Thank you! I'm lucky with how it came out considering I wrote it in a rush, but it was a fun prompt to try out. Glad you enjoyed it.

Together in life, together at work! They create the jobs that keep them both busy

“Can someone explain to me how in the seven hells does someone trip over banana peel, fall in 10 cm deep river and whats the most unbelievable is that victim died of suffocation with water inside lungs?. I asked ‘am I in some sort of book or something. I know for sure that no one can be so stupid… sigh I hate my job.’

While I was looking for clues my apprentice was interrogating witnesses. But he’s new in business so I got to watch over him so any mistakes are avoided. Of course he made mistake so i switched with him in perfect moment, my fame as “Best Detective with no flaws” will be maintained.

-”Phillip I think that all clues are found but I would like you to check again In case something was overlooked.” -”alright teacher” My cute apprentice looked at me apologetically. Of course he knew his mistake. Well coming back to witnes. -”would you like to add anything to your testimony?” I asked. -” Nnn…o. No!” face of the witness took white color and had droplets of sweat coming from forehead. I glared with suspicion at actions of “innocent” witness And saw that he had smirk that was telling you’ll never know that I did it. ‘alright in many years of my detective career i would never suspect asking that question but… -” Did you kill that person with banana peel?” -”How did you kn… I ment no!” ‘sigh am I really in the book? I can’t belive the stupidity of those people or rather I should call them walking circus. People can’t be that stupid right?’ -”alright we have our suspect lock him up”

My second time writing something except school stuff so constructive criticism will be appreciated.

True, but it’s not like being a vampire is really harmful or anything. It has its own inconveniences, but equally has many good things, too.

John put his book down on the tray and rubbed his forehead. Red eye flights never failed to bring on a whopper of a headache, and the pressure building up behind his eyes was a sure sign that tonight would be no exception. Given how everything went down with Rachel today, this would be the cherry on top of his shit sundae.

"Rough day?"

John glanced to the passenger beside him. "You could say that. I just flew out here this morning to surprise my fiancee and she fucking dumped me. I just wanted to give her a nice evening out since she's been stuck here all week helping her mom after her dad died, but apparently that makes me an asshole who doesn't 'value her heritage' or something."

The other passenger's eyes widened. "Wow, seriously? What are the odds, the same thing happened to me. My fiancee has been trying to make a go of taking over the family business after her brother died in a snowmobile accident last month. I wanted to fly her back to the city for a couple days to give her a break from all the stress she's been dealing with, but she claimed that means I don't believe in her and don't support her family. I just wanted to give her a break for one weekend!"

"Damn, man, of all the luck. Hey, the name's John." He proffered his hand.

"Patrick," his neighbor responded, accepting the offered handshake. "How long were you engaged?"

"Five fuckin' years down the drain," grumbled John.

"This is getting a bit creepy, I was engaged for five years too!"

One of the passengers ahead of them popped up "wait, what? You were both dumped by fiancees of five years?"

John felt a stab of anger. "Jesus man, yeah, you don't have to rub it in."

"No, no, I'm not trying to do that at all; it's just, I was just dumped by my fiancee today after five years together too!"

Patrick and John shared a brief stunned silence. "You shittin' me?!" said John.

"No, not at all! My fiancee just got back from her last tour of duty a few weeks ago and said she needed to spend some time on the ranch where she grew up. I flew in yesterday and was supposed to be here through Christmas, but we got in a big fight because she says she 'found her purpose' and insists we move here even though there are no jobs for me in this small town. How are we supposed to afford to raise a family on barely half an income? All I wanted was for her to sit down and try to figure out a compromise of some sort that would be realistic, and she was furious! I'm pretty sure it's that new ranch-hand of her family that's putting this idea in her head; hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he moves in on her tonight with me out of the way now."

Another passenger piped up across the aisle "hey, you wouldn't happen to be Tim, would ya?"

"Yeah, how do you know my name?"

"I'm Jeff! I was engaged to your Sarah's sister Kim until this morning. She just up and decided we need to leave the city and take over their uncle's farm. I've spent twenty years building a career, why should I ditch that just because she suddenly decides she wants to take over a farm? She's never worked a farm a day in her life until this week when she came home for her uncle's funeral! She just sees her aunt shed some alligator tears and now it's 'oh Jeff, we just HAVE to save their farm!'"

