Microscopic Mayhem

Midnight. In a clean white room, under the faint blue glow of monitors, ancient bloblike things dance an ancient dance, in competition for resources, for space, for progeny. Look through the viewing glass with us as the particulars of the drama unfold. The blob in front of him was easily twice his size. He was running out of space to move; those viruses were everywhere. His only hope was to get his enemy infected.


Movement! The environment began to change, and highly evolved sensory membranes detected the change. To his left, a protein began to form."YES!" he yells as he darts towards it. The enemy also sees it, and surges towards it as well. Just then, a virus swerves into his path,blocking him from the protein. He lets out a sigh of final resignation as the enemy bacteria noms merrily away. He was surely doomed, as his enemy's size dwarfed his own!

Inexplicably, the enemy bacteria begins to change form, and quickly splits itself in two. The microbe was dumbfounded, and chased after one of the two bacteria. He is just finished ingesting it when the other explodes from the virus. At the lab, the scientist takes his eye away from his microscope. "They gave badges and a card to that?" he wonders in bemusement.

This week's story, written by our very own Zulufox1911, references Microbe Kombat

Kongrats to zulu on the great submission and also he is pretty engaged! Say thanks to him peoples!

Worst. Cult. Ever.

The dust blew into the air, choking the faces of everyone in the vicinity- it wasn’t just dust, either. There was salt mixed in with it, salt crystals glittered everywhere in this wasteland. It was dry as bone, and hot as hell. There was a steady, rumbling litany of complaints in Jed’s mind as he strode out onto the flats. Brother or no, this was a long way to travel. His mother would never have forgiven him, of course, and what with the construction job falling through he needed the place to stay. He grumbled and pulled out a thermos, which was almost out of water, and looked through bleary eyes across the horizon. In the distance, he saw a dot, and made his way towards it.

Jed and his brother Kenny could not have been two more different growing up. Jed was interested in sports, Kenny in books. Jed was popular at school, well-liked, Kenny was a recluse with hygiene problems. Jed had felt protective of his younger brother for most of high school, but he began to tire by senior year. Kenny’s interests had darkened through high school, and he had stopped reading anything but musty old books, full of secret knowledge and magic and garbage like that. Jed had gone to college at the state school then, and had lost touch. After he graduated and moved back to his hometown, he was shocked to learn how much his brother had deteriorated- their parents begged him to bring him home, offering him free room and board. Money being tight, that’s exactly what Jed did.

The first time Jed found him, Kenny had been studying necromantic texts at a spiritualists’ library for days with no food or water. The next time he had to pull him out of a cult’s headquarters. As Kenny slipped further and further away from normalcy, Jed grew more frustrated. The one time Jed asked, Kenny would only comment that he was searching for something of “singular power, a… well… a chain of events which is beyond man’s comprehension. To experience it is to KNOW MADNESS”.

Kenny’s frame grew closer, hunched over and rocking on the salt flat. Jed wiped perspiration from his brow, but his annoyed face grew concerned seeing the prone, rocking form of his brother. He quickened his pace and shouted, but Kenny didn’t react. As he drew closer, he saw that Kenny was clutching something in his hand. “God,” thought Jed, “he’s been out here reading another blasted book”, but this was far too small for a book. No- it was more like a jewel case, containing a CD. Close enough now to see Kenny’s face, blank eyes staring straight ahead and lips murmuring something repeatedly.

“Kenny! Kenny get up! We’re going home!” Jed kicked at his brother, whose body offered no resistance. “Here, have some water”. He leaned down to give the thermos to his brother, and heard his soft, repeated whisper. “I’ve found it, here it is, I’ve found it…” Nervous now, Jed tugged at the jewel case. As it left Kenny’s hands he seemed to snap back to reality. His eyes opened wide, and he let out a scream. Jed’s arms held him in place, or he would have bolted. Making his way back to the truck, struggling brother in tow, Jed reached down to pick up the jewel case- there was a CD inside. “This don’t look that scary!” thought Jed… “Loops of Zen? Probably just some more of that Buddhism nonsense. Well, can’t hurt to give it a look when we get back.” It was the last time either brother was heard from.

This post references Loops of Zen, the absolutely infuriating new game from Kongregate. Play it if you DARE.

