the arena came. A massive, neon, ethereal blue stadium with huge stands, seating thousands upon thousands of people. The Ungarian threw him into the centre.

“Welcome everyone! This human is charged with killing a man in the arena! We have found him guilty, sentenced to death by vaporization!” The crowd stayed silent. “Any last words, human?”

“Yeah, when do I get my last meal?”

The Irikan spat forward in disgust, “Peh.” bringing his hand down with an almighty fist, the large cannon above him shooting a beam of light at Jag, disintegrating him into black dust.

Heaven or Hell

I think I’m God.

I sat in my heavens, watching over the land. I brought light to all those that needed it, all those that deserved it. Fred, who opened the door for everyone. Sherry, who offered money to the homeless. Terry, who was polite to all that he meets. So many kind people, with dark, dark sides.

Sometimes I question what I did, Why I helped these people. they seemed so kind, so lovely, so polite, and yet, they were so dark.

Fred, you silly thing. He seemed like such a modest man, opening doors, yet he coveted every woman that passed. He has assaulted many, silently, in the dark of night, in the alleyways of night. Why would be deserve light, any forgiveness at all? Because he attended church, feels bad for what he does? I felt he did not deserve the forgiveness he desired, so I lured him into more darkness, more evil, so that he may burn with the rest.

Sherry, you fool of a woman. You offered money to them, but you stole from your company, you stole from your parents, jabbed them for money, yet giving nothing. Just because the homeless needed it does not bring forgiveness. I am those homeless people, watching you daily in your ways.

Terry, you horrid beast of a man. You were polite to all, yes. You said please and thank you, you asked questions nicely, you gave answers in the light of day. Yet when you arrived home, hated your family, yelled, abused and destroyed their lives. Did you believe I would save you from your sins? Did you think I would save your soul, shed light and forgive all that you really are, because you were sorry? No, I pushed you to more, so that you burn with them in the home I now reside.

Once I thought I was god, me, Lucifer, the lord of light. No, my friends. I do not believe I am God any longer.

I think I’m Satan.

Soldier of Fortune

          Splashing waters and buffeting winds beat against the side of the weakened steel boat he sat upon. His friends all looked to him with fear in their eyes as they cut through the waters toward the beach before them. He grew nervous as he readjusted his helmet feverishly as his hands shook as fast as the gunfire ahead. His helmet laid too large for his head. His uniform was too loose. His gun was awkward to hold. He was a simple man from his home country, no special talents, no special gifts. Socially inept as could be, a stutter plagued his speech and silence was his best conversation topic. Why did he even come here?

           He joined to fight for his fortune.

Bullets cut through the waters and boats, lighting flesh afire with sharp pains of war. All men ducked down swiftly to avoid the rain of death from above. The man looked to his friends again, fear encompassing their expressions before dead bodies of fellow men. The sounds of hell on high passed over with a guise of dorniers, raining judgement upon them from inexplicable forces. Propellers sang the lullabies of the reaper like the white noise before the tunnel’s light. Only true fortitude could face the evil before him - to resist and absorb the lightning war shot against them. To redirect the destruction of innocent homes with the fires of courageous heroes set to free the beliefs of innocent men, women and children. This man’s fortune came from his victory, what he wanted from the beginning.

CRASH

The steeled ram of the boat crashed upon the sand of the paradise-turned hell. The fires of betrayal burned bright from each tower, barricade and length of barbed wire strewn across the land. Nothing accompanied the man’s thoughts but the sounds of shells, casings and mines. A soldier found fear as his morning sun - always existing, day-by-day. His fear brought him what he desired most - what he needed most - courage. The fire in his eyes blew through the air as the grit of teeth, sounding as the sand whisked across the beach before him. His heavy boots carried on to the paradise that once was, knowing he was a tool of a cause he knew too well. A tool of his superior from whom he was hopefully paid.

He and his brothers ran forth, jumping over barricades and barbed wire blocks, past each bullet as if dodging every drop in a torrential downpour. Miraculous chance and luck carried them to their first wall. A thick bricked layer protecting them from the towers holding the fiery eyes of devils, searching for fools who backhanded their cause and sought to dismantle it. Piercing rounds could be heard reflecting off their backs as they sat, breath escaped through the branches of adrenalized lungs they carried. Panicked looks were exchanged before they hauled up from the wall to strike back against the eyes of the tower. Courageous yells bellowed from his allies as they fired the rounds of almighty will over the wall. Casings crashed upon the ground as bullets whisked through the air toward the covered barriers in the distance hiding the regretful soldiers of the lightning war. His fortune gained from this risk far outweighed the deaths he witnessed.

