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An amateur netrunner in their early twenties lives a subsistence lifestyle in their apartment. They sell information about the interesting (and abundant) people who live in their poorly-secured housing block.

One day, they grow fed up with petty drama and cheap food. Deciding to pry further into some of the more risque individuals, they proliferate a number of seemingly innocent, unconnected, private details for quick cash. From there, they go from watching callously as someone's panic becomes serious as people start to quietly die, and a search begins for the one who leaked the information: our netrunner. Their life, as a result, spirals out of control and they must run for their life.

I was going to say hi on your profile pic post when I saw it, but it’s locked. Hello from right here, where I decided to follow you because of this awesome story!

Lmfaooooo

[deleted]

Well this is interesting

Down the rabbit hole we go!

You decide to go to a random funeral and discover they lived a parallel life to yours and you never even met them once

I hiked up my last pair of six-dollars-and-fifty-eight cents socks and prayed for a slightly-under-forty-k-after-tax miracle.

The Essential Service Provisioners’ building was beige, buried in trees, hopelessly unfindable without GPS. Despite the foliage, I had to shield my eyes from the morning sun. Everything smelled like asphalt. With a nervous flutter, I realized I was creasing my résumé folder.

Opening it to check, my mother’s letter was still unbent. That was good. There was no way to get another one ever again, so I needed to keep this one safe.

With that pleasant thought, I closed the file and walked through the front door.

A grandmotherly looking receptionist completely ignored me as I stepped in. She was focused on- a typewriter? God, what century was it going to be in here? A quick check at the room’s entrances and exits showed me two hallways, a window just next to where I’d come in, and no directory.

“Is this the Essential Service Office?” I chanced aloud.

No answer but the clack of tapping.

I shuffled in place, not quite sure if I should muster the courage to bother her again. It was supposed to be a long day and I needed spoons in my drawer for it.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I settled, quietly.

Lo, these must have been the magic words, except that I had picked the wrong spell to cast. She made direct eye contact with me for an uncomfortable interval before producing a strip of white gum from somewhere on the desk.

The only noises were the wrapper of the gum, and the hum of florescent lights above. They were annoying- and I couldn’t resist the urge to rub my temple to ease the stinging pressure. I couldn’t help but stare at her teeth (partly stained by her crimson lipstick) as she began to chew, mouth open.

“Which way to the um. The interviews?”

She blew a bubble.

“Your left,” she smacked. Baffled and hoping to put some distance between us, I started down the hallway as directed.

There was a clatter behind me. I yelped, turned- she was staring even more intensely.

One more gum bubble, a pop, and: “You can hear me.”

“…am I not supposed to?” That was a dumb question, I nearly kicked myself just thinking it back in my head. She furrowed her brows, but sat again.

“Maybe not,” she smacked with her final gum bubble. She sat back down to continue typing.

Though it pained me to turn my back to her, I did have somewhere to be. The hallway was low ceilings and humming static, but at least it was well lit. Paper signs were pasted against the walls with various pictures.

I gulped my fears down, picturing them in a bottle with a ship, sailing my anxieties away with the tide. So deep into this image was I that I ran straight into something- as it turns out, a gruff looking woman with lanky, brown hair tied under a baseball cap.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I squeaked. She was way taller than me and muscly to boot.

“S’fine. Are you, by chance, Christine?“

With a hesitant nod, I held out a hand. “Yes, Christine Priyanka. Nice to meet you.”

The woman nodded. “Call me Doc. Everyone does. Please leave.”

“…but I just got here,” I managed. “What’s going on?”

Instead of explaining, Doc frowned. “Go home.”

“I’m here for an interview,” I asserted. In my head, all I could think was, what’s with the chilly reception?

“…Huh. That usually works the first time,” she chuckled. “I mean it. Leave and never come back, never mention this conversation, in fact you didn’t hear it at all.” She raised a hand in my direction and snapped her fingers. I jumped.