'Till my head falls off

Eldrich beasts and AI

The tile where my head fell had a crack in it, and my mind, hazy and indistinct as it was, snatched a piece of nursery-school lore from the fog. I remembered lining up for lunch, and the poor student who landed on the one crack in the sidewalk would have “step on the crack, break your back” whispered to them. Well, that was soon to be true enough for me. I shook my head to clear it, and looked indistinctly towards where I knew my opponent to be. Her hooded face sneered at me from behind crackling walls of arcane power. About halfway between us, features fading into the shadows of the warehouse floor, hovered the horrible tentacled THING she had summoned, blood dripping from its mouth where it had bitten my own creature, a flying imp, squarely in two. She had torn right through my defenses, waving them aside with a gesture as my green elder sign of protection faded away. She shrugged off my imp’s blasts, summoned the dread beast of Tindalos. The charge of that nightmare beast had almost killed me, and my sanity had suffered as I cast healing spell after spell. I had attempted to cast a bolt of pure mental energy at her, but such were her shields that it had evaporated before it touched her, and her fell beast swatted me down, where I laid now. Lips cracked, health and sanity on the brink of the abyss, I waited for her next move.

“Now, fool. Now is the time for your destruction!” She cackled. For this! Is the dawn…. OF A NEW DAY! Bright light flooded the chamber, instantly evaporating her creature and shield. I struggled to my feet, incredulous, feeling my mind bolstered. Had she miscast her spell? That didn’t make sense, because the incantation were so specific. Hesitantly, expecting a trap, I cast another mind blast. This connected, and she fell to her knees, gasping. She staggered to her feet, eyes blazing with anger. “That was your last mistake, you… you… PEASANT!” she spat. “Thy creatures turn on thee! AUIDIANA BRETHRLORM!”. Again, a slight pause as I processed the information. The spell she had cast at me was one designed to make my summoned creatures attack me, but… I hadn’t summoned a creature! My mind raced, attempting to pick out her strategy, but found no sound reason for casting the spell she cast. My hands crackled with power and my voice rang as I call forth a Dark Young charge, throwing her against the back wall. She lay bleeding, and rummaged desperately around in her traveling sack, until she brought out an ancient, yellowed manuscript. I stared in amazement as she turned the pages, reading at a superhuman speed. Surely this was just a copy of the Pnakotic manuscript. It would enhance her power, true but… Shrugging my shoulders, I reached into my own carrying sack and pulled forth an automatic shotgun. One ear-shattering blast and a few minutes later, and I staggered out of the warehouse and into the newly sunlit harbor. Truly, this world would be doomed if eldritch doomsday cults would learn the art of timing.

This post references The Necronomicon, a great game where your character is frequently at a disadvantage, and would surely be doomed if the computer didn't just play random cards.

For Glory! (part 2)

Head spinning, he tumbled forward tripping over his feet. The world
was a blur to him, but as he landed on his hands and knees he heard a
faint voice crying "you are the one to save the kingdom! Go, and do us
proud!" a crashing noise, and a second, nearer voice yelling "next
one's here!" Strong arms pulled him to his feet, and Fosco gazed up
into the stern eyes of a great bearded Dwarf. Gaping at the dwarf (who
was suspiciously tall, given the legends about their general stature),
he found himself being hurried along. "Fowsree the hobbit, you have
arrived just in time!" Boomed the dwarf. "Fosco, sir", said the hobbit
meekly. His voice didn't carry far amid the boom and clamor of hammers
pounding at forges, the hurried chanting of mages who seemed to be
coaxing great piles of rock to slowly stand upright, and the periodic
"thunk" of some great machinery operating high overhead.


The dwarf was moving so much faster than the hobbit could run that
Fosco was picked up by the scruff of his neck and dragged on, past
forges and training quarters and pantries and general uproar of
wartime preparations. "Foxwell, your deeds here today may well decide
the course of the war. This is a desperate and dangerous battle, and
we have need of warriors just such as you. This is why we've entrusted
you with this ancient and honored weaponry, used by fighting hobbits
in the glorious wars of the first age. Treat it well!" Fosco had
regained some of his composure by now, and noticed both that the dwarf
seemed to be reading the lines he said from a well-worn piece of
parchment that he held in one hand, and that the "ancient, honored"
armor and weaponry that was dropped into his arms as he was rushed
past looked suspiciously similar to the ones the smiths had been
manufacturing en masse in the forges he'd passed just moments before.
He tried his best to put them on, but the helmet was a bit too big and
the breastplate a bit too small. He saw a massive gate approaching,
what must have been the front gate. "Fazwith, this is where you make
your stand. Where your deeds will echo through all history…" "In the
Book of Deeds!" cried Fosco, with enough strength that the dwarf
paused mid-stride, confused. "My name will be entered into the book of
deeds! It must be! I was told that anyone who joined the army would
have their name.." "Right, sure! Whatever!" Cried the dwarf. "Fluuzle,
your name will be entered in the Book of Deeds. You are the one to
save the kingdom! Go and do us proud!" He was pushed out of the door,
which slammed quickly behind him.