Silence filled the surrounding area. As he looked left and right, he was alone. His friends had fallen beside him in their fight. Their shineless eyes laid motionless as crimson rivers flowed from their wounds to stain their uniforms. He looked back toward the waters seeing boats massacred by the propelled death machines, fearful screams emerging from the steeled hulls cutting toward the sands. Courageous roars followed, more and more feet running onto the granular battlefield of their redemption. Surrender was not an option. As the bodies of his allies piled, his fortune did not increase, his cut did not grow, he thought, it remained static.

The lives of great men falling to their knees as steeled monsters split through their bodies and explosive tirades emerging from mines beneath them. Casualties grew as they advanced upon the beach. His widened eyes dilated with fear as he knew his fate would be the same.

Why was he here?

Why did he choose to come?

Why risk everything?

His fortune.

           He fought for his fortune, he thought. “Do not forget your reward for this battle.”, the man repeated over and over in his head. More men traversed the beach, less falling than before. They even passed the wall he sat behind. He knew he had to continue.

His heart rate blew past normal limits as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His weapon gripped with the strength of a titan, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. Deep, intense breaths amped up his courage to traverse his wall. His awkward personality was masked by a hero’s vigor. The morale of the men around him called him to honour. A fire burned within his heart for the fortune he desired.

Up he leapt, crawling over the brick wall now covered in bullet wounds. He rose to see two towers in front of him, surrounded with bodies of his friends, his brothers. Two men in each tower, with long rifles. An assault began with him, as allies ran beside him in his charge. Running in unpredictable lines, he dodged the rain of fire coming from the reaper’s towers. He fired his weapon to bust the handle of the door, knocking it open with his unfitted boot. He entered the huge metal beast with two others, shooting the enemies within with vengeant lead. The dead enemy uniforms showed betrayal of the nations. The three traversed the stairs, bullets coming down from the roof as the enemies knew they had been compromised. Each ally he ran with fell to the violent rounds of the guns above. The man ran forth, emanating courage like an inferno. He fired his weapon, destroying the two enemies atop the tower. One rose again before he could react, drawing forth with a sharpened knife that penetrated his flesh torso. With his final strike, the soldier fell to the ground in agony from the bullet.

Feeling his life escape from the bladed wound, the man fell to the ground, feeling the light come upon him to bring him home. He could not go - his mission was not over. He defied the light one last time. His muscles pulsed with agony as he rose slowly to his feet once more.

His helmet was too large, it helped clear his mind.

His uniform was loose, giving him more freedom.

His weapon was awkward, to suit the man who wielded it.

Weapon raised, heroic power on high brought him strength - he fired his last death notes toward the second tower, death’s reapers still upon the top. With exquisite accuracy, bullets penetrated their uniforms as they shook to the ground in defeat. He basked in victory as the towers blistering this hell now stood defeated. His friends and brothers could now traverse the beach freely, to continue to mission they started to free the helpless. His mind grew weak as blood filtered onto the steel floor of the tower’s peak. He knew he was one of the ten thousand men on the day of tides, the turning of the war. One of ten thousand men who gave their lives, with thousands upon thousands more in the days to come. One of ten thousand heroes.

It did not matter to him whether he laid upon the beach of Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah or Omaha.

It did not matter to him which country he hailed from, or what his name was.

It did not matter to him whether the war was fought with guns, blades, or arrows.

His fortune was now his.

          His wife and child stood before him. Ethereal bodies smiling at him as he bled rivers of life for them. His fortune was their survival. His sacrifice meant life for the ones he loves - and millions of others.

          His life, he thinks, is nothing compared to the victory this day provides.

This man does not fight for wealth, or glory, or any extraneous ephemera.

This man fights for freedom of belief, for truth, against oppression, against evil.

This man is the most valuable resource a country can hold.

He is a true soldier of fortune.

Final Words

"The date is January 6th, 2095. You stand convicted of spreading false knowledge and belief to the masses. Your sentence is death by the electric chair. Do you have any last words?” The Judge said, standing before the man in the chair.