…was that smog coming out of her forehead?

I closed my eyes, partly to ward off this ridiculous headache, partly to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

“Look. I need this job. I’m down to my last tank of gas. You could be spitting fire and brimstone and I’m not going anywhere ‘til I’ve said my piece to whoever the recruiter here is. If you’re not here to help me, I’ll find someone else who will even if we’re the last two people in the building. But for goodness sake, please stop with the routine? Ok?”

I opened up my eyes and came face to face with a large, black smoke creature in the room with us.

Doc stared at me instead.

“Well! Guess you really are the one. Congratulations!” With a grin, she took my hand and shook thoroughly.

I couldn’t move, riveted as I was to the sight of a giant smoke demon. Doc inhaled deeply for a moment before blowing the fog away- dissipating it into a harmless cloud. I hoped I was not breathing it in.

“You’re confused, I get it,” she smiled. “Here, come with me behind the desk, there’s a trapdoor to the real office. And yeah. You passed the interview. You’re hired.”

“…just like that?”

“Unless you want to go home right now,” Doc nodded.

Well, I did sort of want to get away from these crazy people and snuggle up in bed with a book, but no more than I usually felt.

“No,” I answered. “I came here for a job.” With a shove, Doc moved the heavy desk six feet to the right, revealing a wooden panel that slid back with a kick.

“Then you’re in the right place.“ The trapdoor made a creaking sound as it slid away. Underneath the panel, I could see brighter lights and hear louder conversations.

“…what exactly is it that you do here?” I asked.

“Never know if you don’t find out for yourself.” With a smirk, Doc jumped through the opening in the floor. I heard her land with a soft “oof.”

Shaking, I reached for the edge to lower myself in after her.

A person begins augmenting themselves with cybernetics despite the fears of cyberpsychosis. The person seems remarkably unaffected. After a while they begin to find new augments that they don't recall putting in there. As the story progresses it gets increasingly uncertain whether it's the person acting, or the augments. (Perhaps in the end there are only augments left, and yhe person is gone completely, thus fulfilling the person's fears of cyberpsychosis death). Maybe it's a plot by a new corporation that needs lots of robots but can't afford them, so they make people pay for their augments that end up completely destroying anyone who uses them, turning them into bots.

The day after the funeral of someone close.

Thanks! I'll put that in mind next time I write!

Kardishev 1 (all energy on the planet) civilization well on it's way to kardishev 2 (Dyson swarm). The protagonists try to start a colony around alpha centauri, and word gets out the corps won't be allowed. They find out, and attempt to break their kneecaps with 24th century tech.

Finally it was time for the mane. Harvinger turned to place the brush in its proper place and switch to the mane brush. When he turned back he dropped the brush in a rare act of surprise.

Senya was gone. In her place stood... Princess Illianna? Princess of Avren, rightful heir to the throne, and missing for five years. Tears streamed down her face, yet she maintained a dignified stance while gripping a shawl tightly around her dress.

"P-P-princess?" was all Harvinger could manage, his mind frozen in confused shock.

"My dear knight, my curse is lifted, thanks to you." Despite her tears, her golden voice was strong. "I never knew what would break it, but I suspect that in this moment, you realized in your heart that you loved Senya, loved me."

The knight dropped to his knees, eyes moist and glistening in the torch light. He was fighting to hold back tears, but he knew it was a fight he would shortly lose. "I, yes, I realized that my affection for Senya...you? Was more than just a rider and his steed." The dam cracked, the first tear traced a path through the days grime down his cheek.

"Si-," she paused for a heartbeat, "Harvi-" she shook her head. "Tequinn, it was not just your love that broke the curse. Though trapped in the form of a mare, I kept my mind."

Harvingers eyes widened in shock. "You.. You remember?"

Illianna stepped up to the knight and cupped his cheek in her hand. He was shocked at the softness of her touch, the touch that broke the dam. Tears could no longer be held back and he wept openly, leaning into his princesses touch.

