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#1
Cosmic Cat

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In this thread, we share poetry and stories amongst ourselves, be it fictional or not. Show off your talents in poetry and storytelling; show us what you're creatively made of!

 

Of course, you can also showcase a poem or short-story made by someone else. You are always welcome to!

 

This poem is about humanity and gaea:

 

Humanity's nature is a unique affair,

for gaea we destruct, for gaea we despair,

in our nature we construct from stones, minerals, and wood,

structures of great height, gaea never could,

what troubles me if it makes our mother proud,

that we grow more powerful and stronger now?

or does she cry at how we treat her,

how we exploit her,

how we see her?

 

Neither.

 

Gaea sees us as her saviour.

For gaea, she is faced with death's adore,

We mustn't forget that she is mortal too

4 billion years ago was her infanthood,

A billion years later we'll see her die,

At the hand of Sol's eye,

She has no future here on earth,

But out came us, out came our birth,

We were different, we were smart,

we were Gaea's work of art,

she lent us her body, her blood, her mysteries,

and for that, we must help her be free,

to spread her seed throughout the universe,

to be her saviour, to break her from Sol's curse.

 

*snap* *snap* *snap*



#2
PrimordialBeing

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Cloths of Heaven -- W.B. Yeats

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of the night and the light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
"Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for life" -Terry Pratchett
"And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you"-Friedrich Nietzsche
"The biggest risk is not taking any risk.. In a world that is changing quickly, the only strategy that is guaranteed to fail is not taking risks* - Mark Zuckerberg

#3
Cosmic Cat

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The Argonauts of the Air

by HG Wells

 

Full story: http://www.telelib.c...gonautsair.html

 

ONE SAW Monson’s Flying Machine from the windows of the trains passing either along the South-Western main line or along the line between Wimbledon and Worcester Park,—to be more exact, one saw the huge scaffolding which limited the flight of the apparatus. They rose over the tree-tops, a massive alley of interlacing iron and timber, and an enormous web of ropes and tackle, extending the best part of two miles. From the Leatherhead branch this alley was foreshortened and in part hidden by hill with villas; but from the main line one had it in profile, a complex tangle of girders and curving bars, very impressive to the excursionists from Portsmouth and Southampton and the West. Monson had taken up the work where Maxim had left it, had gone on at first with an utter contempt for the journalistic wit and ignorance that had irritated and hampered his predecessor, and had spent (it was said) rather more than half his immense fortune upon his experiments. The results, to an impatient generation, seemed inconsiderable. When some five years had passed after the growth of the colossal iron groves at Worcester Park, and Monson still failed to put in a fluttering appearance over Trafalgar Square, even the Isle of Wight trippers felt their liberty to smile. And such intelligent people as did not consider Monson a fool stricken with the mania for invention, denounced him as being (for no particular reason) a self-advertising quack...

 

 

Click on the link to see the whole thing. It's too big to fit on this forum.



#4
Cosmic Cat

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The question is love, the answer is illusion,

For love is the characteristic of confusion,

But when I rest my eyes upon the blessed,

My confusion turns to sense and ponder,

"What does it feel like to love and be,

I do not want to live my life in misery"

 

Then Anxiety tugs on my collar,

"Now now pet, our thought's mustn't wander,

You are not like them, you are different,

You master the trait incoherence"

I pray for the day I rip the chain of the ignorant,

To the rip the chain that keeps me distant,

To the rip the chain that keeps me scared,

To the rip the chain that keeps me bare.

 

Fuck you Social Anxiety and Fuck my parents for giving me it.



#5
Yuli Ban

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Milk, by Yuli Ban

My goddess browned her tights
In a psychedelic horrorshow.
Wretched alien, play that guitar
With the million year long neck
While your slave mod obliterates the toilet.
Let the spirals of madness fall
Behind the walls of sleep once more

And remember my friend, future events such as these will affect you in the future.


#6
Cosmic Cat

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Life is Bitter-Sweet.
 
"It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice"
 
The words of Notorious BIG may not appeal to some of you, but they throw a very hard meaning and question.
 
What does it mean to have a happy life?
 
Before I was an atheist and believed in immortality, I used to accept death and thought living a nice quiet life was okay, because in the end we all go sooner or later. But now that I see there is a larger potential in life, a potential I worry I may never achieve the upper limits of. It's a constant self-struggle of anxiety and blaming oneself to know that one can achieve a life restricted of death.
 
