Challenge #00823-B092: Bad Day at the Office

A Punch-Clock Villain and Hero get married.

“Bye honey have a good day at work” “you too!”

“Muahaha I will destroy Blahtropolis!” “Not if I stop you first also here you forgot your lunch dear.”

[AN: I keep getting reminded of those old looney tunes cartoons with the punch-clock sheepdog and the wolf who looked astonishingly like Wile E. Coyote…]

“Dear… have you seen my hair thingie?”

“Didn’t you put it on the counter, last night?”

“Well if I did, it isn’t there now.”

“Uuuuuuggghhh…” Marvelonia stepped away from breakfast-making to find her beloved’s hair thingie. “I don’t know why you need this, darling. It never looked good.”

“The fans expect it,” sighed Malicia as she put it in. “Its awkward and it scratches and it’s responsible for fifty-four percent of my defeats…”

“Nerd,” she sighed lovingly. “Come on, or the bacon’s going to burn.”

“I’ll get the coffee.”

Everest slumped into her seat at the table.

“Good morning, my greatest creation,” chirped Malicia.

“Y’ say that ‘bout all y’r dumb machines…”

“Your mother’s machines are not dumb,” chided Marvelonia. “And you’re our greatest creation. Unless you’d like a baby sib…”

“O god nooooo…”

“Eggs? Bacon? Toast?” offered Malicia.

“J’st lea’me alone,” grumped Everest.

“She’s at That Age,” whispered Marvelonia. “Just remember, darling. Whichever life path you chose, we’ll love you regardless.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuugggh…” Everest rolled her eyes and slouched her way towards getting a bowl of milk and cereal.

“Here’s your cape. Fresh from the dryer,” chirped Malicia.

“Life’s been so much easier since we decided on wash-and-go super suits.

“And the no-makeup look is so much faster. Loving the self-stick mini-masks.”

Everest moaned in complaint all the way through her share of getting ready for the day.

*

“MWUAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… And now! With the aid of my greatest creation, I shall take over Herotropolis, and then the woooooorrrllld!“

“Not on my watch, Malicia!”

“Marvelonia! Didn’t you have a runaway train to catch?”

They got to grappling. Super-powered hero against mistress of machines. “That train wasn’t on the schedule today. But I did find that bus full of orphans on time.”

“Damn,” whispered Malicia. “I forgot it was Wednesday. Crap.”

“You always mess things up on Wednesday, damnit,” Marvelonia whispered back.

She cleared her throat and rallied magnificently. “Curses! You failed to fall into my cunning trap!”

“Maybe your traps need a little more work. I’m not so easily distracted as I seem.”

*

“Ooof. Ow. I need three hours in the Healotron and one of your Super Massages.”

“Sorry about the eye, babe.”

“Yeah. I know. It looks great on the front page.“

“You ever think of quitting and living off the proceeds from your patents?”

“Sometimes…” Malicia stretched until her back crackled. “But what would we do for fun?

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00822-B091: Ordinary Super

“They all think they’re six foot tall and wearing the Superman suit”. Police officer’s explanation.

They called it God Complex, and it disconnected the mind from its pain. Like GHB, it caused harm, but it also made its victims think they could do anything. And, worse, people who took it regularly… began to gain strange powers.

Which soon became a problem for the officers.

“FREEZE!”

“Don’t shoot! I’m white!”

Officer Klein blinked. It must have been a trick of the light that lead him to believe. Oh my god I almost shot a real person... “Sorry, sir,” he said, holstering his weapon. “Mistaken identity. We were alerted to a criminal presence in this area. Have you seen a black man carrying a grocery bag full of stolen goods?”

“No sir. This is my shopping. Here’s the receipt.” And it was a receipt. Even later, when the spell wore off. Legally purchased with real money.

“Thank you. Have a good evening.”

It happened like that, all over the United States. People on God Complex yelling, “Don’t shoot! They’re white!” And, criminal or innocent, more people survived their encounters with the police.

Courts could not scan or screen for God Complex. As far as chemical make-up was concerned, it was invisible when compared to normal biochemistry. And an amazing amount of court cases and appeals came out in favour of the defendant when anyone on GC shouted “That man/woman is white!”

An astounding amount of racism revealed itself.

Lawyers started taking it in order to get their clients tried as rich white men. The victimised took it to convince their oppressors that they were no longer oppressable. People who thought they were victimised took it and suffered an extreme personality change when they had the epiphany that their lives beforehand were their own fault.

The only real downside was the heroics.

People on it, apparently, thought they were Superman. And in that vein, more people died by attempting to save others than ever before.

But then, there’s a downside to everything.

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00815-B084: Inappropriate Love Gifts

There were a line of little heads on the mat near the bed, just the heads. The damn cat had been at it again!

