Magnificently Horrible
(inspired by the recent development of nailpolish that helps detect date-rape drugs when a finger is dipped in the drink, though, understandably, you don’t need to use that for the writing-inspiration)
“Like a lot of things in this world, it is wonderful that this finally exists, but also terrible that it needs to exist.”
(#00650 - A285)
It looked like a simple brain mod. Just another circuit in a world full of integrated circuits designed to merge with the nerve cells of the brain and enhance its performance.
“This is a game? Augmented reality, right?”
“Not quite,” explained the inventor. “We market it as a game. But what it actually does is detect all the social minefields and help the user avoid them.”
“For example?”
“Did you ever get laid while you were drunk at a party?”
“Pft. Yeah. Sure. Good fun.”
“Were you sure that your partner wanted it?”
“Uuuuuhhhh…”
“That’s where this little beauty takes over. It does augment reality, but it gives you vital information. Like your prospective partner's actual age, blood alcohol content, and whether or not they’re actually interested in having sex with you. It takes all the guesswork out of hooking up.”
“So… if she’s drunk and underage, a little stop sign pops up.”
“Yup! And if you go ahead and do the do, your location and details are sent to the police so they can arrest you for statutory rape and her for underage drinking.”
“That’s grea– waitasecond. What?”
“It applies to all forms of rape, of course. It is a crime. And just like any other crime, it’s immediately reported to the authorities with video feed, location, and all that other information.”
Outrage. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s a crime. Stopping crime is a good thing. And the users can’t claim ignorance, because of all the little signs popping up in their field of view.”
“That’s horrible!”
“And necessary. People are ignoring plain biodata now. A system of checks, balances, and immediate punishment should prove very efficacious. Plus it clearly labels anyone who treats their desired gender like trash, so they can avoid the offender.”
A long, evaluating stare. “You’re actually proud of yourself for doing this, aren’t you?”
“Are you saying you’d get caught by this system?”
“…uuuuuuuuuuhhhh…”
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Challenge #00649 - A284: Reality? Just a Suggestion
Sara and Pinkie Pie trade recipes
[Since you said Sara, I’m assuming you mean my favourite mutant OC and not her alternate ponysona, Star Wishes. If you meant the ponysona, then re-send the prompt with the right name]
“Wait, so you’re not one of those weird beings from the other side of the magic mirror?”
“No,” said the aqua-coloured human with the brown mane. “I came here through Kazooland. Steam Powered Giraffe showed me the way.”
“Oh…” Twilight Sparkle visibly relaxed. The world, the cosmos, magic as she knew it and whatever else may be in peril was not in peril after all. “And… what are you doing to my kitchen?”
“Centaur porridge,” she grinned. “Pinkie asked and she’s trading a cupcake/muffin recipe for it.”
“Centaurs?”
“Yes. Below the waist, they’re horses, above the waist, they’re humans. And their diet is understandably restricted whilst their appetites are understandably huge. This entire pot…” she helpfully banged a thing that could hold three adult ponies with room to swim, “…would just about accomodate a family of four centaurs.”
“GuesswhatIjustlearned, guesswhat, guesswhat, guesswhat?”
“…did you let her have any sugarcubes?”
“Just a couple. Why?”
Pinkie continued to bounce around like she was seeking to commit self-fission. “The universe is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really…” gaaaaaaasp… “really, REALLY huge! There’s planets and stars are suns and there’s worlds where reality is a figment of someone else’s imagination and Sara comes from one of them! Isn’t that super-exciting?”
“It’s a weird multiverse,” summarised Sara. She sniffed the contents of the pot. “Hhhmmmmm… this should slow her down.” Sara doled out a bowlful of fragrant porridge and added a generous dollop of cream before she offered it to the bouncing Pinkie. “Try this for size.”
Twilight shrank away as Pinkie fell on her serving as if she were starving.
“Oh that’s delicious! It’s like my tummy is having a party but I really gotta slee–” *thunk*! Pinkie slumped against the table and started to snore.
