Predator (NSFW)

WARNING: The following post contains horror themes and material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.  

"Daddy...?"

The man stared from within the doorway of the freezer room, eyes wide with fear, rifle clutched in trembling hands.

"What the hell have you done...?" he gasped.

Stand By Me

WARNING: The following post contains material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

~AUSTRALIA, EARTH ZF-02~

Approx. Twenty Years in the Future...

"Bee?"

"Yeah, Vee?"

The fire crackled, a badly-applied splat of scarlet and orange against the inky black canvas of the desert sand. The sky above was not quite dark, the last flickers of an evening sun daubing the edge of the horizon in duck-egg blue that faded to navy. Stars dotted the plane like the painter of this ongoing metaphor has lost all patience and was now just randomly flicking his brush at his own easel in frustration with the world in general. And, at the very edge of the splat, sat two figures - one blond, the other brunet, lazily draped within the back seat of a mud-splattered car of unidentifiable make.

The brunet, Vee, had turned open, honest green eyes towards his companion, Bee, as he spoke. His voice was the voice of the quiet, gentle European boy down the road who helped with the shopping, and should not have come from what looked like a wind-battered drifter, sand and grit stuck in his spiky brown hair. He looked too young - both did, somewhere in the awkward transition between teens and adulthood. And yet their dishevelled appearance granted them the look of people who had been dealt a bum hand in the great poker game of life, and had no choice but to keep plowing through the dirt to carry on.

"You ever wonder how long we've been doing this?" Vee continued.

Cubic

The following is a response to the story posted by FormerVengeance here, as well as the various follow-ups. Also, be warned that it may change with future installations.

-------

"You've been on a cube kick recently, Carol."

Carol grunted, but didn't turn around. Sine wasn't wrong, though - most of the things running around the TARDIS looked like they had been cut from cubes, or had been cube-shaped some time ago. A reddish, eagle-shaped creature whistled as it flew in circles around the central column, follwed closely by a white-and-black, angular tiger, whilst a yellow, squared-off lion and a boxy green elephant pushed against each other, trumpeting and snarling irritably. Some might have suspected the technopath had been foiled by a Rubik's Cube at some point, and this was her way of taking vengeance upon the obtuse nature of the puzzle.

The problem was, she'd been like this ever since the adventure to save Ceneric. And it was all too obvious why Carol was doing this.

Rule of Three: Escalation

It was a lovely, sunny April day in Las Vegas.

And it had started off with Kamen Rider OOO being tackled through a twenty-five-story window.

So, nothing out of the ordinary, then.

Morons vs Wild 2: The Wildening

WARNING: The following post contains material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

-------ASH'S WORLD-------

The whole thing started when Sam, walking through the forest near Oriam, was pounced upon by a giant spider.

"AAARGH SHIT FUCK BALLS," he screamed as the thing tackled him off his feet, winding all eight legs tightly around his body and pinning his arms against his sides. The swearing continued as he hit the ground, and went on as he jerked his head this way and that, barely dodging the sharp, slavering fangs that kept missing his face by mere millimetres. Sheer panic prevented him from remembering he could have just set himself on fire to escape this predicament, and thus he spent a good half a minute writhing and kicking in the dirt, the spider's weight keeping from rolling upright.

Of course, his salior talk served as the perfect beacon to anyone close by.

"HOLD ON, SAM!"

Sam didn't even see who was approaching until Erdrick had already been driven through the spider's body, the point poking him in the chest by accident. The beast shrieked, convulsed for a moment, and then went limp, the legs losing their grip around the Uberman's body as the life rapidly went out of it. The moment he felt that happening, Sam flexed his arms, pushing the limbs away from him, and threw the corpse of the creature off as he scrambled to his feet, letting off one last torrent of expletives as he went.

Then something grabbed his arm, and he screamed, picturing some worse animal-

"Sam, SAM."

That was Ash's voice. Even in the midst of a heart attack, Sam would know it anywhere.

"It's fine, we're here. It's deader than dead."

