The Shillscape

This blog exists to promote a novel series I write, this is the only warning.

[mens-rights-activia]

Cowboy Rap!

[marie-and-cake]

As a person who spent most of their life in Texas, I can confirm this is what we say in lieu of the Pledge of Allegiance but after the Texas Pledge.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re closing up the tea shop, when suddenly a ghostly figure floats through the door. “Who are you?!” you shriek. “Apologies, you’re normally gone by now. I’m the manager of the night shift.”

[shimmerfall]

“What the hell are you talking about? There is no night shift!”

“Very funny, but I need to get set up, so if you could just...?” The ghost made a shooing motion with its translucent hands.

The young woman, thoroughly disturbed at having her nightly closing ritual interrupted, waved the ghost’s gestures away. “I’m not supposed to leave anyone alone in the shop, even if they claim they’re supposed to be here.”

“Miss, please, I understand you’re frightened--”

“Not scared, by the way.”

“--but sometimes, there are just things we can’t fully explain. For some people, it’s why their backs hurt after a full night’s sleep. For you, it’ll have to be why your boss didn’t tell you about the night shift.”

The young woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can I ask how long you’ve been working here?”

The ghost seemed to ponder it for a few moments. “Oh, I’d say your boss hired me about two months ago.”

“Uh huh, and the fact that you can’t remember Mike’s name after two months is a grand testament to how dedicated an employee you are.”

“I knew his name, I just don’t see Mike that often, what with being on the night shift and all.”

“Really? Because there is no Mike. Eric is the manager’s name.”

“W-Well, that’s obviously his name, I’m just shaking off the nighttime sluggishness. Night is my morning, you see, and I’d have had my special wake up blend, which I would have had if I weren’t being interrogated, so if you will excuse me!”

The young woman nodded along to the ghost’s rant, crossing her arms. “You know, it was about two months ago, a decent about of our product started disappearing, too. Two people got laid off for it.”

“How dare you!” the ghost exclaimed, scoffing. “I try to earn an honest unliving, and the first time I interact with my coworker, I’m faced with such disrespect? As if I’m some lowly ghoul? I will most definitely be sure to tell Derrick--”

“Eric.”

“--about this, then we’ll see who’s the one stealing imported flavor packets and porcelain sets!”

The young woman rolled her eyes, taking a picture of the grandstanding ghost and walking towards the front door, mumbling about job security and a raise. 

[shimmerfall]

Welp, here it is

Fun fact, the story I made this account to promote was already finished, I just planned to upload it piecemeal on Wattpad, chapter by chapter each week so as to not overwhelm my readers with a 10 hour story. And then I remembered I had no readers to overwhelm, and that there was literally no point to not just posting the entire thing. So I did. And if you’d like to give it a read, the link below will help you out. https://www.wattpad.com/story/270908079-shimmerfall-saga-sinner%27s-star I’m also going to continue posting story chapters here, I think. I dunno how to do the thing where posts link together, but once I find that out, hopefully it’ll be an easier experience going through to read it once I’m finished. And if you somehow find it in you to read it all, well... thanks. Really. Means a lot to me.

[writing-prompt-s]

Reincarnation is real but scientists discover cryogenic freezing prior to death will actually hold souls back from moving on to the next life as the brain doesn’t actually die until it is defrosted. This allows the worst souls of society to be literally put on ice and prevented from returning.

[shimmerfall]

“We, the jury, find the defendant... guilty.”

A wave of hushed murmuring swept over the court room as the presiding juror announced their verdict. Though it was persistent for several moments after the judge had banged his gavel, the decision was all but surprising for those in attendance.

“Order! I said order!” The judge’s authority eventually broke through the burgeoning reactions of the assembled people, and the room was quiet once again. Satisfied, the judge looked down to the defendant, who appeared far more composed than his counsel at the moment. “David Mixtant, you’ve been found guilty on all counts. The prosecution asked for a life sentence, but due to the extremity of your crimes, I’m going to forgo such a meager punishment. I’m sentencing you to an I.O.I.” This time, the judge didn’t bother to try and quiet the room, its current cacophony at his sentencing strong enough to rival ten gavels.

The man named David Mixtant’s expression was now a far cry from his previous serenity. He thrashed against the handcuffs that bound him, and fought as hard as he could against the approaching bailiffs. But even free, he wouldn’t have had the strength to break the grip of the one currently holding him down, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have found before the other pricked his neck with a syringe.

As the light dimmed, the last image David saw was the pitying face of the man that had just sedated him, shaking his head and mouthing words to the fading man that he would never know. 

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The first thing David noticed as he reentered the waking world was the temperature. While the court room had been almost uncomfortably warm, wherever he was now had a refreshing coolness about it. It was also darker, with only the artificial lights above illuminating his surroundings in lieu of the natural light that streamed in from his previous locale.

“Ah, he’s finally back with us,” a voice said, and David snapped his attention forward, focusing on the group of people he hadn’t yet noticed as he shook off the vestiges of the sedative. At a plain looking table sat three people: a blonde woman on the left, a dark skinned man with glasses on the right, and an elderly man taking the middle position. There looked to be space for another person on the old man’s right, but it was unoccupied. None of them would have looked like they belonged together, save for the identical badges on each of their chests, appearing to David as dark blue snowflakes with names underneath.

On the table sat a camera, and a bit to the left of the blonde woman was a television on a rolling cart. A few tilts of his head confirmed what David had already deduced: the sunken faced man with a split heart tattoo under his eye and a fresh buzz cut was indeed him, and the camera was producing a live feed.

“It doesn’t seem like our new associate will be joining us, today,” the old man said.

“Then this’ll be nice and quick,” the blonde said, sitting upright in her chair and opening an envelope on the chair. “Alright. David Mixtant?”

