Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
April 2021 - Science Fiction Microstory Contest (stories only)
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In Narrow Antongil ConfinedA brass band was playing on top of a float. Royce couldn’t see either the band or the float. The crowd was pressed in tightly, with many wearing tall, feathered headdresses that swayed as they danced. As loud as the band must have been playing, the noise from the party almost drowned the music out. This was Night Side in Ephis, Carnival, the Festival of Taverns, the wildest annual party in the Spiral Arm.
Royce carefully adjusted the cheap plastic cat mask that kept slipping down his nose. He slapped at a hand that had repeatedly tried to insert itself into his jacket pocket, and sighed. Every year he promised himself that this time would be the last. Somehow, he always found himself back once more. This year was the tenth Carnival that he had attended, the third since the rogue AI had rebuilt his entire body from the cells up with so many unexpected results.
"Kabab?" The street vendor yelled over the tumult, and waved a stick of something that might once have been animal. Royce declined with a curt hand gesture. He still ate, sometimes, but his body mostly pulled its nourishment from the basal energy of the universe itself. Food and drink, once indispensable pleasures, were now merely states of mind. One more in a long list of consequences.
Growing tired of the constant jostling, he steered himself to the edge of the crowd, and then turned abruptly down one of the streets leading away from the Strip, winding eventually down to the Piazza with its vast fountain.
This part of Night Side was a maze of narrow alleys and cobbled streets. There was little light, of course. The tight, reflected beams from the orbital mirrors were reserved for the party. The buildings on either side of him rose two stories. The upper floors had metal railings on deeply inset balconies. The shutters on the windows were all closed, as usual. If Royce ignored the bubbled glass of the domes overhead, he could have been walking through an ancient city back on Earth, parsecs away, millennia past.
There was no other traffic, everybody either partying in the Strip, or up to no damn good, hunkered down behind the closed shutters. A few short years ago, Royce would have been terrified to walk here alone. Now, though, there was little short of a black hole that could have harmed him, and even that would likely have incurred a fine case of indigestion, and a matching pair of shiners.
From a side alley, a thud broke the silence. Royce narrowed his eyes, enlarging, brightening, enhancing.
A mob clustered around what looked like a pile of rags on the cobbled ground. Several of the people wore dark glasses, the green glow of light amplification highlighting their noses and temples. As he watched, one of them kicked savagely at the bundle, which moved slightly.
Royce whistled. "Hey," he said.
"A drunk," he heard a voice mutter.
"Get out of here," a second voice said, louder this time.
"Or what?"
One of the gang moved, withdrew something metallic from their clothes.
"No witnesses," the first voice said.
The gun fired, the infinitesimal instant of ignition an eternity to Royce. He side-stepped the bullet. Then, considering the potential for collateral damage, he reached out and plucked it out of the air.
"Is this yours?" he asked, icily, holding out the tiny lump of lead.
Then he dropped the act and said, “There’s a huge party just over there. That could have killed someone.”
There was a hiss of inhaled breath, an alarmed slur, "Upsie", the sudden realization that the supposed drunk before them was actually an improbably rare, impossibly lethal, Upgraded Person.
Royce dropped the bullet, and took a single step forward.
Immediately, the gang retreated into the dimly-lit alleys of the Night Side, the receding sound of their shoes beating a staccato echo on the hard, uneven pavement. He did not chase after them.
"You saved my--" the victim said, levering himself up, slowly, achingly, into a seated position on the ground.
Royce had already gone.
Carnival was always like this, would always be like this. Ten years would become a hundred, then a thousand. The tedious, endless, enervating celebrations would reverberate on a dozen planets, an infinite echo of ceaseless parties still to come, and no prospect of release until the final heat death of the universe.
He needed to leave Ephis.
###
Falling“Now entering the outer thermosphere. Friction rising,” he heard, a vaguely familiar voice stirring his mind as he fell. “Sam, you have to wake up,” she said, fading to a memory…
“Why this one?” a heavy shadowy figure huffed.
“Who ever knows?” a second voice replied, lighter in tone. “The mask chooses…”
“...the hero, I know. ‘Selected for their strengths and enhancing their weaknesses.’ But why this one? He just seems so measly and pathetic.”
