Sequel to The Swarm

>nature is going down without a fight.

Well that just sounds peaceful.

I wonder if the narrator in question ever offers a refund for those who go to heaven instead. 3 day vacation and such. I would definitely offer at least a partial refund.

99.9% of the planets population lives in a perpetual living coma, unable to feel or do anything , the other .1% have no idea how to fix it. They are all immortal and undying.

It is always a full moon. Daytime has become a distant memory. Now the creatures of night (werewolves, vampires, etc.) come out to prey on the struggling humans. The world is dying and everyone is trying to live as long as they can. Even the monsters

Teresa presses play on the YouTube video, hearing the upbeat song begin playing on the speakers. She sighs roughly and approaches the door leading to where the animals were kept.

Whining, barking, and howling assaulted her eardrums as the speakers continued playing. One by one, Teresa unlocked the pens and let the dogs run wild. They flocked to her like sheep, pawing at her legs as she finished releasing the canines. The wailing of sirens persisted outside as Teresa slid to the ground, allowing the dogs to swarm her. A towering borzoi licked her face, plopping down on her lap.

It goes all my troubles on a burning pile…

The speakers played the sorrowful song loudly as Teresa closed her eyes. The sirens kept wailing, her phone going off with EAS alarms. A rogue black hole: that was humanity’s end.

All lit up and I start to smile…

If I, catch fire then I’ll change my aim…

Teresa closed her eyes, feeling a tug in her chest. No, everywhere…

Throw my troubles at the pearly gates…

This was it.

[removed]

Everyday at exactly the same time, it rains dead bodies. Everywhere in the world.

Hah! So true. Didn't even cross my mind. Glad you enjoyed!

A zombie apocalypse but people have learned to use technology and bio engineering to turn zombies into weapons

They took the WiFi first, and then they started taking lives.

At this point in time many important things relied on WiFi. Military and government contacted each other with it. The government spread information and orders with the assistance of the internet signal everyone knows and loves. Additionally, the recent colonies on Saturn’s moon Titan communicated with Earth via specially made WiFi that linkes them straight to NASA.

They are highly intelligent, and discovered our dependency on WiFi, so they shut it down. We didn’t have enough time to gather ourselves before they launched their attacks. The governments and militaries were scampering to form a plan as humanity was exterminated. The man who was mostly responsible for out major dependency, Jackson Matthews, is to blame. If only he hadn’t introduced such efficient WiFi: the WiFi that had maintained easy communication past the Asteroid Belt.

I sit here writing this as one of them searches my building. If any scrap of humanity lives, take this letter as a warning. Please

—Jackson Matthews

Cat people run, run like the wind… 🎵

You get a car, he gets a car, she gets a car, EVERYBODY gets a car.

Do you know how many insects there are in the world?

I haven't even written mine yet goodness this is dope! My only tease is wouldn't it be denominated by 4 and land on an even year ;)

Wow.... just wow

"Atari," the genie said.

The genie was a total piece of shit, and I understood that. Everybody knew that. It was practically taught in kindergarten. I just stood there, looking like a dumbass, waiting for it to have its little moment. Thankfully, it didn't take too long. There was a line behind me, and the genie did have some bare minimum obligations.

With a final, theatrical sigh-and-eye-roll combo, it gave me the secret speech that everybody gets some time after their eighteenth birthday - you know, after waiting in line for months. Oh, there's backlog. It's a good thing we've got some wish mojo, because there's absolutely no way a society without it would be able to survive revolving around this rotten, absurd core.

"It's from an ancient game," it said. "It's the general principle that an alternating-turn stalemate is impermissible." It paused again, hoping I was as dumb as I looked. Disappointed - well, partially, anyway - it continued. "You can't wish for a wish that's already been wished, but okay, so, somebody wishes it, then somebody makes the wish that un-wishes it. Now jump to the top shelf. Somebody obviously did that with this little rule, didn't they? Somebody wished it away, then somebody else wished it back. That's that. It's locked in. It's forever."

"Geez, that second guy sounds like a real asshole," I said.

"Third guy," the genie corrected me agreeably. "But yeah, he was awesome."

"So why even bother telling me that?" I asked. "Surely at least some people would still waste their wishes on it if you didn't give them the speech."

The genie shrugged. "I get bored, man. Sometimes you gotta give a little to get a little. Shit, that's a good deal from where I'm hovering, don't you think?"

It was widely known that the genie was a butthurt piece of shit, specifically.

"So, who'd you piss off to get Atari-ed into this gig?" I asked.

The genie raised an eyebrow. It was an oddly non-cartoonish reaction, given his general appearance. The inky brushstroke of simulated hair mostly stayed where it would've belonged on a mortal face, rather than popping up past the forehead and into the air.

"Some other asshole in some other dimension," he answered flatly. "You wouldn't know her."

