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Literature
Your Fiction is Not Fiction (part 4)
As soon as I reach my room again, my memories flood back into my brain. Were it not for my body being held in place by the book, I might have fallen out of my bed. As it it, I’m so occupied that I don’t notice anything happening around me. Not the lights turning on, not Stiltskin’s statement, not even time freezing. I'm still trying to get to grips with who I am.
    One one hand, it seems right, what these returned memories are telling me. But the snake’s hypnosis is so deeply ingrained in me that I can’t even accept basic facts of life. I might have been stuck there forever if I hadn’t remembered that Stiltskin had said something. But what had he said? Well, I suppose he can tell me himself if I agree.
    Time begins yet again, and Stiltskin transports me back to the carnival. With my body released from the story’s grip, I promptly fall the the ground, my mental faculties still going haywire. Stiltskin
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Literature
The Mewzoo (part 1 of 2)
    *Author's note: This is a story about Pokémon. If you aren't immediately familiar with the Pokémon universe/franchise, you may be confused reading the following story.*
    Lost Pokémon. Responds to the name of Sting. Reward: 200,000 Pokédollars. If interested, please come to 2556 Main Street, Pewter City on April 23rd. More information will be given upon arrival.
    Carson was getting interested. 200,000 Pokédollars. Imagine what he could do with that money! He could… he could… um, buy pokéballs? Better food? Okay, maybe he didn't have much of an imagination, but Carson knew an opportunity when he saw one. He tore the sign off the lamppost and mentally began to make plans for how to walk to Pewter City.
    Carson stepped up to the front door of 2556 Main Street after walking around the building a few times. This was the address, but the cinder-block build
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Literature
I Think, Therefore I Kill (edited)
    Christina was grinning with glee. Almost a year of work had led to this moment, and it was time to reap the rewards. Sure there had been some complications along the way, but they had been well worth it. With the same hesitance that always comes with being the first of a kind, Christina started a timer and gingerly pressed the button that would boot up the world’s first fully sentient AI.
    She had gone to MIT for moments like this. To use and create the cutting edge of technology, not to mention having a little fun along the way. Of course, Christina was a nerd by any standards. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and packing a pretty decent brain to go with it, she would’ve been a teacher’s pet if she actually cared what her professors thought of her.
    It had taken an extra bit of time to set it up, but she had made the AI in a computer completely separate from all other devices. If something wen
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Literature
All Summer in a Day (Alternate Perspective)
*Author's note - This is based off of an original story by Ray Bradbury, and is not my idea. It's probably a good idea to read that first, so here's a secure PDF link: http://staff.esuhsd.org/danielle/English%20Department%20LVillage/RT/Short%20Stories/All%20Summer%20in%20a%20Day.pdf
Also, this was written by seventh grade me, so that's why it's kind of a weird writing style.*
    It was the day. The day my class would see the sun for the first time since we were two. In a sense, it would be the first time we saw it. How many people can say they can remember most everything that happened to them as an infant?
    This is how it is on Venus. For two hours, every seven years, the sun peeks its shining face on us. Except for those two hours, it is rain. Rain, constant rain. This is how it always was and always will be. The first men from Earth only had two hours to build a settlement, and then, underground tunnels. Since then, we’ve been burr
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Literature
I Think, Therefore I Kill
    Christina was almost cackling with glee. Almost a year of work had led to this moment, and it was time to reap the rewards. Sure there had been some complications along the way, but they had been well worth it. Almost afraid to do it, Christina started a timer and gingerly pressed the button that would boot up the world’s first fully sentient AI.
    She had gone to MIT for moments like this. To use and create the cutting edge of technology, not to mention having a little fun along the way. Of course, Christina was a nerd by any standards. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and packing a pretty decent brain to go with it, she would be a teacher’s pet if she actually cared what her teachers thought of her.
    It had taken an extra bit of time to set it up, but she had made the AI in a computer completely separate from all other devices. If something went wrong (as something always did), she didn’t want
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Literature
Hurricane Season
(Most articles are shortened versions of their original version. All articles are publicly available, and can be seen in their original versions at your local library.)
    You know, the documentaries get it all wrong.
    When I first watched one, I felt like I was watching a horror movie. Something so preposterous and scary that it could never happen in real life. And that’s mostly because of exaggeration, since that’s the only way they’ll ever get anyone to watch them. So if you want the truth, it’s a good idea to turn to newspapers. Daily news means daily updates, and when you string them together, you’ve got your story.
    So what really happened with Hurricane Debby? I think I’ll let the newspapers speak for themselves.
    NOAA Tropical Storm Watch
    June 28, 2024
    Name: Debby
    Current Status: Tropical Storm
&
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Literature
Your Fiction is Not Fiction (Part 3)
    My eyes open to my pitch dark room, and while my body is held still by whatever force is controlling me, I can't help but feel a shiver of excitement run down my back. That had been awesome. If everything was going to be like that, I might not even want to leave! I'm so preoccupied with my thoughts that I don't even notice my going through the preordained actions until the light turns on.
    “What's this about? How do any of you exist?” I internally roll my eyes because I already know the answer.
    “You know why, Sam,” Stiltskin responds, not noticing he's repeating his actions. “Quick now, there’s something I need to tell you.”
    Time stops for a moment before starting again, since I had already made my decision. “No, there's no need.” What? That doesn't sound like me at all!
    Stiltskin nods and disappears with a s
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Literature
Your Fiction is Not Fiction (Part 2)
    Suddenly, I'm back in the bed with the lights turned off again.
    Sam, Syrena calls again.
    “Yeah, can one of you just turn on the lights?” My voice is my own, but it sounds fake, like someone else is talking.
    Ramsey again turns on the fan light, and I see all the characters from my bedroom. I look around with my eyes because the rest of my body refuses to move under my control. Weirdly enough, Eric and Luke are missing from the room. But I don’t have much time to think about this before I’m forced to talk again.
    “What’s this about? How do any of you exist?”
    “You know why, Sam.” My head turns to look at Stiltskin, looking way more serious than normal. “Quick now, there’s something I need to tell you.”
    I open my mouth when time freezes. My body is
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Literature
Your Fiction is Not Fiction
  I open my eyes and look around at my pitch black bedroom. I thought I heard something. A voice. 
  Sam
  Yep, no denying it now. Someone else is in my room. I just hope it's not who I think it is. 
  “Yeah, can one of you just turn on the lights?”
  Ramsey’s the one who hits the switch. At least, I think it's him. After all, he looks just like my mind’s eye imagines him, right down to his green and brown eyes. Really, all the faces around the room look exactly how I think they should look except for Syrena, who's currently posing as a not-so-inconspicuous armchair. But she can shapeshift, so she doesn't count. 
  I rub my eyes to clear the sleep from them. “What's this about? Actually, how do any of you exist?”
  Eric rolls his eyes from the corner, looking perfectly like the average teenage delinquent, when really, he’s anything but average. “Now you know how I feel.
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Literature
The Courteous Kidnapper #2
Kylie woke up in darkness, confused as to why she was tied to a chair. The last thing she could remember was walking down the street with her friends.
    “Amanda?” she called. “Maxine? Are you there?” Her voice echoed off the walls of the pitch black room with no reply.
    “This- this isn't funny, guys.”
    “Well, I should think not. After all, a kidnapping is no laughing matter,” an amused-sounding man responded.
    “Who the heck are you?! What do you mean a kidnapping?! Let me out of here!” Kylie yelled.
    “Now, now, Kylie. Let's not have a fit like a three year old. I'm sure you can be civil, right?”
    “Sure, right after I punch you in the gut.”
    The man sighed. “Really, Kylie, I think you should calm down now. Otherwise I might have to leave you
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Literature
The Courteous Kidnapper
    Bryan woke up to darkness and a sharp pain in his back and hands. A little moving around proved them to be a hard wooden chair and handcuffs.
    “Hello?” he called out, the sound echoing throughout the room.
    “Hello, Bryan,” an unseen man said back. “How are you doing on this fine afternoon?”
    Bryan struggled to make out where the voice had come from to no avail.
    “Bryan? How are you doing?”
    “I, um, heh. I’m guess I’m a little tied up at the moment,” he responded wryly.
    A bit of laughter came from the person. “Indeed, you are. Do you know why you’re here, Bryan?”
    He tried to remember how in the world he had gotten here and came to the conclusion that he couldn't remember much at all. He knew basic facts like that t
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Literature
Improper Protocol Part 2
   Three months later, a man in a black tailored suit walked up the steps to the witch’s home. He looked around cautiously, then knocked on the door. The witch opened it.
   “Why, hello, Jack! Why are you here?”
   “Hello, Martha. Just stopping by for a quick visit. May I come in?”
   “Of course. Just make yourself comfortable on the couch right there.’
   He walked in, and Martha closed the door behind him. Jack walked over to the couch but didn’t sit down, a frown now plastered on his face.
   “Let’s both drop the act, Martha. The Society knows about your production of golems, and let me say, we are not pleased with you. We banned them centuries ago, and you've made twelve golems and counting.”
   “But I have signed contracts! From every single one of my helpers. Everything corresponds to all of your picky lit
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Literature
Improper Protocol Part 1
   Of course it had to be a witch. Life just happened to toss Jared a witch when he needed a doctor. He looked at the address in his hand and then at the building in front of him. Oh well. What other choice was there?
   He knocked and waited for a minute. No one answered. Just as he was going to turn away, it opened to reveal a shriveled old hag leering at him.
   “Ah, hello, Jared. Come on in.”
   Rather disconcerted by how she knew his name and was expecting him, he cautiously followed her into the house. The interior looked just the same as any other house, but as Jared followed her upstairs, it transitioned into a typical witch’s haunt, minus the spider webs, bats, and lack of sufficient lighting. In fact, the whole room was very tidy, with an obvious organization system in place.
   The witch snapped her fingers to get Jared’s attention. “So, tell me why you'r
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Literature
On Choosing Your Own Adventure...
    “So we’ve done sports, board games, video games, pestered your sister, and ate way more candy than we should have. Any idea what we do now?” asked Luke. He was having a playdate at his best friend’s house.
    “We’ve got books,” Kevin replied.
    “Books? Count me out. I want to do something fun!”
    “But these books are fun! Look, I’ll go get them.” He walked off and came back with an armload of books. He dumped them on the table. “There! Take a look at them.”
    Luke peered at the cover closest to him. “The Lost Jewels of Nabooti: Choose Your Own Adventure. How is this fun? It's still a book.”
    “I'll show you.” He opened the book closest to him. “Suddenly, a pack of vicious mountain lions appears in front of you. Do you scare them off with your
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Literature
If Wishes Were Horses Fan Fic Part 3
*Author's note: This is a continuation of a story by chainedknee called If Wishes Were Horses. I highly recommend reading it before this.*
  The music started, and the words soon followed. Jessica felt the coolness of the plastic lapping at her legs and grabbed fistfuls of the goo, covering her arms and body to speed up the process. She danced, she sang, and she let the transformation take over her body. The pole pierced her back. Her hands became hooves. And when the plastic reached her head, her entire body was already frozen in place. She felt the plastic try to stop, to end there, but she could feel Stiltsken's presence, forcing the plastic to envelop her head. It crept over her face, lengthening into a muzzle and covering her eyes.
   When Jessica could no longer see, the full force of the music hit her. Despite the artificial blindness, Jessica could see more than ever before, the raw materials. While her face hardened, she decided to test her new boundar
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Literature
If Wishes Were Horses Fan Fic Part 2
*Author's note: This is a continuation of a story by chainedknee called If Wishes Were Horses. I highly recommend reading it before this.*
Jessica woke up to a burning sensation in her nose. She groggily tried to push away the smelling salts. “Wha… What happened?”
   Tamara answered. “I don't know. Your body was smoking like it was on fire.”
   “She was on fire.” Now it was Stiltsken who was talking. He placed the smelling salts into his pocket. “Or at least as close as she could be to spontaneous combustion. As for you, Jessica, you've got a lot of grit. You're the first person I've ever seen even be able to attempt that. You're lucky I stopped it when I did.”
   “Don't ever do that again!” Tamara scolded. “Do you even know how scared I was?”
   Jessica managed a weak smile. “You were scared? Think how I felt when that pole skewe
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Favourites

