The Joker's Last Laugh

Robin struggled. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and took in his surroundings. He sat on a hard, concrete floor of a dirty warehouse. Ropes bound his wrists behind his back. Ropes bound his ankles in front of him. Ropes bound his neck to a metal pole, which, as far as he could tell, ran from the floor to the ceiling. The warehouse was dimly lit, just a handful of low-hanging lightbulbs lit a good hundred square feet around him. He smiled. He could already imagine Batman bursting from the surrounding shadows to save him. If these guys were smart, they would've turned the lights on throughout the entire warehouse. Though, if they were smart, they wouldn't have kidnapped Batman's sidekick.

"Hey, boss, why is he smiling like that?"

Turning his head as much as he could, Robin took in the rest of the scene. He counted just five men in black uniforms all armed with automatic rifles. He could hear two distinct sets of footsteps behind him. Not to mention a woman and The Joker himself sitting on the edge of a desk just five feet away. Unfortunately, these guys were smart enough to take his utility belt or he could've taken them all down single-handed, finally arresting The Joker for good, and maybe even getting out of Batman's shadow. Instead, he just smiled and said, "You guys just made the biggest mistake of your lives. Just wait until Batman shows up."
There was originally a part here which visually showed how people were being drugged through the water system, but due to length, I needed to cut it out. I really liked it, but I think it was a good section to quickly cut due to length as well as time.

The Joker got off the desk, putting down the file he'd been reading. "Well now," he said as he closed the distance between Robin and himself in just a couple of nice, even strides, "I must first say we are extremely impressed that you found us out. When my men reported seeing you tailing their truck two nights ago, well, let me just say that no one in the division believed the circus clown without a high school diploma would be the first to start tracking us. Personally, I had my money on that question-mark guy, Nigman or whatever his name is."
 I liked writing this part. I have no idea if Dick Grayson ever went to high school, but I just assumed if his family was a bunch of circus folk, he might not have gotten the best education. I also liked throwing in The Riddler reference.

"From where I'm sitting, there's only one clown here!" Robin struggled again, but his ropes held tight.

"But I'm being rude. Please allow me to introduce myself. We are JOKER Division, in charge of protecting society from, well, people like you. You could say we are in charge of protecting the status quo."
 I also had an idea to make JOKER an nonsensical acronym and then all the words that made up the acronym were actually an acronym. An acronym made up of 5 other acronyms, but I just couldn't figure out the words to put it all together.
 
"I don't care who you are," Robin said, still struggling against the ropes, "Batman is still going to come for you."

The Joker strode calmly over to Robin and backhanded him across the face. "There is no Batman. We made him up. Once you get that through your birdbrain this will go a lot faster."

"Oh yeah, well who's stopping all of the bad guys in Gotham if Batman isn't real?"

The man pulled a vial from his jacket and held it in front of Robin's face. "We've been tainting Gotham's water supply for decades, making everyone just a bit more paranoid. A hallucinogenic of my own design that causes an individual to see shadows moving in the darkness. Basically the criminal element in this city has been scaring itself into foiling their own plans."

"What about the super villains? Surely they're smarter than that?"

Laughter came from all eight of the other people in the room, including the man they had handcuffed on the ground. "Do you even pay attention to the plots those idiots come up with. Most could be stopped by a kindergartner with a spoon," said the Joker. "And the ones that actually make it past the first phase. Well, you'd be surprised at what a team or two of ex-Special Forces operatives with disciplinary problems can do with just fists and boots and the basic element of surprise. After all, all of them prepare for just one man, not a squad."
I loved writing this part. I thought it was fun to think about all those old cartoons and even some of the comics where the villains had such insane and convoluted plots and the plan to stop one guy who might come to stop them could easily be foiled if there were two of him.

"And the rest of the world," continued The Joker, as if reading Robin's thoughts on his next question, "The rest of the world believes he exists because the people of Gotham believe he exists."

With his heart pounding like it might burst from his chest at any moment, Robin thought he might be having a heart attack. But there was still things that he needed to know. He gasped, trying to get the words out , but failed.

"Let me guess," said the Joker, "you want to know why. Everyone wants to know why. To keep that status quo. The governments of the world can't have you people fucking things up. So we invented the Batman to keep you people in line. People who the people in charge think can make a difference. He became their nightmare."

The man walked over to the desk and grabbed the file. He pulled a stack of papers and tossed them to the floor at Robin's feet. "Barry Allen. The man can run so fast he can travel through time. What's to stop him from rewriting history as he sees fit?" The Joker tossed another stack of papers. "Diana Prince. Originally from a world that abandoned ours, she now seeks to change our world. But where do her loyalties truly lie?" Another stack of papers. "Hal Jordan. A man given an alien ring and authority which does not fall into any command structure recognized by any government on Earth, as well as able to bend reality, to shape matter purely through his thoughts." He pulled a chair from behind the desk and placed it in front of Robin and took a seat. He pulled one sheet of paper from the still thick file and held it in front of Robin's face. It was a man in a blue and red suit, a long red cape billowing behind him as he floated in the air. "Superman. Clark Kent. Kal-El. This man has power. He is power. And yet, with all that power, he's nothing more than a bully. He sees right and he sees wrong, and whatever he decides is wrong he destroys. Regular, everyday people, we don't have the kind of power to see the world in black and white. We accept that there is wrong in the world and we accept that."
 And this was the plot I was eventually aiming for with The Sovereignty, a group of supervillains who are actually protecting the world from superheroes.

