Mtg is Magic the Gathering, a turn-based card game

The outer perimeter alert gave a soft buzz. I tapped my ear-piece and the control room reported that a known hostile, tentatively identified as Galax, had triggered the system. I relaxed: Galax was probably just passing by, and my lair was well-concealed. I picked up the thread of conversation with Duella.

"Sorry for the interruption. Just a random hero. If you think this internship is not working out, do you have any ideas about what else you might do?"

She was uncharacteristically nervous. "I do, but I'm not sure if I should tell you now. Umm, I haven't seen the Command Room in a while, and I'm sure you've made some changes. Could we take a quick tour?"

"Sure. Just let me finish my tea. I have done a few things to the place. It's not finished yet, but .." I was about to tel her of the latest improvements when an alarm went off and the control room reported again. It definitely was Galax, and he was coming directly for the main door.

"Uh, honey, we have a situation. That hero has somehow located this place. He'll be at the door in minutes. I'll have to deal with this."

Duella nodded vigorously. "If you like I can leave and come back later."

I considered. "No, the Control Room is the safest place, and you wanted to see it anyway. Come on."

On a Control Room screen I watched Galax march directly up to my hidden front door and start smashing it in. It was designed to yield fairly quickly - just tough enough to let the hero work up a sweat, just weak enough that they got over-confident. The small maze beyond would baffle him while I considered my choice of weapons. There it went, and the crimson-clad oaf was through. He hesitated, mumbled, counted on his fingers, and took the correct passage, and then again, and again. I frowned. Duella drew a breath, and I glanced sideways to see her leaning forward, lips parted. She picked up my glance and smoothed her face over. What was my daughter playing at?

Galax by-passed the honey-badger pit and somehow figured out how to disable the air-shark trap. He was calling something out. I activated the mikes.

"Suella, I'm coming for you! I'll save you! Never fear! Galax is here to rescue you, Suella dearest!"

"Suella?" I queried. Duella blushed. "He thinks he's rescuing you? From me? Why?"

"I , er, I may have given him the idea that I'm attracted to him."

"To Galax? I had thought better of you."

"He's very stubborn."

"I can see that," I said, gesturing to where he was working doggedly on the adamantium door puzzle-trap. He had lost six fingers already, which must be painful even if they did grow back.

"Oh, well. I did say that I had made a few changes. Watch." I tapped in Program Number 42, the door sprang open, Galax sprang forward, to see myself holding a pistol to Duella's head. He shot a ray which would certainly have held me, and probably snap-frozen Duella, the hologram vanished as did the floor, and acid-squids did the rest.

"Now, daughter, just why did you give him the location of my hide-out, and a guide to the traps?"

Duella looked down, then spoke rapidly. "He is very stubborn, wouldn't take no for an answer, and you have always said he was a major pain in the arse. Then, it's your birthday coming up, and I knew you wanted to test the new gear. So I gave him a few clues. Well, actually, I practically coached him. He isn't - wasn't - very bright.

Which brings me to what I want to do instead of the internship. Dad, I want to join you and rid the world of obnoxious entitled super-heroes."

"That's my girl."

[removed]

> Any specific wonder food?

No, the line just means "cheetos are so good, man".

It's spelt "language" just for future reference. It definitely is confusing for one letter to make two different sounds in the same word

Any specific wonder food? Also, what is mtg? (feeling super out of the loop now. Lol)

Lol, sorry it was a character limit thing 😅 (also english its my second languaje)

"Mana from heaven" is an old name for a wonder-food. It's not an MtG reference.

I suppose anyone coming to WP must be somehow something something LOL ...

“Who?” I ask, causing the three people in front of me to freeze up.

“Wh-what do you mean?” One of them, whom I took to be some sort of leader, despite all pf them being dressed in bear identical religious attire, asked.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” For some reason, the confusion on my face seems to stun them into silence.

“You don’t know… who Jesus is?” The one in the backs asks, the shock in his tone making his words seem as if they left without his permission. Just why were these guys so high-strung?

“Sorry, I don’t go out that much these days. Is he like an actor, or an athlete or something?”

“N-no. He’s the son of God. He died for our seems and guided us towards the righteous path in life.” The last one answered, his voice tinged with the barest hint of frustration. It seems ai accidentally hit a sore spot for some reason. By the way, all of these guys’ voices are really similar for some reason, what was up with that?

“Oh, really?” I said. “He sounds like a pretty cool guy, I would love to meet him. Is he around here or something?”