“It’s the cinnamon,” said Sara. “I always tend to overdo the cinnamon…”
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Sacrifice…
“You dare say that to me?! That my choices, my actions caused all this? As if with you in my place, if you had to shoulder all my burdens and responsibilities for as long as I have, that you would do things differently? You deceive only yourself to claim you would ‘succeed’ where I had ‘failed’. Anyone would do the same as me in these circumstances. I’m just like you. Just like everyone else. Tell me with a straight face, right now, that if you had to choose between your family and a million lives, which one would you choose?”
[AN: My internet is being a bitch right now so have one off the top of the pile]
(#00648 - A283)
"Congratulations,” iced Justicer Makkou. “You saved the world from your self-inflicted apocalypse. Dare I ask what you’d have done if you chose the greater good?”
“But… I was saving my family… I put them in the shelter… It was sealed against all hazards. All of them.” Pryatt’s confidence imploded and fell to a whisper. “All of them… all of them…”
“Yes. You thought of everything.” Justicer Makkou crossed her arms. “Food, water, medication… even supplies to rebuild the world.”
“…i thought of everything… why? Why did they die and you live?”
“You forgot about fresh air,” said Justicer Makkou as she shoved Pryatt into an incarceration unit. “They suffocated while they were under sedation.”
“…why wasn’t there an apocalypse? There was supposed to be an apocalypse…”
Makkou had seen this before. A unique madness that lead the sufferer to prepare, obsessively, for an apocalypse that would never come. She’d never seen any go this far, before.
She would be prepared for the next one.
The poor bastard.
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Challenge #00647 - A282: Scary Handy
On an individual basis, moments when humans go from “big, scary, too strong and menacing” to “big, protective, safe and ok still a bit scary”
Just little things, like being able to catch a falling numidid, deflect a blow, walk or swim in currents that bowl over little guineafowl people, or bodily grab them out of the way of danger etc.
An adult Human was twice the size of a Numidid in relaxed posture. Four if the Numidid was in a defensive huddle. And if that Numidid stretched, they might have a hope of being slightly taller than two-thirds that of the human.
And that was just on average.
As with any species, there were variants. Smaller than normal Numidid and taller than normal Humans. Such was the case with Syriki the Small and Big Leeroy. Both were very quiet cogniscents and went on many scientific forays together.
Big Leeroy was huge. In both height and breadth. At the end of a long day, many colonists would see him lending his shoulder for the small black Bird as well as being her pack horse of sorts.
Syriki answered many questions from Kal'rike, all coming from concerned citizens who saw the giant, muscular human on her live streams.
Most frequent was, How did you tame such a big human?
Syriki laughed at that one. She didn’t tame him at all.
She’d been investigating some nodules on a branch too frail to hold even her small weight. He’d been underneath, foraging for samples in the undergrowth. Both minding their own business and making their own, muttered, Keep Calm I’m Here noises out of mutual respect.
When the branch snapped and Syriki screamed, she was underneath it. There was no time for her to unfurl her wings.
But the human had simply snatched her out of the air and transformed her inertia into a slowing swing before gently setting her, upright and dazed, onto the ground.
“All good, miss bird?” he chirped in broken Ulu.
Syriki huddled even smaller and practiced her Science Breathing. All she could think was that everyone in Kal'rike was saying life would be better without the humans on the planet.
Without the humans on the planet, she would be experiencing a snapped neck or broken clavicle. And a quick and lonely death in this jungle.
Humans on the planet had made her life longer, for a start.
She took so long at coming back to normal that Big Leeroy had taken his shirt off and used it as an improvised pseudowing to help her keep warm. He was cooing, “Be good, be good…” and gently patting her.
Syriki regained control and managed a shaky, “All good, kind ape,” in broken English.
That was the first day he’d carried her and her findings back to the Beach Path Hide. Humans were learning to communicate in a language their mouths were not made for. They easily sounded like they required an excess of remedial education. But day after day, they proved that they understood.
