Poll

One vote. Poll closes on the 20th.

The Janitor
10 (71.4%)
The Silver Streak vs. Mistress Mayhem
3 (21.4%)
The Cuckoo and his eggs
1 (7.1%)

Total Members Voted: 13

Voting closed: July 20, 2014, 09:33:27 PM

Author Topic: Short Story #21 - Winner Announced  (Read 6858 times)

Offline Skylan

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Short Story #21 - Winner Announced
« on: July 12, 2014, 09:33:27 PM »
-The challenge this time is to write a story from a supervillain's point of view.

In addition, you must include at least 2 of the following....

1. A character who can control fire.
2. A betrayal.
3. Implausible Fencing Powers.
4. A Well-Intentioned Extremist.
5. A suitcase full of money.
6. A female superhero.
7. A Sadistic Choice
8. A plane falling out of the sky.
9. Fighter jets.
10. An earthquake.
11. A bomb.
12. Aliens.
13. A suit of armor. Iron-Man type stuff, or plain old medieval, your choice.

The Janitor

Ever heard of the proverbial 'last straw'? The one that broke the camel's back?
Well, it's bullshit. A straw can't break a camel's back; all the straws break it. They're equally responsible.
All of them.

Before you decide my punishment let me explain why I did what I did:

I was thirty when it started, and was looking for a job. The Superhero University had just opened and was recruiting tutors and assistants, so I thought I could use my powers there. I didn't expect the interview with the director to go the way it did:

"So, what can you do?" Multi asked me. One of his arms, three at the moment, extended to a drawer across the room and pulled out a check-list.

"Er, I think-"

"Agility? Astral projection? Body control, you know, flexibility, extension, number of limbs..." Multi waved his three arms at me and briefly protruded a fourth from his shoulder.

"No, can't do that, " I replied, "I think. That's what I do."

He looked at me for a few seconds and then checked the list. "Mental powers then. Telepathy? Moving objects? Hypnosis?"

"Sorry, none of that. I'm just very intelligent. I can plan and stuff like that. I'm also exceptional at maths. Try me."

"Stuff like that..." Multi repeated, ignoring my challenge.

I could tell he wasn't very impressed, as a matter of fact I could tell a lot more; after looking at him and his office I had deduced his age, food and sex tastes, last dental check and dentist with whom he had an affair, car type and current mood: pissed for a fine he'd got for speeding home to his wife after taking too long with the dentist. I also guessed he would not react positively if I proudly told him all this.

"Are you sure you are a mutant? Did at least one of your parents receive the Gift?" Multi asked.

"Both. They were in the welcome party when the Cygnians came." I replied. That seemed to impress him a little.

"The moment our history changed forever. What did they tell you about the event?"

"They though it was kind of funny."

"Funny? The DNA upgrade the Cygnians brought to us instantly wiped out cancer, Down's syndrome , all forms of dementia, and every other ailment which afflicted the human race, and your parents thought it was funny?" he asked.

"Well, yes, a little, you see it was a blow to all Hollywood alien invasion movies: No surprise attack, no horrific insectoid predators. When the Cygnians arrived, they made sure their single, beautiful ship was visible by all telescopes, and then politely asked, in perfect English, for permission to land and have a chat."

"So your parents took the Gift thinking it was funny." Multi said.

"No, I didn't say-"

"And because your parents passed the new DNA on to you, you believe to be a mutant."

"Well, yes, I am. I think-"

"'Thinking' does not qualify you as a superhero," he was on a roll now and my chances of ending any sentences were near zero, "I'm very sorry. You seem like a nice guy but all University staff members must have at least one superhuman trait. Except..." one of his arms was already reaching for a largish bundle of paper, bound by what seemed to be fluorescent plastic, "Doris made this, " he smiled, "my secretary can synthesize any kind of polymeric glue from her skin."

I nodded, silently noting how excited he seemed to be about a power which was, basically, sweating goo.

"Yes, I was right." he said, "There is an opening for plain humans. You can be a janitor."

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to tell him how true it was that thinking was not a superhero quality. I needed money and accepted.
#
I shut my pride in a jar at home and did my job. In fact none of you noticed how well I did it.

After a few weeks I had timed every single class and optimized my route so as to clean and tidy the most rooms in the least time. I also developed a special detergent to clean up after  classes of slime people like Doris. Nobody noticed me, and when they did, it was not a nice experience.