Hearing this, their faces shined with a silver of hope, as if someone had finally shown them the light at the end of a very long tunnel. I just couldn’t get these people at all.

“Yes, yes!” Their leader excitedly said, “Of course he is. He is everywhere around us, in every house and in every heart.”

“What? So this guy just breaks into people’s houses?” I ask, concerned.

“NOOO!” they all shout in perfect unison.

“He’s not actually, physically there. It’s more like, his spirit is.”

“Ooooh, I think I get it now.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah!” I answer. “Jesus is a ghost that haunts people, and you guys are like, door-to-door exorcists, offering you services.”

It seems I didn’t get it after all, since their faces dribbled down into a particular brand of despair I haven’t the human figure was capable of communicating.

“Look, you three seem like nice guys, but you really gotta tidy you act some more.” I sternly scold them. Sometimes people needed a bit of tough love to be able to show off what they’re capable of. “You just aren’t doing a good job at communicating what your whole deal is about. Nobody is going to hire your services, at this rate.”

Seeing I was only making them more miserable, I tried to sweeten my tone a bit. “Hey, cheer up. You’re only just getting started! It’s a big world out there, I’m sure you’re going to find your footing somewhere. Good luck going forward!” I waved them goodbye.

“Wai-“

One of them tried to say something, but the slammed door drowned out whatever he had to say.

Going back to the living room, I am greeted by a tall, olive-skinned man with long luscious hair and the slight beginning of a beard, currently giving me the side-eye. I promptly ignore it, lounging myself on the couch and grabbing the nearby wine glass from the coffee table.

“You really should stop messing around with my followers, you know!” Even when chastising me, his voice was serene and pleasant, like the sound of gently falling water. I find myself getting more relaxed just hearing it.

“I can’t help it, it’s just too funny to se their reactions.” I admit without an ounce of shame, earning a slight sigh in response.

“You’re not going to go to Heaven like that, you know.” Oh, it seems he brought out the big guns. There’s not really anything I can say to that, so I immediately backtracked.

“Sorry, sorry, don’t get like that now. You have to admit though, they can get a bit annoying sometimes.”

That earned a tired laugh out of my current housemate. “I really commend them for their strong fate, and of course, I love them dearly, but I admit they can get a bit too ‘extreme’ sometimes. At least they mellowed out in the last century or so.” He picked up his own glass, grabbing the nearby water bottle. As he began pouring, the glass was filled with the sweet ruby-like liquid I so enjoyed. I tried not to think about how I was technically drinking his blood. “Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something better, you know? Steer them towards a better path?”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s not your fault, really.” I assured him. “Some people just get like that sometimes, they get so into their hobby they become obsessed and it takes over their whole personality. It’s just the effect that a para social relationship can have on some. You can’t really change that, but you know? At least they’re not as bad as idol fans.”

“Thank Father for that!” He replied raising his glass towards me, with an unceremonious toast, I dig into that heavenly nectar, making sure to savor every second of it.

“About your Father.” I changed the subject. “I don’t want to you to get the wrong idea pr anything, you’re a great guest, but I was just wondering how long was it until you can come back to the High Place?”

Jesus’s expression became briefly lost in thought as he swirled around the wine in his hand, before taking a sip himself.

“I can’t say for sure. Could be a couple of days, could be a couple of months. It’s really hectic around there right now. You said you don’t want to hear about the complexity of the situation up there, so…”

“And I still don’t.” That kind of high concept stuff sounded to bothersome for me too care, so I just kind of refused to think about it. I mean, I was pretty sure the people I just spoke to back there weren’t quite human, but I’m not one to fuss about stuff like that. ‘Live in the moment’ that’s what my father always used to say.

“Once again, I’m sorry for imposing on y-“

“Stop worrying about it” I brought my hand forward to cut him off. “As long as you kept spoiling me with this wine, you’re free to stay here until the Final Judgment in my book.”

“Thank you!” He said, caught halfway between amusement and genuine gratitude. “Now, you said you had a TV show you wanted to show me?”

“Sure do.” I say as I grab the remote with my free hand. “You’re gonna love this, I promise.” I assured him as I searched ‘Saint Young Men’ and hit play.

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The nine-fingered man walks into a town and all the peace and luck slowly drain away. Streetlights fail at random, animals go mad with rage, spouses fight for no reason, cars fail to start or have flat tires, anything and everything that could be deemed ill fortune.

Very, very loosely based on the legendary tale of Old Man Henderson, the bane of DnD tables and the source of plot derailment scale.