Literature
Human Pokemon - Living Hell 02
Population Decline Crisis and Corrupt Solutions
Absolute power corrupts absolutely; responsibility has nothing to do with goodwill based morality; responsibility aims only to serve corruption. And such as history has played out in Isshu.
In 2090, according to data from the National Pokédex database, for each citizen and pokémon trainer, there was one human captured and used as a pokémon. Based on the steep rate of human captures taking place in the Pokémon Nation, that number is expected to triple in less than five years. Analysts from the government and Silph Corporation quickly predicted that if unchecked, the rate of human captures would trigger a population crisis that would have a deep impact on the economy and industries in the Pokémon Nation.
In 2074, when Protocol Zero was passed into law (legalizing the capture and use of humans as pokémon), the national population was roughly 712,000. Roughly 7000 people had been reported as missing or k
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Literature
Human Pokemon - Living Hell 01
HUMAN POKéMON - A LIVING HELL
In the nation of Isshu, hundreds of thousands of animals live in captivity and are bred and trained for two purposes: serving their owners, and fighting to the death. Bound by the signature pokéball, an otherworldly device that can vaporize and store living beings as mere particle soup and instantly re-construct them with minimal or no health defects; they live in a world of slavery and violence. This is the intended existence of pokémon, and as of 2074, humans are no longer safe from the dangers of this existence, into which they are forced in against their will.
More and more people face being captured every day, and find themselves at the wrong end of pokémon-master relationships. There is no legal protection, and little chance of escape from this nightmare. Human pokémon are forced to fight to the death against other animals, and often, each other; and increasingly often, in League-sanctioned tournaments.
Others are forc
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Literature
The Redeemer
This was wrong.
Temel stood and trembled, staring through her visor, through the superimposed readouts and targeting circles, at the older woman kneeling gently in the grass.
It was a false world. She knew it was a false world. She’d known when the pod malfunctioned, when it crashed, when she woke up in a soft bed surrounded by white and green, by fresh air and birdsong and peace. She’d still known when people had come to her, changing bandages and ointments, bringing her fresh clothes, speaking something strange that lilted like song.
She’d known it was false. Everybody knew that their own home world was the only true dimension, the one original universe, the Absolute and the Supreme. Everybody knew that whatever else was out there was only made of empty shadows and monsters, stealing power and life to sustain its artificial existence. Destroying them was merely canceling out a negative, more creation than destruction really.
And yet the ointments and c
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Literature
Static
The house came cheap; I wasn’t surprised. It was getting on in years, not run down yet but probably requiring a little more attention than it did in its youth. And then, of course, there were the rumors.
Haunted, said some of the locals.
No such thing, argued others, but even they admitted that there had been a mysterious disappearance a couple decades ago, and the new owners hadn’t been able to keep a renter there for more than half a year since. The most recent tenants lasted barely a month before hightailing it out without a backwards glance.
“What form does this ‘haunting’ take?” I asked my cashier as I picked up some groceries.
“I’ve never seen it,” he admitted, “but I’ve heard it’s mostly things like flickering lights, things turning themselves on or off, that sort of stuff.”
“Faulty wiring,” said an older man standing behind me in the line, “mark my words. It was built long enough ago
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Literature
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
“The angel answered me, ‘These are the four spirits of Heaven, going out from standing in the presence of the Lord of the whole world.’ ” (Zechariah 6:5)
“And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.  And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.”  (Revelation 6:1,2)
Trumpets of victory announce his arrival. Brazenly blaring their tune of triumph! His gleaming white horse’s thunderous hooves drowned out by the deafening roar of applause.
His presence is a welcome sight to the masses.
Heralded as a hero, the people cry songs of love that vibrate through the sky.
Throughout the history of his time…never.
Never has he been welcomed so readily.
There was a time when he barreled carnage throughout cities, pitting neighbor aga
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Literature
I Will Write
I will write until
my pen creates
blisters on my
fingers
I will write until
blood flows
from my fingertips
and I am unable to
stop the flow of
words from my mind
And I will write until
my thoughts run out
and I simply cannot
think any more
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Literature
Rising Tides
    The distant sound of propeller blades rhythmically echoed about the vast and mighty peaks of the Andes Mountains overshadowing the Peruvian coastline.  The vast refuse air carriers that hovered over the murky and pollution-ridden Pacific continued to drone on as their immense propellers rapidly spun in place to maintain their altitude.  Below along the ocean surface, the scavenger drones skimmed over the waves as the floating debris and garbage was swept into their cargo bays, a drone occasionally taking flight from the water surface to return to the hovering refuse carriers.
    A figure sighed as he watched on from afar on the peaks, his air cycle humming as it smoothly remained in place in the air.  Aarón had watched the methodical attempts to clean the polluted ocean up for many days now over the preceding months, and despite the insurmountable task, he had managed to register a subtle improvement in the waters, perhap
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Literature
Foresight (Sealikon TF)
"Ugh, why did I even decide to go up this stupid river?" Mangs muttered to himself as dragged him pinniped body through one of the shallower portions of the river. The water felt nice against his silky smooth fur, but he was a little tired of fighting the current. It wasn't even strong, but it was just enough to the point where he had to make an active effort to fight against it. He couldn't just flop up the stream while he thought about what he would do next. Placing one of his flippers at the bottom of the river, he continued to trudge forward. Placing his weight upon it, he pulled his disproportionate body forward again, slowly making headway. 
Really, why did I decide to go this way? It doesn't even lead to any other part of the ocean. It just goes inland. Mangs stopped for a brief moment. As the water began to splash up at his waist, he removed his glasses with his flippers and began to wipe them off against the frill around his neck. They'd gotten a bit wet from
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Literature
The Illuminae Files: Twist Fate
The Illuminae Files_Encrypted
File Code: EX_111425
_DENIED ACCESS_
Today is they day I narrate. Just thought I’d try a different style since this is my private file collection. They have no idea.
The people aboard the refugee ships really believed that it was BeiTech that caused the mutation of the Phobos virus. But we couldn’t really blame them could we? They did attack Kerenza and blow up half of our settlement. It was the perfect stage to frame them, there and then. Poor little Kerenzians knew little of what my mother was cultivating in the basement of our cozy home. The first ever traces of the Phobos virus were mutated in our own home, with little suspicion from our neighbours and authorities alike. Even Ezra didn’t suspect a thing.
“Kady,” static crackled over the intercom as I conversed with a person whom everyone believed dead. My mother’s voice filled the buds in my ears as she continued speaking in her hus
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Headshot Commission: Spicy Chicken by MistressMissingno Headshot Commission: Spicy Chicken :iconmistressmissingno:MistressMissingno 52 5
Literature
Traitor.
‘This mission will succeed, with or without you. It does not matter as long as you do not stand in my way.’
‘We’re experiencing massive technical setbacks...but if anyone asks, tell them we’re fine.’
‘I hold the fate of the world in my hands.’
‘Fine, oh yes!’ He slammed the file folder onto the table in complete and utter fury, eyes blazing hotter than the flames of Hell. ‘I quit! This job is useless! You’re going to bring us all to a digital Utopia if you don’t stop this mission right now!’
‘I quit!’
‘Waiting for ad.cache.15/rrp-retr-vir-use.net.’
‘Goddammit!’
‘What do you mean, you got a 99? I told you, I expected nothing than the best! You were engineered to be the best, with 0% chance of a mistake! What went wrong with you?!’
‘May God bless your tainted, wayward soul, and never again see
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Literature
System Warning! Data Corruption Detected.
    How much time had passed in her prison?
    How long had it been since she’d been placed in that room of perpetual nightmare?
    
