I am a hero.

I can feel the rough scratchiness of the burlap sack even through my skintight lycra suit. Worse, I feel a splitting headache, spreading through my skull, like someone stuffing it with cotton. Cotton with spikes. Who even uses burlap sacks these days? I'm being trussed around like a sack of potatoes... the steady thrum of the engine tells me we're on a highway. Vague human shapes are visible through the loose threads of my burlap cage, silhouetted against the light. One of them seems to notice my stirring. He raises something in his hand. A small prick on my neck, and suddenly, darkness.

Even in the darkness, he'd flown straight through the crumbling wall like a bullet through ice, showering the area with shards, most of them aflame. The cries for help were getting fainter, and he knew there wasn't much time left. Kicking down a flame-wreathed door with ease, he spotted three figures huddled in the corner under a table, miraculously unscathed by the fire... for now. One of the smaller figures under the table screamed, and pointed above his head. A massive wooden beam, ablaze, crashed down onto his head. At the point of impact, it shattered into millions of pieces, but he stood firm, hardly seeming to notice. Striding over to the table, he reached under it and picked up the two smaller forms. "Stick close to me," he told the third, "and you'll be alright". 

He'd saved those children, and their mother. He was a hero. So why were they doing this?

It's the burlap sack again. No engine noise, so we've reached whatever destination they have in mind for me. Or they broke down. I wish. I hear the van door slide open and many pairs of hands grab me, throwing me out onto the ground. It's not soft. Some of them laugh. I'm grabbed by my feet and dragged along the ground; luckily it seems to be sandy so it's smooth, almost relaxing. Soon, though, the ground changes to something a lot harder; I think it's concrete, by the way the burlap sack is rasping against it like sandpaper. Within a minute, they drag me over a small ledge and the floor starts to feel a lot smoother; marble, or some sort of metal, by the way the footsteps now sound much crisper. On my back, as I am, I see many lights through the sack, diffracted into rainbows.

He saw a rainbow beneath him, projected onto the clouds. It formed a perfect circle. Did that make it a rain-circle? Rain-arc? He wasn't sure. Hovering above the clouds, with perfect blueness above him and a blazing sun on his right, he felt at peace. If only all people could experience this tranquility, maybe they'd be less... irritated, he thought. "Mate!" squawked a voice in his ear. "You're up there for a reason! That flight is only a few clicks away and the pilot's glide path will put him in the ocean! Get over there and give them a boost!". Taking a last look at the serenity around him, he accelerated away from the sun, towards the people in need.

He'd saved that plane, and everyone on board. He was a saviour. So why were they doing this?

The number of footsteps around me has decreased, I think. It's hard to think with a blinding headache. I haven't had one of these since I attained perfection... I haven't missed them. The person dragging my feet drops them, and other hands lift me up. The burlap sack is dragged off me roughly; now I know what a potato feels like. I try to get a good look at my surroundings, but a ring of bright lights surrounds me, making the rest of the room as good as darkness. The only thing I can see is the brushed-metal floor, the three figures standing before me, and a chair to my left. It has quite a few attachments that I seriously doubt are for holding drinks. The middle figure steps forward. I see a man with cropped, black hair surrounding a gaunt, thin face. With his hands clasped behind his back and his perfect posture, he seems almost military, but the dark, smooth suit he's in bears no insignia. "Welcome, my friend. You're going to help me save people. Millions of people. That's what you do, isn't it?" He pauses briefly. "Well, you'll be helping us. I'm sure we can convince you."

He was convinced that only idiots robbed banks these days, what with all the security they had in place. Yet as he walked up to the imposing marble edifice, he could hear loud threats being shouted by the armed men. They'd had two accomplices in a getaway car waiting outside, but he'd taken care of them. Hopefully the car would de-orbit itself in a few days. Pushing through the rotating glass doors, he saw harried bank employees stacking large bags of what was presumably cash in front of a dozen body-armoured, machine-gun-toting, masked men. The one doing all the shouting was probably the leader, and he spotted the newcomer first. "HA!" the leader exclaimed. "It's the invincible bugger himself, lads! We've attracted the big guns now! Let's show him how big OUR guns are!". They must be new to town, he thought idly, as bullets raced towards him, then arced away before making contact. After the deafening roar of twelve machine guns firing at once for half a minute, the silence following it was almost peaceful. Now it was his turn.

He'd saved those people, and helped imprison a dozen criminals. He was a protector. So why were they doing this?