"Yes, I remember everything. I recognized you when you found me in that field. I knew you from before, firm, fair, honorable. I knew I'd be safest with you, and that I would get to see the kingdom in ways I would never otherwise." She smiled and Harvingers soul bloomed in ways he never imagined possible. That wasn't a smile of a princess to a knight, it was a smile only reserved for the person she loved.

"I saw you fight nobly. I bore you into battle so you could lead our forces to victory. I watched as you dedicated yourself to your duty, forgoing the pleasures women the kingdom over would have willingly offer. I suspected the reason why, but now the truth is apparent."

"I-I never intended anything above my station, my Princess. I assure you." the pleading look he gave her nearly broke her heart.

"Tequinn, of that I have no doubt." she crouched so she could be at his level, knowing he lacked the strength to rise in this moment. "Love was never something you sought. Only duty to your king, to your men. But you found it in the most unlikely thing, a simple mare. And for you, that was enough."

It was too much. A knight of the Arven Kingdom was a master of their emotions, stoicism prized over any display of emotion. It's why so few achieved such a lofty rank, it took a will stronger than iron to control their emotions. And here was Knight Tequinn Harvinger on his knees, the iron prison he kept his emotions locked up in, pried open by the very princess he swore to find and to protect.

Tequinn dropped his head and fell back into his legs. Love, shame, duty, hope, they all rushed forth, finally free from their prison. A wail escaped from deep within his lonely soul, reaching out to the radient soul before it, yearning to bask in her warmth.

Illianna smiled and welcomed his soul. Lonely though it was, it had its own warmth. The warmth of a protector, the fierceness of a Warrior, the longing of a man who denied him self the greatest treasure in all the lands.

"I love you, Tequinn Harvinger." Her words echoed in his soul, filling a void Tequinn never knew was there, that he longed for.

"A-and I love you, my princess." he whispered back, the words surprising even himself.

"Then rise, my love, and let's be by each others side for the rest of eternity."

They clasped hands and helped one another rise, ending with him standing a full head taller than her. They stared into each other's eyes, into one anothers souls, connecting on a level only reserved for those who truly loved one another.

Before they knew it, they embraced each other tightly, sharing a kiss that shook the world. At the entrance to the stable Bart gasped in shock, dropping his food laden tray that rattled loudly on the cobblestone floor. Tequinn and Illianna ignored him, continuing their embrace.

Bart turned and ran, they could hear him crying into the late afternoon air, "The princess! The princess has returned!"

The gates to the castle of the Avren Kingdom opened in a welcome cacophony of gears and chains working to move the massive constructs. Sir Tequinn Harvinger swayed with fatigue atop his chestnut colored steed Senya, whose hooves clopped and echoed off the stone walls.

Behind them, soldiers and their retinue followed, equally weary from their journey to the far south, fighting in the century long war that they have no hope of seeing the end of. Just like battles past, the clashes they participated in were brutal and bloody. This group lost a quarter of the numbers they left with. Their only solace was that the enemy suffered equally.

A squire, fresh from the county side, Harvinger could tell, came trotting up to him, eager to take the steeds reigns and lead them to the royal stables. "What is your name, young squire?" Harvingers voice rolled like gravel from beneath his heavy helmet.

Surprised at being addressed by the storied knight, the squire stumbled, "Uh....ummm..."

"It's OK, young one. You may speak." Harvinger said reassuringly. Well, as reassuringly as he could manage, being well aware that his voice can be described as anything but warm and gentle.

The squire blinked a couple of times before mastering his emotions and finally providing an intelligent response, "My name is Bartleby, but my friends call me Bart."

"Then, my young squire, may I address you as Bart?"

The squires mastery of his emotions was fleeting as his face froze in shock. Sensing that the squire was at his limits of emotional control, Harvinger continued on. "Judging by your silence, you think this is an expectation of friendship. It can be, young squire, if you become my squire. I'm afraid my last one met an unfortunate end on our journey and I find I am in need of one. Come, follow me and learn."