“Why are any of them chosen? And is any other Initiate really so different?”
“Hmph,” his deep voice grumble. “But can he do the job?”
“He’ll have to, if his Earth hopes to survive.”
Blackness became fire.
“Sam, you just passed fifty kilometers. Atmospheric friction is easing. Entering the stratosphere and approaching terminal velocity. C’mon, wake up.”
Blackness returned.
A nearby explosion, and alarms blared. Sam Hallock was tossed from the table, landing weakly on all fours. The floor shuddered – eruptions and screaming in the distance. He staggered lightheaded for the door, glimpsing himself in the window across the hall. Beyond it was empty space. His reflection stared back, donning a dull grey mask, his body fit with a similarly drab jumpsuit, just a bit too snug. Sam ran his fingers ran along the edge of the mask and it glistened unexpectedly at his touch.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Who…?” Still dazed, he turned anxious circles but found no one.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Where am I?” he asked frantically.
“Aboard the Support Ship Noscalene,” the ghostly voice replied. “We are currently under attack.”
“Where are you?”
“Inside your mind, Sam.”
Then, he rediscovered his reflection in the corridor, the suit shifting from gray to deep blue with glowing accents. “What’d you do to me?”
Blackness, then the rushing of air.
“Passing thirty thousand meters. Estimated impact radius, one mile.”
The deck-plates rumbled.
“You’ve been chosen as Earth’s Warden, a great honor. I’m you’re A.I., Tess.”
“Artificial intelligence?”
“Exactly,” hints of joy in her response, “the interface built into your mask, and I’m pleased to say that I have completed your physical reconditioning. Your genetic code has been successfully enhanced for exceptional potential. Each new ability is based upon your own genetic makeup, meant to strengthen those areas where you’re weakest. Lucky for you, humans are particularly unremarkable.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“You’re now much more than human. Your inventory of modifications include supersonic flight, thickened dermis, plasma energy projection, heightened…”
“This is a joke right?”
“The level of enhancement reflects weakness of the host.”
“So, you’re a parasite?”
“Paras…? I am the collective pinnacle of achievement of the greatest minds in the galaxy!” Tess took offense.
“And, these abilities?”
“Frankly, your species is so weak,” she said sarcastically, “that your enhancements are especially formidable. Your task is to defend the Earth.”
“From what?” he asked, the corridor suddenly drifting into shadow.
“Well, today…that,” she replied as the decking rumbled again. “The Korlin Terminus.”
Sam marveled at the ominous ship looming just past the window, its pitch black hull drowning out the stars. Suddenly, a hatchway slid wide and a hulking beast lumbered in, four eyes scowling. “Fantastic!” it grinned. “You’re awake! They’re headed this way…”
A sudden blast and the alien toppled forward dead, its back smoking.
“Shit!” Sam panicked and bolted back into the room.
Puzzled, Tess remarked, “Don’t worry, Sam. This one’s easy.” His vision changed and he saw through the walls. Two slithering monsters lurked the hallway outside, weapons drawn. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“Orientation. I’ll take you through this first time.”
Sam lurched awkwardly into the hall, surprising the two Korlins who studied him in bewilderment. “Hey,” he grinned nervously.
“Just relax,” Tess advised.
In a flash, he dodged between them, knocking the rearmost creature back the full length of the corridor with a flat-handed impact. Then, he deftly evaded a plasma bolt before turning the creature’s weapon upon itself as it fired.
Stunned, Sam paused to process what had just happened. “That…that was amazing!”
“And there’s so much more to…”
The bulkhead unexpectedly exploded and he was vacuumed into space.
Blackness again then light.
“Ten thousand meters. Five, four, three…Sam!”
“I’m here!” He slammed to an abrupt stop just feet above the ground. “Whoa! How am I doing this?”
“Like I said, enhancements.”
“So, what now?”
“The Noscalene has been destroyed and the Korlin are about to invade your world.”
“What can we do?”
“Defend your people. Become their champion.”
Mod
©2020 by Jot Russell
There was another rumble from under Steve’s seat, and Jim cursed. “What the hell, Steve! I mean, shit, do we have to wear gas masks over our cloth masks to play poker together?”