Customs relating to death vary between races, of course, and different
races have different ideas about how ones last moments ought to be
spent. Elves, for instance, place a high value on dying in a peaceful,
tranquil environment. For a dwarf, nothing is more sacred than dying
with ones family close and ones gold closer. Almost any race would
probably agree that the last moments of Fosco were bad ones. Once the
door slammed behind him, he turned back just in time to see a burst of
purest white light explode from the castle, and see a fully armored,
absolutely enormous seraph descending from the clouds. His eyes almost
unable to comprehend the sight, out of his mind with terror, he ran
headlong away from it. Straining his eyes into the distance, he could
see the enemy castle. He was approaching it at what seemed an
impossible place. His mind putting pieces into place, he realized that
the… THING behind him was on his side. And he didn't see any enemies,
just the castle. He was beginning to have a good feeling about the
assault when he realized the castle was moving. His mind barely had
time to register the horrible eldritch creature as it rose impossibly
high over him, before he felt the nether-winds of it's attack of
flowing black nothingness which utterly erased him from this
existence. Somewhere, from far behind him, right before his mind
succumbed to the chittering madness which was a black ocean around
him, he heard a familiar voice cry "It's working! The hobbits are
slowing it down! Next!"

This story by Bacter has referenced the Epic War game on Kongregate! It is a truly excellent game, and you shouldn't feel sorry for your Hobbits.

For Glory!

Pintsize Power, Part I

“Fight for the forces of good! A Grand Adventure awaits!” The poster had been the talk of the hamlet for most of the fortnight that it had been pasted on the side of the town hall. There had been an initial rush of fortune-seeking young hobbits, lured by the promises of glory and gold. Those who left had generally returned, a little battered but flushed with victory, full of tales of storming castles and the weak goblin resistance. Every week, another victory was announced via messenger from the summoning circle. Fosco now stood before the summoning circle, hand on his ample belt, collecting his thoughts.

He had wanted to be the first to charge across the circle, not for the generous army commission, but for the thought of getting his name in the Book of Deeds, along with the heroes of the kingdom. The idea of being a part, however small, in the great history of the kingdom made him think of banners snapping and great knights charging at dragons and other things far beyond the humdrum life of barley farming. Now that harvest season was over he could leave with the blessing of his family, so he took a deep breath and walked into the ceremonially carved circle. He said (not as firmly as he would have liked) the requisite pledge “I am Fosco Grubb of Little Delving, and I hereby commit myself into the services of the Glorious Army!” and, with a great wooshing, the world dropped out from under him.

This post references the excellent online game Epic War
Be prepared for part II!

Stand Aside, Soldier! Part II

A tale of power and pavement: Part II

(Part I was posted yesterday and can be found in the below post).

The second in a series of game-related short stories by Bacter

Roaring out of the woods in broad daylight, they were like something
out of a nightmare, fairytale creatures with many heads, the
shambling, walking dead, flying imps, and even a creature which
resembled nothing so much as a huge, moble mushroom. The castle
mustered all its soldiers, who looked at first splendid in their
shining armor. The creatures seemed to be endless, and all fought with
the ferocity of demons. Many soldiers had fallen, and the assault was
gradually wearing away at the castle. The only sleep the soldiers
could catch would be in the few minutes of silence when the monster
charge would stop- they seemed to come in waves. By now most of the
soldiers were injured, and dropped from exhaustion as soon as the last
monster lay slain.