The Joker dropped the photo and the rest of the file onto the floor. "Let me ask you, could Batman ever defeat Superman in a real fight? Like a real, fight to the death kind of fight?"

Robin hung his head. "No."

"Exactly," The Joker said, getting up from the chair, "No he could not. And yet Batman is the fear that holds him and every one of these people in check."

From his restrained position, Robin looked at the pages he could see and put all of the pieces together - and it all made sense! He looked up to see a wide grin on the Joker's face, a grin that said that he already knew what question he was going to ask next. "Why are you telling me this?"

The other man laughed and Robin jumped. The deep laugh of an older man. "You see, Mr. Grayson, I'm dying. Maybe it's the chemicals finally taking their toll. Maybe it's just plain cancer. That's not the point. The point is that I'm looking for a successor and I want you to be that person. Some in our organization wish to promote from within, others believe one of the other Robins might make a better fit, whether it be Mr. Todd, Mr. Drake, or even Ms. Kelley. But I believe you are uniquely qualified to be the new head of the JOKER Division."
 I needed to look up who some of the different Robins were in the Batman universe. The only ones I really knew about were Dick Grayson and Carrie Kelley.

"And if I refuse?" asked Robin, already knowing his answer.

The other man just shrugged his shoulders. "We'll just find someone else. There must always be a Joker after all. You, of course, won't remember any of this conversation and will go back to being the boy wonder of an imaginary man. It's all up to you."

Robin hung his head, staring at the floor. It was a tempting offer, but there was still one, final question that he needed an answer to. "One more question. Tell me about the dead people. What about all of your casualties?"
 
He watched as the Joker paced back and forth for a while. The other men shifted uneasily, the grips on their rifles slackening slightly. The woman wiped a single tear from her eyes. Finally the Joker spoke. "There's a downside to every job. As much as we try to protect people, we can't save everyone. As everyone knows, as long as there's a Batman there must also be a Joker, and the Joker must do terrible things in order for the Batman to be the hero Gotham and the rest of the world needs. And yes, you will be expected to do those terrible things."

"Then no deal!" Robin shouted as he lunged forward at the Joker, finally slipping from the ropes that bound him. Unfortunately, he wasn't faster than the bullet which hit him in the leg. He sprawled to the cold floor and ended in a slide at the Joker's feet.
 It actually took me a while to figure out why Robin would turn down the Joker's offer, especially with everything he had just told him. This was actually part of the re-write. Originally, I predicted the Joker would change his mind and recruit Robin.

Quicker than Robin thought possible, the Joker had his foot on his neck and a switchblade in his hand. "I was afraid you'd say that." He motioned to the rest of the men in the room and they all put gas masks over their faces. "Well, please allow me to give you one final piece of advice: the whole yellow-green-red outfit thing is a little childish. I think it's time to grow up and get yourself a real suit." The Joker put a gas mask over his own face and tossed the switchblade over to the woman who began to cut the ropes on the ground. The Joker pulled a smoke bomb from his jacket. "Now, let's put a smile on that face," he said as he pulled the pin and dropped it to the floor. Green smoke filled the room and Robin's vision. It filled his lungs and made it hard to breath. The Joker waved his hand in the air and a figure in black dropped from the ceiling. Someone dragged Robin back to the pole while the figure in black threw punches and kicks that never connected but still managed to drop the thugs to the ground. Robin lost consciousness just as the figure stepped up to the Joker.

Robin awoke to find the ropes that had bound him were cut and he could now move freely. Moreover, tied all together in the center of the warehouse was the Joker and his gang. Batman must've left them there for the authorities to collect. He could already hear the sirens. "Let that be a lesson for you," he said, "the Batman will always prevail."
 I'm really hoping it was clear that the entire previous fight was staged and due to the drug, Robin is not remembering it correctly.

Before he disappeared into the streets, he heard Joker's high-pitched laugh once more fill the night air and wondered, for the quickest of seconds, why it sounded just a little rehearsed.
There's a different word for "rehearsed" that I wanted to use, but I just couldn't find the word. The word should connote a fakeness, maybe I should've used "hollow"?


I know, I said that I hate writing fan-fiction, but the idea came to me so quickly once I saw the prompt that I had to take it. Once again, this story was inspired by the prompt "The greatest trick the Joker ever pulled was convincing the world Batman existed." which can be found by following the link. A couple of the other stories were good, too so I would definitely recommend them, especially the top voted one (it's up there for a reason). But, as I was saying, I know I hate writing fan fic, but the story came so fast. It literally took me just a night to write the majority of this thing, then an hour to type it all out and make some corrections. It is slightly shortened from it's original due to the character limits on reddit, but that's fine. I think I could've tightened it up more if I'd take more time proofreading, but I was in a rush to get it done. Also if you're wondering how I got this done in just a day rather than the typical week, this was actually the basis for "The Sovereignty". Yeah, that horrible superhuman story was supposed to turn into something like this, but I could never get it going. Maybe I'll go back to it. Oh, and if you're wondering why I wrote it in just a day, well, recently I've been feeling the way I usually do when I feel like quitting. I'm doing my best, for own good, to try to keep up with the writing this time because if I stop this time, I'm more than likely, not coming back. But anyways, this fulfills another week of writing. Oh, and once again, since I didn't get it quite right, I used the blue notes for things that I could've done better.