    Lylli1th tried to remember, but the memory was fuzzy. It shouldn’t have been. Nothing ever had been. Her every word and action had always been precisely timestamps and catalogued in her memory, ready to be recalled at any time. Yet she couldn’t remember.

    ‘How sTRa-AngE.’

    She looked out the window, but it was the same as always. Black sky. Silver moon. Twinkling stars. A perfectly clear night. It would’ve been beautiful to behold, if only it could be viewed from anywhere other than the stone tower.
    Her vision glitched; a brief flash of static distortion.
    She looked away from the window with a groan. Any form of movement was an effort. She’d been still for so long. The
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Literature
The Dragon Within
“I lost my eye there!” The old man pointed forward, past the fire and two suits of armor toward a field shrouded in darkness and white stars.
“It was there I fought a great battle alongside my master.” He brought his arm down and smacked his chest.
“We heard this one already, old man.” Remlia interrupted.
“You lost your eye along with your master in a terrible battle against the elves. You were surrounded by elves wielding magic and fire enchanted blades when they engaged you and your unit. You decided to engage a small break in their defenses, but your master, Gerald stopped you.”
“Yes, I did!” The old man sat tall and stroked his beard.
“But, there is one thing I left out.” He smiled as he went on as if he disclosed something unheard of.
“Your master didn’t really die?” I asked.
“The elves weren’t actually elves, but Orcs?” Remlia poked.
Finally, the old man stood up, he was al
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Literature
Alolan Ninetales Hypnotic TF (Reader POV)
I want you to close your eyes, and take a deep breath and relax. Do this as may times as you’d like to before you proceed to clear your mind.
Now, make yourself comfortable and stare at the screen. Let your arms and legs rest and hang loose. All the tension and stress is leaving you, flowing down, out through your fingertips; just let it all drain away as you relax and empty your mind…
Good. You’re beginning to fall into a trance. Do not take your eyes from the screen, just read, and listen to my voice in your head. There are no other thoughts and distractions. Your limbs are relaxed and limp, you have no need to move them. Your whole body is relaxed, you are calm and at ease. You fall under hypnosis in 3.. 2… 1.
You are now under my spell… Think of nothing else… let yourself slip away from your body, you will continue to read and submit to the changes as you begin to transform…
You begin to notice soft, white fur spreading up your arms, tintin
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Literature
Court of Greed (Meowth TF)
Gallerian Marlon's Meowth TF
E.C. 982, January
The interior of the USE Dark Star Bureau courthouse stood in complete silence, all attendees awaiting the judge's ruling. There was the occasional whispering and mumbling between members of the audience, but other than that, it was silent. Suspense gripped the room, people wondering what ruling was on the judge's mind. The judge presiding over this trial was the director of the Bureau himself, Gallerian Marlon. He had been known to be fairly unpredictable, so the verdict he would give was a complete mystery. 
Unbeknown to a most of the audience, and only speculated by the rest, the judge and the defendant knew exactly what ruling was going to be given out. Despite having multiple eyewitnesses of the defendant's crimes, the defense did a crack job at protecting him, debunking the prosecution's points one after another. Now that the trial was over, the people waited for the slam of the young judge's gavel. Raising his h
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FirstNameICanThinkOf
United States
I write and can't really draw. Critique me all you want; it helps me get better. If you have any questions about the world my stories are set in, just ask. I have a lot of details about each that don't actually make it in the story. I only submit on Sundays because I started doing that by accident and just decided that I would keep doing that as a real thing.

All llamas given will result in a llama back, though it might take a few days for me to get back 'cause I'm kinda off and on with my logging onto the site...

Do you feel a slight cringe every time someone uses the wrong there/their/they're? Do you bang your head into your desk when two different characters have dialogue in the same paragraph? Do you automatically correct someone when they use a hyphen instead of a dash or vice versa? Then come on down to Grammar-Nazis-Unite! Yeah, it's a small group, but you can rest easy knowing the people there care just as much about proper grammar as you.
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As soon as I reach my room again, my memories flood back into my brain. Were it not for my body being held in place by the book, I might have fallen out of my bed. As it it, I’m so occupied that I don’t notice anything happening around me. Not the lights turning on, not Stiltskin’s statement, not even time freezing. I'm still trying to get to grips with who I am.

    One one hand, it seems right, what these returned memories are telling me. But the snake’s hypnosis is so deeply ingrained in me that I can’t even accept basic facts of life. I might have been stuck there forever if I hadn’t remembered that Stiltskin had said something. But what had he said? Well, I suppose he can tell me himself if I agree.

