Dr Myrtle Twistlethwait of the Edgecombe-on-stuttley Twistlethwaits sighted down the barrel of her guns and picked off the three zombies who had been foolish enough to breach the cafeteria during tea time.

Bang, bang, bang She put them all down with a single shot.

"Doctor er, or is it Professor Twistlethwait?", asked the general who hadn't had time to put down his teaspoon before Myrtle whipped out her gun and dealt with the rotted bastards.

"Both. I am a doctor of Microbiology and a professor emeritus of Cornell University. You may call me Dr Twistlethwait."

"Er, yes Doctor T....where did you learn marksmanship?"

"At the firing range, of course."

"Seems a peculiar hobby for a microbiologist."

"Not for one that grew up playing Duck Hunt."

"What?"

"I beat all 99 rounds."

"Really?"

"Damn dog kept mocking me. So I thought you know what I'll show you...and I signed up for lessons at the nearest shooting range."

I stand on the balcony, looking out over my kingdom. My time is coming; my son, fifteen years old now, destined to overthrow me, has been gaining the trust of the people. A rebellion is on the horizon, as everyone demands he takes the throne. Of course I'm not happy with this, but he hasn't once disobeyed me; if I tell him to put a servant in their place, he will use compassion and understanding to get them to do their jobs, but if I told him to punish them, he would, apologising for the way things are.

I curl up my fingers. The one thing I don't understand is... how? Ever since my son started making decisions for the kingdom and having a say in what happens to people, there's been LESS crime and disloyalty. This doesn't make sense...

I sigh. I close my eyes and think back to when I first took my son in. Sometimes, prophecies are fake or inaccurate, but I couldn't take my chances. My advisor has always had a gift, and he's rarely ever wrong. He told me that an abandoned baby would grow up and be my undoing. I could have just killed the kid... somehow, I knew it was him... but I know what would have happened. People would NOT have kept quiet. Instead, I raised the boy as my own, hoping I could somehow get him to follow my example...

But no. All these years later, he doesn't even TRY my methods, calling them 'cruel'. It doesn't matter; my grip is slipping, it's only a matter of time. I nod to myself, my decision made. I head to the throne room. What once was a place of fear and respect was slowly becoming a place where even my own guards don't see me as a leader. I walk up to the throne, but I don't sit down. I call for my son. "Shawn. Come here."

My son walks into the room. Usually, he bows to me. This time, he doesn't. I narrow my eyes; this is yet another sign that what I'm about to do is a necessity. "Shawn... why do you insist on being compassionate and kind to those beneath you? To those who are criminals or servants?"

"Because I hate seeing the fear in people's eyes, father" Shawn responds. "They hate you. I can't, but I don't respect you anymore. I'm not afraid to tell you anymore, father, but I don't think you are fit to rule this land. Punish me for it if you want; you'll regret it."

I take two steps forward. He doesn't flinch. "I know" I say. "If I did ANYTHING to you, the people would riot. Son... I never told you before, but the day you were born, my reign was destined to end. I still somehow hoped that if I raised you as my own, you'd follow my example. I was wrong. And now... here I stand, my position fragile. I don't have much choice... the throne is yours."

Shawn's eyes widen in surprise. I step to the side, gesturing him to take my place. He hesitates a moment, before walking over and taking his seat. I feel disgusted, but just a little bit proud. I kneel to my own son. "Your majesty."

He looks at me. "Seems like you at least know humility. So... what to do with you..."

I gulp. "Please... I know you well enough... you wouldn't hurt me... don't hurt me..."

Shawn chuckles. "Never thought I'd see you begging like this, Mason. Truth be told, I always thought death wasn't an unsuitable punishment for you... but you're right, I don't WANT to hurt you. Guards. Take him to the deepest part of the dungeon."

I shake with relief as I'm forced to my feet. I'm escorted to a dark, damp cell. The iron door shuts behind me, and I look at the guards. "Be thankful you were spared" one of them states. "Maybe one day, you can earn your freedom... after, King Shawn isn't like you." The guards leave, and I just sit on my cold, hard bed. One question goes through my head: where did I go wrong as a ruler?

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Thank you for reading! More stories here!

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I love Sun Wukong!!!! He’s so cool

Oh I’m sorry, then I definitely misunderstood what you meant. I thought of the last as of anyone does something😅 Glad you got it to Work somehow though

Thanks!

surprise!

I am less concerned with integrals and more with how they managed to implement any form of digital computation system without figuring out a proper numbering system XD

Yes, I’d like to see more. And I want to know more about that lunchbox! Upvoted.

I like that you didn't go for the "h2o is toxic to everyone but humans" storyline.

This was very engaging, though I feel you just left me hanging there at the end. I’m not clear where it went. Upvoted for compelling storyline.

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It feels like an SCP entry but the number is too high.

Excellent twist! Nicely done. Upvoted.

I've been playing Control lately, and was just thinking this prompt reminds me of that.

The prompt is basically, "everything's gone to shit, but you discover you're the main character of a videogame".