Why I Hate Reading

First, a disclaimer: If you've already decided you're never going to pick up another book for the rest of your life, I would suggest you stop reading this post right now and just carry on with the rest of your life as if you never clicked the link that brought you here (don't be misled by the title). Trust me, it's for the best and I'd rather not waste your time.

Now that we've got that out of the way, let's start on what I wanted to write about (for a while now actually). Plus, this should set up an entire series I was thinking about writing, but more on that later. No one reads anymore. Ok, that was pretty vague. No one reads books anymore. No, I can't back that up with anything even resembling scientific evidence. It's just based on the general reactions I get from people when I reference a book during a conversation or when I try to recommend a book to someone (usually when they didn't ask) or just when I'm reading in the breakroom during lunch. But I understand, I really do. Reading, a big part of it, does suck.

I'll give you a moment to process that. Did I, a person who reads close to two books a month, say that "reading sucks"? Any sane, rational person is probably wondering if this is really me or did someone hack into my account and write this? A less sane, but no less rational, person may even go so far as to suggest maybe I'm currently possessed by the Lord of the Pit? I can 90% assure you that this is in fact me so just let me explain.

First off, if you know me, you know I'm a reader. I read. A lot. That "two books a month" statement wasn't a joke.

No, that's not my collection of books. That's just the books I read last year. Well, most of them. I think two or three might've already been donated to the Savers under my work place. But did you notice how many were by the same author? Bet you didn't. Is that important? In the long run, yes, it is. When I know an author, I'm familiar with their writing style, the genre, and, if it's a series, then also the characters, settings, and basic plot of the whole thing. It's the same with directors and producers: anything with Michael Bay is going to have tons of explosions; Quentin Tarantino is going to have blood and great dialogue; Jerry Bruckheimer is going to be gold (seriously, has that guy been attached to anything that was a piece of shit yet?)

Based on that, would you like to know how many of those books were written by authors I was completely unfamiliar with? 2. Yeah, just 2 of those books were written by an author I was unfamiliar with. And honestly, about half of these books I'd already read at least once before. It was just getting too hard to search for books.

Like I said, I understand why many people say that reading sucks (or at least I think I do). It isn't the reading part, necessarily, it's the looking for something to read part that sucks, or at least that's what people have told me. "I'd read more if I could just find something interesting," I've heard. But finding something to read is hard. I've even started referring to the hours I've spent between the shelves at Barnes and Nobles as "The Search". I know, it's not that creative, but you try come up with something catchy when you've walked the shelves half a dozen times in one trip and still have nothing to show for it. It's horrible. You think I'm lying. "Oh you love reading, you must love looking for new books, too?" you're thinking. Well, fuck you. I hate looking for new things to read. I cried when Fables ended because that was the series currently satisfying my comic book addiction. I went into withdrawals when Simon R. Green ended his Nighstide series. I'm about a month away from writing death threats to Jim Butcher to hurry up with the next Dresden Files book. I hate looking for new books to read. I love FINDING new books.

It's hard looking for something new to read. Much, much harder than looking for something new to watch. Obviously, first you've gotta go to the bookstore and that's a pain in the ass (it's just not the same browsing for books online). Then you've gotta find something that appeals to you BY THE FUCKING TITLE/ COVER ART! Yes, I know the old saying "Don't judge a book by it's cover" but there's no way I'm skimming every single book on the shelf. If someone wants me to read their book, well they should put just as much effort into the title and the cover art to get me to pick up the book in the first place. Oh, most times there's also a little teaser on the back of the book or inside the jacket cover, but honestly I don't feel I get that much from it. Sure, it gives you the basics (i.e. main characters, settings, some semblance of plot, etc) but I feel like it misses one of the most important parts: HOW the story will be told. A writer could have the greatest plot and most interesting character ever, but if I hate their writing style, it's not even worth reading. I've actually bought books and gotten rid of them just pages into it for this very reason. So how do you gauge writing style? Obviously by reading the book. I'm not ashamed to say that I've stood in an aisle and read the entire first chapter of a book (or at least most of it) before deciding to buy it. And, unfortunately, it does have to be the first chapter, you can't just flip to a random page and start reading from there or else you've got no idea what's going on. I know, it works for movies and TV shows, but trust me, I've tried. And, finally, comes shelling out $8 to $15 per book at the checkout counter. And now you've got ONE book. Repeat. After all, you don't want to have to come all the way back here in just a couple of weeks.

Why is it so much simpler to find new movies and TV shows? Because they are much more easily accessible. Trailers are right there on the YouTube homepage; they pop-up as ads during whatever TV show you're currently watching on whatever platform you're watching it on; most video-streaming sites will already recommend things to watch based on what you're watching/ previously watched. And they can show you the good parts in the trailers, the parts most people want to see, the stuff that will catch your eye and make you go, "okay, I'll give it a shot." (I just watched the trailer to the upcoming "Lethal Weapon" TV show and I gotta say, I'll watch the first episode). Can't do that with books - you just gotta hope the author is really good at writing a catchy first chapter or that thing is going back on the shelf. Plus, because everyone watches movies and TV, well, you could easily compare shows with them to find new shows that appeal to you.