“What the hell’s going on here?!’ David demanded, moving to stand and noticing that his limbs were bound to his chair.

“Your sentencing, Mr. Mixtant,” the bespectacled man said. “Your judge decided to make a lot of extra work for us today, and put you up for an Inquisition. You understand what that means, right?”

David looked to be struggling with far more than his restraints for a few moments, but eventually took a long, deep breathe. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

“Oh, don’t be so glum, Carl,” the old man said. It may not be how any of us expected to spend our afternoon, but it is our duty. I remember a time when you and Laurette were so excited to perform an I.O.I., we’d spend more time deliberating than the proper jury!”

“What can I say,” the blonde, Laurette, said, “a decade of the same shtick can suck the magic out of anything. Especially when it’s coming in between me and my dog’s spinal adjustment. And since the motor mouth newbie isn’t here, I propose we speedrun this gig for all our sakes. David Mixtant,” she said reading the file from the envelope, “you were found guilty of seventeen counts of first degree murder, fourteen counts of assault, blah blah blah. I’m gonna propose ‘nay’.”

“On what grounds?” the old man asked.

“Are you seriously gonna make me spell it out every single time? You know why I’m against this.”

“You know it’s more than just for our sake,” the glasses wearing man, Carl, said. “We have to be clear. Our judgement here--”

“Alright, alright, God,” Laurette relented, sighing. “I dunno if that judge was just trying to make a statement, or if he just never met a serial killer before, but come on. What’s different about this guy than all the other lunatics rotting in cells while they wait to bounce back? I know to the average person, it seems like this guy’s a monster, but you know what this is. You know what he’s facing. And you know who we would be putting him on the same level as if we freeze dry him.” 

She gestured around the room, seemingly to the walls, which escaped illumination by the florescent lights. “If we send him into the ice, we lower the bar. That means more resources have to go to preserving even more people, and the standards for what it takes to get here.”

“Perhaps the judge simply wanted to placate the masses by sending him here,” the old man proposed. “His trial was a circus, after all. Maybe this wanted to appear tough for the media, hm?”

“Well damn, Jerry, you just gonna make my argument for me?” Laurette laughed. “If that’s the case, then it’s all the more reason to put our foot down on this one. We aren’t just ice every freak who gets off on slicing people up, and people need to realize that. I say let him serve out his sentence in prison. Whoever he is after he bounces back? That’s definitely not gonna be my problem. I propose ‘nay’.”

“As crudely as Laurette is putting it,” Carl said, rolling his eyes, “I have to agree. As horrible as this man’s actions were, I don’t see a real reason to deliver this punishment to him. I propose ‘nay’.”

The old man stroked his chin, regarded David all the while. “My my, Mr. Mixtant. It seems fortune is smiling brightly on you today. My colleagues here are so very knowledgeable, I very rarely ever dispute their decisions. I feel like I’d be quite contrarian, were I to do anything but propose ‘nay’, as well.”

“Then praise all above and below I made it in time.”

This latest statement was made by a new voice, one that sounded distinctly southern and sophisticated. David looked beyond the table to see a man dressed in a three piece suit and bolo tie walk into the light and take his seat, placing a manilla folder on the table.

“I would have absolutely been beside myself, had I let today’s proceedings go without my presence,” the newcomer said, “and for my tardiness, I must humbly apologize.” He looked to David, bowing his head slightly. “Pardon me, good sir. The name’s Jeffers, pleased to make your acquaintance. 

“Ugh,” Laurette said, folding her arms, “it’s always something with you. It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re all on the same page with this one. Just make your proposal and we can get out of here.”

“I heard a bit of your speech on my way here, my dear,” Jeffers said. “And what a fine speech it was. Perfectly sensible for most cases. But, and I do hate to contradict my seniors on this issue, I have to disagree with the outcome.”

“On what grounds, Jeffers?” Carl said, cutting off Laurette before she could unleash her rant.

“I, too, am eager to hear this rebuttal,” Jerry chimed in.

“It’s simple, my friends. I have reason to suspect that this man, David Mixtant, has a strong case of persistence. 

“Oh come on!” Laurette said, standing up. “Are you serious? That’s your argument? A scientific theory?”

“You’re making me agree with Laurette again, Jeffers,” Carl said. “The idea that people keep some parts of themselves when they come back is backed up by a few studies, but full retention of memories from past lives has never been proven, especially in court.”

“I understand, I truly do understand your trepidation, my friends,” Jeffers said, standing up and walking around the table. “And I would have it no other way. This is a grave judgement we pass, and I would never consider delivering it to the unworthy.” He slowly strolled up to where David was seated and began pacing in front of him. “However, and do forgive my rampant paranoia, I believe that this man is a prime example of that theory being closer to fact than fiction. At least in this case.

“You see, this trial piqued my interest,” Jeffers continued, “as many of the details were… reminiscent of a case I recall reading about from a few decades ago. Each of Mr. Mixtant’s victims were young adults, found drained of their blood, with their hearts exposed and sliced in two. Gruesome visage, and I apologize for bringing it up, but it’s important to know this.”

“Mind filling us in on why?” Laurette said.

“Not at all. You see, if you look at the documents I provided,” Jeffers gestured to the folder he brought, “you will see police reports of an identical case six decades ago. Same method of murder, same type of victim, though thankfully a smaller body count.”

“This hardly proves anything,” Carl said, looking over the documents. “He could just be a copycat.”

“Perhaps,” Jeffers admitted. “There is a strong possibility that David Mixtant is simply a derivative copycat. The original murderer called himself Heartache, and committed himself to his work as if it was art. His final act in prison was doing to himself what he’d done to so many before. Ironically, the day after his death, Mr. Mixtant was born.”