Sandra drew her toes up again and hid them under her comforter. It wasn’t a straight line. More of a curve. All those dead, bloodied little heads. Arranged in something of a semicircle in a kind of post-mortem worship of her bed.

And in came the cat. Black, sleek and proud. Smirking at his fine achievement. Tail held high. And that damned trilby perched on his head.

“I have slain your enemies, m’lady.”

Eugh. Gross. “I would have preferred them fully disposed of?” she squeaked. “I can’t get out of bed with those there.”

“All the better for me,” smirked the cat. He made to move in to the bed with her.

Sandra sighed. That ex who programmed her otherwise perfectly fine Augment kitten in a fit of revenge was going to pay. And pay dearly. “If I have to stay in bed, you don’t get new Kitty Nomnoms, today.”

The look of absolute dread on his face was priceless. And, in a matter of minutes, the heads were gone. Just sad little spots of blood where they had once rested.

Clear enough for an agoraphobic automisophobe to skip awkwardly past on her way to feed the cat. Followed by her usual three-hour shower before her nice, clean day of info-wrangling in the translation streams. And, for lunch, she could resume her complaint against Daniel.

Programming her cat to be a complete dudebro. What a bitch.

[Muse food remaining: 19. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00815-B084: No Connection

Challenge: Write a story using only one half of a dialogue

Chase: I need you (Sent 1:15PM)

Chase: Like really important (Sent 1:23PM)

Chase: I can see you’re online (Sent 1:27PM)

Chase: Please don’t ignore? (Sent 1:32PM)

Chase: I’m sorry about everything, ever. Promise (Sent 1:36PM)

Chase: Something blew up and I’m stuck in the rubble (Sent 1:37PM)

Chase: For reals (Sent 1:41PM)

Chase: I’m not fooling here (Sent 1:41PM)

[Picture of broken building parts and one half of a leg, wrapped in jeans. The corner of a shoe is visible, as is some blood] (Sent 1:43PM)

Chase: It’s okay. Really. The bleeding stopped and I can breathe (Sent 1:44PM)

Chase: It’s just really cold RN (Sent 1:45PM)

Chase: Using phone to keep warm in small areas (Sent 1:46PM)

Chase: Not working v well :( (Sent 1:47PM)

Chase: Down to 25% batt. Will wait as long as poss b4 trying again (Sent 1:51PM)

Chase: Still here. Singing for something to do. Hope someone hears me (Sent 3:23PM)

Chase: Still alive (Sent 4:28PM)

Chase: No matter what happens, I love you (Sent 5:57PM)

Chase: Where R U? (Sent 6:34PM)

Chase: So quiet here. Can hear some1 else getting messages. Lucky dog (Sent 7:38PM)

Chase: 20% batt. Trying 2 call u (Sent 8:24PM)

Chase: OMG I’m so sorry. It’s your phone I can hear. Pls b alive. Pls pls pls pls pls b alive (Sent 8:31PM)

Chase: I’m so sorry I ever fought w u (Sent 8:32PM)

Chase: U were right NEway (Sent 8:32PM)

[Muse food remaining: 14. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00814-B083: He Said/He Said

Challenge: Write a story using only dialogue

[AN: I’M BAAA-AAAAAACK! Taking this carefully and slowly so I don’t wind up with another four weeks of convalescence]

“This is all your fault.”

“My fault? My fault? I just landed in here two seconds ago, how could it be my fault?”

“It’s always your fault. How much have you had to drink?”

“Two standard volume units. Of water.”

“Huh. Fire water, belike. I know you too well, human. You reek of it.”

“For your big daft information, I only reek of it because I took it all out of the still–”

“HAH! I KNEW IT!”

“–to sell to the locals as an inexpensive fuel.”

“No ‘samples’ to ‘check the quality’?”

“Don’t give me that look! I only got some on me because of the fight.”

“Ah, there was a fight. Of course. Who was the woman?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Clearly, it was.”

“No. It. Wasn’t.”

“Convince me.”

“…shewashisproperty…”

“Hwel…”

“I know.”

“When we’re operating outside the Galactic Alliance…”

“I know…”

“We have to brace ourselves to face laws and standards that we, as Galactics, view as criminal or even obscene.”

“I KNOW! I know it. I get it. Their customs and laws are not ours but. Damnit…”

“Go on. Let it all out.”

“She was twelve if she was a day. Naked as a jay bird. And he was fingering her right there in front of God and everyone!”

“Really?”

“Powers That Be are my witness. You could even see it on the security tape.”

“I’m surprised at you, Hwell.”

“I know…”

“I’d have killed him.”

“I’m sorry I got us in another– wait. What?”

“I’m proud of you. You’ve shown admirable restraint.”

“Thank you.”

“…for a human.”

“…I think.”