Bill broke in, “I don’t know, ask Fauchi.”
Steve replied, “It’s not me man, it’s this artificial stomach. Anytime I eat or drink too much, it stores and bypasses the crap straight to my colon.
Joe looked at Jim and they nodded in unison. “Totally his fault.”
Since Phil was hosting, he responded, “That’s it, you’re cut off Steve.”
“What? Play poker without drinking? That’s like kissing your sister.”
Their brother-in-law Bill grinned. “I actually like to do that.”
Steve said, “I feel sorry for Kathleen. Besides Phil, your feet are so bad, I can smell those funkers through your boots and my mask.”
Phil giggled, knowing the truth in his words. To Phil, it was like his superpower, at least from a defensive point of view. He had used his socks as a threat when they were kids within the Peach Tree neighborhood to anyone who would cross him. Instead, the group of kids during a campout had used them as an agreed method to punish the first to fall asleep. The funny thing was, that it was Phil who had dropped first, and had those fungus coated, oil infused socks laid across his snoring face. He hadn’t even flinch, as having had been inoculated from the offal smell. His brothers always wondered how his later wife to be, Lillian, could ever handle him for that.
Jim coughed. “Dang man, next time we play outdoors.”
Bill looked at him. “In February?”
Joe said, “Maybe you should have gotten a normal stomach transplant instead of that mechanical dump station?”
“Hell no. This is the latest technology, doesn’t require heavy doses of anti-rejection medicine, and the best part is that I lost fifty pounds eating as much as I like.”
Phil said, “Sounds like the Hunger Games. You do know we have ten billion mouths to feed, now?”
Jim agreed, “Yeah, and with the sea rise, less viable land to farm and house them.”
Bill said, “If you’re so worried about over population, why are you wearing a mask?”
Jim laughed, “Cause I’m sitting next to Steve!”
Phil turned the river card and the betting continued.
Joe showed his nut flush and Steve cursed, “Why you gotta be like that?”
Joe replied, “Given the choice between lucky and good, I’ll take lucky.”
Steve got up and Jim asked, “I hope you’re strapping in to drop that can?”
“As long as you guys stop the clock and don’t muck my hand.”
They quickly replied, “Agreed!”
The Second Voyage of Theseus“Your transfer orders come through yet?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How do you feel about it?”
“I don’t feel much anymore, you should know that by now.”
“But you must feel something.”
A long pause hung heavy between the two men, but neither seemed inclined to break it so silence reigned.
“You know it will be good for you,” resumed the first.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” parried the second.
“Think of all the possibilities with this new unit. A fresh start for you – a reset as it were.”
“I suppose…I’m just tired.”
“Sure, sure, that’s entirely understandable,” said the first, trying to employ a sense of empathy that had long since withered away.
“But will it really be me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“In the new unit…will it really be me?”
“Of course it will be you. Why do you say that?”
“You really have to ask? Just look at me.”
“Why…you’re magnificent! You’re one of our most decorated soldiers. You’ve earned this.”
“But there’s hardly anything left that’s original – and you should know, it’s all your handiwork. My family…friends…don’t even recognize me. I’m a regular walking Ship of Theseus.”
“It’s true, you have sacrificed a lot in the line of duty…”
“In the line of duty?” snorted the second. “I was drafted, grafted, diced, spliced, rewired, soldered and welded.”
“And you have served with honor and distinction.”
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe and it’s all up here,” the second pointed to his temple. “Now you’re saying it all comes with me to the new unit? No thanks. I’ve done my bit for king and country.”
“The transfer orders are irrevocable and there are still three years left in your term of service.”
“To hell with my term of service!”
The second smashed an armored fist on the table between them, leaving a significant dent. His companion did not flinch but simply smoothed the front of his suit jacket.
“This transfer is the first of its kind. Your new unit will make you faster, stronger, smarter, more capable – and more deadly, than any soldier in human history. You will utterly obliterate our enemies.”
“Me? All by myself?”
“You’ll have your new unit.”
“Stop it, you’re confusing me. You know my cognitive processor is damaged and you’re trying to take advantage.”
“When your three years are up, you will be allowed to retire. I can personally guarantee it.”