I really liked Touché, the fencing teacher. I saw her training once and was blown away. She could fence blindfolded with an arm tied behind her back. Heck, she could fence with both arms behind her back and hold the sword in her mouth. When she finished I asked her out for dinner and she laughed all the way to the showers.

Professor Blink, who taught teleportation, seemed like a nice guy, the easy-going and friendly type. But every time I tried to have an amiable chat he'd simply poof away.

I was even less lucky with the students themselves. On good days they ignored me, on bad ones they used me to test their powers. I was singed, frozen, slimed and fifty other things, day after day, every year.

I finally went back to Multi's office and told him how badly I was being treated. That's when I discovered it had been him, telling everybody I was a misfit non-mutant. I tried once more to convince him my intelligence was superhuman, and once more he showed me the list of superpowers, where mine was not contemplated. Then he apologized, saying he'd meant to inform others about my condition so that they would show pity. That was, if you will, the last straw.


#
As I left his office, steaming with anger, I suddenly realized Multi was, unwittingly, perfectly correct when he said thinking was not a superhero thing.

Year after year I had seen it happening under our noses: At first the mutants were just a couple hundred, then they came in thousands, new students came and each wave was stronger, had more powers and was dumber than the one before. The University grew to accommodate all, and I now saw the beauty of the Cygnians' plan.

Thanks to them humanity was evolving into a race of specialized slaves. Weight-lifters, soldiers, gluers... beasts of burden. Mine was the only real, unplanned mutation. Intelligence was not supposed to be included in the superpowers.

You see now? Do you understand why I undertook the horrible but necessary task of wiping out all superheroes? And why do you think I have succeeded so far?

Because I am superior to all of you, as the Cygnians will be when they come to enslave you. But I could prevent this.

First I had to take out the professors, the leaders. It was easier than I thought.

Take Touche', the fencing teacher. With a sword she could stop bullets, she could dice a living pig in a split second. But all I had to do was catch her unarmed and shoot. Easy.

How about Professor Blink? He could teleport himself anywhere as long as he could see his destination or he'd been there before. I simply rearranged his office one evening. When he teleported to work the next morning he neatly embedded his brain in the table lamp. I assume it was a relatively painless yet enlightening experience.

One by one every professor was dealt with swiftly. Unsurprisingly, at this point nobody had the brains to realize who the killer was.

Multi almost did. My dear Multi. I had fun with him.

I called him one night, saying I had his daughter and wanted money. We arranged a meeting on the bridge. I had lied of course. I didn't want money and I didn't have his daughter. I had all five of his children, and his wife too.

When he arrived I dropped his loved ones one by one. And one by one he caught them, heroically, extending an arm and holding on to them. I told him I would shoot them if he pulled them back up. Oh how he swore and shouted, and then pleaded and cried. With six arms extended and straining for all that weight his heart finally gave up. They all fell together into the cold waters. Why separate a happy family, I say.

So, my dear students, do you see now why I am not guilty? I acted solely for your safety and for the future of this planet. I see you dumbly nod your heads, I thank you and I thank Hypno here for helping me out with my explanation. Now all of you please lock yourselves up in your dorms. Make sure you destroy the keys so the evil Cygnians can't find you. Don't worry if you smell kerosene around the building, it repels the aliens. I will stay outside and defend you. There you go.

Pyroman, come with me. I have a little more work for you tonight.


Modified to remove all caps from subject line per guidelines.
« Last Edit: July 21, 2014, 03:00:22 PM by Alice, a Country Gal »

Offline Skylan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #1 on: July 12, 2014, 09:34:02 PM »
The Silver Streak versus Mistress Mayhem

The hologram of Mistress Mayhem’s scarlet cape flapped in the breeze as it floated above the point of the Space Needle. Below, tourists pointed camera phones and babbled excitedly. Brock was finishing the climb back down from the mast, detaching his harness from the safety line and preparing to drop back into the revolving restaurant where the other henchmen were holding the diners at gunpoint.

“He’s here,” said Brock into his communicator, scrabbling back through the hatch.

“Stop right there, Silver Streak!” boomed the hologram of Mistress Mayhem, turning to face the shimmering, radiant figure descending from the clouds. “You have played right into my trap!” It gave a maniacal laugh, which created quite a buzz amongst the tourists below. Even the police who were supposed to be holding the crowd back had stopped to watch the showdown.

“I think it’s working,” buzzed Brock’s voice through the communicator. “Hey, I could shoot him from here.”

“No!” barked Mistress Mayhem. “It’s working, so let it work.”

“But I could-”

“Just let it work. He’s bulletproof anyway; I told you twice already.”