Though this human had not been seen at or visited the Beach Path Hide, he still knew where it was and knew it was where the Numidid could go to meet with other Numidid.
Syriki knew that the entire Human colony had more or less adopted her as their keet, despite her age. She hadn’t realised until much later that the Humans had taken to following her around and acting as her bodyguard.
It didn’t take her very long. The fifth time she saw or heard Big Leeroy shadowing her path was enough to allow her the realisation.
She hopped down to his eye-line and bluntly asked, “Good ape follow for make-safe Syriki?”
“Leeroy,” he said, tapping his chest. “Make good safe, pretty bird.”
It was a promise he kept throughout his life. Long after he really needed to. He even repeated his snatch-and-swing trick when one of her pre-fledged keets fell from her perch on the courtesy rail. Years and years after most humans were fluent in Ulu.
By then, Kal'rike was asking if she was going to invite him into her nest.
But no, they remained incredibly good friends.
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The Internet
T’reka (or some other inquisitive creature) discovers the truly staggering amount of porn on the human internet.
(#00646 - A281)
“Ha. I have found an archive of human mating rituals.”
Krezlor peered over Brixik’s shoulder. “This does not appear to be a documentary…”
“[Oh no,]” said the definitely female human on the screen. “[I can’t pay for the pizza… there must be some way I can… trade…]”
“[Do you like a lot of… sausage… with your pizza?]”
“Is this humorous entertainment?”
Bow chicka wow-wow…
“I have no idea.” Brixik opened more windows. “There are hubs for this. It must be important information. Regard the abundance of it.”
“Much of this is contrary to how humans behave in the wild. Are you certain it is meant to be educational?”
“We are bound to learn something from this. We must investigate.”
Fifteen hours later…
“This is the fifth time this woman has been unable to pay for her food,” droned Brixik.
“They are different females,” said Krezlor in the same bored monotone. “Their markings are disparate.”
“It’s all becoming a monotonous blur…” sighed Brixik. “Now I understand why studying these humans is a punishment detail.”
“How many more hours of this are there?”
Brixik checked. “In excess of two thousand…”
“No human could watch all of these in a lifetime. Why do they devote so much time and energy into making it?”
“That is part of the mystery.”
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Challenge #00645 - A280: Performance Art
”The Lion Sleeps Tonight” is so culturally engrained now that starting it is just a whim away, a whim away, a whim away…
Open Mic Night at the Tunnel Cafe…
It was where many a young performer honed their act before taking it further out into the open. People came here to steal other people’s jokes. People came here with dreams of stardom. And Shayde came here, apparently, to hold a guitar and tell jokes.
Having done some research into Terran history, Rael halfway expected her to finish with “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall,” before she actually played.
But that didn’t happen.
She strummed her guitar. A prelude to another joke. The audience was getting used to the pattern and issued forth a pre-emptive giggle. “Ye ever notice that there’s some songs that get right into yer head? There’s a few, ye ken, that are so universally known that they’re just a whim away, a whim away, a whim away…” The guitar came into play, strumming a backing to her chant.
Humans scattered through the audience joined in.
Shayde nodded many other cogniscents into joining the chorus. Once the rhythm was established, she sang, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight…”
Applause, though the audience kept singing.
It was hypnotic. It was incredible. She had the whole room singing along before the first chorus. Even him.
Now he could believe that she used to busk for extra money. She had all the subtle ways to play a crowd while her hands were full of guitar and her mouth was full of song.
Shayde moved from The Lion Sleeps Tonight to Ob La Di Ob La Da, to She Loves You, and a song Rael recognised from the Consortium of Steam. Something she couldn’t have heard here and now because the Consortium were still on their home planet and she owed the Station too much to access the Galactic Info-net.
She finished with It’s a Small World After All, and got cheered off the stage. Rael watched her gather her warning card and bounce to her seat beside him.
“Eee, that’s better'n five cups o’ coffee,” she giggled.