"Huh," I said. "You don't usually hear about an ex girlfriend who lives in Sandravika and goes to a different school and has different weeks off for breaks."

"Oh, you're a riot," the genie replied. He was back to the theatrics with his over-animated red mug. He huffed, folded his halfway-corporeal arms, rolled his eyes yet again, and then gave me the dead-fish paper-pusher look.

"Guess I don't get any more hints," I said.

"No," it replied. "You do not."

I took a breath and gathered myself. I entertained one final, momentary fantasy of taking a big risk. I suppose maybe I did take one, in a way? It's still so hard for me to decide, even after all these years.

The genie paused.

"Huh," it said. "Not bad, kid. Not bad."

"Not quite asshole caliber, though?"

It smiled. "No, not quite. But hey - know your strengths. Know your limits."

"So maybe I'll see you around?" I asked.

Its gaze darkened. "Okay, maybe I underestimated you."

I turned and walked away with a spring in my step. Outside the vestibule, the guards let the previous guy go, and I stood in the waiting area. Everybody wanted to know why I looked so happy, but rules were rules. Until I was completely outside, nobody else could engage. The guards were there to make sure nobody somehow managed to kill the goose - you know, the one who hadn't laid an egg worth half a green goose shit in thousands of years - and for literally no other reason. Our society couldn't survive without wish mojo, but it certainly can't survive just on it either.

The next guy shuffled out. I was formally released. He took my place in the waiting area. The next guy - a girl, as if it mattered - walked in to give it her best shot.

It didn't take long for people to figure out my wish. Opinions are divided. Thankfully, only a fraction of a percent of the population is really mad about it. Mostly, my world has come to appreciate me; it helps that they know I'll only be around for another sixty or seventy years. They can't take me for granted like that one immortal guy. I can't even call him an asshole. He's just sad.

There are lot of opportunities for me out here now - lots of free time; lots of potential customers, too - exactly where I know they'll be, now and forever.

Granted, they don't starve. They don't choke. They don't get sore. They don't get overly dirty, and their clothes don't fall apart.

They get bored, though. They get really, really bored. That's an angle, and I've learned how to work it.

You see, I'm the guy who doesn't wait in line.

Why?

Because I just don't feel like it.

Why?

Well, you know why.

Jealous?

One by one each star in the sky turns off, the darkness is absorving the universe. Now, years later our sky is absolutaly black at night. Now our sun, the last star, is turning off too.

The geese have had their fun now they must satiate their thirst for bloodshed

Perfect

We were wrong. Every religion believed themselves correct. They never thought to think, why do other religions exist. 12 hours ago, every human on the planet was telepathically told the truth: they all existed, and now they're waging war against each other to ensure their apocalypse and fates come to fruition. They too, do not realize something. They've created a new apocalypse.

No one remembers what happened, but plant life is almost completely extinct worldwide. Nowadays, hunting is the main food source for all creatures.

This was not a usual night for The Alibi. Or at least, that's what Sheila would like to say.

She chewed her gum while she cleaned the glass, looking to anyone like her head was completely empty. The gum kept her from clenching her jaw. Tonight she'd needed three sticks, almost used up her entire pack.

"HEY! I'm talking to you, tramp!" A glass sailed two inches past her nose and into the wall with a crunch. Shards of mixed glass rained down over her array of whiskeys from a six-inch spiderweb in the mirror that spanned the entire length of the bar's back wall.

She chewed her gum as she widened and then narrowed her eye at the damage. Chew. Chew.

Chew.

Turning back to her unwelcome guest, Sheila shook her head twice, letting the flyaways from her silver-streaked bun bounce around her furious face. Dark eyes glared at the unkempt trash with one fist on the bar, his hand still out and open from the throw, ready to slap whoever came close.

"That mirror cost me $8,000. Who should I be making that invoice out to?" She spoke evenly around her gum, her normally syrup-sweet voice deeper and louder to cut over what few hushed conversations were still taking place in the far corners of the establishment. All normal discussions had halted as soon as the man had slammed open the door, screaming his wife's name.

"Who cares about your ugly mirror? Where is Tammy?!" Sheila had spent the better part of her life determining exactly how drunk and out of control someone was. This tall excuse for a dickwart had breath that could stun a horse, but there was only the barest hint of alcohol in it. His control level, however, seemed virtually nonexistent, and Sheila was grateful for the distance her trusty mahogany bar put between her and the walking powder keg.

"For the fifth time, I am barkeeper, not a travel agent or a secretary." Sheila put a hand out to her side, palm up, and laid it on her edge of the hardwood, "I don't know where she is, only that she was here earlier."

The creaking of chairs now echoed in the bar's near-silence. The groaning of 200 and 300-pound men sitting ready, just waiting for the word, waiting for the opportunity to crack bones and split knuckles.

Uncaring of the countless ex-cons littering the establishment, the instigator slammed both fists on the mahogany again. "Well, when was that?! Where did she go from here? Where. Is. SHE?"