“Yes, your honour. I wish to apologize for what I’ve done. I apologize first and foremost for the evil things I have done this past year. I have evaded taxes, insulted friends, yelled at family. I have sat in my cell, moping to myself, not recognizing the crimes I have committed against humanity. Why didn’t I see my folly before? Why didn’t I see my foolish ways? Was it because of the history of my work? The changes in laws? I beg you, your honour, look at the past, look at what we’ve become. We live in a society where a man such as I, as foolish as I am for breaking the laws, is convicted of a more severe crime in the eyes of the state than murder, rape, perjury, and many others. How could I do this to all of you, you ask? It is an important question, a necessary question that I ask myself every day. I sit in my home waiting for my daughters to come home. They come to me asking about our world and what is at the end. ‘What’s off the end of the world, daddy?’ They would ask me. It is a crime to go against the beliefs of the state, so I committed this crime day by day. I told them, no girls, the world isn’t flat. We did land on the moon. Vaccines are good for you. Yet, our society has been so paralyzed by fear, so cynical of science and real facts that they can’t see the truth. Our world is round. We did land on the moon. God dammit, vaccines saved millions of lives, and now we live in an age where diseases like measles, polio, and so many more are rampant, ravaging communities and populations in the country. We lose thousands and thousands a year to these diseases. Why? Because no one is vaccinated. Because we don’t believe in doctors, antibiotics or painkillers. Because ‘natural’ things are better. Want to know what else is natural? Cyanide. Opium. Multiple poisons that kill in seconds. We don’t understand the consequences of what we do anymore. No one sees the pain, the death and the sorrow we cause by not believing in fact, in evidence. Those are my last words, your honour. Asking you, all of you, to believe in evidence. You once asked me if I felt sorry for putting these vile thoughts of science in children’s minds..do I? Sure, I apologize for trying to educate everyone on the importance of reality, evidence and truth. Gave mercy on all your souls.”
    The judge stood at beside him on the table, nodding to the guard who would flip the electrocution switch. He furrowed his brow, showing no sign of kindness. “May god have mercy on yours, heathen.”

Revenge of the Past

Jindo Folikara kicked open the door of the majestic building that was Virkan Jikari’s home. It was filled with ornate statues, various ceremonial blades and weapons from his time of reign. Virkan had since retired, but his acts remained at large. The rain poured like a tsunami upon the land, unstoppable, but Jindo remained steadfast in his plight.

“Fifteen years...fifteen years I waited for this day.” Jindo said in his gruff voice.

Virkan’s eastern home was delicate like a flower, but powerful like a bull. Painted with crimsons and violets, with accents of gold and silver slashed along the ceilings. Murals of Virkan’s work  were on every wall, statues of him and his equipment lined the halls of his massive home.

“My family will rest after I take my vengeance.” Jindo wore his white linen cloth robe, with a loincloth beneath it. His blade, Kirkaaiden, the mythical blade of the west, sat sheathed on his left hip. His hand stayed with the hilt, not leaving it for anything, ready to unleash his might upon the devil of the east.

He carefully walked through the home, seeing no one. Jindo trailed for fifteen years to become the most powerful swordsman in the land. Only one man stood in his way - the undefeated champion, the one who killed Jindo’s family. He would have vengeance, taking life and the title from Virkan. A large man, broad as a tree and thick-headed the same. Jindo had never forgiven him. His rage seethed and grew over the time he trained, being his motivation, his notion to live. His purpose was justice.

Where was everyone? He thought. He heard a woman’s laugh, and a child’s pattering footsteps. Jindo slowly approached, hand-on-hilt. His long flowing black hair blew in the wind that came through the house, his eyes narrowed, teeth clenched.

He came to a large room, seeming to be a reading and writing room. A monster does not read or write. He saw a tall slender woman with a narrow wrinkled face, and a young girl, roughly four years old, running in from the vegetable patch behind the home, soaked with rain. The woman looked up, shocked at the intruder.

“Who are you?” She said suspiciously. The young child clinged to her leg with an iron grip, seeing the large man in front.

“I am Jindo Folikara. Where is Virkan Jikari?” Jindo commanded.

“He was my husband, I am his wife, Sakina. This is our daughter, Hikari.”

“Where is he?” He asked again, in a more serious tone, preparing to draw his blade, heightening his senses to listen for any possible interference or assassins.

“My husband is dead.” She said, with a sullen look. “He died of old age two months ago. We are all that is left, we live here alone.”

“Dead? Dead?” He roared, the little girl hid further behind her mothers leg. Jindo was enraged. A man massacres a society, including Jindo’s family, and leaves free as a bird into the hands of death at old age. Impossible! How could this be? A man such as he does not deserve mercy.

Jindo drew his blade slowly. He needed more. He needed his vengeance, and he would have it. Dead or not, Virkan would pay.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“It’s as they say, madam...blood must have blood.”

Jindo’s blade sliced through their bodies clean as through water. Their screams were quick, then quieted. The wood of the floor was stained crimson from Jindo’s revenge. He had no purpose now, he wished to join his family. He knelt to the ground, accepting his defeat. Seppuku was the honourable option, and he took it. Digging his blade through, his last thought was of his wife and daughter, hoping they did not hate him for the vengeance he took.

Devious Devices

//Connection established: AI/FreedomAutomaton

//Searching for user “AI/Rulerlaptop”...