"Some people find our chair a little uncomfortable, so we're just going to strap you in, is that alright?" intones the man in the suit, smoothly. You could spread his voice on toast, like butter, I think. "Don't worry, the straps are padded, and quite soft. Unlike some of our other tools, I'm afraid." As he leans in to do up the straps, I notice his high collar bears a small silver pin in the shape of an owl. I used to know what that symbol meant. Come to think of it, what's two plus two? What's my name? Every time I try to answer something in my head, the headache pounds the answer out of it... ow.
"The power of your mind is remarkable, my friend. Flying around like a superhero, deflecting bullets and even dressing up in that ridiculous outfit takes mental supremacy unlike any I've witnessed. But there's only one of you, and so much trouble in this world! And despite your talents, you can't be everywhere at once. So, we made a simple request; let us examine you. But you refused." The last word is accompanied by a particularly strong tug on one of the straps around my arm. His voice sounds like angry butter now, I think. "You said you had rights, that you didn't want to be a lab rat. What pure selfishness, for such a hero. Surely you can see that the rights of the many come before the rights of one."

He turned right, onto a broad avenue lined with pine trees. Dispatch had told him a van had crashed into a sinkhole which had opened up beneath it. Flying towards the gaping hole he saw other cars being redirected onto another road, leaving the van and hole alone. As he approached, he dropped, suddenly, halfway to the ground as his mind clouded up. He shook himself, regained his focus, and flew on. Landing on the edge of the pothole, he saw the van hadn't actually fallen in, but was precariously balanced, front end just tipping into the abyss. He moved towards the rear doors to pull the van out, willing his mind to enhance his muscles. Grabbing the handles, he felt a sharp pain in his left palm. The last thing he saw as his vision grew blurry was the rear doors springing open.

He'd only wanted to help them. He was a helper. So why were they doing this?

* * *

"OK, Bob, so let's recap that announcement. The CEO of AthenaCorp himself, the rarely-seen Mard Janner, announced that, in the past months, they'd made a major breakthrough in... what did he say, mentalist abilities?"
"Yes Sally, that's right. Janner said the breakthrough would be applied to their elite soldiers first, as a 'field test', he called it. Rumours abound that this new research is what secured AthenaCorp the new contract with the U.S. government to provide diplomatic security services all over the Middle East."
"Right, Bob. Shares in AthenaCorp have shot up almost 17% since the announcement, and in a minute we'll have Frank with a proper analysis of the markets. But first, could your cat be making you millions on the internet? That's up next."

Short story: Happy Birthday!

This is another short story inspired by one of the writing prompts from writersdigest.com; in this case, it's about an inhuman birthday. I don't think I'm following the specifics of it to the letter, but I got another idea from it, and they're just used for inspiration anyway.

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Harry lay awake in his bed, unable to sleep. It was still early; he could hear his parents just starting to move around their room. Maybe they were preparing the big surprise they'd planned for his birthday? His father had been dropping hints about it all last night, even during dinner. Nothing very specific, mind you; just a load of talk about "the biggest day of your life" and "you'll never look at crickets the same way again", which Harry assumed was just his father's way of being funny.

His past birthdays had never been unusual, so Harry didn't really expect anything out of the ordinary this time, even though this was his 18th. As a particularly skittish person, his parents hadn't wanted to do anything really surprising. His favourite gift had been the hammock they got him three years ago; it allowed him to lie outside during the summer holidays and bask in the sun, happily absorbing the sun's rays.

The sound of a footsteps and a door opening jerked Harry out of his reverie; his parents must have left their room, and any moment they'd be entering his. Harry quickly closed his eyes and pulled the heated blankets over himself a bit more, as if he were still asleep. Within seconds, light from the corridor outside flooded into the room as the door burst open.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" chorused his parents, in not-quite-harmonius unison. Harry opened his eyes to see his parents standing at the foot of his bed, his mother holding a small wrapped box. His father walked over to sit on Harry's left side.

"Listen, Harry, this is a very big day for you. We have a long Eubefaris family tradition whenever one of us turns 18."

His mother sat on the other side of his bed. "Now, don't get too anxious, but we have something to tell you... I think your father should say it." his mother added, softly.

Harry looked at his father, so often the one making inane jokes, appearing so serious for once. "What she means is... you're a lizard, Harry."

"I'm... I'm a what??" Harry blurted. "You can't be serious! Is this another one of your jokes, Dad?"