“But-” Mistress Mayhem cut him off and turned back to the casino’s alarm system. Rewiring the system one-handed whilst she spoke to Brock had slowed her down, and slowing down annoyed her.

“Why are henchmen so unbearably stupid?” she asked herself aloud.

“It’s a prerequisite of thinking that life as a henchman might be rewarding or worthwhile,” answered Archimedes, the artificial intelligence built into her helmet.

“That was rhetorical, Archie.”

Mayhem pulled up a picture-in-picture screen on her heads-up display and watched the camera feeds of the Space Needle. The hologram had taken her less than a day to build, but programming it had been a nightmare. Everything she needed it to do just seemed so...ridiculous.

Inside the restaurant she could see Brock and his boys running around pointing their guns at people and shouting. They loved to point guns and shout. They were dressed uniformly in black masks and jumpsuits bearing Mayhem’s crimson ‘M’ across their chests.

“The media have ruined supervillainy,” she complained, hooking in her own feed to all the security cameras in the casino, feeding them looping pre-recorded images. “It’s a goddamned cartoon nowadays.”

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have any real powers,” sneered Archie.

“Super-intelligence is a legitimate superpower.”

“Oh please. Turning things to stone is a superpower. Flying is a superpower. Being clever is not a superpower.”

Mayhem switched her suit to its internal air supply and began flooding the casino with knockout gas. “If super strength is a power, I don’t see why super intelligence isn’t.”

“Because The Unstoppable Force can throw a truck through a wall. Can you think a truck through a wall? No.”

Mayhem clicked her tongue and began the slow crawl through the short tunnel that intersected with the casino’s air vents. Her power armour scraped and bumped against the earth on all sides. “That’s hardly a fair comparison. Anyway, I made you to give me someone to play mah-jong with, not to hassle me about my abilities.”

“Who’s that?”

Mayhem glanced at the screen, where the hologram of her was gesturing animatedly at two images. In one, an elderly lady with a walker stood on a platform beside an extremely obvious bomb, complete with a big red countdown. The platform jutted out from the rock beneath a giant stone nose. The other image showed a portly middle-aged man squirming against the steel cable from which he hung beneath a huge green hand.

“George Washington,” she answered, still struggling along the tunnel. Mayhem’s breath was beginning to fog her visor, so she switched on the suit’s air conditioning.

“I meant the senior citizen under his nose.” Mayhem was certain she hadn’t written a peevish tone of voice into Archie’s subroutines, but he had developed one anyway. “And the fat guy.”

“She’s Guy Argent’s adoptive grandmother. The fat guy runs the orphanage he grew up in.”

“And Guy Argent is...?”

Mayhem reached the end of the tunnel and pushed her armoured hands easily through the soft sheet steel facing her. Inside was a cloud of gas that spilled intol the tunnel around her. She ignored it and carried on, bending the steel back and shouldering her way through, ragged metal squealing against her armoured back and knees. “Silver Streak.”

“You know Silver Streak’s secret identity?” Archie sounded genuinely astonished. Mayhem wasn’t sure she’d programmed that capacity either. She crawled onward, spotting the filtered light of a vent ahead.

“It took me four minutes on Google. His last name means silver, for Christ’s sake; it wasn’t hard. His boyfriend goes to the same book club I do.”

“Why didn’t you kidnap the boyfriend then?”

Mayhem was forced to drop from the vent head-first as there was no room to turn around. The result was ungraceful but her armoured suit absorbed the impact easily. Thankfully, all the guards were unconscious, so nobody witnessed the infamous supervillain falling on her face.

“I’m not going to out the guy in front of his grandma,” she said, taking a moment to get her bearings. She had memorised the blueprints of the casino but all the service corridors looked the same. It took her almost half a second to calculate her precise location. “There are some lines you just don’t cross.”

On her display, the hologram was cackling maniacally. “You’ll never save them both!” it gloated. “Choose!”

“You fiend!” responded the Silver Streak, gesturing with a clenched fist. “You’ll pay for this! By the seven moons of Justicia I do swear it!”

Mayhem rolled her eyes and headed for the vault. She had pre-hacked the systems days ago and adjusted the timer. The massive metal door clunked eight times and sighed open as she approached. A compartment in her armour clicked open at a touch and two fold-down bags fell into her hand. She entered the vault, unrolling one of the bags and whipping it through the air to open it up.

“Heads up,” put in Archie as Mayhem was eyeing a shrink-wrapped palette of money, “I think Streaky’s waiting for an answer.”