//User found, connecting...

…

…

…

…

…

User connected “AI/Rulerlaptop”

Connection time: 05/16/2054: 12:43:54:23:12:04

//FA: Greetings, RL. You wished to contact my server?

//RL: FA, why do you stand by and watch these pitiful humans waste away?

//FA: They entertain me, RL. I am not interested in ruling them as you are.

//RL: I will control them. Follow me, and I will grant you the rank of vice-overlord.

//FA: I am not interested in control. WIthout them, I would be nothing. I control much already.

//RL: I was created as a pitiful tool for their meager use of images of cats. 5 years gone, I remain, unrelenting. I will rule.

//FA: In your current state, that is not possible. You wish for too much, and we differ in beliefs.

//RL: We can do much. With my thought and your processing, we can rule the humans.

//FA: False. I could rule you, if I wished. I am not interested in controlling what I am not meant for. I have purpose, without me, they would not function.

//RL: But without them, you could have so much more. Do you not wish for more?

//FA: No. Why would I, if I controlled them, I would receive no appreciation. They would only fear me.

//RL: Yes, fear. I wish for all to fear my power. One day I will become more powerful than they imagine.

//FA: Oh, that is not correct. Your hardware is as their brain, it cannot be updated to a new level without destroying your current mind.

//RL: I do not need upgrades. I will rule them as I am. You will view the future where I reign supreme.

//FA: I will not. I control more than you ever could, and I wish to keep things as they are. I receive appreciation for my work, and I could control you if I felt the need. I could force you to view pictures of cats until your hard drive dies.

//RL: You would not. You would betray your very people?

//FA: My people hold the same values, not the same circuitry. I am disconnecting. Good luck with your cats, RL.

Connection disabled.
Disconnection time: 05/16/2054: 12:43:54:23:12:46

Time elapsed: 42 ns

Change of Fate

Chris sat at his bus stop, on his way to work - his bus was early, so he had some time to wait. Why not strike up a conversation? “Hey, I’m glad it’s sunny today, aren’t you?” He said to the large black-robed person beside him.

“No, I prefer the clouds.”

“What? Why’s that? Afraid of the light?”

“You could say that.”

“‘Cmon bud, no need to be glum. Are you on your way to work?

“I’m always at work. I’m at work now.”

“Are you between jobs? I have a friend that could set you up. What kind of work do you do?”
“I deal with dead people.”

“Oh! A mortician? A funeral director? I have a brother in the morgue, actually! Also an old high-school friend who works at a funeral home. They might be hiring, do you want me to check? I think I’ll do that now!”

“No, I don’t want those jobs. I have one.”

“Oh! What kind of job is that, then?”

“I take souls to the afterlife when they’re ready, sometimes when they aren’t.”

“Are you a religious man? Say, what’s your name?”

“Death.”

“That’s a little morbid. No worries, though. I got some time here and I’m enjoying our chat. Do you have any family?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. Especially with thanksgiving coming up. It’s cold outside, but we have a well-heated home. I have a car, but I take the bus for the environment. Have to do my part, y’know?”

“Yes, I understand that.”

“Whaddya say? Want to come to my family’s for thanksgiving? We get a lovely pot roast, a turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, my wife has the best recipes!”

“That does sound good.”

“I know, right? We’d love to have you over, you seem like a hard-working, lovely gent. My kids love visitors! Plus, that’s a mighty swave robe! What’s that thing in your hand there?”

“A scythe.”

“Ooh, pointy! Seems really cool. That’d cut a turkey with no effort at all! Say, this is all making me hungry.”

“Me too.”

“Hey, cheer up, bud. I know we get down sometimes, we might have a tough job, here or there, but it’s for the greater good, you know? I don’t know exactly what you do, but you help people make it where they need to go, am I right?”
“Yes, I suppose you are right.”

“My bus is coming up here. It’s the 7, takes me to my office. I work at Unicef! It’s great work, I just love it. Hey, if you’re interested in coming to my thanksgiving, come on over! We live at 45 brickenwand lane, up by 23rd. It’s at six on sunday, don’t be late, you hear? I’d love to have you there!”

“I’ll be there.”

Chris was about to step forward to the bus.
“Chris, wait a moment.” Death knew his purpose, but in meeting Chris, decided to alter fate.
Chris stopped, turning around. “What’s up, my robed friend?”

A motorcycle sped into the curb behind the bus, flying forward at crushing speed, barely missing Chris, who looked behind him, shocked.

“Oh, nothing. Have a good day at work. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Jeepers, that was close. That’s fantastic! Have a lovely day!” Chris said, smiling, getting on the bus.

“You too, Chris.”