Rael finished his last dish. He’d timed it well. “Your debt to the station is being adjusted,” he said. “And Sherlock demands you return to your cell as soon as possible.”
“Woh? I cannae stay t’ watch the puir bastard who has tae follow me?”
Shayde groaned. “Tha’s half the fun…”
Rael glared at her. “Fun is not the object of incarceration, Cogniscent Shayde.”
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Human Religions
Aliens discover celebrity fandoms (Elvis, Morgan Freeman, etc.) and take them for human religions.
(#00644 - A279)
[AN: This is going to be interesting because the Amalgam Universe does possess the First Church of Elvis…]
From the journals of Kor'kor the Fascinated:
The humans, as always, were very welcoming and allowed me to trade for a ticket to their ceremonial enclosure. The sacrament was a large portion of exploded grain. Perhaps a sacrifice to the spirits?
The exploded grains were coated with a greasy substance that rendered the foamy remains of food flavourful and interesting. Of course, I preserved a sample for later analysis, but I already expect it to be deleterious to long-term survival.
The altar initially seemed to be a plain, white sheet, but when the lights lowered, it was revealed to be a surface to project images on. These were rather primitive, given other media examples from the humans, and I suspect the events projected onto the screen occurred a very long relative time ago.
There was no sound. What dialogue there was occurred via plates filled with the written word. And it soon became apparent that it was one of these ancient players that the humans had come to worship.
His name was Buster Keaton. And he evidenced some very typical manifestations of human insanity. Among examples I have seen, he had courted numerous injuries by tumbling down an escalating staircase, failing to leap across the gap between two tall buildings, racing against a landslide, and allowing a building to fall down around him.
The humans around me seemed to believe these were feats worth admiration.
I declined to voice my opinions out loud.
I posit that survival against the odds can elevate some humans to the levels of godhood. Or at least minor deity-ship. The fact that these survivals were documented strictly for the sake of entertainment is an avenue of human sociology that may warrant further investigation.
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Challenge #00643 - A278: Culinary Compromise
Why would you hate the [species]? The [species] aren’t eating everyone because they’re evil, they’re eating everyone because they’re fucking delicious.
“We need the meat alive for surviving,” said the Horg Captain. Griis. “Is forever the way.”
Of all the deathworlders they had ever met, these were on the most extreme scale. Their world was so badly a class five that it almost qualified for new categorisation as the first and only known class six. Before they left their planet, the chief survival tactic was breed like flies and eat anything that didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
They were only hunting other life because of a plague amongst their chief food animal. Selective breeding and monocultures had almost wiped out their food. And their metabolisms were like suns. They didn’t have the time to cook.
“Get all the tank meat, vacu-pack it and ship it over,” ordered Captain Jezebel. “Let’s see how they like steak.”
“On it, sir. The crew isn’t going to like Nutri-Food bags on the way home.”
“The crew can suck it for a week.” To the Horg, she said, “We’re sending over some high-density protein in a drone shuttle. If you can eat that, we have some factory planets growing this stuff in bulk. And in the meantime… let’s talk metabolic stabilisers…”
The Horg took their first Ambassadorial conference at the tables of Heretical Food Eat, where they could safely devour any protein they chose without the need for death.
Captain Jezebel ordered a Humanburger to show willingness. Griis had a family sample platter.
“See? You can digest cooked things faster. My species discovered this in the stone tool era. Cooked takes time, but cooked works better.”
“Liking cooked much,” agreed Griis. “Liking other world technology. Liking many of shiny things.”
“Yes. Ordinarily, eating intelligent people -cogniphagy- is a big no-no. This is cultured meat. Grown from donor cells. No death. No crime. All good.” And damnit… people were delicious. “There are two ways you can approach fitting in to the Galactic Alliance. Gengineering, medication, or medication used in combination with gengineering and selective breeding. Medication alone means that the rest of the Alliance will avoid you.”
“Liking many of shiny things,” Griis played with her fork. “Trade must be good, yes?”