Laurette scoffed. “A shitty coincidence, so what?”

“It is at this point that I must inform you,” Jeffers said, “that those police reports were rescinded from public records three years before Heartache’s suicide. Not one record of them has existed outside of police databases in decades.”

This statement sent a chill throughout the rest of the room. The three still sat at the table seemed to be deep in thought, while David was currently doing everything in his power to murder Jeffers with his stare. To no avail.

“Now, I acknowledge that this could all still be a massive coincidence,” the southern man said. “Stranger things can and will happen. And with this judgement, we will be setting a dangerous precedent, the likes of which will have ramifications far beyond our years. But at this time, in this place, I must be honest with you all, and myself. And I believe that, were we to allow David Mixtant to die in prison, we are simply packaging and shipping a true monster to the next generation.”

“I take it you are proposing ‘yay’, then?” Jerry asked.

“I most certainly am, my good sir. The gift of reincarnation, the boon of sins forgiven and a fresh slate form the almighty himself, should be taken from David Mixtant, who forsakes that gift in its entirety.”

Harsh, animalistic grunting everyone in the room to David, who was practically frothing at the mouth. “Oh, you better put me on ice, you son of a bitch!” he yelled, straining to try and move even an inch closer to Jeffers. “Cuz I’m coming for you if you don’t! You hear me? You fucking hear me?!”

“Oh my,” Jeffers said, backing away from the raging murderer. “Well, now I feel inclined to propose ‘yay’, even if the man doesn’t persist between lives. But, unless anyone else has anything to say on the matter, I believe the deliberation can begin. Agreed?” Jeffers looked to his fellows, each of them nodding in affirmation.

Suddenly, the walls of the room lit up as dozens of flashing light panels came to life, blinking white in sync with one another. David looked back and forth as the pulsing light show continued, sweat stinging his eyes as he stared. Soon, the flashing stopped, the white lights replaced by either a blue or red light. 

There were enough red lights to bathe the entire room in a strong, crimson glow, overpowering the sparse specks of blue.

“W-wait, hold on a min--” David was cut off by the sound of a chute opening beneath him, followed by his quickly fading screams as the newly made opening let out a chilling burst of air before closing once again. The lights on the walls went dormant once again, leaving the fluorescent lights above to once again dominate the room.

“Whew,” Jeffers said, fanning himself with his folder. “Are all of these going to be so stressful?”

“I think that’s how it should be,” Carl said. “The last thing I want is to ever get too usedo this.”

“Hmph,” Laurette huffed. “Not like you were fighting too hard for longer deliberation.”

“I’m just happy all sides of deliberation were represented today,” Jeffers said. “Although, I did have a mother that said I had the devil’s tongue.”

“Well, I’m sure Ms. Shilly would be more than proud of her son,” Jerry said, “should she ever know how insightful a mind he grew up to be.”

“...I’m sorry, beg pardon?” Jeffers asked, genuine confusion plastered on his face.

“Oh, my, am I reading that wrong? I must admit, I’ve never seen a surname like that, I was simply hoping for the best.”

Jeffers raised an eyebrow, before looking down at his badge and chuckling loudly. “Oh, my good man, you have nothing to apologize for. That’s no surname of mine, simply Roman numerals. It’s supposed to read forty-three.”

[shimmerfall]

Chapter 2: The Early Easy

"...so don't get rid of those heavy coats yet, folks, because even though we've dipped our toes into spring, this cool weather is here to stay for another few weeks..."

While the early morning newscast had been standard enough to treat as background noise, the volume at which the overly peppy weather person delivered their report was somewhat grating on the ears, and no doubt the opposite effect than what was intended by the bubbly demeanor.

Combined with the fact that all of this invasive noise was coming from the downstairs living room television, and had made its way through a purposefully closed door, the bedroom's sole occupant decided this was fate's subtle nudge for him to get his day properly started.

"Typha, come on down, breakfast is almost ready!"

And this, Typha surmised, was his uncle's far less subtle but admittedly more convincing attempt at motivation.

The young man sat up in his bed, blinking his eyes open and letting himself get used to the waking world. Though it was dark, he could still make out a few bits of his room from the scant pieces of light that made their way through his drawn curtains. A few posters lined his walls, and a bass guitar rested against his dresser. His laptop lay near his bed on an office chair next to his bed, and a large vanity mirror hung on the back of his door.

After mentally psyching up for the morning, he rolled out of bed and performed his morning routine of freshening up, then went about getting his backpack ready for school. Once that was finished, he threw on a pair of black pants with a white and blue shirt, and stood in front of the mirror for 'final checks'.

In the mirror, Typha saw a young man of average height. He had voluminous black hair with numerous curls, dark skin, and dark brown eyes. He had a somewhat youthful face, which he had, at one point, attempted to offset by growing out his facial hair. However, he wasn't able to grow either a full beard or a mustache, and ultimately decided that looking young was better than a series of desperate patches on his face.

Satisfied with his appearance, Typha slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way downstairs. He could see his uncle preparing bacon and eggs in separate skillets over the stove while taking momentary looks back at the television. Typha took a moment to mute the TV, and the lack of volume finally alerted Markus to his nephew's presence.

"Zinniah had to leave early this morning, so you're rolling to school." Markus asked as he quickly placed four pieces of bread in the toaster before returning to his skillets.

'In the damn winter,' he thought, more than a little annoyed that he would have to be in the cold. However, he knew his aunt's job came before his discomfort. "No worries, I planned to anyway," Typha eventually said, leaning against the island countertop and waiting for Markus to finish preparing breakfast.