Well, we have the option of corporate logo polos in vomit green or these corporate logo ties. At least they’re nice silk.

We need a continuation, this is incredible!

The horde slammed against the weakly-barricaded door, their limbs turning to mush but denting the metal all the same. It wouldn’t hold. It couldn’t.

I gripped the gun I tripped over tighter. I never held one before. Never saw the need to despite the work we were doing here.

One of the horde managed to break through the glass of the door. To my growing horror, it didn’t just mindlessly wave its arm around but tried to reach for the door handle. It wouldn’t do anything since there was a heavy cabinet blocking the way but it was still disturbing how quickly they were learning.

I checked the magazine again - it was full. Good. I counted around fifteen of these things. If the worst came to it, I still would keep one just for myself.

They broke through. I wish I could say that I roared in defiance but it was more akin to the startled cry of a particularly pissed chihuahua.

I shot once, fully prepared to miss and be devoured.

To my surprise, the closest one to me fell, it’s head reduced to a memory. I was shocked. As was the horde.

It lasted but a moment until the rest ran at me. Everything turned to blur as I just kept shooting. One after another, the monsters fell to the ground.

I was almost out of bullets but there were no things nearby anymore. I looked at the gun again - was it some kind of prototype? Some self-aiming gun?

“Aaaah! Help me!”

I looked at the dead things and then at the gun. I am not sure why I didn’t use this lucky break to run away there and then.

Maybe I was going through some kind of episode.

Maybe I was just going crazy.

Whatever the reason, I found myself running towards the screams.

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The alarms overhead blared their announcement: Defcon 3: Defcon 3, to which I had no choice but to believe its noises as I had programmed them myself. I rounded the corner hot, another gaggle of beasts at my heels, blood of my coworkers dripping from their mangled maws. As I headed a left through another corridor I saw sudden salvation left on the ground: a standard issue Septum-B sidearm. I had never been much of a shot in the training courses, but today? Well today my life depended on it.

I scooped it up on my pass, hearing another roar of wet snarls at my heels sending my body moving forward faster than I'd thought possible. My destination was just within reach, the blast doors to my office, jammed nearly closed (once again installed by yours truly). With any luck they'd hold long enough for the ODS Strike Team to arrive.

With a final desperate movement I rocketed myself through the thin gap between the two hunks of metal, the sounds of chaos left behind on the other side of the doors. The beasts now opposite of me roared and clawed, piled their bodies upon one another in frustration heaving their combined weight like a battering ram. But the doors barely flinched at the initial onslaught. If the experiments could read then they'd see my name lasered into the steel: Peabody Designs: Love it or Leave it. Too bad we hadn't gotten to the literacy portion of the testing before this mess.

I looked down to my stolen prize, the Septum-B handgun. Not a design of mine, but I knew...or rather had known the man who had crafted them up. Now when I aimed the sights down to the crack in the door it was solely for curiosities sake, whats science without a proper test? But when I pulled the trigger. When the bullet found that stream of air and rode it down, down through the head of one of the beasts long down the hallway, well I just had to try a second time. For a proper conclusion to be drawn the experiment must be repeatable, no?

And the second result proved to be the same as the first, another head exploding into a purpley goop to a roar of displeasure from the beasts. The conclusion being: Maybe Dr. Sherman Peabody wasn't such a bad shot after all.

Maybe all was not lost. Maybe the facility could be saved, and it could be days before ODS arrived after all. The facility could be saved, and all the less likely, by me. My old heart jumped in my chest at the thought, then my fingers twitched on the trigger letting off another round, another head gone. One by one, shot by shot the bodies piled. I couldn't, literally couldn't miss. Soon I was stepping out into the hall, pushing them back as if I was taking the lead score in a shooting gallery.

The beasts cluttered the hallway and up to the ceiling to get a taste at me, their gaping jaws dripping with saliva at the thought. Some were so desperate they pushed their way through others entirely. Initially my hands shook; my ears rang after shot. But before long I was a natural.

When one gun clicked empty another was miraculous at my feet, tethered to another body. If I didn't know any better I'd say I was giddy, excited to be doing so well and almost laughing at my success. Before long I had made my way back through the corridor from which I came to the start of it all Unit A: Testing.

The smell. The blood. The bodies of my colleagues stacked like sabdbags. Broken tubes and metal doors torn like paper (not my design). Then came the horde, the horde of demonic creatures tearing from their binds in the lab and pouring out towards me in a pile. There was more than I thought. More than ODS could handle, and certainly too much for one man. They were...multiplying it seemed.

With a click I pulled the magazine from the gun. One round left. I checked the floor to no avail. It seemed my luck had run dry. With one round left I felt good as to where it belonged. Felt lucky that I had done myself so proud, so confidently torn through the crowds. My name was engraved into this place and when they came, well they'd know who had laid waste to the many.

Dr. Sherman S. Peabody, Love it or Leave it. Luckily, my last shot wouldn't need skill to take.

Damn really cool with the addition of the watch

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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

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This is a very good start to an epic fantasy!!