Despite his heavy armor and apparent fatigue, Harvinger dismounted Senya with grace born of years around horses. "You will find that I am not like the other knights. I only need a squire as a second set of hands, running the errends I cannot do myself. I do not let others take my steed," he emphasised this with an affectionate pat on Senyas neck, "nor do I expect others to clean my gear for me. I take care of these myself. Do you follow?"

"Y-yes, sir Knight."

"Good. Your responsibility is to make sure the stable is well kept and ready for Senya or myself. Provisioned and clean. I will tend to Senya myself, none other shall do so without my direct approval. I will never send written missives that counter that, nor shall I send instructions to the contrary via messenger. Failure of this direction will result in immediate dismissal. Do you understand this, Bartleby? "

"I-I do, sir knight."

They had arrived at Harvingers personal stable. Harvinger doffed his gauntlets and helmet placing them on a table then returned to Senya, reached into a saddle pack and fisheds out a parchment, quill and ink. After a few moments of writing, he pulled out wax and his stamp, carefully rolling the parchment and affixing his seal to it.

"Take this to Captain Parson. This is informing him that you are now my squire. Return here once he reads this and dismisses you. Now go." He turned without waiting for Bart to acknowledge his directions and started to remove the various bits of riding gear affixed to Senya. Each peice that came off was placed in its proper location. Finally Senya was free of her burdens.

Harvinger next scooped up the deshedding brush and worked over Senya from shoulder to haunch, removing fur that built up since they broke camp that morning. Next he grabbed a bucket, pleased to see it freshly filled and proceeded to wash Senya.

As he washed his loyal steed, he spoke to her, as of she could understand him. "Senya, what a steed you have been for me. When I first laid eyes on you, I knew we were destined to ride together. Your chestnut fur glistening in the dusk, the pride you carried yourself with. I cannot explain, but it's almost as if you enchanted me. Despite being a wild mare, I did not have to break you, you joined me, almost willingly."

Harvinger tossed the rag wetly into the bucket where it splashed noisily. Next he picked up a towel gently patted Senya dry. "The men were all amazed that I tamed such a beast. But you and I both know, there was no taming necessary." Senya huffed as if in agreement. Satisfied that she was dry, Harvinger next grabbed the brush and lovingly brushed the soft fur of his companion.

By this time Bart had returned and stood quietly nearby, waiting for his next instructions. Harvinger knew he was there, but ignored him for now. "Imagine my surprise at how nimbly you navigated our first battefiled together. Somehow you emerged without a scratch." The brushing continued, "Then the time you helped find survivors of the Wellington disaster, when a levy broke and flooded the nearby village."

Harvinger moved to the other side. "I knew you were special, but little did I know how special you were. Even my old squire Percy learned it the hard way, the first time he tried to tend to you. You wouldn't let anyone touch you. Only me. You rarely even let another take your reigns to be led around, much less rode about. That horse thief was in for a surprise when you intentionally ran him into a tree branch. It's too bad you stomped him so good, I would have loved to get my hands on him myself." Harvinger chuckled at the memory.

"Bart, fetch me some food and drink. I am nearly finished here but I still need to doff my armor and tend to it."

A small cloud of dust followed the squires "Yes, sir Knight" as he took off.

I am what is referred to as a cyclical man. It is an ancient magic that can only be cast on a group of willing people. Every group has a different composition and a different set of rules.

I knew a cyclical man that was just two people. By day one of them existed and by night the other. But only living half a life they each lived for twice as long.

I knew a team of adventures that became a cyclical man. A thief, a mage, a barbarian, a bard, and a great scholar. They would rotate as certain skills were needed. They were an unstoppable team of one.

The neat thing is that the memories are shared and you only age by as much time as you have actually lived. It seems great but you are stuck living a half life. You can’t settle down. You can’t have a normal job. And it is impossible to break the spell.