It's why I can't help but feel depressed to see people who live work-retire-die type of lives. It's weird and confusing. They're so happy and accept death as if it is inevitable. I have become scared of death, even though before I accepted it quite well. It brings me into a squabble of identity. I am human, my ancestors have all lived a life that expected certain death yet I can not. I can not expect death. Is that the problem? Is the reason why I'm so confused is the fact that my life has a larger chance than 0% to escape biological death? Am I so sad and lost because of that one little chance?
 
I doubt it. Even as confused as I am, I know that death is not what makes me sad, for I see sadness in immortality also. The thought of living indefinitely scares me more than death, for with death at least you will be able to experience what everyone will experience, but with immortality you have a large chance to transcend that and you will be know that you will live life indefinitely without those you love and care for.
 
Yes, that is what makes me hate the prospect of time and life; The prospect of consciousness and existence; The prospect of breathing, and eating; The prospect of loving, hating, or any emotion whatsoever; The prospect of change.
 
When I read or watch stories, there is always an end to which people find importance in the structure of a story. I do not find it important at all, for I never think about the end. In reality there is no end, life and time forever clash be it that righteousness or injustice take the upper hand yet I fear and get saddenned most when one falls from his height.
 
I am saddened by change in one's life. The thought that one may never experience happiness brought before is what makes me saddened. It's what makes me sad when I see old men and women reminisce their youth. They were like me. Those who deteriorate and await death at shelters of the elderly were exactly the same as me. They had lives, they had dreams. They had crushes and they had fights. They were like me yet they will never experience their youth again. It must be torturous for them, I tear up with that thought for it saddens me that life changes, only your memories will be there to keep the constant in change and those who suffer Alzheimer must have it worse. To know that they might forget the happiness of their life before they die in their last years of misery. Torture, torture, torture; Fucking torture. I hate thinking about it. To know that they might forget those they've lost too. Losing a person is heart wrenching, and to know that you will never see them again hurts, but to know that you will forget them during the advanced stages of Alzheimer's.
 
It's... Torture.
 
Life is forever changing, and that's what makes life so sad and so good. It makes life so bitter-sweet. The change of life may be torturous, but in the end you will experience this happiness. The only fear is what comes after this happiness, and this is a thought I will never get out of my mind. When I may be alone with the one I fall in love with, or when I take care of my child, I will know that life is forever changing and that it will not last forever.
 
It's... Bitter-Sweet.
 
Life is Bitter-Sweet.


#7
Yuli Ban

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"Marion!" Mom said. "Can't forget about you, can I, sweetheart?" She stepped out of the den and my dad started grinning like she came in wearing lingerie or something. 
 
"For me?" I put on my best haughty noblewoman voice and said, "Oh, darling, you shouldn't have."
 
Then came the box. 
 
"Yeah," Dad said. "This is really happening."
 
"What's really happening?" I asked, sounding a little concerned. My dad stood and handled the box with my mom, and I had to stand up right then. 
 
Boom. I knew what it was. "You didn't."
 
"We did."
 
Fuck off, wrapper. Fuck off, bow. Omigodomigod, it's here and it's real! I was squealing when I saw that face. In the picture, the cloud-white robot was walking towards me and waving. Japanese letters adorned half the box, except for one big slanted header—  ASIMO.
 
"Noooooooooooo. You gotta be kidding me." It sounded cheesy when I said it, but I didn't care. In that moment, my eyes were wide open, and it felt like the future was coming in. Every laugh complimented every tear of the gift wrapping, and soon I was standing before the thing itself.
 
It looked so unreal, like a giant toy. When we pried it out, my little brother, Marky, was losing his mind at how awesome this thing that stood before him was. His face had dropped with his mouth, and he wanted to feel the robot for himself.
 
My mother leaned on my dad, and they were smiling along with me.
 
"This is unreal." It was unreal. "How much did this cost?"
 
"Roughly $100,000." Mom said it like it hurt.
 
I knew it didn't really hurt, "Thank god for your jobs, then. Wow." And then I made it. I was finally the young woman I always wanted to be. Ever since that two-year old blondeball came home from Star Wars: Episode 3, I wanted to be the woman I am now.
 
A proud owner of my very own droid! 
 
We turned on ASIMO and hooked him up to his charger. 
 