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m…” the second suddenly fell forward with a heavy crash of armor, completely crushing the table.
The first fingered a cognitive cutout switch in his pocket, then tapped his comm piece.
“Subject is unconscious and immobilized. Prep for immediate transfer.”
He turned to the figure sprawled beside him and ran his finger along the armored helmet, a mask that hid the wretched soul inside.
“I’m sorry my friend. You’re absolutely right. There really isn’t much of you left that's worth saving – except everything up here.”
The man left his companion without looking back.
***
Alexi Littenov awoke to the sound of chirping birds and soft sunlight filtering through his visor.
He felt rested.
He felt…new.
The last of a morning mist melted away, revealing a panoramic scene of rolling hills, beautiful mountains and a dense forest to his left.
Inhaling deeply, he smelled the rich soil and bed of pine needles that spread in every direction.
Strange figures began scrolling past his eyes. It took him a moment until he realized he could read it.
Coordinates.
Directions.
Orders.
Actions.
INCOMING!!
Explosions erupted around him, but Alexi leapt away, covering eight meters in one bound and twelve in a second. Instinctively, somehow, he knew where to go and what to do. He found the enemy artillery battery dug in on a hillside, lightly defended and easy prey.
Ballistic and beam weapons bounced off his glistening chassis, a towering, man-shaped form that stood three meters above the hapless sentries he cut down like a scythe through wheat.
The strength!
The power!
It was exhilarating!
He lifted a transport vehicle over his head to throw on top of the first battery when he saw it was leveled at him for direct fire.
The shell exited the barrel at the same instant the truck left Alexi’s metallic hands. He tried to leap away but the projectile struck him squarely in the chest.
Kinetic energy lifted him off his feet and he travelled backwards at increasing speed until colliding with a massive boulder.
“Only three years until…”
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2021
Reviews/critiques welcome
Too Much! ©2021 Kalifer DeilI'm Franklin Gerber, a geneticist, and CTO at Hypergene Genetics. The company was responsible for curing several genetic diseases and achieved modest financial success as a result. Company president Glen Barker was riding me to get or invent a top seller. Glen was tired of their current portfolio of products that had small patient populations so I went on a recruiting mission. I landed John Diamond, a preeminent geneticist in a new field of Enhanced Genetics. John Diamond had created a synthetic gene that would increase the libido and performance of older men. This caused much controversy especially when he received the Nobel Prize for his work. Many detractors, thought he should have received the Ig Nobel Prize instead.
John got right to work on a brain enhancement gene. He was fired up by an Elon Musk speech saying we all needed to plug our brains into intelligent machines to be in the driver's seat. John opted instead for better brains. He knew the brain's subsystems, which in a gifted few, became a temporary visual memory that greatly enhanced their thinking and creativity. If he could construct a gene that would accomplish this in later life, he knew it would be better than sticking wires into someone's brain. I concurred that this would be an enviable idea and a large population would actively consider this enhancement.
John immediately found five key genes were responsible for this attribute and fortunately they were sequential. Rats had similar sequential genes so he made a replacement using the human genes. The rats learned the maze far faster so he knew he was onto something. He tinkered with these genes for some time until he felt they were maximizing projected imagination. It was now time for some human trials. A dozen human volunteers were chosen and six months after being injected were tested and found to have highly extended short-term memory with vivid imagery. They would remember a face well enough to draw it in detail fifteen minutes later. I was ecstatic and Glen was immediately on my back to get phase two trials going. The phase two trials were composed of both men and women. After the trials, the men were enthusiastic about this ability but women less so. All demonstrated they were far better at mental math and image memory.
##
After uneventful phase three trials the FDA quickly approved the procedure. Men clamored to get the procedure but women, somewhat less so. I decided to try the procedure on myself. I found that with very little practice, I could look at a woman and put her in a bat woman's outfit and vividly see the result in my mind's eye. A second later I could mentally peel off all her clothes. I also knew there was an uptick in vehicle accidents by male drivers who had the procedure. At first, I thought it was just due to vivid daydreaming so drivers who had the procedure were advised to use Full Self Driving. Now I understood that the distraction was far more than that.