"Wait, were you two engaged to Sarah and Kim Smith?" called a voice from a few rows back.

Tim and Jeff both looked towards the back. "Paul?! Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Yes, but I was flying out here to review the farm's finances and process paperwork for them. Then Emily called me crying and going on and on about how I'm always working and I don't understand her and she needs to move back home from the city because of... reasons. She didn't really explain it very well. I've been busting my ass the past year so we can afford a down payment on the home she wants! Of course I'm working long hours! Anyway, I got off the plane and hopped right on the next flight back to the city, she and her family can go right to hell."

The flight grew louder as the hubbub increased as the passengers continued to discover their shared horror.

No offense taken, this was absolutely fantastic!

Just like Mix!

When I bought this book, I didn't know what I expected. It certainly wasn't this, though.

When Angela told me she had managed to get a publishing deal for the book she wrote and I helped edit, I was ecstatic for her. She had managed to achieve her dream, after all.

But this was... Well, it was crap. Nothing like what she wrote in the first place. I felt bad for her now, money or no money. It sure feels hollow when dreams are fulfilled in seemingly the worst way possible...

It was as if someone took her story, removed all evidence of good writing, then turned it into yet another vapid teen romance book about a vampire! The characters were renamed, story aspects that made it make sense before were removed and replaced nonsense, and many dialogs were edited heavily in a way that made the characters seem more juvenile... The only part that stayed true to form was the sex scenes, bizarrely, though they lacked the previous immaculate romantic context.

"This fucking sucks" I said to myself, finishing the first few chapters while sitting in the bookstore parking lot. "I hope Angie isn't too disappointed"

When I got home, I thought about how to ask her delicately about the travesty that was her book, but it seems my brain got ahead of me before I could think it through all the way.

"Honey, why is your book trashier than a dumpster fire now"?

I probably could have worded that better.

"Excuse me?"

Yup, judging by her sudden glare, I definitely could have worded it better.

"Yeeah, what's with the vampire nonsense and the suddenly awful dialog?“

Maybe I shouldn't have doubled down but my dumbass ADHD brain was on a roll tonight

"Vampire nonsense? What? Give me that"

Luckily, that seemed to catch her attention. I quickly handed her the book before she could try to rip it out of my hands.

After a few minutes of reading, I swear I could see the veins in her face like she was some kind of cartoon character.

"It seems I have to take another look at that publishing contract."

As she spoke through a clenched jaw, her expression was simultaneously pained and enraged like someone hit a baboon with a whiffle bat as hard as they could. I backed away a bit. This wasn't good.

"Uhh...anything I can help you with?"

I was pretty lost at how to handle this and definitely did not want to be lashed out at. I tried the safe option.

"If you could make me a drink and start dinner I'd appreciate it. I have a contract to read, a lawyer to call and an angry letter to write"

"Yes ma'am! Happy to help! Ummm... Good luck with that?“

She rubbed her temples and sighed loudly.

"...just shut up and get me that drink before you dig yourself a hole"

"Okay!"

I smiled at her as cheerfully as possible And that was that. I stifled my private chuckle as she groaned at me again.

I really do hope she gets this works out. I forsee a looong week ahead of me.

I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.

Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.

I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.

There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…

My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!

At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!

I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.

“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”

“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”

“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…

I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.

I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely.

It took about 80 years for the loss of privacy to become normal.

At first there was joy and excitement. Human evolution in real time. Incredible. My grandma told me that for a while a lot of people didn't believe. Telepathy? In our time? It sounded like a party trick at best, a con at worst. But as more evidence was revealed and more scientists agreed the truth became accepted. 10% of the world had been born with telepathic ability. Of course they'd always been there -- self proclaimed empaths, women's intuition, people who always seemed to know just what was bothering you -- but now there was hard evidence that they were something more. Something different. And the world has never been kind to those who are different.

Over time, normal people grew suspicious and angry at the thought of coexisting with telepaths. Your innermost thoughts out in the air for a stranger to traipse through. Or worse, a friend or family member. Stories began to pop up in the news. Wife divorces husband when neighbor warns her of his amorous thoughts toward her sister. Straight-A student reads test answers straight from teacher's brain. CEO arrested when secretary sees memory of embezzlement. People grew paranoid. Trust drained from house to house. Then the murders started.