"Hello, world!" it said. Of course I was a hipster who got the reference, but mom and dad showed off their skills too.
 
"You forgot the semicolon," Mom said. "Now you're stuck with several command errors."
 
Dad laughed and rubbed his grizzled beard. "Yeah, already he's letting us down."
 
"My name is ASIMO!" it chirped. I kinda wanted it to say it in the way the old versions said it, slowed and paced. 'Ahhhh-si-moh.' But alas, such is the exponential growth of technology. "But you can call me whatever you want."
 
"Well?" Dad said. "Whatcha wanna call'im?"
 
My stomach was too flighty and I needed to sit down. "Marky, what do you wanna call him?"
 
His eyes lit up and he said, "T-1000!"
 
We all laughed, maybe a tad in sorrow, and Dad said, "No, that's already taken."
 
"Who by?"
 
"Uhh, the guy across the street. Pick something else, like a little baby's name."
 
"What is he, is he like a boy or a girl...?"
 
"I dunno. He's transgender, you cis bigot," I joked.
 
"What?" he said with a laugh.
 
"Don't-don't say that," Mom chuckled. 
 
I picked up my iPhone 13s and searched for some nice robot names. The first link I found was 'BabyNames.net'. That was a screenshot— "BabyNames.net. Robot Names: A-Z". Just a year earlier, that would've been something for a science fiction flick, but this was really happening. 
I found one.
 
"Howzabout 'Moville'?"
 
"That's a strange name. I like it," Dad said.
 
"Moville. That works. Asimoville. Aw, was that on purpose?"
 
Marky said, "Moville! I want some mo'ville!"
 
That was it.
 
Outside the snow was turning into sleet, and I was wondering how Yao was doing. I brought her along with me into my obsession of tech gadgets this past year, to the point she had planned to get some cool stuff too. Dunno how she could top this, though. It's not every day you get your own artificially intelligent droid.
 
But it was an everyday kinda day for the next few days. I mean, besides the artificially intelligent droid. And soon it would be with the artificially intelligent droid. After all the basics were set, we got right on to getting Moville ready for life in an upper middle class home. I had heard of all his features from the announcement video Alphabet made earlier. Almost everything he could do now, he could do back in 2016 when they unveiled the last gen version. The commercial release, now that was a big surprise. 
 
"Everything and more!" was the tagline. And was it everything and more!


And remember my friend, future events such as these will affect you in the future.


#8
Yuli Ban

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"Toil! Toil and prove your innocence to the Revolution through sweat and blood, princess!" shouted a man in the crowd. Others picked up on him, and soon the whole mob was screaming for Princess Marissa Bourbon-Montpelier to be put to work in her father's mill. It was her choice— listen to their whims, or face her father's fate. 
 
She curled in disgusted at the thought of sharing anything with her father, much less his fate. Still, her soft hands spoke for her when she trembled at the prospect of manual labor. 
 
"I will work," she said in a pitiful voice. The crowd erupted. They would've erupted regardless, but in many of them, there was a certain schadenfreude to be had from seeing one of the spawn of their former masters toil as they had. 
 
They set her down and carted her away, and then brought their next victim up to their rafters.
 
'It won't be that bad, surely,' she thought as the cart eased on through the bumpy dirt road. 'No, it'll be terrible!' 
Indeed, the revolutionary masses had reason to be upset. Her father, the Comte du Bourbon-Montpelier, was a brutal aristocapitalist who was upset at the politically correct establishment that he couldn't call his slaves what they were. When industrialization came to the tropical MYK, the plight of the underclass went from bleak to dystopian. 
 
She got to see it all firsthand when her father brought her down to a mill one day many years ago, when she was but a little girl. In some perverse way, he was proud to be where he was and thought she would share the same feelings. Instead, Marissa suffered nightmares for many months following. The mill was some kind of demonic hellhole, unlit and suffocating, with workers physically chained to their machines, defecation and urination flooding parts of the room where some were forced to sleep, limbs scattered about and children walking naked to fix broken parts only to be butchered and disfigured. 
 
All for what? They were paid ten cents a day, and her father thought that to be too costly and liberal.
 
Ever since that day, she had dedicated herself to the peasants' plight. This latest damnation, she brought upon herself. She hoped dearly that they would find it in their hearts to not subject her to the same conditions to which her father subjected them.
 