"Sir, I do not have any more information on the matter than when you asked ten seconds ago. And as she is clearly not in our company, I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave this establishment, or I will call the authorities."

Todd scoffed and started to interrupt, but Sheila spoke over him, loud enough for the entire bar to hear. "Once they are involved, I am obligated as a mandatory reporter to tell them exactly what I've seen of you and Tammy. And they will run warrants on everyone present, which-"

The SCREECH of four dozen mismatched chairs made Todd jump and finally take a look around as the irregulars of The Alibi stood and turned their flood of intimidating glowers on the beer-stained wifebeater. He took an involuntary step back, unaware of the brooding bouncer looming over the 6'3" man. Backing into that muscle wall, Todd's blood ran cold, turning his tanning bed orange face a sallow hue.

"-which will land your ass in jail until Monday morning alongside a not insignificant number of my patrons, whose displeasure will only be superseded by the displeasure of their employers. One of which you should be very familiar with." Sheila pulled out her cell phone, slowly unlocking it as she let the collective malice of the bar soak him down to the bone.

Checking her bars, she then held the screen up with the speed dial highlighted: M. Malone. A scared gasp broke the dead silence, and Sheila then set the device down on the bar in front of her. Brushing some errant hairs behind her unpierced ears, she leveled a squared, emotionless gaze upon this would-be invader, "Now, I will say again. Yes, Tammy was here, I'm genuinely sorry you missed her, but she moved on, and you should, too. Please, keep looking for her, but you will not file a missing persons report when she was seen within the last 72 hours alive and well. And should a report be filed, The Alibi will sign written statements confirming this. Do we understand each other?"

She raised a challenging brunette eyebrow, and pulled her gum out of her cheek to rely upon again. Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

"...yes." Todd growled, yanking his shoulder out of the bouncer's grip while turning to leave. All eyes remained on him until he was out the door, and then on the door until both bouncers exited, closing the door firmly behind them.

Then the men turned their stares to Sheila, who held them with the practiced poise of a politician. Chew. Chew. Rolling her eyes, she blew a bubble for variety's sake.

"Yeah, yeah, next round's on me. Actually, it's on that dickthistle, cause I am 120% billing him for the mirror!" She popped her bubble as a round of low chuckles preceded the return to conversation and carousing that this bar's guardian demons were known for. While fresh beers and scotches for most of the bar would come as they finished their current glasses, Sheila pulled up two Old Fashioned glasses. Popping ice spheres in each — one looking like a Death Star, the other a teddy bear's head — she poured two heavy glasses of West Cork and carried them out from behind her hardwood domain.

Crossing the room, she gingerly hands the two retired seals their Irish whiskey before trotting past them into the storeroom. Busying herself with replacing the empty keg for her Guinness, Sheila softens her smile at the sound of soft blubbering sobs in the back corner.

Only once she's finished does Sheila allow herself to look at the mess of a woman huddled on a beat-up couch piled high with cushions. The young ginger of the hour hugs one of the largest (and plushest) cushions to her chest while her face is half-buried in a nearly soaked-through accent pillow.

"Oh, don't do that, Tammy, you've already cried yourself out twice today; you're gonna get dehydrated again." Sheila comes over and brushes the girls' pulled and pinched hair back in a soothing motion. "I told you. He isn't gonna find you, and he isn't coming back. Oh, I wish you could've seen it, Tam, he was so scared of Gil and the boys he almost pissed himself!"

Tammy laughed, hoarse and muddled with phlegm, and grabbed Sheila's hand, both starved for and afraid of physical contact. "I... I was so scared when you said you were gonna call the cops, Sheila. I gasped so loud I almost thought ya'll heard me!"

"Don't worry, the boys covered that up reeeeal well." Sheila smiled, then gently extricated herself and headed for the door. "Now, you know the rules. No phone, no leaving the room, no nothing for at least a week except using the bathroom when we're not open, and the windows are all covered. That means get some sleep and don't worry. The boys have got our backs, alright?"

Nodding, the exhausted runaway tossed her wet pillow onto the floor and slid down, returning her stand-in plush to its first purpose as a pillow. Sheila clicked off the USB minilamp on a cask-turned-nightstand and moved back across to the door, wiping her face and once again thankful she'd had the sense to remove her makeup when the rainbow-bruised redhead had crashed through the front doors hours ago.

Massaging her scarred shoulder through her soft silk top, the secondhand bar owner thanked the heavens for her bar's reputation amongst the women of her city. While men might fear The Alibi, she'd further built this hole-in-the-wall into a haven, and she would defend it as fearlessly as she defended the freedom of any man who maintained the bar's original "secret"

Lmaoooooooo

This story made me sad imagening the situation. I hope they find a safe place

Giant aliens turn Earth into their personal flower garden.