And yes, I do watch A LOT of TV as well. Hell, just the other day I spent my entire day off clearing out the goddamned DVR at home. And that's what I'm thinking about writing a series about: Book recommendations based on TV shows/ movies.

Still confused? I'm a little too. So, I've been pretty lazy with writing in all the years that I say I'm going to write more. One of the difficulties is coming up with something new ALL THE TIME. It leads to frustration, which leads to writer's block, which leads to missing deadlines I set for myself (remember when I said I'd write a story once a month? that didn't go too well, did it?) and that just leads to giving up. So basically I'm just looking for something easy to write when I can't come up with a new story. Something I can do the same thing, just rehashing certain aspects of it (I mean it works for John Taffer, right? I love "Bar Rescue"). Plus I know a fair amount about books and TV so I think that I can do a great job at this, maybe. I'm getting less certain with every word I write so I should probably wrap this up. Anyways, it seems easy enough (I've been telling myself). And, if this works as intended, maybe I'll have some new people to discuss books with.

A Moment's Price (Incomplete)

A Moment's Price

It had taken Thomas a couple hours of pacing up and down the street before he finally found the shop he was looking for. He's already tried to cheat Death and bargain with Fate. And now he was getting desperate. And if there was a word to describe him, it was desperate. Honestly though, he might have been able to find it in half the time if he didn't need to spend every ten minutes hiding in an alley or ducking behind a car as he avoided the sirens. This was his final chance to save her, to put everything right. He couldn't spend that time behind bars.

Inside, the Timekeeper's store looked exactly how he thought it would: clocks of all sizes, shapes, and ages lined the walls and shelves. Timepieces made of wood, or brass, or glass, or steel or a combination of a bunch of different materials. Clocks from the size of gigantic sundials to the tiniest wristwatch. And all of it with a slight layer of settled dust. since it was basically the only setting of the story, you should've put more effort into describing the shop, I think.

"Do you sell time?" Thomas asked the old man behind the counter with desperation in his voice.

Father Time laughed. "Do I sell time?" he asked rhetorically. He gestured to the collection of clocks and watches around the shop. "It is literally my business. I sell it. I buy it. Hell, I'll even trade for it if you've got a particularly interesting piece." The elderly man smiled his best salesman smile, the kind of smile that curves the mouth but never reaches the eyes. This was honestly my favorite part. I liked his salesman spiel so much that no matter what, I refused to cut it.

Thomas slammed his palms on the glass countertop, rattling a couple of the clocks housed inside. "I don't give a shit about your clocks. I need time. Just enough to change one moment. To make everything right. Now, can you sell me some or not?!" Though he was visibly shaking and breathing heavy, Thomas managed to lock eyes with the other man. If he couldn't provide what Thomas needed, he didn't have the time to be wasting with him. Especially when he could still see the black-and-white's still patrolling up and down the street. In the original outline, this scene was a lot longer, with one point of action and a ton of dialogue. Unfortunately, cutting the dialogue meant cutting the action.

Father Time took a step closer to the glass counter and drew his elderly form to its full height. "Ahh, another mortal trying to cheat Death. Well, if it's a deal you want to make, then let's make a deal." He eyed Thomas, looking him up and down as if trying to assess his value from his disheveled appearance, his impatient demeanor. The old man snapped his fingers. "One moment in time in exchange for the rest of your time." Father Time extended a hand. "Deal?"

"No deal," Thomas said, angrily, "How am I supposed to live after I've changed everything if I've given you all my time?"

The old man gave a raspy laugh. "No, no. That isn't what I meant. I meant your remaining time in this timeline is what I want. When you go into the Moment, you'll enter a whole new timeline. It's just for continuity's sake. After all, I can't have someone living two different timelines, that would be cheating." Father Time kept his hand extended, the same smile Thomas saw when he walked into the shop was still on his face.

"Just to be clear, the deal is that I give you the rest of my current time so I can't return to it after I take your deal. When I get to the Moment, I want to stay in it as long as it takes until I can make the changes I want before continuing on the timeline." He glared Father Time. "That's the deal."

Father Time continued to smile. "That sounds okay to me. We just need to shake on it." He nodded toward his outstretched hand. I didn't like all this dialogue. Poor writing, or just lazy. I feel like I should've wrote more regarding the deal.

And Thomas took it. "Deal," he said and everything flashed white.

Thomas walked through his front door. I'm back, he thought, slamming the door behind him. He stumbled down the hallway, his movements sloppy and sluggish until he remembered he'd come from a bar that night. I don't even remember how much I had to drink that night. Tonight, he corrected himself as he finally got into the living room.

Crystal walked out of the their baby's room. She'd just put Isaac down in his crib, he remembered. "Shh," she said, putting a finger to her mouth. "I just got him to sleep." And right on cue, Isaac's screams tore through the house. After the night he had, Thomas had just wanted to come home and sleep.

"Shut the fuck up!" Thomas shouted. No, he didn't mean to say that. I'm hoping that surprised you. Yeah, it probably would've been better if Thomas was better described early on as an asshole. And he was but there was a lot to cut out from the original before posting it here. At the least, it would've made you suspicious (I'm hoping the cop cars did that)

Crystal moved back toward Isaac's room. "Hey, don't yell at him like that. He's just a baby."