When the day came, her flat's guard brought her an olive-colored worker's garb and told her to be dressed by 06:00.  After getting dressed, she was lead out to the mill. It looked the same as it did when she was young: rusty, blown out, and half built. The only difference was that there was no armed guard patrolling the premises, itchy to shoot desperate workers trying to escape.
 
Then she went in, and the first thing she felt was the cooled air. It even smelled fresh and cool, and the floors had been cleaned. No one was present at the moment, and she took a seat next to a giant drill. There was one difference: hanging over the entrance, a giant mural set with three smiling faces staring into the rising sun. Under the mural, a sheened hammer and sickle.
 
The foreman approached her. He looked kindly, smiling and wearing a similar olive garb. His Asiatic features complimented his wrinkles and graying hair, and he kept his hands clasped behind his back.
 
"Welcome, Comrade Marissa," he said. "How are you this morning?"
 
She stumbled on her words, "I'm doing well."
 
"Your job will be simple: refine blocks of steel as they're handed to you. I will warn you, it may be simple, but it isn't ease. The accident rate in this area is quite high."
 
"I'm aware."
 
"Should you be injured, report *directly* to me. My office is located down the third hall from the right, seven doors down. I say this because most medical practitioners in this facility refuse to treat *burzhui*, and I doubt they'll be any kinder towards you."
 
"I'm aware."
 
And he nodded. "And be forewarned— the attitudes of your fellow workers won't be much better, especially considering your relations. Though I am dedicated to your safety, I cannot stop what they may wish to do at any particular time. Are you aware of this?"
 
She gulped and stared down at her hand. It was scarred, burned by her father for her insolence and diseased sentimentality towards these same workers. Not that she could prove it, or anything about her supposed loyalty to the revolution and her supposed assistance towards the decisive battle for the capital. Just knowing the blue-blooded brutes were gone was enough to force her to croak an answer.
 
"I'm aware."


And remember my friend, future events such as these will affect you in the future.