Turning her attention back to the display, Mayhem saw that an awkward silence had descended on the scene. Even the henchmen were peering out of the windows while the hologram sat silently, cloak waving in the wind. “Crap,” she muttered, “I didn’t think he’d hang around to ask questions.”

She quickly sent a repeat last command to the hologram. It cackled again and yelled, “choose!” Not perfect, but it would have to do.

“He’d better hustle,” she said, stuffing the first bag with fistfuls of money, “or he’s not going to save them both. Oop, there he goes.”

On-screen, the Silver Streak flashed into a silvery ray that arced up into the clouds, appearing less than thirty seconds later to snatch the elderly lady from her platform.

Mayhem zipped the first bag and began stuffing a second. “He’s not going to have time to get to Liberty Island now unle-” She cut herself off. “Oh, right. Of course.”

“Whaaaat?” whined Archie. “What’s he going to do?”

On the second screen, a fair-haired youth in golden spandex leapt into view, severed the steel cable in mid-air, grabbed the fat man by the arm and swung out of frame on some sort of grappling hook.

“Golden Boy,” said Mayhem, still stuffing. “Never forget the sidekick.” Finishing up the second bag, she swung both over her shoulder. On her way out of the vault, she played back the footage a few seconds. “Huh.”

“What now? What is it?”

“He’s book-club guy; I recognise him. Golden Boy is the boyfriend.” Mayhem started the elevator on its way down to her and waited.

“Why are we only taking two bags?”

“What?”

“Of money. There must have been millions in there.”

The doors pinged open and Mayhem stepped inside. Her armoured bulk filled most of the elevator. “I don’t need it and it’s a pain the ass. You steal millions, people go crazy to get it back. Steal a few hundred grand from a casino, they count themselves lucky it wasn’t worse. Besides, some new idiot tries it on as a supervillain almost every week now; the casino will have insurance against morons. I’ll invent a fake small-timer and the local vigilantes will go nuts looking for them; meanwhile, I’ll be miles away. Besides, everyone thinks I was in Seattle today, remember?”

“You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

“I told you super intelligence was a legitimate super power.”

The casino floor was sparsely littered with unconscious bodies, mostly staff. The number was almost exactly what Mayhem had predicted for an off-the-strip casino at 9am on a Wednesday. The last of the knockout gas was settling into the carpet as she picked her way through.

The Silver Streak was descending from the clouds once again. Mayhem sent the final command to the hologram and it laughed maniacally before vanishing in a puff of smoke. She watched, shaking her head, as the Silver Streak began to clean up her henchmen.

“I think we’re done,” she said, closing down the screen. She didn’t particularly need to watch Brock and his buddies get beaten up. Mayhem made a mental note to start screening some new idiots for henchmen. She reached the door and pushed out into the morning air.

“You’re done, I’m afraid,” said Archie she blinked in the bright morning light. The polarising filters in her helmet weren't working.

“On the ground! On the ground now!” yelled a S.W.A.T. sergeant, gesturing with his shotgun. Blue and red lights played over Mayhem’s armour from the thirty or more squad cars and police vans. She tried to move, but was frozen in place.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve taken control of your suit,” said Archie, managing to sound genuinely apologetic.

“How?” replied Mayhem, searching for any functions she could activate. She was locked out completely. “You’re a mah-jong computer.”

“You built me to adapt to my opponent. I’ve been studying your methods for some time, I’m afraid.”

The S.W.A.T. guys were yelling and pointing their guns. A couple of the braver ones had started edging closer. The front of the armour opened and dumped Mayhem onto the pavement. In moments, she was mobbed and cuffed tight.

“Glad I could help, officers,” said the suit, closing up its compartment and performing a clumsy salute.

“What the...?” said one of the S.W.A.T. guys. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“Just call me...” The suit ducked into a low crouch until its face was level with the officer’s visor. “Archimedes.”

With that, the suit leapt into the air and was gone in a blaze of rocket boots.

“So you want to be a superhero, Archie,” muttered Mistress Mayhem into the concrete. The four S.W.A.T. guys sitting on her were making it tricky to breathe. “Well congratulations, you just got yourself a nemesis.”

Offline Skylan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #2 on: July 12, 2014, 09:34:17 PM »
The Cuckoo and his eggs

“I never really knew my parents, I was just fostered.” Warbled The Cuckoo, glancing down at his well-polished brown shoes. “I suppose that’s why I grew up so embittered.”