In the highest tower of the castle, not far from where Clayton kept
watch, the king paced sharply. A collection of his most trusted
magical advisors were pouring over old tablets, murmuring over their
beards and robes at its ancient symbols. The king, an avid student of
history, was probably the person with the single greatest grasp on
what was happening in the kingdom, and he was terrified. The
aberrations, the wave-like nature of their attacks, the dark clouds…
all of it pointed to a repeat of the last great campaign, an era in
which the forces of darkness had nearly destroyed the kingdom. He
paced as his advisors struggled to translate the military records of
that ancient time, looking for the strategy that would cause them to
win. While he waited, he munched on one of the green mushrooms
provided for him by the local farmers. Completely unbeknownst to him,
one of his fallen solders on the battlefield suddenly started to life,
looked around, bewildered, then ran towards the castle at full speed.
The connection would never be recognized, unfortunately.

On the rooftop, Clayton's gaze drifted downwards as his eyelids grew
heavy. He was on the verge of falling into a dream, in which he was
with his family sitting down to a large feast, when he found he
couldn't take a bite. Everything smelled like the monsters, the smell
was choking him, he couldn't breathe. He fell backwards in the dream,
started to wakefulness, then almost fell over again. There had been
fierce attacks before, but this…. His eyes drifted around the field,
taking in platoon after platoon of monsters. They were doomed, surely.
He dully grabbed the rope and pulled, sounding the alarm bell.
Normally he would have raced downstairs to get his sword and head out,
but he stumbled down, as if in a dream. None of it would matter.

The alarm bell started the advisors and king. Peering out from the
door, he saw Clayton's hulking body moving towards the ready room, and
called out to the knight. Clayton dropped to one knee, gazing
downwards out of habit but the king bid him rise. His words were soft
now, instead of the forceful pomp of public occasions. "How bad is it,
my son?" "We've no chance, my lord. Their numbers are too great, and
they attack from all sides." The king let out a deep breath. "Well, I
suppose it had to be that way. Son, I need you to put down your sword
for today. It may be too late for us, but there is hope yet for the
kingdom." Clayton let out an involuntary laugh. "Hope? What hope?
Their numbers are beyond counting, their fierceness, their…" "Roads"
interrupted the king. "Pardon, m'lord?" "We need roads. Winding ones.
Roads no man would ever want to walk, roads so twisted it would take
hours to go a few hundred yards. That's how we'll win." Clayton gazed
steadily, trying to look for hints of madness in the kings eyes.
"They'll walk the roads, and we'll stand on the sides of them and
strike them down! You see, the creatures unique psychology…. Oh never
mind!" The king fumbled with a stack of papers, pressing them into
Clayton's hands. "Here, these are work orders for road builders and
pavement services throughout the kingdom. Now go, ride! Ride like the
wind!"

The storm finally broke on the castle as Clayton rode away, a sack of
papers strapped to his back. He galloped away into the night as
silhouetted figures of lizards, zombies, and badgers stormed the
castle, shutting his eyes to the screams, listened instead to the
sound of the rain on his back, the horses hooves on the ground, and
the name of the brave heroes who would save the kingdom: Milburry and
Sons: Pavement experts. No job too large.

Today's post references the game Protector: Reclaiming the Throne.

Stand aside, soldier!

A tale of power and pavement: Part I

(Part II will be posted same time tomorrow).

The second in a series of game-related short stories by Bacter

It wasn't much of a break. The sun was already starting to leech
through the windows, making the dust shine in the air and the sweat
and grime on the faces of the soldiers glisten. The ramparts of the
castle had suffered considerable damage, as had the morale of the
soldiers. Groans could be heard from all corners of the common
sleeping area, which was distinguishable from the infirmary only
because the soldiers in the infirmary were not forced out of bed
shortly after first light. Any moment now, the alarm bell would
sound and they would have to go and die again.

Clayton took up his post on top of the castle's tower, sliding his
bulky frame into the cramped room. He looked out across the muddy
field of battle where most of his friends had perished in the last
three days. The great ancient stones that made up the castle he had
called home since he had been delivered to its doorstep by too-poor
parents were blackened with the flames and ichor of the… things that
had come from nowhere. The clouds, the clouds had come first. It was
ironic, he thought, running a hand through matted sandy hair. Peace
had reigned for years, decades. Swords had been abandoned, diplomacy
was used instead of brute force, and now they would die for it.

Expeditionary teams had been sent out to dismantle a number of
ancient sites of power not even a week ago, their bright banners
snapping in the wind. There had been regular reports, and the towns
nearest the shrines had held impromptu festivals, celebrating the
dismantling with jousting and drinking. Then, for a week's time,
nothing. No reports had come back. No sign came of the status of the
expeditions, except the dark storm clouds which rolled over the
castle, casting a pall over the entire kingdom. They hung unnaturally
heavy in the sky, always promising a rain that had not come. A tension
settled over the kingdom, villagers avoided being out past night and
the knights moved their families within the walls of the castle. Then
came the monsters.