"No, Harry... we're serious. At age 18, every male in our family starts to shed their human form, and by the time you're 19, you will be a full-fledged lizard. Well, except for being a lot larger than the average lizard, of course!" he guffawed.

"I think it's time you opened your gift, Harry." said his mother, gently. She pressed the wrapped box into his hands, all while Harry's brain was deciding whether to laugh at this clearly absurd prank, or freak out at the fact that his parents didn't appear to be joking.

After a few seconds of internal turmoil, curiosity got the better of Harry and he started to rip the wrapping paper off his gift. Inside was a glass cube about the size of a melon. It had a latch and small hinges on opposing sides, and inside it were hundreds of live crickets, chirping merrily.

"You see, Harry, now that you're becoming a lizard, you'll be able to start indulging in the more... exotic... side of our traditional cuisine." said his father, happily. "Even your mother, not being a lizard, enjoys a fried cricket now and then, but I much prefer them raw, and soon, you will too."

Harry had a burning question; "Wait, Dad, if you're a lizard, then why do you look human now?"

His father stood, reached behind his back and Harry heard the sound of a zipper being undone. His eyes grew ever rounder as he watched his father shed the human skin into a neat pile on the floor, revealing a vibrant skin tone of bright orange mottled with black. Harry's father's eyelids moved as he looked at his son, and said, "Your mum makes one hell of a good human suit... she'll make one for you too, soon!"

Short story: "A Sword Fight Without Swords"

An excellent way to spend the evening is to simply write random stuff that comes to mind. These 'writing prompts' are a terrific tool to spark sudden inspiration, and with short stories one doesn't have to bother coming up with such petty details as consistent backstory, setting, deep character interaction... and so forth. I decided to write whatever came to mind after reading this prompt, and this is what I ended up with. Enjoy, if you dare.

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Arexnos was exhausted. Cutting through Marel's minions had cost him his front deflector generator, and one of the bastards had disarmed him of his prized durasteel sword. The damned miniature black hole nearby had sucked it right in, with what Arexnos could only imagine would be a smug grin. If black holes could grin. Or be smug. Luckily the last two minions had succumbed to his power-glove wrath, but Arexnos knew that wouldn't do much against the commander of the rebel forces.

The steel pillars just ahead flanked a massive pair of faux-wood doors, illuminated by spotlights in the floor. Marel was always one for drama, Arexnos remembered. Maybe that's why he, once the vice-commander, left the Terran army to form his own rebel faction... but now it was time for him to face justice.

The doors swung open silently as Arexnos approached them. The spotlights swivelled inwards, illuminating a gaudy golden throne, and an equally golden power-armour-clad figure sitting on it. Only his face wasn't golden, and the expression on it was one of calm superiority, the one an owner might use to gaze upon a well-trained dog. That, and the shiny black top-hat perched jauntily upon his cropped, blonde hair.

“Argh! Goddamnit, I really have to stop my spotlights from shining in my face. Where did I put the remote...” The man fiddled on a small remote until the spotlights turned off. “Ahh, much better. Now where was I? Ah yes. My dear Arexnos, how are you? You look tired, old chap. Have my goons really caused you that much trouble?” said Marel, seemingly amused.

“Not as much trouble as I'm about to give you, traitor!” replied Arexnos, angrily.

“Now now, my former superior. I did warn you, when I became your second-in-command. I said, if we ever run out of hot chocolate, I will have no choice but to commandeer a force of loyal chocaholics and ensure such a tragic shortage never happens again. You failed me. You failed... us. Rebellion was simply the only way.”

“You maniac! You blew up the Alps!!”

“It was the only way to ensure the Swiss would take us seriously, Arexnos! We had to control the Lindt factories and ensure productivity would continue unabated! The rich will simply have to find another mountain range to ski on.”

Marel took a mug from a recessed cup-holder in his gilded throne, holding it up in the air as a small drone whizzed over to fill it with a viscous, brown liquid.

“Ahh, a 3003 vintage, the chocolate caramel with a hint of mint. You should really try some, Arexnos. You would soon see what we fight so bravely and fiercely for.” said Marel, taking a sip and leaving a brown moustache upon his visage.

“To hell with you! I wouldn't drink that brown gunk if you paid me!”