“Oh yes. Trade very good. But trade won’t happen if everyone thinks of you as mindless eating machines. You have new situations. New planets. You can afford to curb your appetites.”
“Forever way ending, new forever way is needing.”
“Yeah, you get it. Now all we have to do is convince your elite to go along with it.”
“Not be hard much,” said Griis. “Sending freighter of grown meat. Plenty good peace offering.”
Captain Jezebel became the Horg’s sponsor. She was forever quoted as saying, “They’re not bad. They’re just hungry.”
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Challenge #00642 - A277: Forbidden Fruit
Heresy is Delicious. Don’t believe me? Put Kosher mustard on a ham and cheese sandwich and find out for yourself!
“So… you decided to open a restaurant on the greater thoroughfare of the business district.”
“That is correct,” said the lizard.
“All the forms and paperwork are correct… but you also decided to sell foods ordinarily under social and religious restrictions.”
“That is also correct. Cogniscent Shayde performed the idea in public.”
“Open Mic Night at the Tunnel Cafe?” said the technical-human in question. “I was doin’ a stand-up routine…”
Sherlock glared at her. “We’ve spoken before about your ‘heresy is delicious’ chain of thought.”
“I even had a wee card up. 'Don’t take anythin’ the human says seriously’. Just in case they missed the whole point o’ stand up.”
“Yes, well after some research and legal consultation–”
Sherlock groaned in anticipation.
“–I came to the conclusion that a wide variety of taboos are, in fact, delicious. Hence, heretical foods.”
“Including,” Sherlock consulted his info-stream. “Cultured cogniscent flesh.”
“From willing donors!” The lizard put up hir hands in protest. “It’s all certified and sealed.”
“You do know that there are planets who have recently reformed from cogniphagy,” said Sherlock. “The eating of cogniscent life forms is illegal.”
“Er. Actually. The law states that killing a cogniscent for the purposes of eating them is illegal. No death is involved in my cultured meat. You can still talk to all my donors. I was completely transparent.”
“And then there’s the matter of Brav'nu…” Sherlock maintained his iron glare. “Citizens there believe that sharing the flesh of a passed loved one is a form of hand-me-down immortality, as well as remembrance. How many Brav'nu citizens came to you seeking a way to cheat their spiritual system?”
“I’m aware of their theology, sir,” said the lizard. “Once I explained the details, they lost interest.”
Sherlock sighed. “I have hundreds of Ambassadors up in arms because their fellows from home are up in arms about your menu. There is nothing, strictly speaking, illegal about the food. And, unfortunately, you are well within your rights to maintain your restaurant.”
“Thank you.”
“However, I am also obligated to remind all visitors that it is also well within their rights to refuse to patronise your business.”
Now the reptilian face fell. “Oh…”
“Next time,” said Shayde, “Pay attention to the wee card.”
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Challenge #00641 - A276: BSOD
Emergency Brain error reboot Y/N
Error encountered at local clock 13:25:57
Erasing subsequent data
Restarting from automatic backup…
The spinning wheel annoyed her as she waited in etherspace for her hardware and software to agree on a stepstone. It was one thing she had in common with the organics.
Sound came first, as the audio receptors booted up. Her assistant was explaining the boot-up process and the need for lexicon patches to the luckless cogniscent who had said the wrong thing.
“I’m so sorry,” said Ambassador Belle. “I didn’t know she wasn’t pun-proof. I thought it’d break the ice. I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”
Her cameras came online out-of focus, and her servos were laggy. Her speakers made a grinding noise before she could stop it.
“No, it does not hurt,” said E.M.I. “This unit only senses physical damage. Please refrain from lexical pit-traps in the future.” Self-assessment routines took up the next few minutes. “I’m missing three minutes’ worth of data. I assume that’s when the pun was told?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
E.M.I. adjusted her face-screen to show a pleasant smile. “Now,” said the Emergency Medical Interface. “Without jokes, what is the problem?”
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