"Henderson." I could hear the spite in his voice. The vicar had come in full clergy attire, as if to steel himself for the awful task - of talking to me. Well, I couldn't let the opportunity go to waste. Turning to the man slowly, I smiled wide, petting the parrot on my shoulder. Some fools would point out the bird was stuffed and scruffy; they would soon learn not to make fun of Polly's condition. She was still man's best companion, even if less talkative than others.

"Whatcha want now?" I asked politely.

"I... erm..." The vicar looked down, as if there was bravery to be found by his feet. "We have another demonic gate. In the warehouse district, the green building. Our best me-"

"Your best men couldn't tell a garden gnome from a national treasure," I interrupted brusquely, turning away. Demons, then. Well, I had the tool for that. An old, trusty Garand, hanging on the wall, soon found its way on my shoulder. In the meantime, my holy companion gulped, his cheeks growing red. It was clear he wished to speak his mind - and knew better than to do so.

"All right, mate," I added with a smile. "Demons it is, then. Have they got any hatchets?"

"Ha- what in the Lord's name are you talking about, Henderson?" My name was spat out, as if a curse against humanity. Well, not too far from the truth in fact - though the old man didn't need to know it.

"Hatchets, vicar. Axes. Wooden stick, metal at the end, sharp edge. You know em, yes?"

"Wha- you know what, nevermind. They probably do. Just... go and fix it, okay?"

With a click, a bullet was loaded into the rifle, and my old companions - trusty pirate hat, fake parrot on the shoulder, and knowledge that noone could outsmart, or barring that, outcrazy me - I hobbled past the man from the church.

"All you had ta say, mate. Could use a new one round the house," I murmured with a grin. It was demon hunting season.

[removed]

What is orange mana?

Every friday night, Mr Robinson took the elevator bringing a new woman up to his apartment.

Every saturday morning, Mr Robinson took the elevator alone, to go down to his car, to work.

He lived on the 12th floor of the apartment block on Mileland Road.

One day, after word got out that the women never did, the police came to investigate.

They asked the landlord for the key to Apartment n°617, on the 12th floor.

"There's no 12th floor", said the landlord.

Upon entering the elevator, the police was forced to realize that Indeed, there was no 12th floor. They left, and Mr Robinson was never heard of again.

But it is said that sometimes, when a woman enters the elevator on a friday night, another button appears, labeled 12.

Pressing this button, will lead you to a room, filled with women, not a single one alive. And getting out of the elevator, you will be followed by Mr Robinson.

On saturday morning, he will take the elevator alone.

Feedback welcome. I know the followup is gonna hit and read a little different.

Lesgoooo

Wish granted

As requested by a couple of folks, I give you the Prequel to Tank-Borne.

Upon the Shoulders of Giants.

​

Another warp-lane, another contested planetary system.

Another battlefield.

New Terra is far from a new battlefield. It isn’t even a new planet. What New Terra is, however, what it represents, is the a renewed cradle for humanity in an uncaring universe. One of precious few planets with no intelligent indigenous species to lay claim, no alien civilizations with an interest in what would, to them, be yet another deathworld.

But to the fleet belonging to the Imperium in low orbit above the planet’s surface, it was just another Consortium world that they didn’t have the strength to hold.

Alarm claxons rang out in what Imperium soldiers not-so-affectionately called ‘The Pit.’ Battlemechs in various states of disassembly were being repaired and reassembled, armaments being swapped out for more field-appropriate gear. Tanks bearing the barely-human bodies of the pilots having their slurry flushed and refilled. Chemical stimulant and maintenance packs to keep the pilots operating for what was sure to be a lengthy siege, rather than the quick hostile takeover that command had implied during the mission briefings.

The final hour of their approach to Hot-Drop saw hundreds of ‘mechs assembled, their pilots slotted into the central core of the titans of steel. Compared to the pilots themselves, the ‘mechs had a tendency to look far more animatedly human with their pilots slotted rather than the hulking colossi they truly were.

Frontline variants were armed with up-scaled rifles similar to their human counterparts, albeit scaled up to fit the between thirty and fifty foot armored frames of the massive bipedal models.

Smaller quadrupedal scout models bore racks of missiles across their backs along with advanced sensor and communication suites along with target designation hardware that would allow them to call battlefield support, provide enhanced radar and map coverage, and, ultimately, call in orbital support for surgical strikes upon hardened targets.

Rather than a heavier loadout as the name would imply, Assault variants with their heavier power plants carried every manner of electronic warfare and countermeasure imaginable. They had, by now, become the Imperium’s calling card, because when the Assault ‘mechs hit the ground, the blackouts would roll, plunging enemy forces into chaos when their communications suddenly ceased to exist.