Marel wiped his chocolate moustache away with a gold-gloved hand and stood slowly, holding out his mug for the attending drone to whisk away. “Sir.” he said, walking slowly down the dais upon which his throne was placed. “It is not gunk. It is the sublime liquid of life, the essence of joy. However, it is clear to me that your mind, and taste buds, shall remain sadly ignorant of this. A life deprived of joy is not one worth living, so I shall have to relieve you of it.”

Arexnos was ready; his anger flooded his body with adrenaline and pushing any exhaustion out of him. He had no sword, but he had his backup tool; a random object generator, standard issue for Terran troops. It was a one-time use only, but it was guaranteed to produce an object no greater than one cubic metre in size. As he pressed the button. Arexnos sincerely hoped it would be a nuke.

Something wet and slimy appeared in the air in front of him, and landed with a loud “splat” on the marble floor. Arexnos groaned. Of all the things to materialize, it had to be a squid.

Marel laughed out loud. “So, this is how the fate of the world shall be decided. Servant! Fetch me my battle squid!” On cue, a slightly larger drone flew through a side door, motors spinning furiously to hold the weight of the steel-plate-armoured cephalopod in its claws.

“You just happened to have one of those hanging around, did you?” asked Arexnos, disbelievingly.

“It always pays to consult a fortune teller before your enemy attacks, my former commander. Turns out she was right after all!” laughed Marel.

Arexnos gritted his teeth and grasped a squid tentacle, firmly enough that he hoped it wouldn't simply slip out of his grasp. Marel did the same with his armoured squid, which, Arexnos noticed, had spikes along most of it. It seemed it wasn't going to be a fair fight after all.

“You see, I have the advantage already!” said Marel, smugly. “Give up and I won't have to crush you with Sir Squiddington!”

Arexnos ignored the taunt, instead whirling his improvised, slimy weapon around his head before swinging it at his enemy's. “EAT SQUID!” he screamed.

Marel ducked just in time to avoid a faceful of sea creature, but his top hat was knocked off by a flailing tentacle. “It seems we need more... atmosphere!” Marel shouted. Hidden loudspeakers rose up from the floor, and “Ride of the Valkyries” began blaring from them.

Distracted by this, Arexnos nearly forgot to dodge Marel's battle-squid as it came hurtling towards him. Side-stepping it, he countered with his own, but Marel managed to bring an armoured appendage back in time to block it. The spikes pierced the soft flesh of Arexnos' squid.

Marel crowed in triumph. “Sir Squiddington will see your life ended, my chocolate-hating foe!”

Arexnos was starting to believe that. His squid, now full of inconvenient holes, had lost most of its structural integrity, and Marel was approaching with the air of a man about to kill another man through patently absurd means. The force of one more swing would surely ruin his 'weapon', so he'd have to make it count. Letting Marel approach him, Arexnos cradled his squid, and hoped the biology lessons he'd attended as a child would serve him well. Just as his foe was preparing a lethal downswing, he closed his eyes, squeezed his arms, and an explosion of liquid erupted from his now-ragged squid.

Opening his eyes, he saw Marel desperately trying to rub ink out of his own. “You must be squidding me!” he screamed. Arexnos ducked around Marel's wild flailing, and with one mighty swing, smacked his faithful squid into the rebel commander's gold armour. The cephalopod disintegrated, coating the armour in ink and general squid-related fluids. The force of the impact knocked Marel onto his now-lubricated back, whereupon he let go of Sir Squiddington, who landed on Marel's face. The gold-plated rebel commander slid easily across the marble floor and through his ostentatious wooden doors, towards the forecourt where Arexnos had defeated his minions.

Sadly for Marel, it was also where the black hole was happily devouring several ornamental statues and a set of bonsai trees. It first sucked the armoured squid off his face, giving him a brief moment to glance upon his end. Within seconds, he too was dragged into the singularity, which from his perspective would last a very long, painful, boring time.

Arexnos let out a long sigh. His enemy was defeated, and he hadn't even needed a sword to do it. He stomped over to the drone holding its former master's ornate mug of hot chocolate, grabbed it from the drone's protesting claws, and flung it in the general direction of the black hole. The mug orbited the gravitational anomaly a few times before getting absorbed, and Arexnos could have sworn the black hole burped happily. He activated his emergency location broadcaster, alerting his flagship. As the sleek shape of his carrier cast a shadow over him, Arexnos gazed at his destroyed squid. Luckily, he was in the mood for calamari tonight.

But why?

Well, why not? This blog may contain traces of science, random short stories and most certainly waffles, to some degree or another. You have been warned.