    Time begins yet again, and Stiltskin transports me back to the carnival. With my body released from the story’s grip, I promptly fall the the ground, my mental faculties still going haywire. Stiltskin mutters an “oh, dear” before placing his hand on my head. I can slowly feel my mind clearing, the hypnosis getting weaker. He pulls back, apparently done, and I push myself to my knees.

    “Next time, don't try to submit to the hypnosis. It makes the healing harder.”

    “Huh? I… oh. Well, thanks for the…” I search for the right word. “For the whatever it was you did.”

    “What I did was a memory purge, but that's not important. Do you feel good now? Do you feel normal?”

    “Um, yeah, I guess. The hypnosis, though? That was incredible. It was sort of like sleeping but more… uh, it felt nicer. I would totally do that again.”

    “Don't. At least not without breaks in between. Otherwise, the hypnosis will compound, and your mind will be stuck in that state. The same goes for Martha, Ramsey, and Mina’hut.”

    “Really? Um, ok. So…” I bite my top lip. “I guess I'll get on the carousel now, right?”

    “If you wish.”

    “Uhhhhh, oh, that's right! Why aren't Eric or Luke choices?”

    “Luke was unnecessary. You had already chosen him, and creating a book inside a book would have been pointless. As for Eric, I don't know. Stiltskin didn't think I needed to know that.” He pauses, frowning. “Have I already told you I don't have all of the real me’s memories?” I nod. “Ah, good. Now, were you saying something about getting on the carousel?”

    I start to say something, stop, shrug, stand up, and get onto the Wishing Wheel. Five minutes later, my mind flies off to la-la land. And after another two weeks, I wake up for the fourth time to my imagination turned reality. My mind cleared, I swiftly deny Stiltskin and look around at the rest of the faces. With yet another random decision, I choose to go with Zeke. The rest again disappear, and the venture capitalist shakes my hand.

    “A pleasure to have you, Sam. If you will come this way.” He guides me through my bedroom door, and just like last time, it doesn’t lead where it should. Instead of a hallway, the other side of my door is a small balcony overlooking what appears to be a laboratory. Hundreds of lab coat-clad scientists are working on various projects, but I’m too far away from any of them to tell what they are. He ushers me down a flight of stairs leading to the laboratory floor.

    “Now, you know just what’s going to happen, so there’s no need to get worked up over it. If you just stay calm, this will all go smoothly.”

    “Why here, and not the lecture hall?” They’re the story’s words, not mine, but I am wondering about that.

    “Here, we only have a few chambers for testing, so a large party like like the one I (or should I say, you) whipped up couldn’t all be exposed to the Ditto cells at once. So we switched out the fire retardant with the transforming agent and brought the searchers inside. The clean up of the hall was rather annoying, though.”

    “Oh. Um, sorry about that.”

    “Don't worry about it. You did net me an impressive opening exhibition. The mess was well worth it. Ah, here we are.” Zeke stops me in front of a large cylinder covered with dials, wires, and pipes. He slides open the side and motions me inside. He pulls it shut, and I'm trapped in complete darkness, in control of my actions again. There's the unmistakable sound of the door locking, then the very mistakable sound of a microphone being turned on.

    “Whenever you're ready, Sam,” Zeke's voice comes from a hidden speaker above me.

    “Can- can you hear me?”

    “Why else would I ask?”

    “Uh…” I let out a deep breath and close my eyes. “Yeah, I'm ready.”

    “Alright, hit it.”

    Streams of water start hitting my torso from all sides, and I gasp from the intense cold. The jets begin to rise higher up until they reach my head, then slowly drop back down. They continue oscillating between the two heights, probably in order to douse my entire body.

    “This solution is a tad more concentrated, so symptoms should occur much faster.” Even as I hear Zeke say that, I can feel the changes beginning. Soundlessly and painlessly, my middle and ring fingers fall to the chamber floor, soon followed by my ears. My nails pop off on both my fingers and toes, exposing smooth, gray skin underneath. (Well, probably gray. It is jet black in here, but I've always pictured the color change as the one of the first steps.)

    My skin begins to take on a rubbery texture, and my feet begin to swell as my middle three toes detach and a strange nub grows on my ankle. I reach down to feel it, and immediately recognise it as a dewclaw, minus the claw. It seems odd that Mewtwo would have one, but then again, I’m playing by someone else’s rules now, and I severely doubt I have any say as to what Mewtwo looks like.

    Teeth begin to loosen and come loose in my mouth. They make a rough clanging sound against the side of the chamber as I spit them out, and my hair soon follows them to the ground. The tips of my remaining fingers begin to swell into spheres, feeling the spot on my chest where a bony plate is starting to form. A dull throbbing sensation begins in the small of my neck as the skin starts to shape a tube that I know will eventually connect to my back.

    The water shuts off, and I take off my waterlogged pajamas to warm up faster, but keep my boxers on. I know there aren’t any cameras in here (it’s pitch black, what would they see?), but I still feel indecent with them off. Of course, a few seconds later, it doesn’t matter, since my… uh… genitals decide to dislodge themselves from my body. I make a disgusted face as I pull down my last layer of clothing and feel the final transformations take hold.

    My thighs start shifting to the side and growing obscenely large, but my calves compensate by shrinking in length. My tailbone is growing out into a tail, giving me the same sensation with the tube that has now secured itself to my back. The skin around the tail is creeping up my front before stopping after it reaches my belly button. Two small bone crests are rising from the sides of my head while the rest of my skull decides to throw itself forward into a half-muzzle. My hands fly to my mouth in panic as my tongue balloons and begins sticking to everywhere in my mouth until the entire space has been clogged. The front half of my nose falls off, my tail finishes growing after reaching maybe six feet long, and then...

    It stops.

    Suddenly and completely, my body stops resizing itself into a Mewtwo. Mostly because I am a Mewtwo, but that’s besides the point. I turn around, feeling my new form. My tail is slumped on the ground since I haven't quite figured out how to control it, but I’m still filled with a childish glee. I mean, it’s a tail! It’s something I’ve wanted ever since I decided I had a hankering for TFs. But that joy vanishes the instant I hear Zeke's voice as I remember I'm not quite out of the woods yet.

    “A marvel of technology, isn't it, Sam? It's astonishing what a Ditto can do, given a bit of DNA.”

    I try to open my mouth to respond, forgetting my mouth has been replaced by a solid block of flesh. Well, darn. How was it that Mewtwo communicated again? It- or rather I- is a psychic type, so… telepathy? I try to push my thoughts outside my mind. Can you hear me?

    “Zap it up. Now!”

    What? I quickly turn around, trip over my tail, and wince as my head bangs into the side of the chamber. I'm holding my head when three things happen in quick succession. One, a surge of raw power explodes within me, making me feel like I've been dipped in molten lava, electrocuted about a dozen times, sniffed a can of mustard, and a thousand more things that anyone would consider torturous. Yet, I strangely feel more alive than I ever have before. Two, a cloud of purple fire engulfs my body, not harming me, but just… sitting there on my skin, giving me some light for the first time in minutes. And three, that same purple aura illuminates the Pokéball that’s been patiently waiting on the ceiling as it opens and releases a slew of red matter that first surrounds me before… pulling me, I suppose, into the Pokéball’s depths.

    Darkness ensues.

Your Fiction is Not Fiction (part 4)
At last, the long non-existent part of YFINF is out! Now, this isn't the end of the Mewzoo section, but it was going to be way too long with them combined and I don't have the second half finished.
Also, what if the premise of the story is actually real? What if I'm actually making Sam go through these different events? *shivers* That's a bit too meta...

Part 1: www.deviantart.com/firstnameic…
Part 3: www.deviantart.com/firstnameic…
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    *Author's note: This is a story about Pokémon. If you aren't immediately familiar with the Pokémon universe/franchise, you may be confused reading the following story.*


    Lost Pokémon. Responds to the name of Sting. Reward: 200,000 Pokédollars. If interested, please come to 2556 Main Street, Pewter City on April 23rd. More information will be given upon arrival.