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

“No, try it, it goes good with everything…”

It was once said that “with enough fried onions and mustard people would eat anything.”  This has also been proven to apply to the additions of either chocolate or bacon.

Frankly, as it has been quite a long time since humanity first wound up discovering these multipurpose edibles, it’s often considered a great wonder that human civilization has not yet managed to eat itself to death, either by the direct sense of gorging and gluttony, or by the indirect sense of simply running out of other things to apply said universal condiments to and turning on each other in cannibalistic frenzy.

The idea that other cogniscents might theoretically have some species-suitable equivalents to these near-addictive culinary wonders, and simply have not yet discovered them, is thus understandably somewhat frightening to many of them.

The sample laid before them looked like brown, square blobs. It did not look appetising. It did not smell appetising. Nik, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed.

“You have to understand it’s a work in progress,” said Nik. “I’ve been working on the theory that certain addictive foods, put together, could become the ultimate super food.”

Rael poked it uncertainly. “Are you certain it’s edible?”

Shayde picked up one and gave in experimental nibble. “It’s got chocolate on it,” she declared. She chewed a little more. “Is that bacon?”

Nik smiled nervously, “It is, it is! It is caramelised onion, on top of a square of bacon, wrapped in chocolate.“

Rael tried a more adventurous bite. The face he made was not the one Nik was hoping for. He could see Nick’s face crumbling in disappointment at Rael’s disgust.

“Did ye fry the bacon in maple syrup?” asked Shayde.

“Of course,” said Nick. “It is expected when making sweets.”

“That’s where you went wrong,” she began to pontificate. “Chocolate goes best with bitter things, ye ken. You’ve got your chocolate coated strawberries, your chocolate fondue, all that noise. You much sweet with bitter, you’re golden.”

“Ah,” Nik began to smile again. “I went wrong by making it all sweet, you say.”

“Aye, that and you left out the cheese.“

Rael began to quietly creep away, these two were dangerous.

[Muse food remaining: 16. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00812-B081: Varied Diet?

After the omlette incident, realising exactly how much human food, like cake or pies or snacks, involve eggs.

Day 3.

Hen eggs declared non-cogniscent food. Also declared sterile. Also declared offensive. Further adjudication necessary.

Day 5.

Adjudication finished. Human can consume extant eggs, but only in utter privacy and behind offensensitivity shielding. The human must not consume any more eggs or egg-based products while aboard Science Vessel Sigma-Four.

“WHAT?” Sta-see yawped. Humans could get loud. At least she had been trained to not flail her ridiculous, long arms around. “No egg by-products… What the flakk?”

“There is problem?”

“Big problem. Many, many human food having egg for making,” she said in broke GalStand. It was the only language they had in common. “Self will starve. This being much bad.”

Day 17.

Further adjudication finalised. Human will now consume food behind offensensitivity shield for all meals. Further food imports will be syntha-meals only.

Which was why, on her first day on shore leave from serving on the Science Vessel Sigma-Four, Stacy made a beeline for the nearest Unsuitable Food Eat and said, “Gimmie a double death-by-chocolate, battered, deep fried, dipped in more chocolate and covered over in meringue kisses!”

[Muse food remaining: 17. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00811-B080: Horror Cuisine

The unthinking introduction of an omlette to a birdlike alien species.

“What are orbs?” said the assigned Human Watcher. So far, it hadn’t been as dangerous or nasty as she’d been lead to believe. Ri’ki’ki was starting to believe that all the stories were just… stories.

“Eggs,” said the human. Her name was Sta-see. Or something close enough. She was organising her little kitchen according to her own rules.

“You having egg in stasis? They is never hatch.”

“They is never meaning hatch. Is food. Not baby.“

“You eating egg?” Ri’ki’ki yawped.

“Knowing much differing. Baby egg not food. These egg is food. Much differing. Smart ape no eat babies.” Sta-see drew an X over her chest, indicating a vulnerable point. “This egg sterile. No baby. Guaranteed.“

“Who is make?” Ri’ki’ki asked suspiciously.

The human bought out her infopad and pulled out a picture. “This make eggs. Terran bird, stupid bird. Humans keep for make food. Yes?”

It looked almost like one of Ri’ki’ki’s ancient ancestors. Troubling, indeed, how parallel evolution could make things like this happen. The companion footage clearly showed an animal. Not even a cusp-cogniscent being.

Sta-see pulled a pan out of her little oven and transferred the contents to her plate. Then added some irradiated cheese to the top. The product looked and smelled delicious.

Ri’ki’ki knew better than to try untested human food. These deathworlders could happily ingest flesh-eating enzymes and call it a flavour. “What is food?”

Sta-see bit one of her rubbery lips. “Um…” she said. “Please be understand, self is wait much long time. Wait in anticipation, food of home.”