To Be Continued!

Today's post references the game Protector: Reclaiming the Throne . Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion!

Godthab, Antananarivo

Sunrise, Sunset

Part 1 of a series by Bacter

A faint clicking was the first sign that night had come. Barely audible from the surface, it was the sound of valves opening. Steam rushed up through tubes, escaping through tiny cracks and floating away in the frigid air. As the rusty generators spun, lights flickered on, and the temperature inside public buildings rose eleven degrees. Rats had discovered this effect, and had taken to living in the libraries and government offices. There was no-one to stop them.

The town was silent, and the wind whistled through it. The rats had made short work of most of the remaining supplies, and were beginning to starve. One particular colony had long determined that it was impossible to gain entrance to the Godthab central Hospital, which is why the rats that found a door left open were hesitant to enter. The smell of food, however, was overpowering. Their hunger overriding their hesitancy, they followed the scent through pristine rooms, stainless steel gleaming, not noticing as the doors shut with a whoosh behind them. Cameras subtly shifted to follow their progress, and a faint whirring noise could be heard from the depths of the building. Suddenly, they turned a corner and saw in front of them not food but a dead end. Turning in confusion, they were unaware of the cage closing over them until it was too late.

The illness had been untraceable when it first arrived- at first a very mild fever was its only sign, then even that was gone- it drifted from person to person until every body on the island was a carrier, the plague hiding, waiting. It had a nearly worldwide spread by the time an Australian doctor had isolated it, and once it was found the world was thrown into panic. Every nation responded in their own way- some closed airports, borders, shipyards in an attempt to keep the disease away. Some established martial law and curfews. Greenland decided to build the ultimate hospital.

Pouring most of the nation’s budget into the project, the automated hospital was to be the beacon of the new age of health care- built with the finest protocols and the most expensive materials, the auto-hospital was designed to be utterly self-sufficient, running on Greenland’s vast reserves of geothermal power. It would handle both patient care and research. The hospital was a smashing success and became the toast of the world overnight, hailed as the eighth wonder of the world. It was far too late.

Nothing had ever evolved as quickly and as disastrously as the new disease, which was referred to as the pox because of the spots it left on victims. The spots were the first sign, then encephalitis, nausea, necrosis, and kidney failure. With an amazingly high death rate and the human immune system unable to provide protection, people fell in droves. Governments took to handing out masks, giving bottled water, and burning bodies to slow down the infection, but to no avail. It surged through Greenland as implacably as anywhere else, the technicians barely having time to program “vaccine development” into the hospitals servers before succumbing.

Within thirty days, the hospital had run out of the samples provided by the technicians. The error correction software in the computer quickly realized that there was an abundant source of the plague left- in the bodies of the rats. It began trapping them, and dissecting their bodies for more plague to experiment on. Exactly two hundred and fifty days later, the completion of the vaccine was announced to an empty world.

Empty, that is, except for one city: Antananarivo. Madagascar had been quicker than most countries to close their borders, and had weathered the virus with zero casualties. Supplies were running low, however, and the population was growing anxious. As the sun rose over the capital city of Antananarivo, the president grimly turned to face the small company of fatigue-clad men and women he had assembled. “You were brought here because you have families”, he said in a deep basso. “and so you understand what is at stake. We need that vaccine- we cannot continue to power our homes and feed our citizens for long on the supplies we have.” The aging president looked steadily into their eyes. “Our planes can get you to the coast of Greenland, but you’ll need to move quickly from there. Avoid all contact with rodents, and certainly stay away from bodies. The plan is to get in, get the vaccine, and get out as quickly as possible. With it, we can begin to re-populate the earth. Are there any questions?” Only one cadet raised a hand. The president raised his eyebrows, checked a list “Lieutenant… Walters. What is it?” “Sir,” the young woman cleared her throat “I wasn’t aware we had an airport, sir.”

This post references Pandemic II. Greenland's hospitals will stay open even if every person on the island is dead as of this post, and Madagascar is jolly well impossible to invade without it closing it's shipyard. It will occasionally close it's airport, though the island doesn't have one.