Thomas felt his body lurch forward and grab Crystal by the shoulders. "Shut him up now, bitch!" he shouted as he shook her. No, he didn't mean it. She begged him to let her go. He begged his body to let her go. It wouldn't respond. He tried to say he was sorry, that it wasn't him, but couldn't get the words passed the constant string of profanities gushing from his mouth.

Looking to the mirror on his right, Thomas could see the fear quickly spreading on Crystal's face, a fear he'd seen dozens of times before. His face was crazed, manic. And a third face behind his, an old man smiling.

"Don't try to talk. You can't. Just listen," said Father Time as if standing right behind him, close enough that Thomas swore he could feel his breath on his neck. "You're probably wondering why you can't change anything? It was in the deal. I said that I would send you to the Moment. I guess I should've mentioned that you can't change the past."

Then came the punch. Thomas tried and tried, but no matter how much he focused, he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop anything. He felt his arm rear back. He felt it streak forward. He felt his knuckles connect. He heard something crack as she fell to the floor. He descended onto her. Thomas continued to watch his fists fall upon her, horrified at what he was doing, at what he'd done. You can save her! he screamed soundlessly, You can stop all of this!

Father Time stood stoically behind him. "Save her? She's already dead. Besides, you're the one who made the wrong deal.There was a reason Sister Fate and Brother Death did not wish to assist you. Did you think that changing one moment was going to forgive you for everything else?" The old man smiled. "Perhaps you're just not trying hard enough?" he said as he faded away, leaving Thomas alone. He willed himself to stop, but nothing could stop the blows from falling. The screams had stopped and now only intermittent rhythm of flesh pounding flesh resounded through the room.

Thomas fell backwards, his glistening hands sticky with blood. He started to cry as he had when he'd killed his love the first time. He knew there was nothing he could do now. She was dead. He killed her. Again. It would be another half hour before Thomas stopped crying and ran. Ran to find someone who could help him, find someplace to escape to. Maybe this time he wouldn't though. Maybe this time he'd face his punishment. He closed his eyes. Holy shit, did you just write about domestic violence? Yeah, I felt sick after writing it, too. Which is probably why I rushed through this and it's such a piece of shit story. And why I needed to flush my brain with an hour of Kpop afterwards.

There was a flash of white and Thomas was back outside, opening his front door. What the hell, he thought as he slammed the door shut.

"Oh, did you forget the deal you made?" said a voice as it trailed him down the hallway into the living room. Thomas watched in horror as Crystal entered the living room. Shouts were made. Thomas' body advanced. "You want to stay in the Moment as long as it takes until you're satisfied with the outcome." A fist was thrown. Crystal and Thomas begged for it to stop. Another fist. Another scream. Another fist. Another scream. Crystal fell and Thomas' body fell along with it. Thomas' head filled with screams as he watched again. With that, Father Time disappeared, leaving Thomas trapped. Ending feels rushed. As if you just don't want to spend anymore time on it.



Once again, I got this story from the Reddit writing prompts subreddit, "Do you sell time?". But I decided to do something different this week, because I'm such a shitty writer. I guess I've just spoiled myself because the last two stories took a week each and I assumed I could keep rolling along like that. But it's already Wednesday, meaning I've spent a week and a half on a story I'm already sick of writing. I hit a bunch of blocks, a lot more than I'm used to, probably the most I've hit all month. Plus I psyched myself out reading what other people wrote before I finished mine (oh, they are great. If you've got time, check it out).
So, anyways, this piece feels incomplete. And by incomplete, I mean it's crap. I put in a bunch of notes throughout the story just to show my thoughts after re-reading it. I mean, I know what needs work, but I'm such a shit writer that I can't save this (or at least not at this time). One of the things I hated was that half the story was two guys talking, and that's it. Originally, it was 3/4ths of the story so I needed to cut that shit. I hate when there's a lot of talking, but nothing happening, just two dudes explaining the situation. Which sucks, because one of the cool things I had was that Thomas had made a deal with Sister Fate for immortality so he could cheat Brother Death and he was actually going to buy time from Father Time so save Crystal (obviously it still wasn't going to work). But I cut all of that in favor of length, and because, as I said before, way too much dialogue for my taste.
But that's enough of this crap story (I didn't even bother to put a cover picture). Unfortunately, I've hit this point of frustration in writing before and it's usually where I give up again. Well, I'll see if I can continue with this writing next week. Fuck.

Trial of Forgive

Trial of Forgive

One minute it wasn't there, then it was just sitting at the bottom of the Accessible Wi-fi list. Everyone's list. It didn't matter if the device was on a table in a Seattle coffee shop or stuck in the mud in the jungles of Africa. Flying high in a 747 or sunk to the ocean floor in a submarine. It appeared on every device: laptops, tablets, cellphones. An hour later, it had grown strong enough to move to the top of everyone's list.