Men, women, even children. Every day you'd hear news of a new lynching. Some with evidence, some without, all horrific. The talking heads screamed on the radio and tv stations. A blow against the telepaths was a blow for a freedom, a blow for privacy. Forsake those who seek to walk through your thoughts without permission, whether they be friend, wife or son. People -- both telepath and normal -- were afraid. The normal turned to invention and capitalism. Telepathic helmets filled the stores. Constantly playing music or static they swore the relentless incoming sound would be enough to drown out your own thoughts from the inside and the out. Telepath detectors came along as well. Meant to beep whenever a mind reader crossed your path, they were mostly crap, led to more deaths than security but still they flew off the shelves.

The telepaths lived in fear. Only 10 percent of the population yet the most vulnerable, they learned to hide their abilities. To show no reaction in the face of all manner of thoughts - vile, sexy, murderous. They became secret keepers of the highest order. To reveal the truth of someone's innermost self was to risk your own life.

It wasn't enough to keep them same. They turned to the government for protection.

100 years after the first telepath was discovered nearly all of them work for the state. Most in law enforcement, being a human lie detector comes in handy when investigating crime. A few work on the sidelines of the legislature, monitoring swearing ins making sure people actually mean that pledge they take in the country's name. It was the deal they struck for protection. Safety in exchange for servitude.

A lot of people I know hate telepaths. I don't. I pity them. What use is it to see into the hearts of man and find nothing but hatred for yourself and your kind? Yes, they're the chosen weapon of the government but what other options did they have but to swept up, labeled, followed and forced into a role they never asked for in order to survive. After so many decades it's hardly a choice anymore.

Children are tested for telepathy in their first year of school now. The ones marked positive are taken away and raised in a facility where they can hone their skills. The parents are barely given the chance to say goodbye.

I don't hate the telepaths but I do steer clear of them. I live far away from the city in a cabin near a creek. I wear my helmet in public and try to keep my mind blank.

And I pray that for the sake of my family the only telepath I ever see is the one who calls me mom.

Brilliant to make him be the one who figured it out! I mean if anyone was going to pick up on that, who better than Sherlock Holmes?

Nice, by the way how do you pronounce Mx ?

As Adrunaline i'm able to process faster than most, i mean my whole thing is being fast.

But no amount of decelerated time can help me process that the Cold Queen had a kid. And such a sweet kid too.

"Mommy" said young tim as he ran to his mom.

"Hey baby! How was school?" She said just not acknowledging me existence

"Mr Adriane stay by to help me with my math homework." The little guy stuttered

"Oh really and who is..." she was almost as stunned to see me out of costume as i was seeing her. "Honey can you go wait in the car?" She then asked her little one.

As he ran towards the car she stared with an glare colder than any ice powers she had.

"Does he know?" I calmly asked.

"No, he doesn't he goes to bed at 7, even then he's a kid he's not gonna watch the news." She stated.

"This explains the lack of crimes, and you being more careful."

"If you touch him-"

"I'll hang up my spandex and turn myself in," at this moment my watch started beeping, i checked it. Of course, bank robbery 12th Avenue. "Look if you want me to i'll be happy to tutor, but right now i gotta start my night job."

After that i just ran, only stipping to get on my costume, and rushed to 12th Avenue.

Everybody hates a telepath. Me, especially. I've got secrets that I don't want pried out of my skull for the world to see.

The name that I tell everyone that I have isn't mine. The parents that I post on social media are photoshopped out of stock photos, and the apartment that I take my friends to is miles away from where I actually live. I've been running for my life for ten years, but wherever I go, I try to give those who know me the impression that I'm standing still. I like it that way; causes less suspicion, and I need all of the trust that I can get.

I invited a date to my fake apartment an hour ago: a nice enough girl, I guess, but dating's something I've never really taken any interest in. Her name was Deborah and she had shiny white teeth that threw me off whenever I wanted to get a word in edgewise between her rants about her job and cats and hobbies. Dinner like that had been downright terrible, but at least I was able to confirm that she could not, in fact, read minds, and that her Tinder profile had been truthful about that fact.