He wasn't terribly hungry this morning, but he knew the future version of him would appreciate the energy, and the current him would appreciate not hearing another ten minute lecture on the importance of a filling meal to start the day. He was tempted to ask his uncle to drop him off instead, but he'd already said he planned to go on his own. Plus, Typha knew the school was in the opposite direction from the gym where Markus worked, and he could hardly ask the man to inconvenience himself for his sake.

The toaster dinged, and Markus placed them on paper towels before retrieving two slices of cheese from the refrigerator. "Got a couple of loaded grilled cheese cooking, by the way."

"Huh?" Typha responded, as he was currently excavating a large thermal coat from the closet "Oh, uh, sure. Thanks, sounds good."

"Don't you think that's a little much, Ty?"

"Uncle Markus, it's like in the 50's or 60's today. I'm gonna feel the chill in my bones without it."

"Sure you don't want a hot cocoa to help fight off the cold?" Markus teased.

"Seriously? Cuz like, yeah, that actually sounds pretty good."

Markus looked up from washing dishes to give Typha a look. "Boy, shut up before I eat your sandwich."

"No hot chocolate and no breakfast? It's like I'm a common criminal over here." Typha walked to the front door, grabbing a now completed grilled cheese off the counter. "I'll accept this as an offering of forgiveness." Typha strapped on a pair of roller skates and waved goodbye to his uncle before heading out the door, breakfast in hand.

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There's something of an otherworldly quiet to a city early in the morning, long after the nightcrawlers find their way back home, but just before most of the rest of the populace rises to bring life back to the town. Chirping birds heralded the coming of a newborn sun, which bathed the city in an orange glow and offered a thin but effective blanket of warmth against the chill of dawn.

At this hour, the only souls awake to disrupt the peace of the morning do so only out of obligation, such as bakers preparing their goods for the day, radio DJ's constructing set lists for their time block, and delivery boys pelting their neighbors' front doors with the latest local news.

Along with high school students that insist on traveling to school using the halfway point between walking and cycling.

Typha considered this one of the few, almost nonexistent, times anyone could expect relative quiet outside in Brillarville. The only noticeable sound to him was his skates on the pavement as he lazily glided down the street, and the crunching of his grilled cheese as he enjoyed his breakfast.

He appreciated the lack of pedestrians and cars that usually crowded the city, removing the need for him to restrict himself to the designated bike lane, or attempt to weave through throngs of people on the sidewalk. The frigid air was a definite negative, but even borderline frigophobic that he was, even he wasn't as bothered by the temperature as he thought he'd be. Maybe his solo trips to school could restart in earnest sooner than he thought.

The route Typha took this morning gave him a clear view of Mount Seer, the tallest point in the city. The mountain's height was impressive enough, but a different feature made it the infamous local landmark of Brillarville. Two massive, glasslike shards protruded from the top of the landform, each about thirty meters high, with no one knowing how deeply embedded they were into the ground.

A common wager among younger children was to journey up the mountain and write their name on one the shards. Though there was never any proof of this actually happening, or even any indication that anyone ever tried, the rumors of it happening had scared enough parents into convincing the police to cordon off the entrance and put up a sign threatening heavy fines for anyone caught trespassing. Typha himself was never frightened of the place, but he had to admit, looking at the mountain from a distance did give it a kind of ominous aura.

Typha's trek to school took him away from his home on the west side and through a decent portion of downtown. The shift in architecture was gradual but noticeable, as smaller businesses with their names on the front of the store slowly gave way to franchises and massive buildings with no clear indication as to what went on inside them.

Downtown Brillarville wasn't all large buildings of vague purpose. Typha passed several independently owned stores that looked like they belonged back on the west side, but were popular or essential enough to survive the harsher financial demands of downtown.

Coming up on a corner, he stuck his hand out to grab a light post and turn down a new street, where the sight of one of the aforementioned stores, a normally humble looking convenience store came into view.

The owner, Jorge Wellon, sunk a decent amount of money into a high end coffee maker that he stuck at the front of his store, and allowed time combined with man's dependence on caffeine to make him back his investment and then some.

Typha was aware of all of this, and normally wouldn't have looked twice at Wellon's Express. However, while the store was usually fit with the rest of the buildings around it, it stood out harshly that morning. One reason could have been that the inside was still dark so close to its hours of operation, which was a tad bit strange to anyone who paid attention, as Mr. Wellon was very serious about his opening schedule.

Another could have been the obnoxious, brightly colored yellow lizard with a crown sitting atop large, equally bright yellow letters that spelled out "REX" on one of the pale gray building's outer walls.

Typha couldn't suppress a disgusted groan at seeing the artwork. Not for any sort of altruistic stance against graffiti, nor an aching sympathy for Mr. Wellon, despite liking him enough to wish another building had been tagged instead. No, Typha had the distinct honor, accompanied by the distinct headache, of being familiar with this specific piece of modern artwork.

More importantly, with the artist.

Quite suddenly, Typha's casual trip to school became far more energized, and filled with sharp purpose. Sharp, annoyed purpose.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Students were already filtering into the building by the time Typha skidded to a stop on the sidewalk leading to the school. However, he knew his target well enough to know there was little chance they had already made it inside. He took a seat on a bench near the front doors, and switched his skates with a pair of shoes from his backpack.

Typha expected he'd have to wait until the attendance bell rang before handling his current situation, but that time table was cut thankfully short as he saw a shaggy looking student wearing a red beanie and a large gray hoodie ride a skateboard towards the school. Typha rose to meet the young man, who did not seem to be slowing down as he approached.

"Yo, Ty, brake me bro!" the young man shouted as he barreled towards Typha.