And finally, the Trenchman variants; quickly becoming the relic of a bygone age. Operated almost exclusively by convicts and social undesirables, they were the bulk of the ‘footsoldier’ mechs. Heavy shocktroopers with piledriver shields, forty millimeter explosive chain-gun, and ammunition reserves enough to make even the most hardened veteran blush.

Lines were assembled on the drop floor. Pilots; those still able to think and feel for themselves began to shift their mechs from side to side in an eager show of pre-drop jitters. But, as before any operation such as this, the fleet Admiral made his appearance on the gargantuan holo-projector at the back of the bay. Always, the same four words.

“The Flesh is weak…” Soft spoken. A prayer, at least the first half of one.

The answering call of every man, woman, and battlemech was loud enough to shake the decks of the carrier as the drop-floor began to lower.

"BUT THE SPIRIT IS WILLING!"

————————————————————————————————————————————

Spitfire’s inertial dampeners fired perfectly. She was on target. The chemical cocktail coursing through her veins produced a simulacrum of manic glee that, had she a face within her pod, would be showing a rictus of teeth and bloodshot eyes. The last few hundred feet of her descent was little more than a spray of explosive rounds to clear and flatten her landing zone before her hundred-ton battlemech hit the ground.

Soften the ground, soften the landing.

Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she ‘heard’ the scouts picking targets, the arm of the massive battlemech swinging in a wide arc and spraying ammunition without a care in the world for what- or more importantly, who she hit. Armored targets resisted the spray, but once she could get on the ground-

She ‘felt’ something smack into the dampener sled under her feet. Time seemed to slow even has her ‘mech began to pick up speed.

Hard earth shattered under her frame, the sled not so much shattering as crumpling, holes opening under her feet as she fell into a makeshift set of manacles binding her feet together. Around swings the pneumatic Pile concealed by her shield, jackhammering the twisted metal away from the feet of her battlemech.

The next impact she felt on her armored form landed squarely at the junction in her back and shoulder. A lucky shot that detonated her reserve ammunition.

Cassandra’s world was engulfed in flame. Her subsystems initiated a reactor dump to prevent an overload, flushed her system of the combat stimulants to simulate a crude hibernation, and her mech was put into recovery mode.

Her final lucid thought as her systems began a cascade of failures, and the first of it’s kind since she underwent indoctrination. Without eyes to cry, a mouth to scream, and control of her ‘mech wrenched away from her, she wondered if she’d finally be allowed to die.

Saint Young Men - manga series with Jesus and Buddha sharing an apartment in Tokyo.

[removed]

In the apartment block on Mileland Road, they have this elevator. Its pretty old, and it creaks whenever it moves. However, there was this one time where I opened the little service hatch on the ceiling out of curiosity. From the ground floor, I saw twelve more levels upward in the shaft. This was strange, since... well the building only physically has twelve floors.

A common occurence in the 13th century, was that homeless children would train rats, making them perform various tricks, in order to get money to live.

The rats often could jump, roll, somersault, and even more, but for the most wonderful trick of all, the child would tie the rats tails together, and the rats would skillfully untie them.

This went on for a few decades, with new children teaching new tricks to new rats, but none of the tricks being as impressive as the tail untying.

One day, a rat taming child arrived at a popular village of eastern Europe. She displayed her rats, and their tricks days after days, but not the best one, planning to leave it for last.

Unfortunately, a few days later, an illness plagued the village, and many people died from it. Due to the disease carrying nature if the small rodent, the girl's rats were blamed, and the townsfolk had decided to execute her.

Pleading for her life, she manage to make a deal with the people, if she could prove that her rats were under control by performing the tail untying trick, she would be set free, and allowed to leave the town. If not, her, and her rats would be executed.

She made all the necessary preparations, and ordered her rats in a masterful manner, but when came the moment to untie the tails, the rats did not perform as expected.

She was utterly defeated in front of this unexpected turn of events, and was powerless as the townsfolk dragged her to the town centre, and killed her, followed by cheers and cries of joy.

The rumor that rat taming children were spreading disease, spread itself, ironically, faster than any pathogen. In the whole civilised world, people were killing those children.

It is said that now, their souls wander in search of rats who can perform this trick. Sometimes, for no apparent reasons, rat will jump around, roll around, and do all sorts of tricks, before having their tails tied together. Sadly, they always fail to do the trick and free themselves, and end up dying of hunger, unable to get away