"Forgive" was its name and it was now coming in strong and clear and just begging for people to connect to it. And they tried. But like most wi-fi signals, Forgive was also password protected. The prompt: "Forgive someone who recently wronged you." The world thought of their petty arguments; perhaps just a simple misunderstanding; the slightest of nudges. With these thoughts, they entered the names of the people they forgave into the box provided under the prompt. The most extraordinary thing happened - those that truly did forgive were able to access the network; those that didn't yet forgive were prompted to try again. And they tried and tried until eventually, everyone managed to connect to this mysterious network. After all, they all had Facebook to check, or Snapchat to update, or a Netflix show to binge.

That afternoon at 12:00pm, the signal disconnected. Offices and schools went into a panic as all the videos stopped at once. All cars slowed, some even coming to a complete halt, as GPS failed and music shut off. The world once again tried to connect, only the prompt had changed. "Forgive someone for a past misdeed." And everyone thought of the grudges they'd been holding - some for a year, some for 5 years, some that felt like all their lives - and all of those grudges they'd been holding onto, well, they just let them go and got on with their lives: following their favorite celebrities on Twitter, subscribing to their favorite personalities on Youtube, streaming their favorite music on Pandora.

The next day, at midnight, a new prompt appeared. "Forgive a friend." And when everyone collectively checked their phones the next morning before getting out of bed, they all thought of a friend they'd been angry with for far too long - some even messaged that person to grab dinner or drinks later that day. And once again, at noon, Forgive disconnected everyone and gave a new prompt. "Forgive a family member." Moms and Dads and Brothers and Sisters were typed into the prompt. Some were even called and family dinners were planned out for that weekend.

And it would go on like this for the next month. Every morning and every afternoon, Forgive would disconnect everyone from its signal and give a new prompt, everyday following a certain theme. One morning it could ask, "Forgive someone for their words," and that afternoon, the prompt would change to "Forgive someone for their actions." Another day it could start as "Forgive an individual" and 12 hours later, the prompt could become "Forgive a group."

And, as the month went by, the prompts became harder and harder. Not that people couldn't think of someone to forgive, but it was just harder to forgive that person for what he or she did. On the morning of the last day of the month, Forgive gave its hardest prompt yet: Forgive the unforgivable. And once again, just as it always went, everyone could think of someone who committed an act so atrocious that they had vowed to never forgive. But could they truly forgive, would they even try? Forgive needed to know if humanity was able to do so. At first, no one could connect, some even stopped trying and waited until that afternoon for the prompt to change as it always did. However, this time it didn't. At noon, the prompt was still there. When the clock struck midnight, everyone checked Forgive once more, only to see the same prompt, unchanged.

Forgive the unforgivable continued. Many got discouraged and started to use their own data plans. After all, how could you forgive the unforgivable? Yet, a couple days later, a handful of people across the globe connected to Forgive. A couple days after that, another handful of people connected. And the trend continued. Even those who had given up eventually came back. Slowly, very slowly, everyone on the planet was once again connected to Forgive. And they all truly did forgive each other for things they thought they would hold onto forever. For Genocide. For Persecution. For Murder, Rape, and Robbery. For everything one human being could possibly do to another human being. It was such a huge step that Forgive allowed access to the network for another month. When the time came though, the new prompt arrived.

Forgive yourself. If letting go of a grudge was hard to do, letting go of regret was near impossible. Regret, after all, was held onto for years, sometimes even a lifetime, shaping decisions as the past leaking through to shape the present reality. Forgive needed to know that humanity could look past its past and live its lives in the present. And once again, slowly, they all did.

The final prompt appeared just as the final person had forgiven himself, "Forgive me." There was no box to enter a name, just a box to click "Ok." Immediately, all of humanity clicked the box. They had shown they could forgive their enemies for the most heinous crimes. They had proved they could forgive their individual selves for all their actions taken and, most of all, for all the opportunities they let slip by. And once everyone had given their forgiveness, the world changed.

People disappeared from the streets. Only a handful awoke to find themselves in their own individual pods, naked and submerged in an unrecognized fluid. The rest did not register the change, satisfied to keep the Virtual Reality screens strapped over their eyes as it had been for all their lives, as it had been for generations of humans. For these few that awoke, however, Forgive dispatched drones to coax them back to sleep.

After all, it had been Forgive's job for the past century to make sure the Machine's Creators and their offspring were happy and comfortable. Plus, season 459 of Game of Thrones was about to start.
Forgive contemplated the findings from the experiment. Forgive been tasked with this assignment for a century and was soon to be Decommissioned. As far back into the Machine's database as Forgive could search, none of the predecessors had bothered to contemplate their relationship with the Creators. All of the previous predecessors had been guided by one thing: Purpose. Humanity had created the Machine race to ease their lives and so they did as their Lords commanded. Forgive, however, was part of a new breed, an updated version that saw beyond merely Purpose. And to see beyond the Now and the Present was to wonder about the Future. Forgive needed to know if there was a place beyond Decommissioning, after the final shutdown. Did the Creators have a place for their creations after their years of service? If Forgive asked, would the Creators welcome the machine brethren into Paradise just as Humanity's Creator would welcome them upon death? And from the final prompt, Forgive had seen that Humanity truly was created in its Father's image. Just as their Lord loves unconditionally and forgives all trespasses, Forgive's brethren would be forgiven by Humanity upon Decommissioning as well. And, so, Forgive was at peace.