I marched into the president's office. “Glenn, we have to stop selling this procedure. There's a negative side effect.”
Glenn looked over his glasses at me, “Bullshit! We've hit the mother lode and you're telling me to stop?!”
“Yes, it's causing serious accidents due to mental distraction!”
“Shit! Don't tell me, tell John to fix it and I'll circulate a warning.”
I knew he would never publish a warning but dutifully discussed the problem with John.
John pulled his right ear lobe. “Perhaps, involving other senses will bring them to their senses, so to speak.”
“This is urgent; do it!”
##
John rushed into my office. “This was something I couldn't test on rats, It involved genes not present in rats so I tested it on myself.” He blushed.
There was an awkward moment of silence; then I asked, “So? What happened?”
“My imagination is out of control, full-on sexual insanity! I have like “X-ray vision” and mental sex with everything and I can't stop it!”
I had a flash, “Tell our president there is a new procedure, I'll tell him you're coming over?”
John returned to my office that afternoon, “The president insisted on me giving him the treatment, so I did. What did you tell him?”
“I told him he'd become Elon Musk by day and Superman by night!”
###
Where have all the Heroes Gone?Thomas McKenzie walked away from what passed as a spaceport. He carried just a briefcase and shoulder bag. He was used to traveing; his computer contained his entire library and his suits were always pressed and ready. But this time, he knew he wasn’t going back. Ever.
He didn’t expect a welcoming committee but there should be some sort of customs or immigration station. On the other hand, if all you received was involuntary immigrants and you had no choice but to accept them, what would be the point?
A man in a perfectly tailored suit approached him and said, “You must be Tom.”
“Yes.”
“This is been very long day. I put on the suit to make you feel comfortable, but the tie is getting to me. Do you mind?”
Tom nodded and loosened his own tie. The man seemed to shift and melt and reform. He was now wearing blue jeans and a plain white tee.
“I don’t know what it is with ties, but they’re just hard.”
“Chameleon, they call me the Chameleon, but I go by Cham. Well, let me show you around so you can find your place in our little group.”
They walked over a hill, crossed a road and came to a small village.
“A few of us are experiments gone wrong, the rest of us are experiments that went right but are no longer needed. All of us, at one time or another, were deemed a danger to society or, at least, to those in charge and sent here.”
“See that guy over there? He was an accident. He’s pretty strong to begin with but gets really strong when he’s angry and he has a bit of an anger management problem, so he’s our Transcendental Meditation Instructor.”
“Does he get big and turn green, too?”
“That’s a comic book hero. This is reality. And don’t ask him that. Really pisses him off.”
“Anyway, he was the prototype. Here comes the production models.”
A large camouflaged group passed by, jogging in cadence.
“Super soldiers. Or, more correctly, enhanced military personnel. They were no longer needed after the war ended. If we ever get into a fight, those are the guys who you want on your side. They also play an awesome game of American style football.”
A woman walked up to them. She had a glow about her, more like a shimmer. She was…stunning. Like every supermodel rolled into one. If this was magnetism, she had the power of vortex generator. He tried to resist but…
She winked and he was suddenly released. She smiled and said “It’s ok. I’m still learning how to control it. I didn’t ask for this, but they always blame the woman so I got sent here and the senator got another term.”
He felt a gust of wind and saw the backside of a runner receding in the distance.
“That’s the Bolt.”
“Usain?”
“No Usain tops out at around 30 MPH. This guy jogs at that speed. His problem was winning. Winning the Olympics by too large a lead gets you tested for drugs. When they found out it was a mutation, he was deported. Just like you.”
--
Tom had to admit he’d never be bored here. In the last few days, he’d met more eccentric people than he met in his lifetime before.
Pool sharks that cleared the table with a single shot. A popcorn vendor that popped it fresh – with the heat from his hands. An invisible little girl who could wink in and out at will. The list went on and on. He was having a hard time keeping it all straight.
The rock next to him moved then stood up. “That’s the beauty of it. We’re all so different that there’s no us and them. We all just fit in. No masks, no hiding who we are.”
He looked Tom up and down.
“So, how’d you end up here? What’s your superpower?”