(Like I said before, everyone hates a telepath. They're much more likely to violate minds without consent, so most telepaths put their abilities on their dating profiles ahead of time. For transparency, they say.)

I figured I'd string Deborah along for a few more dates. I'd only gone out with her in the first place because the guys at my work had been getting suspicious about my lack of a sexual life, and had even started mock-casually bringing up girls that they could set me up with in conversation. That needed to stop right away. I don't know what I'd do if some random woman showed up to my fake-apartment, when I was... busy.

I'm busy tonight. Now that Deborah has left, I've started The Ritual.

I peel off each article of clothing, stretch, and allow my Normal Face to fall away. I stare at myself in the mirror for a while. My eyes look cold, and dead, and inhuman. Like an uncaged animal.

I will kill someone tonight. I will drape myself in black and stretch rubber gloves over my hands before I drive a knife into their chest three times: exactly three. Always three. Then, I will take a lock of hair from the corpse, stuff it in a Ziplock baggie, and stash it away in my closet with the others.

The whole thing will probably take about three hours. I'll be back before dinner.

This is what I obsess over in the hours when I allow myself to drift into fantasy. Wide eyes, pooling blood, and that awful, awful smell. For some reason that remains a mystery, it excites me, lights my skin on fire.

I don't understand it, and I doubt anyone else could either -- especially not the police, and especially not from some suspecting telepath with a penchant for picking up on thoughts that circle around a person's head 24/7.

My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I'm setting my knives onto the bed, sharpened and shined in good order. Deborah. She wants to meet me for dinner at a nearby bistro. My hands clench and I shout into the silence of my apartment. Bitch.

If this is what having a girlfriend is going to be like, it's going to be too much effort. I'd rather move again and start over. Nevertheless, I have to meet her now, to avoid suspicion. I put on my Normal Clothes and arrange my features into my Normal Face in the mirror, trying not to grimace at the unpleasantness of the sensation.

The bistro is crowded by the time I get there, because of course she decided to schedule dinner during the busiest time of the night. I sit in a booth and tap at my watch, hoping that this will end soon enough for me to have some chance of completing The Ritual once I get back. I might not be able to stay for more than an hour.

I wait twenty minutes. Thirty. I sip multiple cups of coffee, my leg bouncing up and down. She comes in finally at six forty-five, sliding into the booth in a thick woolen sweater.

"Hey," she says, smiling with her too-white teeth.

"You're late."

"Sorry." She shrugs. "Work got busy down at the station."

Right. Deborah's a police officer. That's part of the reason why your eyes lit up when you saw her profile: if you managed to subdue her, you might buy the confidence of a few cops along the way. Could come in handy. Still, tonight it seems like too much trouble.

"Should we order?" she says abruptly, cutting into my thoughts. I nod, and make eye contact with a nearby waitress.

I notice as our entrees arrive that Deborah's been staring at me. Not in a benign, I'm-in-love kind of way, but in a puzzling, calculated fashion. It throws me off.

"Everything alright?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, and the words falter. "Everything's just fine, Charlie."

The word falls over me like a bucket of cold water. My mouth hangs open. "What?"

"I said, everything's fine."

"No, you said-" You're sputtering, now. "You called me Charlie."

"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

"Nobody's called me Charlie in years. Decades."

Deborah's shaking slightly. "Yes, I know," she says. "I know everything."

And that moment, the world begins to spin out of whack. "No," I breathe. "You're not--"

"I am. I'm a telepath."

Silence stretches long miles between them.

For some reason, she breaks through the quiet with a laugh. "Nobody wants to date me when I tell them that, so when I got on Tinder, I lied. Of course, you lie, too, and more often." Her gaze levels with mine. "That whole lunch we spent together, I could hear you thinking about those dead girls. Over and over again, their names circled around your head, so loud that I could hardly focus, and I started talking about the most inane things... I knew you wouldn't notice. With thoughts that noisy, I don't know how you can focus on anything or anyone else."

I put my head in my hands. "This is the end, isn't it," I say between my fingers.

"Yes." Her voice is cool and calm. "There are officers waiting for us to come out outside. It's over."

It's over. All of the blood, the death, the screams... I can't imagine another way. There is no other way.

My hand inches towards the steak knife that sits next to my plate, and my mind tries to keep itself carefully blank. The moment that my hands graze the familiar cold touch of steel, the world goes black.