I joined with a unique group of adventurers. We are a group of ‘monsters’ and we cycle based on our individual strengths. A centaur that can travel fast by day. A vampire that can never see the sun light. A werewolf by the full moon so he is always at his full strength. A merman when we hit the water. A heat loving dragon on the hottest of days and a yeti when it is too cold for anyone else. We are always at our strongest.

We are six individuals that make up one man, and this is a story of our adventures.

Eternal peace. Heaven. That's where everyone wants to end up in.

But Jake wasn't meant to be there. He was the villain of the story after all - he was on the war front for the wrong side and had killed dozens of people.

But he wasn't going to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

The first thing he noticed about heaven was that it was silent. There were people, thousands of them, but it was as silent as a grave.

Everyone forgets to mention that eternal peace gets boring. Far too quickly and far too soon.

But Jake isn't a quitter. He's not going to waste away to nothing. He tries to find Jane, his opponent on the battlefield who ended up in hell.

He finds Jane, only able to look from afar, as she's surrounded by a crowd of admirers who hang on to her every word.

He tries yelling, shouting, screaming into the void between them but she can't hear. There's a sound barrier between heaven and hell. After all, who wants to hear the sounds of eternal damnation?

Welcome to the Post! This is a [PM] Prompt Me.

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You wanted a pet when you were a kid, so after accidentally running over a kid who's last wish is to pet a puppy, you feel obligated to fulfill it. The only problem is, you've never actually seen a dog before let alone a puppy, and the weight of this task is starting to grip you by the balls as this kid's death looms closer.

The Ascendence of a Bookworm is a fantastic anime with this premise!

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

Many years ago a deadly plague ravished the world. In order to adapt to the new life people were forced to live in, cybernetic alterations became the new norm. Sarah, a young woman living in the slums of a certain district, finds herself with a horrible problem: she has the plague. A variant of it at least. Below her metallic flesh her human organs are slowly rotting and the only cure costs a lot more than she has. In order to save her life, Sarah must take on increasingly unsurmountable tasks all within the limited amount of time her disease is quickly taking from her.

[removed]

Nitroglycerin is an extremely energetic explosive. Ever wondered why?

Ergot Alkaloids are mana sinks. They absorb some of the mana in your body and allow it to be passed like food.

Maybe a bit silly, but I've always found a simple peace and joy in preparing and cooking a meal for other people who love my food, one that I can't really describe :)

I spend an inordinate amount of time combing through my recipe books and the Internet, trying to decide which feels right. Something that is more exciting and your average meat-and-potatoes meal, but isn’t so far out of my wheelhouse that I’m a frayed mess by the time I serve it. He has never complained about the food I’ve provided, but I’m always pushing myself to improve, to impress.

I land on a recipe that has many of his favorite components - it’s simple, but has complex enough flavors that I can feel my mind parsing through the steps in excitement. I set myself to work, chopping vegetables and trying not to maim myself as I dance to the music from my speaker. I’m in my element, drawing upon practiced motions that come to me like breathing.

As the ingredients hit the pan and sizzle, my mouth is already watering at the scents rising from the stove. A little shallot, some seasonings, and chicken thighs come together as my music continues in the background, a swaying performance that will hit its climax as he brings the first bite to his tongue.

The food prepared and dished out, I call him over to taste as my heart swells with the hope that he loves it. He gives me a kiss first, and is sure to tell me that everything smells incredible. Since he has a cast iron tongue and refuses to bow to the human demands of temperature, he takes his first bite without a care. I watch carefully for the telltale signs - his shoulders relaxing, his eyes closing, a pause in chewing. All are reflected back to me as he sighs and turns back to smile at me. “This is amazing, why is everything you make amazing?” he asks. I just smile and swat at his shoulder. He shakes his head, laughing. “You really are a fantastic cook. Thank you for making this for me.”

Little does he know, those words will buoy me to the next meal. As they will the next, and the next.