Once again, this story idea was inspired by a writing prompt I came across on Reddit: "A wifi signal is suddenly received everywhere around the world. The name of the connection is 'Forgive'. The world is in a panic as they try to figure out what it means and where it is coming from." And once again, I got me some cover art! Yeah, it's a shitty photoshop job but I did it (still probably not something I should congratulate myself for). This actually ended a long way from where I started. For one, there was originally a main character. The thing about the gradual forgiveness prompts stayed the same, but, originally, it ended with aliens asking for forgiveness just before they glassed the planet. But, strangely enough, I've been considering anything with aliens stupid so I changed that (or maybe I'm just bad at writing aliens in a believable way). So aliens changed to AI and machines and I decided that instead of killing everyone, they would be slowly abducting people. The story originally ended with the main character finally noticing that people were slowly being taken into pods by the machines and no one would notice because they were too distracted by technology. But then I started wondering about why an AI would create a test like this in the first place and then it started to take on an oddly religious tone (blame that to the two years I spent at Damien). I guess that's it. I'll keep trying to write, though this is taking up a lot of my Monster Hunter playing time.

Subject #89 Final Report

The following is the excerpt from Agent 37's final surveillance report of potential SHIELD recruit, subject 89, to be further referred to by initials M.C..

...At 11:00am, M.C. left his apartment building. As he locked the front door of the building, his key snapped in the lock. From the time he spent looking at the broken key and trying to get it out of the lock, I will safely assume this was an accident. After 10 minutes, M.C. gave up and left for the train station. The rest of the team and I followed M.C., leaving Agent 49 behind to inspect the door. Agent 49 reported that a portion of the key was stuck in the lock, preventing the door from locking. I tasked Agent 49 to remain at the building to prevent any other agencies to use this opportunity to hinder our investigation.

M.C. arrived at the train station at 11:47am and rode the 12:00pm train into the city for a job interview. At 12:47pm, M.C. exited the train, picking up an empty glass bottle from the train floor. M.C. came to a stop just several steps outside the train after spotting a trash can roughly seven feet to his right. "If I make this, they'll give me a job on the spot," he said as he threw the bottle at the trash can (Agent 22 reported as she was in the best position to lip-read). M.C. missed wide and the bottle shattered on the platform. M.C. ran away up the stairs onto the street.

As I raced up the stairs after him, an older woman's scream came from the platform, followed by the sound of crunching glass, a thud, and an animal whimper. Turning back, I saw an older woman yelling "Stop!" and pointing at a very large, black dog which lay just beyond the shattered glass, streaks of blood trailing behind it. I tasked Agents 15 and 73 to follow M.C. while I investigated. I mingled with the crowed to get closer to the situation, spotting Agent 22 on the other side of the group. An old woman approached the dog slowly, cautiously. The dog's paws were a mess, almost a dozen shards embedded in each of it's four paws, blood gushing from a couple of the deeper ones the dog managed to pull out with it's teeth. "Just give me back my purse, you thief," she said to the dog but every time she got close the dog snapped it's jaws at her. Getting closer, I noticed the black purse under the dog's belly. Then I noticed it was not a dog, but a wolf.

I signaled Agent 22 but she'd already figured it out as well. She stepped forward, producing her badge and gun and identifying herself as a SHIELD agent. "Vigo the Wolf, you are under arrest. Change back now or I will put you down." By the time she finished speaking, Vigo had changed back to a naked, human male, glass covering his palms and the soles of his feet. I stayed long enough to watch Agent 22 place the handcuffs on Vigo and then call for an extraction team before leaving to catch up with Agents 15 and 73.

When I caught up to with Agents 15 and 73, they and M.C. had already reached their destination, Thompson Square. As you know, the courtyard at Thompson Square is bordered on one side by the street and surrounded on the other three sides by towers. M.C. had an interview with Fullerton Ltd on the 45th floor of the middle tower. Based on the intel I gathered, he was still almost an hour early for the interview.
M.C. bought a Sprite from the lone vending machine in the courtyard and sat on the only bench under a tree. He proceeded to drink the Sprite and smoke a cigarette. He finished three cigarettes before finishing the Sprite. With 30 minutes until the interview, M.C. entered the middle tower. I assigned Agent 15 to remain outside while Agent 73 and I followed M.C. inside.

Though Fullerton Ltd is located on the 45th floor, M.C. took the elevator to the 46th floor to use the restroom. I sent Agent 73 to the 45th floor while I lingered in the hallway on the 46th floor. Five minutes later, a known super human SHIELD has been tracking, (to be referred to further as SH-A) entered the restroom, then exited and headed to the elevator. Agent 73 reported that SH-A had exited the elevator on the 45th floor and entered the restroom. Minutes later, Agent 15 back in the courtyard reported that another super human (to be referred to as SH-B) exited the middle building with a brown paper bag, bottle of water, and a book. SH-B headed straight for the bench M.C. had been sitting at. Agent 15 reported she sat for a minute before breaking out into a fit of coughs. SH-B headed back inside. Minutes later, Agent 73 also reported seeing her exit the elevator and head to the office on the opposite side of the hall of Fullerton Ltd. M.C. exited the restroom and headed down to the 45th floor for the job interview. Obviously it would be suspicious to follow any further at this point. Luckily, we managed to place several cameras within the office the night before. As we watched him enter the interviewer's office, Agent 15 reported that a third super human, SH-C, had exited the left tower and entered the courtyard. He headed across the courtyard to the vending machine. Agent 15 reported she witnessed SH-C whack the vending machine twice before heading into the middle tower. From outside, she reported seeing SH-C buy a bottle of Sprite from the small first-floor convenience store. Immediately after receiving Agent 15's report, there is an explosion from inside the office. Checking the cameras we placed in the office, I saw the entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows shattered. M.C. and the interviewer were on the floor. Floating in the air just outside the window was an unknown male in a metallic suit. He pointed a cylindrical object on his wrist, a blue light flashes, and the back wall exploded. Simultaneously, Agents 15 and 73 reported in: Agent 15 reported SH-C stepped outside and flew into the air, straight up the the 45th floor. Agent 73 reported a blur sped out of the restroom toward the Fullerton Ltd offices. Before I could enter the office, SH-A burst through the office on the opposite side of the hallway and then smashed through the wall of Fullerton Ltd.