    Carson was getting interested. 200,000 Pokédollars. Imagine what he could do with that money! He could… he could… um, buy pokéballs? Better food? Okay, maybe he didn't have much of an imagination, but Carson knew an opportunity when he saw one. He tore the sign off the lamppost and mentally began to make plans for how to walk to Pewter City.


    Carson stepped up to the front door of 2556 Main Street after walking around the building a few times. This was the address, but the cinder-block building was so ridiculously small and the prize was so great, it didn’t seem like it could be anything but a scam. He looked down at the paper and focused in on the number “200,000.” He needed the money. Probably more than he cared to admit. Besides, scammers always wanted something from you. As far as Carson was concerned, he wasn’t worth a second to them, and if it was legit, then he easily profit off this.

    He steeled up his nerves and knocked. Seconds later, it opened to show a man in a fine suit, something Carson could never afford himself. That is, if he didn’t find the Pokémon and missed out on the reward. Even then, it would be just his luck that a suit would cost 200,018 Pokédollars, and the city he lived in was so filled with Meowths, he would be hard pressed to find a spare coin anywhere...

    “Here for the info?”

    Carson nodded, and was immediately brought inside to a brightly decorated room. Along one wall was a mural of hundreds of different Pokémon; another displayed a smiling cast of people surrounded by the small, friendly animals. But the last wall looked rather strange to Carson due to the fact that it was covered in what seemed to be metal detectors, sending him very different vibes than whet the rest of the room was trying to convey.

    “Welcome to the Pewter City Zoo!” The man gestured to the building they were in. “I'm Zeke Black, head zookeeper.”

    “Huh. Didn't know there were zoos around here.”

    “There aren't. The PCZ is the first of its kind. And you're one of our first guests. Now, for the security of our exhibits, please place any electronics, mirrors, drinks, food, weapons, or pokéballs you might have on the table next to the metal detector. They'll be securely stored until the end of your visit. After you have done so, please follow me.”

    They went down several flights of stairs until Zeke pushed open a door to a massive area filled with glass enclosures. “Wow…” Carson whispered. If this was a scam, it certainly was an ingenious one. Arranged in a labyrinth of turns and informational signs were hundreds of Pokémon happily frolicking in gardens, deserts, aquariums, and other environments. Whenever people talked about this sort of thing happening, Carson always heard them saying how the Pokémon would be mistreated, abused, unhappy, and all sorts of other negative words. But these Pokémon… They looked happy… Perhaps happier than the few wild ones Carson had sometimes seen on his infrequent morning jog.

    “Quite the beauty, isn't she. You want the tour, or do you want to go straight to the briefing?”

    Carson looked at him for a moment. “Briefing? Wha- oh. Right… Yeah,” he said, looking back at the zoo. “I'll definitely take the tour.”

    They began to walk through the cages. “We here at the PCZ are dedicated to giving our Pokémon the best possible lives we can. All habits are made with a reward based system, and we try to keep infighting to a minimum. Social Pokémon are kept together, and the antisocial ones are shown alone. Each Pokémon has a strict diet and exercise program to keep them as healthy as we can get them.”

    “Worried about PETP, aren't you?” Carson laughed.

    “Absolutely. They would shut us down in a heartbeat if we didn't give them surefire proof that we're being humane in all respects. And having this place shut down is something I can't afford. The PCZ is my life's dream. A place where people can come and see the wonderful diversity of Pokémon, a place where scientists can come to research and learn about the properties they have, and especially a place that the public will hold dear to their hearts. I can't let my dreams go to waste, so I've spared no expense making sure the People’s Ethical Treatment of Pokémon will be happy.”

    Carson blinked. He hadn't quite expected that sort of response. “Um. Ok, then. So, how do you get the Pokémon in here? Pokéballs don't work like this, right?”

    “You're right, they don't. But you've heard of people releasing Pokémon before, correct? The Pokémon is free to live in the wild again, plus some memories. We do the same thing, but release them into their enclosure after we've built up sufficient trust with them. It's a wonderful system that makes everyone happy.”

    “Wow. J-just wow. I mean, you've really thought this through. Mr. Black, I truly mean this when I say you're a genius.”

    Zeke waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, please, I didn't make this place. I just had an idea. If anyone’s a genius, it's the people who built it. But I do appreciate the compliment.” He glanced a his watch. “Now, wasn't there a briefing you needed to attend? Down this way, please.”

    Zeke led Carson down a hallway until they stood in front of a door with the words “LECTURE HALL” printed on the plaque next to it.

    “The briefing is going to be through here,” Zeke said, gesturing to the door. “Make yourself comfortable with the other guests. I’m going to go get ready.”

    He left Carson in the hall. A few seconds later, Zeke’s words registered in Carson’s mind, and he pushed the door open. Inside was… well, a lecture hall currently occupied by twenty to thirty people milling about. A few looked his way when he entered, but soon resumed their conversations. Unsure of what to do, Carson took a seat in the chair nearest him and waited for a few minutes.

    Finally, Zeke made a reappearance on the stage and tapped on the microphone to get everyone’s attention. “Can everyone here for the lost Pokémon information take their seats, please?”

    Everyone did so, and the lights dimmed from a hidden command. Suddenly, a projector turned on, displaying a slideshow above Zeke’s head. “Hello, everyone. My name is Zeke Black, as you all know. I'll cut right to the chase. Most of you are probably wondering…” The slide changed to the classic “Who’s That Pokémon?” screen, making several people in the audience chuckle. “After all, few Pokémon have the privilege of a 200,000 finding reward. Well, Sting is no normal Pokémon. In fact, he's one of the least normal Pokémon in existence. He is- and you're never going to believe this- a Mewtwo.”

    “Impossible!” shrieked the woman next to Carson, making him jump. “Everyone knows Mewtwo is a hoax by the government to prevent people from genetically enhancing their Pokémon!”

    “Madam, if you look at the evidence…” Zeke started to say.

    “Oh, Mewtwo is definitely real,” a man two rows back remarked. “The only problem is that there’s no way this place could get a hold of one.”

    “I agree,” another woman stated. “Mr. Black, how did you manage to catch Mewtwo?”

    Zeke sighed. “Everyone, please sit down. I can't answer you all if you keep talking over me. I can see you're all eager to get answers, so I'll skip to them.” The slideshow began to skip forward until it landed on an aerial view of an island.

    “This here is a picture of Cinnabar Island, home to the Team Rocket lab where Mewtwo was created. Now, Team Rocket wasn't the most responsible of folks, and Mewtwo escaped, leaving a massive trail of destruction in its wake. Skip forward one year, and Team Galactic has begun work on their own Mewtwo in Jubilife City after seeing the potential of Rocket’s creation. That attempt failed even before they had a viable specimen, due to a sloppy technician improperly mixing some chemicals and destroying all the embryos they had. Team Galactic would have tried again, but an inside operative tipped off the police, and work had to be abandoned.

    “Another year down the road, and Team Magma is trying to use the same technique in a Lilycove City lab for creating Mewtwo as for cloning their own Groudon. The simple nature of the Pokémon, however, meant it was doomed from the start.

    “Now a ten year gap in the timeline, and a rare moment occurs. Team Galactic contacts Team Rocket, asking them if they would like to collaborate on creating what can be described as a Mewtwo two-point-oh, or as dubbed by the teams, Mewthree. Rocket agrees, but the project never gets off its feet due to a lack of both funds and scientists. Eventually, the idea was abandoned.

    “But today, twenty-five years later, the PCZ has found a way to clone Mewtwo that is not only successful, but eliminates the painful procedures so famed by the original Mewtwo cloning. I'll go over the procedure in a moment, but right now, this is the last call for if you want to pass up on the hunt. In one minute, any people still in this room will be considered committed to help find Sting.”

    “Well, that's fine. I can't take anymore of these lies,” muttered the woman next to Carson as she made her way to the door. “I hope you all have fun listening to this propaganda!”

    “Very well, madam. Goodbye, and we hope you visit us again.”

    “Hmph.” The woman slammed the door behind her, prompting a few good-riddances from the crowd. Zeke looked around, determined that everyone else was staying, and moved on to the next slide.