--

Years later, Deborah stands in front of a hospital, thoughts spinning around her head.

Martha. Maria. Kaylen. Diana.

These thoughts aren't her own. They've been burrowing through her skull for years; a virus, making her temperature rise and her hands twitch to do horrible bloodied things.

Sarah. Donna. Ashley.

So loud she can't think, the desire to plunge a knife in three, exactly three times.

Natalia. Leah.

She steps inside the hospital's sliding doors and approaches reception. "Hello," she says. "I'd like to admit myself to the psych ward. I think I'm going to do something terrible."

She can sense the receptionist's abilities, and his fear as his thoughts burrow into her mind.

"Martha. Maria," the receptionist says aloud, then clamps a hand over his mouth as if he'd sworn.

"Oh, God. Martha. Maria." The words spill out of Deborah, and tears drip down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Honestly when you put it like that I can see why it could be cute, I think I was thrown by the horror, but you’re right

(As a twenty-year-old college student planning on doing what I'm going to do in this story, this is about to get a little personal. Just a heads up.)

I don't really understand how I knew that I wasn't in reality anymore, but when the power went out and a very locked door creaked open, I just knew I wasn't where I was before. That got confirmed for me very quickly. I was looking at myself, a perfect copy of a very imperfect human being. I, the me that was still sitting in my chair, was spooked because, well, I was looking at me walking into my room and closing the door behind me. His grey eyes met mine, and I knew immediately what he was here for and why. You can't lie to yourself. You can lie to everybody else for a little bit, but not yourself, not forever. Since he was me, he knew. He knew damn well.

"So," he started, "you really wanna do this?" I shrugged laconically. I'd dug this grave deep, 'bout damn time I set the shovel down and just lay in it. "Yeah, I've gotta, sooner or later." He walked forward and sat on the bed behind me as I wheeled my chair around to face him. I could tell he was as scared as I was. He sighed before stating the obvious.

"Y'know, they've paid a lot for you to go to college. They paid even more for that preparatory high school education. They've given so much for you." They had, no doubt about it. Somewhere upwards of $50,000, I'd guess, and that's just for the education. Then the car, my ADHD medication, and God knows what else. I'd wasted all of it. Never gave a shit in school. I was a habitual liar who was too afraid to admit my issues. I lied about how I was doing so that they wouldn't get mad at me. Of course, they always ended up knowing. I just bought myself time for my house of cards.

"I can't keep doing this. We both know this isn't what I want to do. I won't make it in school." I was failing all my classes. I was smart enough, I just had no motivation to do any schoolwork because, well, I just didn't want to. No amount of fear or responsibility ever made me feel encouraged enough to do the bare minimum of something I didn't want to. That's fucking miserable, I know.

But I didn't want to tell my parents, "hey, I know I'm living under your roof and spending thousands of dollars of your money (and have been my entire life), but I actually want to drop out of college (the one thing they ask of me) and go try my luck at being an entertainer on the internet." So, what did I do? What I always did, I lied. I told em that school was "going great" and "I'm studying hard for finals."

I know it's wrong. It's fucking awful. I've done it for years and years, and I know I'm going to get caught every time I do it. It doesn't make me happy to betray the trust of people I love, so that's why I was going to tell them the truth. I was going to tell them what I'd done again and what I wanted to do.

The me on the bed stood up and paced around aimlessly for a few seconds before admitting our worst fears. "This might actually get you disowned. You've been lying in school for seven years. You've wasted so much time, money, and sanity of these people. They can only take so much before they finally just give up on you."

"I can't stay in school. I can't do something I have no interest in just because it makes money. I'd rather die poor and say 'I tried' than live rich having given up on those dreams."

"Would you really? You have no idea how hard things are going to be for you. They're not going to let you stay in the house if you're not going to college. You're going to be on your own completely-"

"Like a normal kid? Like everyone else around us is doing?"

"You aren't ready for 'normal.' You rely on them for everything. You're not an adult, not even close. Your medicine, your car, your food, your house, everything belongs to them. You've done nothing to pay a single cent of it back."

"I know, but I'm not going to get any better by just doing what I've always done. I can't go back to school. I know how it ends. It's not where I want to be, and no amount of guilt or necessity is going to make me successful there. I'd just be wasting more of their money."