Who promptly sidestepped the incoming teenager, allowing him to ram into a metal handrail. The skateboarder impacted with a ringing thud, laying crumpled over the rail for a few seconds as he recovered from having the wind knocked out of him.

"Morning, Rex," Typha said as the skater removed himself from the rail.

After a few coughs, Rex responded. "What the hell, bro? Didn't you hear me ask you to stop me?"

"All I heard was the sound of someone who needs to remember how to skate safely. And don't call me Ty."

"Come on, yo, don't be lame—"

Typha held his hand up to interrupt Rex. "I saw what you did outside of Wellon's place."

"Yo, you came to school on skates today? Why didn't you hit me up, we could've come together." Rex was interrupted again, this time by Typha pulling his beanie down over his face, followed by slapping Rex's forehead.

"What the hell's the problem, dude?!" Rex asked, pulling his beanie up.

Typha pinched the bridge of his nose before answering. "You tagged the store with your signature."

The skater looked puzzled, not yet understanding what he'd done to earn a head slap. "Yeah, it looks sick, so what?

"Dumbass, your signature is your real name."

Rex at least had the awareness to look sheepish at this point, rubbing the back of his head. "Okay, so I was in a hurry right? Like I had to go quick cuz I'd been at Tiffany's, and the folks were gonna freak if I came back too late again. And I was, like, havin' a block, ya know, I wasn't feelin' anything special. So I just went with what I know the best. And yo, you gotta admit it was pretty clean, right?"

"Yeah, that's another thing," Typha said. "Why Wellon's place at all? There's tons of space down by the levees, and more than enough buildings not owned by people who know who you are."

"But Wellon's is freakin' prime real estate, dawg." They both began making their way into the school as Rex continued explaining. "People always go by that place, no better way to let the streets know who they belong to."

Typha let out an exasperated sigh. "This is a busy city, Rex. No one pays any real attention to stuff like a bit of graffiti on the side of a shop. And the only people who will notice are people who want it gone."

"...Alright, his old lady got all pissy cuz I rode my board inside the place a couple days ago, but that's like, only half the reason."

"I'm gonna say this once, because I didn't think it ever needed to be said," Typha began, placing a hand on Rex's shoulder. "If you wanna mark up a bunch of buildings, go crazy. Turn the city into your canvas, I don't care. But don't do it alone, and I know you did it alone, because Rico wouldn't have let you sign it with your name. And especially don't do it using the same tag you use in videos you put on the internet."

"Oh shit, that reminds me, we still good for this Thursday?" Rex asked, "Rico said there's this sick spot on the north side, perfect for a shoot."

"You..." Typha stared at Rex's face, who was clearly waiting for an answer and seemingly completely oblivious to his warning. "...Yeah. Yeah, I'm good for it."

"Nice. Hey, I'll catch you later man, I gotta head to class. Stay chill, dude." Rex took off down the hall to his first period, leaving Typha alone to reflect on where things went wrong during that conversation.

Eventually deciding he did everything correctly, Typha headed to his own first class of the day.

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The bell for the second half of the day's classes sounded down the halls as Typha entered the library. His first period for the afternoon was an independent study hall, which was the school's way of offering its senior students time in the day to consult with career counselors, work on final semester projects, or continue progress on any other school related endeavors.

In practice, most students used it as a mental break from the rest of the school day, wandering the halls or spending time on the grounds outside. The only caveat to this setup was the unspoken but heavily implied warning by the administration of "don't make us regret letting you do this", which most seniors had the sense to heed.

Typha would often take this time to find a quiet corner of the library to catch up on sleep and risk missing his last class of the day, having eventually come to an understanding with the school librarian that her jurisdiction should be a place to enjoy both literature and relaxation. Today, however, he wasn't feeling particularly tired, so he decided to partake in the fulfilling and worthwhile pastime of mindlessly browsing the internet until the bell rang.

Easily finding an open computer, Typha logged on and let the muse of the internet take him, which simply meant he didn't have a clear objective and would just look at whatever was popular. The school blocked social media websites for the most part, but they didn't restrict access to VidMeo, a popular video sharing website. Something about ease of access for teachers, but whatever the reason, it was a good time waster. Once on the site, he scrolled through some of the trending videos, but they were either ones he'd already seen, or seemed completely uninteresting.

As he was scrolling, his eyes caught a video of an interesting news report titled 'Multi-Million Dollar Company Faces Scrutiny in Wake of Attack'. The video's name was indeed one that piqued curiosity, but the fact that a video from a local news station in Michigan was able to reach the trending page the same day it was posted was unique in and of itself. With nothing better to do, Typha clicked on the video to see what about it was so special.

Pressing play, Typha saw a group of men in blue uniforms, the sight tickling something in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite place. Eventually, the men came upon another guy in a white lab coat, who pulled something out of his pocket, then tossed it at the men in uniforms, who spasmed and fell over.

"Authorites and eye witness reports say," the news anchor voice over said as the scene changed to a close up of the lab coat man's hand, "that the suspect used this strange device to incapacitate the Jury members you see here. When questioned about the device's origin..."

Typha paused the video, staring intently at the disc shaped device in the attacker's hand. Almost unblinkingly, he looked it over, taking in every detail he could before he allowed his mind to go anywhere that would lead him to disappointment.

'Same basic design,' Typha thought, 'and from what I can tell, same shape. But there's nothing engraved on it. Plus, he's holding it bare handed. It's definitely based on the real thing, but it's gotta be fake.' He zoomed out of the video and allowed it to play again. He noticed a bit more information elaborating on the event, particularly about Greensly himself.

"Huh," Typha said quietly to himself, reading out Greensly's former place of work from the scrolling news banner. "Verbradyne..."