And there was Erdrick - his mother's voice, of course, which was still weird, but soothing enough for Sam to get a grip on himself. Whilst he babbled to a stop, gasping for air and clutching his chest, the other man knelt down and produced something akin to a small towel as he began cleaning the foul, pale ichor off of Erdrick's blade. It took some time for the former Destined Hero to get his breath back and put the past events in proper seqence, so he could find the right questions to ask about what just happened.

Thankfully, only one came to mind.

"...what was that?!" he nearly shrieked, pointing at the dead spider.

Agent Two

~SOUTHERN QUARTER OF LAS VEGAS, 00:23AM~

I hate heroes.

A gloved hand lifted the barrel of the rifle, slotted it into the handguard and twisted it until it clicked. The sound echoed around the abandoned skyscraper like the gunshot that was to follow. 

I hate how they give themselves airs, and pretend that they're the only ones who really know how to solve a problem. I hate how they're so concerned with looking like the 'good guys' that they don't pay attention to the people they trample over in the process. And I especially hate how, when anyone tries to point this out, they stick their heads in the sand and shut the criticism out, pretend it's not valid because of whatever stupid armchair philosophy they just made up.

A scope was slid into place on the top of the reciever, clicking into place just as the barrel had done. Then two support legs were taken out of the case, fastened to the underside and swung out. 

But I think what I hate most of all... is that they're selfish. They only focus on the problems that matter to them, not to anyone else. Oh, sure, they'll kill a dragon or foil a mad scientist, but what about the smaller stuff that goes on under their feet? The stuff with the drug lords and the robbery and all that? And then, just to rub it in, they do the dumbest, most illogical shit and dare to call it "honour" - no killing, no guns, no actually trying to stop the bad things happening again. That's why Batman is such an idiot - he cares more about himself than actually stopping that clown.

No ammunition. Just a bottle-shaped canister, of clear plastic, with some pale green liquid sloshing about within it. Damn, only half full. Whatever shots had to be made, they would need to count, or it would be a complete waste. The cap was yanked off with a sharp tug, and then the whole thing was screwed into the assembly with rapid haste. The scraping of plastic was a small cause for alarm, but nothing came to investigate.
  
The Promethians? Bunch of holier-than-thou jackasses can go fuck themselves. They did a horrible job last year, and where are they now, when it actually matters? That Kamen Rider kid's alright, but he talks like he's on a constant sugar high, so his usefulness is vague at best. Dunno what the deal with that Paper Mario thing is, and I don't wanna dwell on that or I'll get a headache. And why are half the Kobbers on vacation when there's still problems in this sick city, festering away like a tumor that the doctor won't cut out because he's drunk and also an asshole?

The weapon, now completed, was gently lifted upwards and swung around, and the support legs were placed upon the windowsill to stabalize the whole thing. A golden-brown eye peered through the scope, seeing the street below as thought it's owner was standing in the midle of it. Hips wiggled back and forth as legs shuffled apart, bracing the body for the inevitable kickback of the rifle, and arms gently swivelled the weapon's sights along the road. This had to be the meeting-place, those drunkards in the face-paint couldn't have been-

Gotcha.

There they were, in an alleyway so conspicuous they might as well have painted bullseyes on their bodies. About three or four regular Black Dragon thugs leant against the pickup, some disinterestedly smoking whilst the other half kept an eye on the proceedings a little to the right. Obviously, something had gone wrong with the deal - a fifth man, black haired and with the dumbest bronze armour ever, was waving a plastic packet and saying something inaudible to the whimpering, pale, baldy-headed junkie in front of him. The latter looked as though he didn't want to be here at all, and rightly so - something was glinting dangerously at the leader's hip.

A pearly grin split across a face hidden by the bandana.

I'm not a hero. Heroes don't sneak out at midnight, when they should be sleeping. Heroes don't commit acts of long-ranged murder behind the backs of their best friends. Heroes, unless they're in comic books, don't have to put on a face at daytime to hide the reality of what they've seen.

It was easy enough now - had been since childhood. Hold your breath to steady yourself, get the crosshairs pointing just so, curl your finger around that trigger...

And heroes especially don't jailbreak a child's weapon to be lethal.

And pull. 

PLUTT

Non-Canon Silliness Shorts 1: Spell 'Me' (NSFW)

"Hey, Ash."

Ash didn't turn around. "Yes?"

"Spell 'Me'."