#9
Yuli Ban

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I'm just a prole tryna get ahead in life. Big Brother's been so kind as to let me, so why reject his kindness?
When the NSA sent some thugs to bust down my door, I'd already left a trollface in my chair and handcuffed myself. So long LulzSec, hello INGSOC. Through my generosity, they were able to ship my old mates to the brimstone. In return, I got to walk free. Not like they coulda kept me anyway.
They installed me in some crappy fastfood joint, and it was there that I met Yoko Nakamoto. She became my waifu at first sight. It was so cute how she tried using PayPal and I had to fumble around like I knew what I was doing. And when we figured it out, we revealed to each other that we were playing dumb just to see if the other was dumb too. She knew me. That scared me. I like being scared.
I thought it a coincidence at the time, but that niggling little doubt proved true when she namedropped Satoshi as her brother.
She was rich, and absolutely no one knew it. Since then, we hit it off, became engaged. Never married. We jetset instead.
That day, I was slumming in Dubai. I wanted a penthouse, but she advised against it, not least because it would be suspicious if a McDonalds fries master were suddenly able to afford a 5 star suite. That meant I'd face a worldful of reality as I saw firsthand the blackened madness beneath the glitter and neon. Junkies and sinners lined the outsides and it didn't get any better when I got in.
Slaves on smartphones and broken men singing into satellite dishes, filthy rags lain across roads collecting rain water next to tents half collapsed, little boys running naked into the hands of strange men who barely cared they existed. The air smelled of television static, smelled by proles who bathed themselves in it.
I thought it to be medieval, but Yoko said it best— "There is nothing medieval about Dubai. It's modern society undisguised."
One boy I met, they called him Yusef. He told me his real name was 'Number Four', and I told him that's no name at all. Same time, I thought, "Hang on a minute, what is an Iraqi doing in Bangladeshi town?"
He said he'd been sold for some bread when he was a baby, and was bought by a millionaire, Rafa'ah Al Sarraf, a man who loved to make him cry. He barely even knew what Iraq was, besides it being his original home and the place we destroyed a decade ago.
Funny, it was that whole Iraq bullshit that got me into LulzSec in the first place.
After Yusef and the favela thoroughly obliterated my Christmas cheer, I was left with my little hobby of drone making. In every one, I put my special little RFID code just to be a big brother to whomever it may concern.
So of course, I had to bring out the laptop and do a bit of script kiddying all over Google. It was the principle— I had heard about Google Glass 2.0 and, in my infinite disdain for that POS, I decided to check out what Alphabet's X branch really had in store. Just a matter of getting the passwords right.
I wasn't keeping an eye on the backdoor, and the angry buzz of a drone hit my ears. At the time, I thought nothing of it.
When I committed the felony, I found pages of projects underway and their contractors. Several scrolls down was the only one that caught my eye.
"Project Synister." I said it out loud like it was the first word I ever said. If there was ever a cheesier name for something so predictable, Google'll be the one to find it.
Then I clicked in. Nothing much. A few folders. One was named 'BostonDyne.' A few seconds later, I figured out it was referring to Boston Dynamics. This could only get better, I thought.
It did. I pulled up a spreadsheet that listed all the contractors. Number one was the Pentagon. Below, however, were various individuals I recognized from the corporate stock listings. One was named 'Rafa'ah Al Sarraf', and I recalled Yusef, Number Four. Sarraf got rich off construction, so what could something named Synister do for him?
What was Synister?
When I pulled up the specs, I was logged off. That's when the drone sound got to me. I picked up an electromagnetic pulse gun I had built, but then I realized I could take control of the drone and turn it on my aggressors.
I ran to my bag, picked out my smartphone, and logged into my personal program. Hacking the frequency was child's play, and immediately I got a live feed and turned the drone around and flew it towards where the controller was supposed to be.
But it was flying out of range, and I chose to kamikaze into a puddle. I felt good about myself, having thwarted whatever spies dared to harass me. But then the live feed picked up torn little hands, and it was in that moment that I had realized what I'd done.
Yusef was close to tears at the sight of the ruined drone, and the live feed cut off.
Damn.
I went outside, taser under my sleeve, and found the boys. They tried telling me how the drone went insane, and I picked up only a little of their story. But Yusef, I could understand just by the tears on his face.
I pat his shoulder and said, "Don't cry. I have something for you back in my place. It's a robot, see, and it can talk to you and play with you and all sortsa things."
I wasn't kidding. When I brought him and his friends back to my rented shack, I pointed out the toy-like droid in the corner and turned it on. Its eyes lit blue and it said "Hello" to the world. It was called 'Pepper', and the boys loved it.
One glance at the drone brought my face crashing down.
Then I clicked on my Bluetooth.
"Yokes, you hear me?"
"Yeah, I'm here. I saw everything."
I scowled and walked outdoors, away from the kids. "I was just trolling Google, and I found something rather dark. You worked on the DeepMind AI project, so you may know this."
"Shoot."
"Have you ever heard of Project..." I looked around. "Project Synister?"
"Actually, yes I have. It was one of the reasons why Google signed us on, and we got to learn about it in-depth. I even signed an NDA."
"Fuck the NDA. What is it?"