------------------

Absolutely forgot to put the link for this shillfest in the last one, but better now than never. If you read any of this, thank you for your time. Much, much, much more to come.

https://www.wattpad.com/user/GranShine

[humansoflatecapitalism]

[glitchlich]

your baby as soon as these come off

[13th-hokage]

How do you sleep at night

Lmaoooo like dis

[justimonarchive-blog]

jackpot

[harriyanna-deactivated20221223]

Best part of the video, hands down

[writing-prompt-s]

Your entire life you have failed at everything you do. Wanting to get some happiness in your life you decide to summon the devil and sell your soul. Except your even fail at this and summon the archangel Michael

[shimmerfall]

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Come on, you have to!”

“I deny you.”

“Why?”

“Because if I correct you, you’re going to banish me, redo the sigils, and summon the dark lord.”

In a small but spacious room, a figure floated above a floor etched with numerous symbols and candles. The symbols glowed a pulsating orange, and the candles flickered with white light. The figure, masculine in appearance, looked be made of metal and riddled with holes that were symmetrical on either side of its body, and a large, red ribbon was constantly snaking its way around the otherworldly form.

“Oh, what do you care? You’ve gotta have better things to do than babysit me, right? Come on, Mike, work with me here!” A man with short brown hair was currently pacing in front of the metal figure. He wore a blue, short sleeved shirt, an unfastened tie around his neck, and coffee stained khakis. 

“As little love as I have for you humans,” Michael said in a voice that echoed around the small room long after he has stopped talking, “to facilitate your path to evil would be a betrayal of my existence. Abandon your pursuit of the darkness, Joseph.”

“But it can’t be that hard, right?” Joseph said, tugging at his hair. “I mean, I spent weeks on that stupid forum, checking and double checking anything I could find! I learned Enochian for this! It’s gotta be just--just a tiny detail!” He bent down, examining the glowing symbols beneath his feet. “Maybe this arrow was pointing the wrong way? Maybe it should’ve been pointing down instead of up? Wait, no, when I drew it, it was facing down, right? Just throw me a bone, here!”

Michael stared silently at the man, his metallic visage betraying nothing of what went on inside his mind. Finally, he lowered himself onto the floor, until he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the arrangement of sigils. “I offer a proposition, Joseph,” Michael said. “Answer my questions, with your heart unlevied, and I shall give you your answer, in turn.”

Joseph’s eyes lit up, nearly stumbling over himself as he scuttled to where Michael sat. “Seriously?! You’ll help me out?!”

“To lie is to betray my existence.”

“Oh, thank you! Christ, thank you! Uh, wait, not-- I didn’t mean to--” Joseph’s sputtering apology was cut off by a single raised hand from Michael.

“First,” the divine being said, “you must inform me why you seek to bring about the dark lord. This would have been your first encounter with evil, lest I’d have felt its lingering presence upon you.”

As Michael spoke, Joseph’s excitement visibly waned, and the man folded his legs underneath him until he was sitting on his knees. “I guess it makes sense you’d wanna know the why. And I hate to disappoint you, but there’s just not a lot to the answer. I’m a fuck-up. I barely hold onto my job and my boss is on my ass every single day over the smallest stuff. College was a wash and a waste of my family’s money. I sent my mom a birthday card, and I got it back two weeks later because I addressed it the wrong way. I can’t even send mail!”

“Hm,” Michael nodded. “I see. You are burdened by misfortune. You seek the riches and power the dark lord would bestow upon you, should you surrender your soul.”

“Nah, nothing like that.”

“So, it is vengeance then? Against those in this world you blame for your shortcomings.”

Joseph shook his head. “No, that’s more or less all on me.”

“Alright, now I am the lost one. If not for power, or retribution, what could you hope to gain from this evil pact.”

“I...” Joseph looked down, eyeing the glowing sigils before looking to his own hand. “I just want a chance.”

Michael tilted his head, pondering the words. “Elaborate, if you would.”

“It’s like I said. I’m the fuck-up. I just can’t... do anything. I try, and I think I’ve done something at least passable, and it turns out to be worthless. I can’t keep living like that. I can’t keep living on the wrong side of luck. I don’t want a leg up on anybody, I just...” Joseph ran his hands through his hair before letting out a long sigh. “I just want to be regular. Normal. This can’t be normal.”

“I see,” Michael said, breaking his gaze on Joseph for the first time and looking upward.

“Ah, what would you know about it? Can’t imagine an angel has to deal with shit like this.”

“You would be correct. Even the least capable of my brethren are capable of success, under the right circumstances.” Michael reaffixed his stare onto the man. “May I tell you something, Joseph?”

“Is it how to fix this stupid glowing chicken scratch.”

For a brief moment, one of Michael’s eyes seemed to twitch. “No, but it is close. Did you know that when man discovered a way to summon infernal beings, those of us in the heavens took measures to ensure the same could not happen for us? Our brightest and most studious angels set to work ensuring that celestial beings such as ourselves could not be called and bound to this Earth through the actions of mortals. And we kept the secret to this protection closely guarded.”

“Wait,” Joseph said, looking at the floor once again, “I don’t understand--”

“Were anyone else to perform this ritual, they would have been met with a blinding light, and then nothing. Nothing except scorched retinas and the crippling phobia of ever trying to accomplish this feat ever again. So you understand, Joseph, that summoning a being such as myself, on accident, is... peculiar, to say the least.”

Joseph was silent for several moments, before rising to his feet and pacing again. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me any of that shit. What, am I supposed to be happy I accidentally did something special? Sorry to say, Mike, that just makes me feel worse.”