Uh oh. She was apologising already. Which meant that this could be perceived as bad. “Sta-see… why is two place empty in egg pod?”

“Is calling ‘omelette’. Making of egg. And other things. But first, egg.”

And that was how all the rumours started.

[Muse food remaining: 17. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00810-B079: T’yoree the Reckless

Prompt: A Lilo and Stitch-esque scene with numidid and surfing humans.

T’yoree was frequently trotted out as an example as to why scientists should not be allowed to breed. She had, even to the humans, the self-preservation instincts of a concussed whelk.

As a keet, she would ride the larger dogs and invented the concept of Frisbee Dodge-em.

Some said that the natural Deathworlder attitude towards risk had rubbed off on her.

And she was the first Numidid to surf. Of course, for decades, she was the only Numidid to surf, but that wasn’t the point. She ably demonstrated that it was possible.

She began as a fledgeling. Pretty much as soon as she could gain enough air to light on a surfing humans’ shoulders, she shared a ride out into the water. Numidids are not naturally bouyant, so the humans invented a life vest for her.

For a time, she would ride the humans out into the water and, when she felt less than safe, would catch a swimming human back to the shore. Padded-shoulder swimsuits were a natural concept.

Her first day riding a board was February 30th[1], Settlement year 126. For the watching scientists, it was a day of great fascination as T’yoree clung to the shoulders of a human as they stood on the board to ride the waves.

T’yoree soon graduated to riding the board with a human, and then riding a board without any assistance.

The humans quickly fabricated a board more suited to her size and weight.

It took her three months before she began imitating the humans’ stunts. She is known to this day for her wipe-out flights. Whenever she lost control of her board, she would take wing and glide towards the shore. The humans found this amazing. Numidids found it merely sensible.

All efforts to develop a surfing wingsuit ended in failures for the humans. There are just some things they can not do.

[1] For those who have not read The Amity Incident… the Amity year is two full days longer than the Terran one, and the human colonists stuffed the extra days into February. Also - go get the book now.

[Muse food remaining: 18. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00808-B077: What’s Your Emergency?

Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re in a truck, about 500 meters in the air, with a JATO rocket duct-taped to the undercarriage.
[Name], if this was anyone but you, I’d swear this was a prank call.

I’ll never know how he did it, but Warren got hold of a JATO. I do remember how we had a barbecue to celebrate. Lots of beer and ribs and a rambling discussion about what to do with the bloody thing.

“Strap it to your truck,” said Daryl. “Fuckin’ fly to Hawaii, man.“

“Dint they do tha’ on mythbusters?” slurred Lee. He never could hold his liquor and he’d just had half a beer too many.

“No that’s genius,” crowed Lee. “They never actually did it on Mythbusters. They had replacements for a JATO, but they never actually had a fuckin’ JATO.”

“So. What? You’re gonna give it to the Mythbusters?”

“No. Dur. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna aim my pickup at Hawaii and phone ‘em telling them the myth. Is. Confirmed.”

We laughed, and toasted the rocket, sitting under a tarp in Warren’s shed. And I honestly thought no more about it.

Warren, evidently, thought a lot about it. He made himself some wings to also strap onto his truck. And got himself a genuine army surplus cargo parachute that any idiot could use. And about a metric fuckton of bungee cord to tie it all on.

He even got hold of a life raft in case he ditched in the ocean.

Last I heard? He was checking Google Earth to see which roads pointed to Hawaii and how smooth they were.

I expected it to fizzle out at any of those stages, but Warren was determined to get into the Jackass Hall of Fame or something.

And then came the phone call.

“I phoned ‘em as I passed the coast,” Warren yelled over the background roar. “GUESS WHERE I’M CALLING FROM?”

I turned on CNN. Say what you might about their politics, but they’re pretty on the ball about showing people doing stupid-ass things. Yup. They were covering a runaway rocket truck. Footage was shaky and blurry, but it sort of looked a bit like Warren’s truck with strapped-on wings. And a rocket up its ass.

“How high are you?”

“HAVEN’T TAKEN A THING I SWEAR. GOTTA BE SOBER TO FLY,” Warren screamed.

“No. How far up?”

“OH! RIGHT. ALTIMETER BROKE AT FIVE HUNDRED.”

“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” I said. “You’re in a truck, about five hundred feet in the air, with a JATO rocket duct-taped to the undercarriage.
Warren, if this was anyone but you, I’d swear this was a prank call.“

The roar cut out. “That’s it,” chirped Warren. “I’m coasting from here on out. There’s not a lot of signal out here, but I’m gonna–”

The call cut out next. All I could do was watch the footage and pray he made it there alive.

Some are born to greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them. And some, like Warren, actively seek greatness despite only having two neurons to rub together. If I was you? I’d watch out for the third kind.

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]