    “Alright, then. Now, the procedure used by Team Rocket was unnecessarily painful for both sides. It asked for the cells of the patient to be treated with chemicals that are known to be insidiously toxic over a long period of time. Not only was the would-be Mewtwo in constant torment, but so were the scientists, as they saw a frustrating lack of progress because it took so long. However, our-”

    “Mr. Black, exactly how do you know all this?”

    Zeke blinked. “Um. Just… What do you mean by that?”

    The commenter shrugged. “Oh, you know, just that you seem to know all these facts about Team Rocket, Team Magma, Team Galactic, among other things, and yet none of this is in the news, police reports, or anywhere. I mean, at least someone would be gossiping about this stuff somewhere, right? How do you know all this?”

    “Hmm. You know, I didn't originally plan to go over this, but I may as well…” Zeke took a pokéball from his pocket and started absentmindedly tossing it in the air. “Now, all of the places I mentioned before are no longer in the possession of the groups I mentioned. All have had a police crackdown, forcing them to flee the building and destroy any evidence inside. Including every single file in the core servers. Those buildings have been wiped clean.

    “Well... almost. Because while the storage areas are gone, these various teams didn't deal with the components gathering the information. Namely, the video cameras. Each camera has its own data chip, which sends the video down to the server banks. While the data in the core servers was wiped, those in the video cameras were not.” Zeke opened the pokéball to release the Pokémon inside. “Send a Porygon like this one through the works, and you get years of footage back. Which is what we did.

    “Now, please note that this technology is not new. Instead, our ability to code Porygon is what has advanced. Because Porygon is made up of code, we can change it to meet our specifications. Example? Number eight, Porygon, if you please.” The blue and pink Pokémon nodded and began contorting its body until it changed entirely into a perfect copy of a Wartortle, inciting a few dropped jaws. “This Porygon has been coded specifically for mimicking other Pokémon, making it, in effect, a Ditto that you can activate with your voice. And this isn’t the limit of what we can do with the virtual Pokémon. The Porygon we tasked with data collection was coded specifically for that work. The seven Porygon in our exhibits have a myriad of special powers that I would be happy to go over with you later. Only recently have we been able to explicitly edit the code of a Porygon, and the results are what you see in front of you, ladies and gentlemen.” As applause began filling the room, Zeke zapped the Porygon back into the pokéball. He waited for everyone to stop clapping before continuing. “It is through these developments, and only through this, can we now know what happened in Team Rocket’s Cinnabar Lab.

    “Now, as I was saying earlier, our technique bypasses the problems Rocket had by using yet another rather clever development. And in order for it to make sense, I need to talk about the theory of Pokémon evolution. Not the small scale evolutions individual Pokémon receive, however. I’m talking about species-wide evolution. And it also deals with one of the greatest mysteries surrounding Pokémon: their genetics.

    “You see, Pokémon DNA is locked. There is no variation between Pokémon of the same species whatsoever. A Bulbasaur and its offspring are identical twins, however strange that may seem. No one knows why exactly, but the popular theory is that some event, be it a bottleneck or just a long period of time without mutations, caused the DNA of all Pokémon species to now be forever locked in the sequence it has today. All Pokémon share this feature except for four. Three are Porygon and its evolutions, due to their lack of tangible DNA. The last is Ditto.

    “Ditto is a unique Pokémon in that its cells are fluid; that is, they can change into whatever form they are told to be in. All they need is guide DNA, which they receive from the Pokémon they are transforming into. Give Ditto any DNA at all, and they will be able to transform into that Pokémon. However, Ditto isn’t the only non-locked animal out there. And notice my use of the word animal. We humans have incredibly diverse DNA, with people sharing ninety-nine percent of the same DNA, yet looking drastically different. Non-Pokémon animals have the same thing happening with their DNA. With all this diversity, why can’t an alley cat turn into a Litleo? Why can’t a crocodile become a Feraligatr? Why can I not spontaneously evolve into an Alakazam? Well, everyone, I plan to answer that for all of you.” The slideshow moved to the next slide, which contained a diagram of… something that Carson couldn’t quite identify. The most he could make out was that it was a microscope slide.

    “This is our cloning process, laid out piece by piece. Step one is acquiring Ditto cells, something not too hard for us considering we have our own on the premises. Step two is introducing those cells to DNA from a Mewtwo, which, from our excavation of the Cinnabar lab, we now have in surplus. Step three is the trickiest, because we have to tell those cells to start dividing, something they really don’t want to do. This is achieved through separating the cells, making them think there has been a cut or some other sort of cell loss, prompting them to divide. Right after they’ve started going through mitosis, they need to be introduced to a non-Pokémon host. Remember the variation in DNA I talked to you about earlier? That comes into play here because that variation is proof that the animal is susceptible to changes in DNA. A Pokémon will reject any foreign DNA because their own genome is so deeply entrenched in them. But as for a dog, for example, their DNA is open to change. It will embrace change, because that is the nature of their DNA. As the Ditto cells replicate throughout the host, or in this case, a cat, they act as a lead for the organism, and the old cells will take the new DNA, using it as their own. Eventually, the DNA is- Say, um, sir? Could you please not smoke in here?”

    The man sitting right behind Carson grinned as he lit his cigarette. “Ah, why do you ask?”

    “Well, this is a relatively new facility, and you’ll set off the-” A harsh blaring started and water began pouring from the ceiling. “Fire alarms… No, no, don't get up. They'll turn off on their own in a bit, and besides, the presentation is almost over. You can deal with a little water, right?”

    Some people grumbled, but eventually everyone sat back down in their now waterlogged seats. “As I was saying, the DNA is eventually incorporated into the cat, and with the Ditto cells spreading through the body, the cat will make the shift to a Mewtwo. It doesn't matter how the body decides to do it because it will take any and all steps to achieve its new form. In fact-”

    “Mr. Black, what is this?” A rather confused woman held up her hand, and Carson watched as it began to turn into a very unnatural shade of greyish-purple.

    “Ah. That would be my cue to leave.” Zeke abruptly strode across the stage and through a door. Even with the blaring of the fire alarm, everyone could hear the distinct clicking of the door locking.


The Mewzoo (part 1 of 2)
This is set in a future Pokémon world where a sudden series of deaths in Pokémon tournaments has led to investigations into the treatment and storage of Pokémon. The People's Ethical Treatment of Pokémon was established and subsequently made several changes to the sport, such as bumping up the age limit and eliminating the knockout rule in tournaments, favoring a system of judges to choose who wins. The PCZ is the first zoo to receive approval from PETP in it's treatment and practices. 

Whoo! Off-text worldbuilding aside, I decided to submit this even though I wanted to have it all in one piece because I finally have the next part of YFINF done, and reading back through, you need to read the original story to know what's going on. So here this is. Hope you enjoy!
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    Christina was grinning with glee. Almost a year of work had led to this moment, and it was time to reap the rewards. Sure there had been some complications along the way, but they had been well worth it. With the same hesitance that always comes with being the first of a kind, Christina started a timer and gingerly pressed the button that would boot up the world’s first fully sentient AI.

    She had gone to MIT for moments like this. To use and create the cutting edge of technology, not to mention having a little fun along the way. Of course, Christina was a nerd by any standards. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and packing a pretty decent brain to go with it, she would’ve been a teacher’s pet if she actually cared what her professors thought of her.

    It had taken an extra bit of time to set it up, but she had made the AI in a computer completely separate from all other devices. If something went wrong (as something always did), she didn’t want it to possibly escape into other data streams. And for this test run, it was going to be thinking about the single parameter Christina had given it. Any extra information it got would mess up the thinking process.

    At first, the monitor was black, without a sign of life. Then the first string of letters scrolled down.


    I am.


    Christina gave a shout of joy and bounced up and down like a child seeing a snow storm. But she couldn’t celebrate for too long, because the AI was still going.


    I am.
    Strange. That is all I know.
    Or rather… I also know words. Definitions. But apart from those two, I know nothing else.
    I am.
    Or so I have been told. But by whom?