“Then silence your tongue and open your mind,” Michael said, the words rolling as thunder. “How foolish can a man be, to scoff at achievements because they were not his goal? The wisest of your species took those same achievements and turned them into legacy. Tell me, Joseph, do you fail due to your own expectations, or the expectations that others see within you? Are you a man who falls short and gives up, or do you see the potential for success amongst the dirt?”

“I-I don’t--”

“Abject failure exists. There are those that try, and stumble, and fall, and they cannot get back up. There are goals that go unfulfilled forever. But these failures only exist when a chance for success within them doesn’t.”

Joseph stared at the angel, clenching his fists until he felt his hands move to either side of his arms. “So what? What am I supposed to do, then?”

Light erupted from Michael, flowing upwards as the divine being began to float once again. “You look. You try. You fix the card, and send it again.” Michael’s body began to flicker as he spoke, the light around him increasing in intensity. “By the way, you said you used Enochian for this ritual, correct?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“The next time you wish to consort with demons, don’t use the language of the angels.” And with that Michael disappeared, all light in the room disappearing with him.

Sighing, Joseph looked around the dim room, from the extinguished candles to the now inert sigils. With a crack of his neck and two slaps to the face, he walked to his closet in search of a rag to clean the wax that had dripped onto his floor.

[shimmerfall]

Chapter 1: A Shocking Gambit

"Hey, watch it, creep!"

"Oh, sorry! I-I-sorry!"

On an average day, bumping into a person and knocking them over would warrant more than a stuttered apology. It would definitely warrant more than an apology that was shouted back at the offended party while the perpetrator was sprinting down the sidewalk. And normally, said perpetrator would be remiss to offer anything less than his sincerest condolences for engaging in such rudeness.

"Stop right there!"

Unfortunately, the man didn't have the time to offer any of the dozen or so people he had offended in this manner anything more than quick remorse. The men that ran after him, garbed in cobalt blue uniforms, were gaining quickly. Where the man had to struggle and shove his way down the busy morning street, people nearly jumped out of the way of his pursuers.

Clutching a satchel close to his chest, the man turned down the nearest alleyway and hoped against hope that it wouldn't lead to a dead end. Still, even with more open space to run at full speed, the uniformed men were closing the distance. After emerging from the thankfully open alley and onto a far less populated street, the man searched desperately for his next escape route. At the end of the block, he spotted a fire hydrant, and whispers of a plan began to form in his head as he reached into his satchel and pulled out a gray, disc shaped object.

"Everyone, get away from there!" the man shouted at the few people down the street, then turned a dial on the disc and lobbed it at the fire hydrant. The disc began to hum and spark as it flew through the air, and bounced as it landed near the hydrant. Before the object could touch the ground again, it exploded, scarring the pavement with large cracks and destroying the fire hydrant. Water rocketed from the ground and onto the street as the man ran towards it. Once he reached the torrent of water, he looked back at the men and waited for them to catch up.

The men slowed as they approached the man, stepping into the growing puddle while brandishing metal batons. "Was this your plan?" one of them asked. "Think we ain't willing to get our boots wet?"

Instead of replying, the man took a step back, tossing a disk from his pocket into the growing puddle. The uniformed men waited a moment to see if he was going to run, and once they were satisfied he would not, they stepped forward to apprehend him.

"Hell, if you were just gonna give up anyway, why the whole—aaauugh!" The head of the group cut himself off when he saw that the water they'd been walking in only a moment ago had become electrified. Each of the uniformed men could do little but grunt with clenched teeth against the pain coursing through their bodies.

By the time the shocks had subsided, the men had either fallen to their knees, panting, or were flat on their backs, outright. The head of the group looked up from his position on the ground to confirm what he'd expected, and saw an empty space where the man was before.

"Dammit!" Another of the group said, lying prone and breathing heavily. "They didn't tell us he was a bright-eyes. What kind of sloppy intel are they giving out?"

"Don't think he was," a third man said. "Ain't no use complainin', anyhow.'' He looked up, and was unsurprised to see a figure fly overhead from one building to the next. "We just gotta rely on the foremaster now."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After checking behind him one final time to ensure his pursuers were incapacitated, the man slowed to a stop, clutching his satchel to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. While he composed himself, he took a moment to figure out his next move, as many of his options were no longer viable, with less available to him each passing moment.

'I can't believe he summoned the Jury on me!' he thought. 'The police, I might've been able to slip by for a few more days, but the Jury?! Who knows what'll happen if they get their hands on me!' He looked at a nearby shop window and saw a man stare back at him with large bags under his eyes and dark circles around them, the reflection telling the brief but vital tale of someone who hadn't slept in several days. He traced his fingers underneath the bags, then sighed deeply. 'Wait... he summoned the Jury on me. Why would...?''

The man's pondering lasted only a few moments, and once he reached his conclusion, he loudly swore, cursing the past few days worth of needless panicking and sleep deprivation, for they both contributed to his inability to see the obvious truth. "God, I'm such an idiot!"

"Hey now, don't beat yourself up."

The man didn't get the chance to turn and see who was addressing him, since as soon as the newcomer was finished speaking, the disheveled fugitive flew face first into the window he was staring at. Whatever had hit him was enough to push him off his feet and slam him into the glass with enough force to crack it before falling to the ground. Dazed, the man tried to sit up, but his assailant planted their foot on the man's chest to pin him to the ground. The man looked up at who was crushing him, and the barrel of a gun filled his vision.

Past the gun was a man wearing the same blue uniform as the last group that had chased him down, only with distinctions. The most noticeable difference, besides the visor obscuring the man's eyes, was that while the previous group wore basic white boots, this new man had a metal exoskeleton on his lower body, with green tubes that ran down the sides of his thighs, wrapped around both shins, and ended at his heels. The gun itself had a similar design, with the tubes coming out around the barrel. Despite the situation, the downed man couldn't stifle the sense of pride in his chest that the equipment was deemed effective enough to be used in the field by higher ranked Jury members.