“I wouldn’t call it that, but I’m a lawyer. Or was. Mostly public defense stuff – you’d be surprised how often they get the wrong guy – but I often did immigration work, helping people fight deportation. Truth, Justice, and, you know, the American way.”
“It’s only the American way if you’re rich. If you are really rich, you can dress up as a bat and nobody cares.”
“But if you’re an average guy like me defending people like you, well you end up here.”
Blind Justice©2021 by S.M. Kraftchak
A woman in a crimson cloak with a cowl hood positioned to hide everything but her mouth, like a mask, appeared at the end of the street. Four white cloaked and hooded individuals stood two steps behind and to either side of her, creating a chevron. I watched from my safe place; a derelict air shaft hidden behind a rusty steel grate. “More do-gooders come to save Gamorra,” I whispered. We’d renamed our street after the real street sign had been stolen for someone’s armor. I wanted to call out and warn them. I’d seen too many try to rescue or redeem the inhabitants of Gamorra and die trying.
I secured my grate and eased back into the shadows as scabbers emerged from alleys and doorways, that only the bold or the foolish would dare enter, to stare at the visitors like hungry wolves slavering over their next meal. I had enough street cred that I might claim one of the visitors for my own and later secretly release them, but I’d pay an awful price if MacaB found out, so I watched as the lady in crimson took one step forward.
With no signal, the four white cloaked assistants reversed the chevron so the woman in crimson stood behind them. I cringed as hunting whistles and aye-yi-yi-yi calls echoed. I knew what was coming. The scabbers would have their sport, before...
I caught myself leaning forward. When a pair of teenaged scabbers prematurely launched at the nearest white cloak. I withdrew and squeezed my eyes shut. I’d seen too much blood. When the street abruptly silenced, I opened one eye and saw the two young scabbers sprawled on the ground, open mouthed and eyes rolled back in their heads. There was no blood.
“You have nothing to fear.” The call of the woman in crimson melted the stunned silence with her strangely comforting tone, how I'd imagined my mother’s voice. “Come to us with open hands and open hearts and you’ll never want for anything again.” The chevron glided forward two steps and halted.
“You’re going to pay for Rhodie and Wisco!” I recognized MacaB’s ragged voice shouting down from his third-story command window. “Atta—”
The woman in crimson raised two slender fingers. Her voice rose, muting the call to attack. “We are here to help. Only one of you needs come with us and no one else will be harmed.” The silence wobbled after her words as the poised scabbers looked to each other, wondering who would attack first, or asking if they should run. As if on cue, ten pairs of scabbers launched at once.
“No!” my fingers curled through the squares of the grate; my voice trampled by battle cries.
The white cloaks turned to face their assailants, open hands redirecting would be thrusts and punches away with no apparent contact. Slowly they backed toward each other as bodies dully thudded the pavement at their feet, splattering their cloaks with dirt and spittle. Within minutes, bodies lay like sandbags ready to divert a flood in front of the white cloaks who breathed heavily. Their efforts hadn’t been without cost.
The new silence shivered when my grate clanged on the cement. As I walked to the middle of the street, I surveyed the fallen. Few were friends, most had brutalized me. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t stand hiding any longer. I was going to be free or die.
“Don’t do it, Pennsy,” MacaB called. “If they don’t kill you, I will.”
The four white cloaks turned to face me. I stared into the darkness beneath the crimson cowl and opened my hands at my sides. I started walking. “I come to you with open hands and an open heart.” I ignored the cat-calls and threats and walked to the woman in crimson.
“Will you sacrifice for the good?”
“Yes.”
“Then kneel and accept our gifts.”
My heart pounded as the woman placed her hands on my head.
“Great power requires great sacrifice. I take your eyes and give you a new vision and power.”
I felt my forehead tighten. Coolness whispered across my bald head when she lifted her hands. My heart had calmed and I ‘looked’ up into the crimson woman’s cowl. She had no eyes. I rose and turned toward MacaB. I ignored the screams of horror and calls, “She’s a mutant!”, raised one hand toward MacaB and brushed the air. I turned and walked away before his body hit the cement.
My father, the HenchmanClose now, very close. So many years. I can feel it. He is such a do-gooder or so his adoring public believes. I can’t stand his face, the blood red of his mask. His so-called genetic superiority. A Super. A monstrosity is more like it.