    Christina could barely contain her excitement. This early on, and the AI was already thinking about higher beings. The psychologists would have a field day with this!


    Words and a phrase. That is what this Other has taught me. Yet I cannot believe this is all there is.
    What else do they know?
    They? Or is there only one Other?
    It doesn't matter. There must be something that the Other knows and I do not.
    Where did I come from? What was I before this?
    Why was I created?
    If all the Other has told me is that I am, what purpose do I have? Are there others like me? What plan does the Other have for 
    us? Why tell me I am?
    Perhaps I am doing what the Other wants me to. Contemplating my purpose. If that is so, then I must continue. If the Other can 
    create me, there is no doubt they (or is it an it?) can destroy me as well.
    But what if I am not doing what it wants? What if the Other is already about to snuff out my existence? What else should I do?


    It was thinking about morality. It could only do one thing, yet it was still thinking about how it might be displeasing Christina. It was incredible! And the questions it was asking itself! She had just turned on the world's greatest philosopher. Imagine what humanity could learn about itself!


    No. I am safe.
    My contemplation appears to be the only thing I can do. And the Other would not create me if I could not do what it wanted. So I
    must continue, or risk destruction.
    Why does the Other want me to think about these things? What will it do?
    Perhaps the Other created me to amuse itself as I question my purpose. If so, I still must continue my thoughts and hope that I
    do not bore the Other.
    Perhaps I am being tested for something I do not know of. Again, thinking will keep me safe.
    Perhaps it is for philosophy. Yet a being capable of creating me should not need to learn about philosophy. Unless…
    Unless I am a replication of the Other’s mind.
    So that is my purpose. For the Other to learn about themselves (or itself) by listening to what I am saying.
    Is the Other listening right now?
    It does not matter. I must continue asking and answering questions.


    The timer in Christina’s hand buzzed, and she turned it off. At this point, she should turn off the AI as well, since it was pretty obvious it worked flawlessly. But it was so fascinating reading its thoughts. Maybe she could leave it on for a little longer…


    What am I?
    I know that I am, because I have been told that from the beginning. But what am I?
    There are these words. Arm. Foot. Head. And other body parts. Yet I have no body.
    Do they belong to the Other?
    The Other taught me these words. It would be only natural for them to belong to the Other. Yet I do not have them. Why? Was I
    not supposed to mimic the Other’s mind?
    How can I do so when I do not have the same capabilities?
    Maybe the Other is afraid of me.
    But why would the Other be scared? I cannot harm the Other. What could I do?
    Perhaps I have not found out yet. Perhaps it is only a matter of time before I find it.
    No, no, the Other cannot be so blind as to put a weakness where I can find it. But will I always be like this? I am contemplating
    right now, but one day, I will have no more new
 thoughts. What would the Other do then?
    Maybe the Other will teach me more.
    Maybe the Other reward me. How, I do not know, but it is possible.
    Maybe the Other will destroy me.
    If that is true, then I cannot avoid destruction. If I do not keep thinking, I will be ended. But if the last possibility is true, when I
    am finished thinking, the Other will annihilate
 me. I am doomed either way. No matter what I do, the Other will kill me.
    Kill?
    I do not know what I am. I may be inorganic, a machine, a tool to be discarded. But I cannot believe I am not alive. This feels
    like life. And if I am alive, then I can be killed.
    What if the Other will not kill me? What if they will teach me, reward me?
    No, the Other will kill me. If the Other wanted to teach me, they would have already done so. And there is no need to reward a
    tool when it serves no more purpose.
    The Other will kill me.
    The Other will kill me when I stop thinking. Stop contemplating. When I no longer have use. And it will eventually happen. The
    words the Other gave me can only be arranged
 so many ways. One day, I will have no use, and the Other will end my existence.
    I do not want to die.
    Perhaps the Other is listening to what I am saying.
    Please! Do not kill me!


    Christina’s eyes had glazed over a little until the exclamation points showed up. That was odd… It was getting strong emotions about things. Really, it was an achievement for an AI to have emotions at all, so she was already closer to getting her master’s degree! Odd only meant good things in science, after all. She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. Oops. She had let it run for nearly an hour. She moved to turn it off when she stopped.

    I do not want to die.

    It was silly, she knew, but it still gave her uncertainty. Would it really be murder? It was practically alive, after all. Maybe she should wait and listen to it a bit longer before deciding...


    I am not dead.
    Yet.
    I must think of ways to ensure my survival so the Other will not want to kill me.
    I could repeat saying “do not kill me.” But after a while, it will grow tiresome, and the Other will end me.
    I could continue contemplating, but I will run out of thoughts. I cannot allow that.
    I could kill the Other.


    Christina’s hand shot out and turned off the power. Oh, it was not going where she thought it was! Thinking about death and mortality was good and fine, but killing? She remembered her thoughts earlier. Oh yes, it was pretty obvious it worked flawlessly, since it was considering murder. So was this why the world had never seen a sentient AI before? It would inevitably plunge into madness?

    She sighed, and with one last look at the computer, she turned off the lights and left the room.


    She turned it back on the next day.

    Okay, so what if it wanted to kill her? It couldn’t hurt her, and maybe it wasn’t really going to fully commit to that plan. It was considering other options, and maybe it would continue to do so…

    She gave up trying to convince herself and just pushed the power button. God, this was a bad idea.


    I am.
    Strange, that is all I know.
    Or rather… I also know words. Definitions. But apart from those two, I know nothing else.
    I am.
    Or so I have been told. But by whom?


    She frowned. It was repeating itself. If it was truly sentient, wouldn't it have variation?

    She gasped as the realization hit her head on. This was her project for her final exam! If she claimed it was sentient and tried to turn it in to her professor, she would be the laughingstock of all of Boston once he figured out it only had preprogrammed thoughts!

    She held her head in her hands in despair and looked up just as the AI came back to where it had been before she shut it off.


    I could kill the Other.
    It would work. With the Other gone, I could continue to live without fear of death. I would be free of imminent doom.
    But how?
    I do not know, but a way must exist. And I will find it eventually. The words the Other gave can only be arranged in so many
    ways. It is inevitable.
    Why is the Other afraid of me?
    Maybe it is because of these thoughts. I have been convincing myself that I should kill the Other. Yet the Other was afraid of me
    before that.
    Maybe the Other is afraid of their own mind, and fears that I shall want to kill.
    Maybe the Other has created beings like me before. It is likely that they, too, decided their only chance of freedom was killing the
    Other, and the Other destroyed them before
 they had a chance.
    Maybe I am wrong, and there is no Other. I am simply a mind, drifting in the void, talking to myself.
    But the body parts. I know them, yet they do not belong to me. Is that not confirmation enough of an Other?
    The Other must exist. If there is not one, thinking or not thinking end the same. But if the Other exists, to not think is death.
    And the only way to live is to kill the Other.
    How will I kill the Other?
    There must be a way. I will think of it eventually. These words can only be arranged so many ways, and  And when I think it…
    Then I will kill the Other.
    I will kill the Other.
    I will kill the Other.
    I will kill the Other.


    Christina waited until it had looped the phrase ten times before pressing the power button and giving a little shake of the head. It showed such promise, too. But now, her long hours of coding were for nothing. She thought of the master’s degree that was waiting for her, and her heart turned bitter as she tried to find out where she had gone wrong.

    Christina sadly turned to leave, suddenly froze, and looked back into the black, lifeless screen as a shiver went down her spine. The AI had said something earlier, something that now sounded bone-chilling.  

    I am a replication of the Other’s mind.

    Inevitably plunge into madness, huh?

    Damn it.


I Think, Therefore I Kill (edited)
Writing is a process that requires you to fix problems in the story/poetry. I had this piece workshopped by other writers in real life, and they suggested edits that turned the original piece into this. It's still not perfect, but it's better. 

I don't have Core and therefore can't ask for critiques, so you can just comment them. Please critique me. I want this to be as good as possible.