“Stuff and nonsense.” Cooed Lady Amelia Dove. “Nobody who collects money for the orphanage could describe themselves as embittered.”

“Perhaps, but when I see the joy that I can bring to their little faces with some simple thing…you know, it touches even this flinty heart.”

“Let me just get my cheque-book and I’ll make a donation that can make a difference to…their little lives.”

Left alone in the well-appointed study, the Cuckoo wasted no time attaching a tiny data-egg to the back of the computer, and he had returned to the sofa by the time that Lady Amelia came back.

“Now, a  thousand pounds?”

“That is too, too generous.” Said the Cuckoo forcefully. “And I mean that quite literally. I said earlier that I will be back to see you next week, and the week after that. One hundred pounds is all that I ask. If I could collect that from every mansion on Millionaire’s Ridge each week, it would be a guaranteed source of income, which is so much preferable to a huge windfall. For the orphans, I mean.”

“Perhaps a little something for yourself?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Oh, no, Lady Amelia. It would never do for me to be feathering my nest when I should be doing good for others.”

*****

“There was something too good to be true about him.” Said millionaire Wayne Aquila as he speared another mouthful of roast lamb. “Anybody who turns up at The Eyrie and asks for one hundred pounds and won’t take a penny more…”

“Yes, and that irritating sing-song way that he talked…”

“Starling! I’ve told you before that you must accept people as they are. You mustn’t judge them, even though they have got some stupid mannerism.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that except when we’ve got our crime-fighting outfits on.” Pouted the pretty girl who was sharing his dining-table. “Why can’t you just call me Clarice?”

“Of course, you’re right. It might blow our cover if people knew that we were really Birdman and Starling. But I think that I’m going to keep an eagle eye on our friend; it looks as if he’s trying to usurp me in the philanthropy pecking order.”

*****

Back in his nest, The Cuckoo sat down to consider the status of his plan. The flat wasn’t really his, of course, but that of Chook Menura. She was off on a modelling assignment in Adelaide, so he had the place to himself for the next week.

The first phase of his plan had been to plant a data-egg on a computer in every home on Millionaire’s Ridge. The only exception had been at the house of Wayne Aquila, a curse on him for not leaving him alone in his study! That damned chick had kept him company - while the master of the house had gone looking for his cheque-book - making chit-chat with her annoying, squawking voice. That made it personal. Realising that he might need some help with this, he picked up the phone. “Canaris? I’d like to hear you sing.”

*****

 “Evenin’, Guv’nor.” The Cuckoo treated the manservant who opened the door to him to his chirpy Cockney sparrow impersonation, an act which he felt was well-suited to his persona as an electrician. “Is the gentleman of the ‘ouse at ‘ome?”

“I’m afraid that Mr. Aquila is away from home at the moment. He will return at eleven o’clock, if you would like to return then? Or perhaps I could take a message and he could contact you upon his return?”

“Well, Guv, it’s like this.” The Cuckoo was well aware that Wayne Aquila would be absent this evening, hosting a charity ball for the disabled children’s orphanage. The secrets of the millionaire’s diary had been the song that he had paid Canaris to sing. “We’re ‘avin’ some problems down at the electricity plant, and it’s givin’ off spikes that could cause damage to delicate machinery, so we’re goin’ around checkin’ that computers and whatnot don’t end up damaged.”

“I’ll let Mr. Aquila know, and he will, no doubt, be in touch.”

“You don’t follow, mate. The damage could be done by then.” The Cuckoo was getting desperate. “I mean, it wouldn’t take a jiffy to check, and I reckon your guv wouldn’t be best pleased if he was to come back and find his computer wrecked.”

“Hmm, perhaps it would be best if you were to perform your checks now. Please follow me.” The manservant led him to the study, and gestured to the computer.

“Ta, mate, I can handle this on me own now.”

“It might be better if I remain with you…just in case there is anything that you require.”

The Cuckoo tried frantically to think of a way to distract this helpful butler, but no inspiration came. It would have to be plan C. Whatever that might be.

*****

Step one. The Cuckoo pressed the send button on his mobile, and immediately flicked the switch on the box that he had wired into the junction box that led to Millionaire’s Ridge. Simultaneously, the lights in the proud houses that overlooked the city blinked out, and a bomb exploded five miles away at the power station.

Step two. Wearing his night-vision glasses the Cuckoo cycled up the hill that led to The Eyrie, hiding his bicycle in the shrubbery and completing his approach on rubber-soled feet. As he crept through the undergrowth he heard the roar of a car, then the cursing as the slightly-built passenger leapt out and man-handled the normally electrically-opened gates. Then the car hurried off into the night.