"So what? You think that, just because it's what you want to do, you'll make it? Christ alive, look at you. You're a mess, your room is a mess, you lie to everyone. What the fuck makes you think that you'll somehow pull through this and still have enough to survive?"

"I don't know, but it's better than lying again. It's better than trying school again. We won't ever be scholars. We won't ever be a psychologist. Being funny and creative for the entertainment of others is the only thing that we like to do. At this point, I don't care if I amount to nothing in the end. I would much rather die starving on the street, having tried to make my name doing something that makes me happy, than go another second pretending that I'll make it through college. I've lied to everyone, and, as of now, I still am. If we ever want to stop being a liar, we have to start by killing the lie we're telling ourselves every day we drive to campus."

We were both too terrified to talk. This was a bad situation, one that was entirely our own fault. We were about to quit school and attempt to make it in one of the most competitive careers where failure was almost guaranteed. We had no idea what the fuck we were doing or how the fuck to do it. All we had was a pipe dream, imagination, and ignorant youthful hope. It was, almost certainly, going to fucking kill us.

Having nothing left to say, he left. I think most of me went with him. I'd never felt so scared and hopeful at the same time. I know they would always love me and care about me, but they weren't going to let this just go without expecting something given back. I was just going to have to pay it, whatever it was.

That's the price of lies, I reckon.

Thank you kindly, I’m glad you enjoyed that part.

Find a new fiancee. You're immortal. It's her loss if she doesn't want to become Immortal.

I know a guy who knows a guy who knows another who knows the guy who matche-make between supernatural.

I'm sure we can work something out for you. We have an outer deity. Single mother/father/@%#!#.

We have a werewolf. If you're into that. We also have other Vampires. In the note, I would suggest checking out our blind date site for supernatural.

Trust us, we have been doing this since the dark ages.

Now I would like to clarify some things. We are a dating agency. So please don't try to hit on our employees. We don't wanna repeat the Hyde incident.

If you're interested, please visit.

www.supernatural_mm@spds.com

Mega mind lure

I liked how he told her he never wanted her to change. That a monstruosity can somehow feel affection is cute, isn't it?

Wow - that was a wild ride! Some people may want more, but imho it can take real talent to find the right balance between enough details for closure vs. managing to be suspenseful in very short stories. Yours manages it perfectly, and leaves you with an ominous dread. Very well done!

Thank you for laughing at my garbage

I love the story too but that was anything but cute lmaoo

People don't work for a villain if they don't like him. I for one always made sure of that.

Holidays. You bet your arse you'll be getting them.

Childbirth. You can bet I'm gonna be that weird but cool uncle.

Having an off day. Pool party.

My company is my home. And my profession is to be a villain. Rank C. Code name Upsur.

It's fun seeing the upcoming heroes coming to my office arresting me. Thinking they finally put me down. But Legal Hero Act is a beautiful thing.

Just one simple lawsuit, I get released and compensation for the damage. Until yesterday.

Jay was supposed to be married this month. Mary wanted to surprise her parents so she wanted to leave early. Tanak's sons birthday is today. Oprius was the new intern.

All of them injured as the hero threw heymaker and threw me across the street.

Hero name, Zeus. A quite quite haughty one for a hero. He has a track record of insane collateral damage but always fights SS ranks. Not a mere C rank.

"Why?" I ask him as I dust off my clothes. His eyes showed a bit confusion.

"Why attack me?" I ask him looking directly in the eyes.

"Why not? I'm just a few villains short to make the list for most defeated villains. So I thought about cleaning the locals."

Zeus flew down. Come to think of it. I rarely saw him walking.

"You could have simply taken me to jail." I point that out.

To that Zeus gave a haughty laughter.

"Where's the fun in that?"

I smiled. He is right.

"Exactly. Where is the fun in that?"

No one knows why I am called the Upsur.

So when I threw Zeus across the city, I'm sure many would know why. But that's not the point.

"Are you having fun?"

I asked Zeus. His mangled face remained motionless.

The city was still intact. Apart for the damage he caused no further damage was done. Well except for his bones. I'm pretty sure I broke nearly all of them.

Oh well. Never could've figure what's so fun in fighting anyway.

Seriously!