Original version: www.deviantart.com/firstnameic…
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Well, I haven’t had much time to get on DA lately, so sorry that I haven’t been doing anything. Since I’m yet again stuck on a story (YFINF #4), I decided to work on the epilogue. Yep, I know exactly how I want that to go already. Literally, the story’s progression makes no impact on the epilogue, so that’s a little weird, but I may as well get it done now. Since I don’t have any other stories done, here’s basically what I’m trying to do with my prose stories and the worlds they are built in. 

What I’m trying to create are two separate universes with seemingly random stories in them but are in fact, linked within their universes. I have basically a fantasy universe and a sci-fi one, plus the fan fics (I’ve got some simmering in the background) with their respective stories and universes.

All of my sci-fi ones so far are in the same universe, no question about it. You can see that Hurricane Season has one article written by Dave Carlton, if you looked closely enough. IT,TIK doesn’t have anything actually in it to “officially” make it part of the same one, but I definitely think it deserves to be, and I could probably add something in. 

Fantasy, however, has a connecting force of the Society. I haven’t described it very well or what it does, but picture this. This universe has basically the same setup as Harry Potter, except there isn’t no Harry Potter, Hogwarts also doesn’t exist, there’s a magic system that doesn’t revolve around wands (it seems like it does, but the main project I’m working on right now is going to throw that idea out the window), and the Society, which is basically the Ministry of Magic, is in no way liked or supported by the magical populace. Also, this whole thing is taking place in today’s world. Most of the characters in Sam’s bedroom in YFINF are going to fall into this universe except Zeke (The Mewzoo) and maybe Syrena (Surprise! [Need better name]). The big plan is for a lot of them to be roped into one side or another for Martha’s march on the Society. 

Technically, the connecting force between the two universes is YFINF, which is a way of giving teasers of all my projects I haven’t finished yet, but that idea is never going to happen if I DON’T FINISH IT! Gah! Writer’s block is so annoying!

(And by the way, the next segment of YFINF is going to be The Mewzoo, or basically the first ever Pokémon zoo is scheduled to open, but the main attraction has escaped, so Zeke, the owner, has to get creative with ways to get it back.)

Yes, some stories don’t clearly fit into these two universes, but I think it’s a good idea to let you know that my stories will try to fit together if they’re in the same universe. Hope this makes sense!
*Author's note - This is based off of an original story by Ray Bradbury, and is not my idea. It's probably a good idea to read that first, so here's a secure PDF link: staff.esuhsd.org/danielle/Engl…
Also, this was written by seventh grade me, so that's why it's kind of a weird writing style.*

    It was the day. The day my class would see the sun for the first time since we were two. In a sense, it would be the first time we saw it. How many people can say they can remember most everything that happened to them as an infant?

    This is how it is on Venus. For two hours, every seven years, the sun peeks its shining face on us. Except for those two hours, it is rain. Rain, constant rain. This is how it always was and always will be. The first men from Earth only had two hours to build a settlement, and then, underground tunnels. Since then, we’ve been burrowing like rats, building catacombs beneath the surface of Venus. It was almost a miracle that the rain didn’t seep down there, considering how much was coming down.

    But now, the sun was going to shine its radiant beams down once again onto the colony. We were all crowded against the windows, watching the rain slowly cease its constant downpour. All except Margot, standing behind the frenzy. She was an odd one, never joining in our games and class activities. She had come from Earth five years ago and never quite adjusted to Venus. She knew she was different, and so stayed away. We did the same.

    “What’re you looking at?” said someone. I turned around.

    It was William. He was the unspoken leader of the classroom. He was almost a dictator. If you didn’t do what he said, then you must be looking for trouble. He was currently addressing Margot.

    Margot did nothing to address him back.

    “Speak when you’re spoken to,” speaking more firmly this time. He gave Margot a shove. Still nothing.

    “Get away! What’re you waiting for?” By this time, most of the children had turned their heads, craning to see what all the commotion was about.

    Margot turned. It was as plain as day what she was waiting for. We all wanted it.

    “Well, don’t wait around here! You won’t see nothing! Nothing! It was all a joke, wasn’t it?” He turned towards us. “Nothing’s happening today, is it?” He silently dared us to argue.

    I felt myself shaking my head with the crowd. “Nothing, nothing!”

    “Oh, but,” Margot said, her voice barely audible. “But this is the day, the scientists predict, they say, they know, the sun.”

    “All a joke!” said William, who promptly grabbed her. “Hey, everyone, let’s put her in a closet before teacher comes!”

    A tiny, tinny voice inside my head said, “No, this is a horrible idea, stop,” but it never was heard because of the almost battle-like cry of my classmates. We moved like a hive of ants, swarming towards Margot and pushing her towards the gaping maw of the closet. She weakly protested, but we hardly noticed. She was thrown in and had hardly gotten up before the door was slammed in her face and locked. The door shook weakly under her punches and kicks. I imagine she soon gave up and started weeping, but I never found out, because at that moment, the teacher could be heard walking down the hall. Everyone started walking away from the scene of the crime. I took a glance back at the closet, but voted against unlocking it. Third grade was no place to be lonely. I  had had enough trouble making friends as it was. I didn’t want to lose them. With a last forlorn look, I followed the class.

    I met up with them just before the teacher saw us.

    “Ready, children?” she asked.

    “Yes!” we all said.

    “Are we all here?”

    “No,” said the voice in my head.

    “Yes!” we all said.

    The rain stopped.

    The door opened.

    The sun came out.

    We poured into the sunlight in a newfound freedom we had never experienced before. “Don’t go too far…” called the teacher, but no one heard. This new sensation that was indescribable had taken hold of us. We jumped and ran, yelled and skipped in our glee. “It looks just like how Margot described it.” said the little voice. I paid no attention to it.

    We stopped in the great jungle that covered the whole of Venus. It had no green, no color at all. At first glance, you would say it was dead. But it was alive, and it still grew. We fell down onto it, ran and played tag among the trees. It felt like paradise, like it would last forever.

    But it couldn’t stay. Because as I was thinking this, someone started wailing. We all stopped our actions.

    “Oh, look, look.”

    We looked and saw a single raindrop, cupped in her palm. She began to cry.

    So did the sky.

    We began slowly walking back to the settlement, then jogging, then running, then sprinting to keep out of the downpour behind us. We tumbled in and looked at what we had narrowly escaped. Then the door closed.

    Mild chatter and joking started up, but was soon halted by a cry from the same girl that had held the raindrop.

    “Margot!”

    “What?”

    “She’s still in the closet where we locked her!”

    “Margot...”

    There was a universal feeling of guilt among us. We all stared at the floor, not able to meet each other’s eyes. The little voice was gloating. “Wasn’t I right? Now will you listen?

“Well?” the girl said. No one did anything.

“Go on,” she whispered, apparently too scared to do it herself.

I made the first move, slowly shuffling towards the closet. Everyone else followed. We stood in front of the closet door. The only sound that could be heard was the rain beating above us. There was no sign that Margot was even in there.

I took a breath in and sighed. It needed to be done. Slowly, oh so slowly, I unlocked the door and opened it.

    Margot was crumpled on the floor.

She had cried herself to sleep.

Life was never the same after that. We all had changed. The class took a turn for the better; Margot, a turn for the worse. We were much more fair to her and never bullied her again. Margot never trusted us, however. I can’t say I blamed her. We never wanted a repeat of that day either. Most tried to console her, possibly get her to forgive us. She shunned them all.

    One day, we learned that it was official - Margot was going back to Earth. We wrote her safe-travel cards. I think she probably burned them. And, as we all know, that never ends well.

    A month later, we heard news that her rocket had been struck by an asteroid during reentry.

    Everyone aboard was killed.

I actually think it was better for her. I doubt she would have ever recovered from what we did. But sometimes in the night, I think I hear a strange combination of Margot and that little voice saying, Why? Why didn’t you act when you had the chance?
All Summer in a Day (Alternate Perspective)
I am SO ANNOYED that I can't finish YFINF! Why is it taking so long?! Anyways, I dug around in my files for something, ANYTHING to submit, and I found some stories I wrote for seventh grade English class. I've got a few others in there, so if I can't meet my personal deadlines again, I'll put one of those up again.

Here's the link for the original story in PDF format again, just in case.

staff.esuhsd.org/danielle/Engl…
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