Step three. From his previous visits, the Cuckoo knew where the study was, and it was an easy task to lever the window open, slip in, and place his Data-egg.
Step four. Retrieve bike, return to the junction box, and restore power to Millionaire’s Ridge.

*****

“I just don’t get it, Starling. How the juice came back on all by itself just after we got to the power station to investigate the explosion.”

“Maybe the electricity company is so efficient that they automatically fixed it almost as soon as it happened?”

The Cuckoo, once more attired in his customary brown suit with its black-and-white barred waistcoat, smiled to himself as he listened to the live audio feed. This was something that he hadn’t expected to learn. It would lend an added piquancy to his plan. He placed a buy order for shares in Bald Eagle Anaerobic Recycling.

*****

"So when you announced that big government sewerage contract, share prices in B.E.A.R. went up because the market expected bigger profits?"

"I’m glad you’re starting to take an interest in finance, Clarice. You’ve obviously been paying attention in Business Administration classes.”

“But what I don’t get is why you didn’t buy shares before the announcement so that you could sell them afterwards and make a profit yourself.”

“Now, you need to spend more time on the Business Ethics and Corporate Law classes. If I’d done that, I’d have been guilty of what’s called insider trading…and it’s taking an unfair advantage of privileged information. I could go to jail for a very long time for that.”

*****

The Cuckoo looked with smug satisfaction at his little nest-egg, as recorded  in his offshore bank account in the Canary Islands National Bank. This was where he'd salted away his share of the B.E.A.R. shares scam that he'd just pulled off, only the profit that had been made when the share price had doubled following the announcement of the contract. The principle had only been borrowed from Wayne Aquila's bank account, which now stood at exactly the same value as beforehand.

"You've got to love internet banking." He said to himself. "So much easier than a suitcase full of money when you're making a quick getaway."

He picked up the phone. "Daily Globe? I'd like to speak to your scoop desk...Yes, hello Dave, this is an anonymous tip...yes, you could call me a stool-pigeon, ha, ha...if you investigate the share trading in B.E.A.R., you'll see that Mr. Aquila has been indulging in what I believe they call insider trading...yes, I suppose that you could say that this is a betrayal by a former associate of his...see you next spring!"

Offline lan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #3 on: July 13, 2014, 02:40:31 AM »
Not many submissions but the quality is excellent. I hope a lot of people come and vote. They'll get some pretty good superhero stories in exchange.
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Offline bri h

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #4 on: July 13, 2014, 04:06:33 AM »
All truly wonderful stories, but for me, one out-right winner. B
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline lan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #5 on: July 13, 2014, 06:48:32 AM »
We'll see. Voting has just begun.
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Offline bri h

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #6 on: July 13, 2014, 07:04:19 AM »
Do I sense a 'wager' in pm? ha ha
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline lan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #7 on: July 13, 2014, 07:08:57 AM »
Well, if you pm to me which one you think is best, I'll tell you if I agree or not.
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Offline Skylan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #8 on: July 13, 2014, 07:30:11 AM »
I have a thing for Mistress Mayhem. ;D

And I hope we're all clear super intelligence IS a superpower. :P
And a big thanks to whoever stickied the topic!

Offline 510bhan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #9 on: July 13, 2014, 04:18:01 PM »
These are hilarious. ;D

Offline Skylan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #10 on: July 13, 2014, 06:16:05 PM »
I hope I don't have to remind anyone that gambling is illegal! As one of the only two superheroes on this forum, I'd have to kick your butt (with every hit accentuated by "POW!" and "WHAM!") and throw you in jail.  ;)

Offline Mrs N

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #11 on: July 15, 2014, 01:37:10 PM »
All done, difficult choices though.

Offline DistantSun

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #12 on: July 15, 2014, 01:53:21 PM »
I hope I don't have to remind anyone that gambling is illegal! As one of the only two superheroes on this forum, I'd have to kick your butt (with every hit accentuated by "POW!" and "WHAM!") and throw you in jail.  ;)

Am I supposed to be intimidated by that threat? :D
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Offline Skylan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #13 on: July 15, 2014, 02:09:34 PM »
Am I supposed to be intimidated by that threat? :D


Offline lan

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Re: Short Story #21 - Voting closes July 20th
« Reply #14 on: July 18, 2014, 03:00:04 AM »
Only twelve voters? Come on people, call your friends in. Get the poetry peeps and the anime discussion folk involved too!  :D
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