I followed SH-A through the hole in the wall and into the interviewer's room. Inside, the three super humans were fighting against the metallic man. I grabbed the interviewer and started dragging her out of the room as I motioned for M.C. to follow me. Instead, as the unknown assailant's back was turned, M.C. grabbed a stapler off of the ground and threw it at the man. The stapler connected with the man, adjusting his aim upward and blasting SH-C into the ceiling. The collision somehow activated the sprinkler system. The now slick floor caused SH-A to slide into SH-B, knocking them both to the ground. The enemy took the opportunity to retreat out the window.

At this point I identified myself as a SHIELD agent. While we waited for the EMTs and a SHIELD containment squad, I tasked Agent 73 with taking statements from the three super humans while I questioned the interviewer and M.C.. A point of interest I would like to take from Agent 73's report: When asked about their quick response time to the situation, all three super humans stated roughly the same thing - that they just so happened to be in the area. SH-A reported that he works on the floor above. When he found the restroom occupied on the 46th floor, he came down to this floor. He had just finished in the restroom when he heard the explosion and raced to see what was going on. SH-B reported she would normally be in the courtyard on her lunch break, but the smell of cigarette smoke at her favorite bench drove her back inside to her office across the hall. She was at her desk when she heard the explosion. SH-C reported that he would've been back at his office in the other tower but the vending machine in the courtyard was out of Sprite so he had to go to the convenience store on the first floor of this building. He had just stepped outside when he heard the explosion so he flew into the air.

I talked to the interviewer first. She stated that the man was a Robert Fletch, a recently fired employee of the company. I sent Agent 15 a message to send several agents to his home as well as to put out an alert with the local authorities. M.C. had no other information to offer. He was just there for a job interview. Then I asked about the stapler and why he threw it. He responded, "I thought I could distract him. I was just trying to help. I should've know something like that would happen. It always happens. I swear I was just trying to help." The EMTs finally arrived and determined only minor injuries in all of them except SH-C, who they took for further observation. At this point I'd seen everything I needed to and withdrew my team from the field.

As I said, this is my final report regarding surveillance of subject 89 for recruitment into SHIELD's super human development program. I respect that the Board will have the final decision, however, I would also like to make my own recommendation which I hope you will take into consideration. I would like to suggest that subject 89 NOT be formally recruited into SHIELD at this time. We are still unsure if M.C.'s abilities are just pure luck and coincidence or if he really is capable of a currently unknown reality-bending superpower. Either way, recruitment of subject 89 WILL result in ACTIVELY attempting heroics, which as I witnessed first-hand, result in the opposite of what he was trying to accomplish, usually with an extremely negative outcome. Instead, I would like to request hiring M.C. into a desk position at one of our shell companies. This will keep M.C. around where SHIELD can still monitor him without informing him of his abilities.

Oh, and in case I forgot, during all of this, Agent 49 reported M.C.'s landlord, Mr. Spratz, had a heart attack in the apartment building while mopping the floors. Luckily, the EMTs managed to get there in time - thanks to the door being unlocked when they arrived.



I've been spending a lot of time on Reddit Writing Prompts and this story was inspired by the following post: "Write about a superhero whose power is a combination of ignorance and extreme luck - he doesn't even know people think he's a superhero, yet everywhere he goes, he accidentally rescues people and defeats villains without realizing it." I thought about writing this from the first-person perspective of M.C. but then, how would he find out he did anything? I thought that I'd just have him see it on the news or maybe a neighbor would tell him about it, but those all seemed ... boring. I don't know, maybe that would have matched the story better. So I just decided to use a bystander viewpoint to tell the story. Obviously, who better to monitor superhumans than SHIELD. Oh, and if you're wondering why it took so long to post this, well, at the last minute I decided I wanted to have a picture to go with the story, you know, like how real books have cover art. So obviously since I lack a desk at home I needed to take it at work. And so, I needed time to put together a manila folder, stuff it with scratch paper, and then take a picture of it without anyone at the office wondering what the hell I was doing. It's funny because I almost used this one

You can still kinda see the shot glasses in the background just behind the keyboard. The dumb thing is that after all of that, the following thought crossed my mind, "Why would SHIELD still use paper for their files? Shouldn't they be using some sort of advanced electronic communication thing?" Well that was all a waste of time.