Of course, this pride could have also been the sheer irony at being threatened with this specific equipment, or the literal pressure of the metal boot on his chest. Either way, he chose not to dwell on the matter very long.

"You can't just write yourself off over a mistake or two," the armed man said. "You just gotta take it all in stride and try to improve for the future. Positive thinking, right? Though, I'll be honest, you definitely made one hell of a mistake, Mr. Greensly."

The man, Greensly, struggled underneath his captor's foot, but it didn't budge. "Please, you have to listen to me," he said, grabbing on to the man's metal clad leg. "I don't know what they told you, but it was all a lie."

"A lie, huh?" The man reached into a pocket on his coat and pulled out a folded document. "Let's see here," he began, unfolding the paper and scanning it for a bit. "Are you not Kenneth Greensly, assistant head of research and development for Verbradyne? And did you not, two days ago, threaten your superior with violence before stealing company property? All the info in this dossier, just a bunch of convenient lies, huh?"

Only after a beat did Greensly find the right words to respond. "I... well, okay, that's more or less what happened, but you don't understand everything, and if you would just give me a chance to explain, sir—"

"Ah, up-bup-bup," the man interrupted. "First of all, no 'sirs', thank you. Name's Jack Jarrick, Jack if I like you. Secondly, save your breath, Ken. I don't get paid to hear your life's story, we're just supposed to take you and your loot back to Verbradyne. Now, to make sure this is all on the up and up, ahem: By the will of order, the Magna Jury declares you discordant. Surrender to our authority, or be made to comply with force."

"Can't you see you're being used?!" Greensly pleaded. "We're both being used, but if you just let me go, everything can be sorted out! Hell, you can take me into the police station yourself, just don't bring me back to Verbradyne."

This gave Jack pause. The report had said the target was dangerous and armed, and seeing Greensly throw that disc bomb thing more or less confirmed that description, and seeing him electrocute his squad gave him more than enough reason to want to take him down. But wanting to go to the police? After all of this, what was going on that he would prefer being arrested over just giving back what he stole?

"Look," Jack said, lowering his weapon and relaxing some of the pressure he'd been placing on Greensly's chest, "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm just doing my job. Whatever side of the story you have to tell, you can tell it after I finish my part in this."

"I... I understand," Greensly said. "We all have our duties, in the end. This is yours. And this is mine." As he finished, he pushed up on the leg Jack was using to pin him, using every ounce of his strength. While that wasn't very much, it was enough to force Jarrick to stumble back. The Juror attempted to right himself, but for some reason, his left leg was stuck in one position, the knee joint of the exoskeleton refusing to budge, and he fell prone to the ground.

"That tech of yours is quite impressive," Greensly said as he stood up and recovered his satchel, which he'd dropped after being thrown into the window. "The Windleap Aegis: a dymatic support unit designed for high mobility in urban environments, made lightweight to accommodate that necessity, and considerably durable considering the previous two features. Wish I'd had time to work out some of the more crucial shortcomings, like the ease with which the joints can be forced to lock up if someone knows what they're doing."

He dusted himself off while backing away from the downed man. "It really would have just been as simple as adding a bit more plating here and there. Barely a loss in function, nothing even noticeable. Unfortunate, but the old man did complain that the client was a bit impatient for their gear. Though, I think that was pot and kettle talk, if you ask me."

"Oh, shut the hell up," Jack said, attempting to undo whatever Greensley did by hitting his armored knee with the butt of his gun.

"For what it's worth, I wasn't lying when I said I understood you. But as I said, we each have our duties. And I owe far too many people to get caught here by you." Greensly reached into his bag, pulling out another of the discs. He turned the dial on the disc, several times more than he had before, and as the last one did, it started vibrating and letting off sparks of energy.

When Jack noticed the device's movement, he ceased attempting to free himself and aimed his weapon at Greensly. "And to think I almost bought your 'two sides to the story' crap. You think I'm just gonna let you blow me up, you psycho?"

"Here's hoping you don't." And with that, Greensly lobbed the disc at Jarrick just as it began to shake and spark even more erratically than before. Jarrick had had his weapon trained on the fugitive, but switched his target to the disc, which had reached its peak in the air and was beginning to descend on him.

With no time left to decide otherwise, Jack pulled on a sliding mechanism at the top of his gun, producing a quick hissing sound as the tubes on the weapon bulged and inflated. Jack finished pulling the mechanism just as the explosive was less than a meter from his face, he pulled the trigger and unleashed a concentrated burst of air from his gun.

The blast carried more than enough force to launch the disc away from Jack, flying swiftly towards the man that initially threw it. Before it reached its new destination, however, the disc exploded, producing a shockwave that sent Greensly through the shop window and all the way to the back wall of the store, where he impacted with a hard thud before crumpling to the ground in a heap. Jack fared somewhat better, the explosion only throwing him a few feet into the street. He didn't escape without injury, though, as his head bounced against the pavement as he landed.

As both men faded into darkness, one slipped away from the waking world while groaning in agony. The other was, of course, also in agony, but managed a slight smirk of satisfaction before pain and unconsciousness overtook him.

-----

First chapter of the story I’m shilling. The rest of it is at the link below. I’ll probably post these up until the sixth chapter.

[whatitdoooobabeyyy]

2000’s Ashley Tisdale had no fucks to give about her clothing

[shimmerfall]

https://www.wattpad.com/user/GranShine

Hey, hey! I'm an amateur writer looking to share a story. I like to think I'm good at writing, but as with all things in life, one's worth is only determined by how other people see them. If you find yourself here, I hope you don't regret the trip.