"Three parts— a thirty-foot long autonomous spider bot. From what I ascertained, it was for riot dispersion and could outfitted with subsonic pulse guns and lasers and whatnot, and it could fold itself into a six-foot tall pylon. Second was a drone swarm mothership, and it was meant for instant surveillance, supposedly during a riot. Third was a tiny autonomous spider bot. No idea what it was for. All powered by an artificially intelligent main computer located over in Silicon Valley, one smarter than any other computer in the world."
"Jesus fucking Christ."
"They needed us to power its brains. Among other things. They never said who they were selling them to, but I have a broker who's told me."
"How long have you known about this?"
"A year. Back then, no one thought it was gonna be ready for a decade, but apparently it's in its final stages right now." I could feel her smirking. "We're just that good."
"Where are you now?"
In my mind, I could see her sitting leaning back, bent backfirst over a chair, hair falling to the ground while she slipped these secrets to me with a smile. "Ikebukuro, near Shibuya. I'm just enjoying some sketchy back-alley ramen, free courtesy of a fellow Yakuza, and I'm thinkin'a heading to this neat robot brothel all the local punks are itchy about. Where are you?"
"In a Dubai slum. Everyone always talks up about how many slaves this city has, but it's most just your typical poorfolk. There are satellites everywhere, like people are hacking into the Burj Khalifa."
"Ha-ha, very funny."
"I'm serious. It's more high tech than I imagined. And the slave boy I found..."
"Number Four?"
"Yusef, he's already experienced with drones. Ma'sucker totally replaced mine with someone else's in the five days I gave it to him. And I'm not liking what I'm seeing. It's also handbuilt, but someone drew an ISIS symbol onto its underbelly."
"That's because your boy, Number Four, has an old man in ISIS."
Second time I felt my face collapse. "What?"
"It's funny how the little things are never so little when you zoom in."
I pranced around the door and saw the boys still playing with Pepper. "Yoko, don't tease me. What is all this? What does ISIS have to do with my drone and Yusef?"
"Oh, it's gonna get even worse when I tell you this..." I heard her slurp noodles. While chewing, she said, "ISIS is kinda sorta involved with Project Synister."
"Don't. Tease. Me."
"Lulz."
"Yoko, please."
"Okay, okay. Listen, one thing at a time. First: that boy has a living uncle named Nejem Al Ahmedhammadi, so there's Number Four's only known possible last name. Nejem is in ISIS and has been since 2010. However, he's been paid off, and by the way, if you wanna know more, that's gonna cost you one bitcoin."
"Fuck your tits, Yokes, just take it and tell me."
"Good boy. Now listen carefully: Nejem was paid off by Dubai city officials. He's coming to make trouble in the city."
"And upset the tourists? That won't be good for their bottom line."
"Wait, it gets better." All her chair's feet hit the ground, she stopped leaning. "This is all a false flag."
I felt like a grizzled noir detective flaming a half-dead mobster. "How do you know this?"
"Informant. Turns out it's easy to make one speak when you put money on their tongue."
I grinned, "Sly little devil. Is this what Synister is for?"
"No. Some emiratis are gonna spark a few riots in the days after the attack. That's when Synister strikes."
"So it's all for remote social control?"
"あなたは一度のためにあなたの脳を使用しています! The Dubai elite are planning it all out— incite some riots, pin them on whomever the Sauds are funding, and then put them down with Synister robots and drones. It's all a glittery show of force, to make Dubai seem twice as futuristic as it already is whilst putting the underclass in its place for good. Investors will be gleeful to see a city so totally under control, and there comes even more billions. They want to be able to wow the international community with their supposed hardline crackdown on terrorism while simultaneously making us all go goo-goo ga-ga over their ultra-high technology. This is Dubai, after all: their emergency responders use jetpacks and their downtown district is ripped straight outta sci-fi. Of course they want to be known as the city with the robot riot police."
"Poor guys never had a chance."
"That's true throughout history. In fact, you should take the drone away from Number Four."
"His name is Yusef, and I can't do that."
"If you don't, the police will kill him. That drone he has is directly connected to ISIS. Don't think they don't know. Their informant is with them, after all."
"Nejem?"
"If you really care so much about a slave boy, then wait a minute. I'm wiring you five bitcoins."
"What...? From where?"
"Satoshi's been generous. But this isn't for you to spend on whores. Recall that I got my own information broker, Shaytan Malik, who's gonna be in downtown Dubai within the hour, snapping selfies the Burj Khalifa. Meet him. Tell him it's from Satoshi, and pay him. Then he'll talk. More importantly, he should be able to smuggle Yusef out of there— as long as you're okay with knowing he's heading toward Pakistan."
"How did little miss Yoko get an informant in Dubai so quickly?"
"Shaytan Malik is a double agent inside al Qaeda. He's also on the dole of an... unspecified corporation, looking into the murder of a Nipponese elite just outside Dubai. If he's so intrigued by the story, tell him Ono is feeling flighty and he should spill his heinie."
"Right."
"Don't worry too much about finding 'im, I'm updating your smartglasses with his location and a waypoint to him. Just follow the waypoint."
"Understood. And Yokes?"
"Hmm?"
"Happy New Year's." I snapped a picture of the boys with my smartglasses and sent it to her. "Thanks for the robot. It was worth it."
"A million welcomes for a million thanks, sweety. Now please don't die in your little invisible war."
"And don't get electrocuted by your sexy mannequins."
She giggled. "See you in 2016."


And remember my friend, future events such as these will affect you in the future.


#10
Frizz

Frizz

    fey pansexual alcoholic non-human

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How do you mend a broken heart?

The truth is pain, the pain is real

How did it start?

The fame we feel, the lies we reel

When does it end?

How do we forget?
“Give me time and I’ll give you a revolution.”
- Alexander McQueen





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