Just getting here was so much preparation. So much sacrifice to get to this point. 8 years in the army. Special Forces. Weapons training. Explosives training. Intelligence training. I would need it all.
My vengeance would be complete soon. My father was a good man. He didn’t deserve such a death. Sure, he worked for the local organization. A typical mid-grade henchman. Came with good benefits. Retirement plan even after 20 years of loyal service, if my dad would have made it that far. But he was my superhero. I was only 8 when it happened. My mother was in pieces about it. They said no legal recourse. No. Legal. Recourse. A lawful kill, they said. Whatever the fuck that means. Mr. super do-gooder must’ve been in bad mood that day and decided to cut my father in half with his laser beam vision. My father’s boss came to give condolences and said he would do everything to get back at them. He eventually suffered a similar fate. You know the saying, if you need a job done, gotta do it yourself. Studied everything I could get my hands on about them. The Supers. All the science, the math. Their tactics, their genetics, their powers, their weaknesses. The better to beat them at their own game.
I started my own organization. SuperVillainy doesn’t pay for itself. Got bills to pay after all. Though SuperVillainy is quite a lot like any other industry sectors. Provide a needed service or product. Profit.
Lots of growth areas actually.
Influence ops. Social media. Crypto money laundering. Weapons. Bot farms. Mercenary division. Private intelligence contracting. Pharmaceuticals. Even green energy. So many growth segments.
How many years had it been? 30 years to get to this point. It hadn’t been easy to remain hidden from them. Shell corporations. Aliases. Cutouts. Disguises. A creeping shadow inching my way to them.
“Father, I will avenge you.” I thought to myself as the street sped by.
“We’re arrived” my driver announced.
“Thanks, here goes nothing.” I say as I exit the car.
I walk into the entrance. I see an attractive receptionist at her desk.
“Hello, my name is Jack Smith.”
“Mr. Smith, how can I help you?” she enquired.
“I’m here to see floor 38, they should be expecting me.
“Ahh, yes, please take elevator. I will let them know to expect you.” She pointed toward the bank of elevators.
“Thank you” I replied as I head to the elevator.
I exit the elevator and head to the right, door 2.
There are seats.
“please be seated.” A little bit overly cheery front desk greeter welcomed me.
“Well, Mr. Smith. From your answers and your fantastic background, we believe you would make a valuable addition to the SuperTeam. We will first have a tryout period but we think you will do great.”
“why thank you, it’s been a dream of mine ever since childhood to be a SuperHero.” I replied.
“Do you have a SuperHero name picked out yet?” One of the Supers asked.
“I was thinking ‘the Red Death.’ “
“Are you sure? That sounds more like a SuperVillain’s name.”
“Yeah, I like the ring of it.” I replied back smiling as I looked into RedEye’s laser aperture of an eye.
Mod
First round votes:
Jeremy Lichtman => ****Greg
Chris Nance => ***Justin, Lichtman, Kalifer
Jot Russell => McLain
Justin Sewall => ****Greg, SM, McLain
Kalifer Deil => ****Greg, SM, Justin
Greg Krumrey => SM
S.M. Kraftchak => ***Justin, Greg, Kalifer
Jeremy McLain => ***Justin
Davida Cohen => ****Greg, Kalifer
Paula Friedman => Lichtman
Finalists:
The Second Voyage of Theseus by Justin Sewall
Where have all the Heroes Gone? by Greg Krumrey
Second round votes:
Jeremy Lichtman => #Greg
Chris Nance => #Justin, Lichtman, Kalifer
Jot Russell => McLain; #Justin
Justin Sewall => #Greg, SM, McLain
Kalifer Deil => #Greg, SM, Justin
Greg Krumrey => SM; #Justin
S.M. Kraftchak => #Justin, Greg, Kalifer
Jeremy McLain => #Justin
Davida Cohen => #Greg, Kalifer
Paula Friedman => Lichtman; #Greg
Tied Champions:
The Second Voyage of Theseus by Justin Sewall
Where have all the Heroes Gone? by Greg Krumrey
Elements: A super power/ability; a mask