Velox

Vote here for your favorite Chronicler story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 2nd at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Chronicler Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "Letter From an Old Friend" Takua, If you're reading this then I'm either dead, or declared dead. I don't see myself dying or disappearing from Metru Nui anytime soon, but then again, being Chronicler isn't exactly low-risk,and there are a few things I should see to. This is one of them. So, first of all, I just want to say you're a good friend. (Yes, it's cliched. Give the dead guy a break, all right?) True, you annoyed me the first time we met. I believe your exact words to me were, "Your job is to wander all over the island and be given a front-row seat to anything exciting? How did you find an excuse to slack off regular work for this?" I did not approve of the fact that you saw my dangerous and laborious position as "an excuse to slack off" and not “regular work.” But after maybe the third time I ran into you around the city (since we are both wanderers attracted to excitement like lava eels to heat) I realized you didn't mean to be offensive. You just honestly didn't understand why I should get a free pass to do all the things you were forcibly restrained for doing. (Nor have you ever accepted the obvious differences.) But we could hardly help being acquaintances, since (as noted above) we tend to wind up in the same places. (Jaller behind you, of course. You are undeservedly lucky to have a best friend who will try that hard to stop you from being an cool dude.) And, of course, you're the prime witness to (if not cause of) over half the noteworthy things I do miss, meaning I have to interview you about them. And then you started criticizing my writing style, which meant that you had to try it yourself, so Jaller and I could laugh at you instead. Still, though, you absolutely refuse to admit my job as Chronicler involves any effort or unpleasantness, or, in fact, that it qualifies as a "job" at all. This leads me to the second thing I need to say: If you think it's so easy, do it yourself. No, really. I'm naming you as my choice for the next Chronicler.... Having paused to allow you to recover from your shock, I will now explain my reasoning. (Consider this a rehearsal for the recommendation letter I have to write Turaga Dume.)Yes, you're reckless, but a certain amount of recklessness is necessary in a Chronicler. Yes, everyone says you're irresponsible, but they're judging that by how well you do at a job you are emphatically not suited for. (If you fall behind in any of your Chronicler duties even once, I will take that as your concession that it is at least as valid a job as mask-making or anything else.) And yes, you can be an impetuous, thoughtless, trouble-seeking cool dude, to a degree not beneficial in anyone but... but... ...well, nobody's perfect, are they? And I think your various assets outweigh this defect. What do I consider assets, you ask? You love travel and excitement of all kinds, even more than I do. (Yes, I enjoy it. That doesn't mean it's not a real job, it's just work I like - oxymoronic as I know that seems to you.) You're definitely not a coward. Though you have a pretty realistic worldview, you still believe in heroes and heroism. I'm not having some cynic like Onewa stealing my job. And, though I hate to admit it, you're really not a half-bad writer. So there you have it. In the highly hypothetical event of my death or extended disappearance you will become Chronicler. If you can't, I'd probably accept Kopeke from Ko-Metru (though I'm not going to explain that here too) but you're my first choice. Your friend, Kodan the Chronicler Toa Takanuva stared at the letter before him, uncertain whether to laugh or to cry. When he and Hahli Mahri had been sent to search their fellow Chronicler's former home for important writings, he had not expected to find a letter from along-lost and now unknown friend. Nor had he expected the discovery that he had been recommended for the position of Chronicler, a thousand years and a universe away from his appointment. He wondered if the formal recommendation was nearby, but did not search for it. Instead he called to his fellow Toa. "Hey, Hahli. You know how the Turaga are trying to choose a new Chronicler - do you know Kopeke?" -------------------------------------- Choice #2: "The Burning Truth" Teridax folded his arms and coldly regarded his brother, Mutran, so soon back from his mission. There was something amiss in the scientist’s behaviour. He refused to be seated and instead chose to float restlessly around the room, picking up objects and flinging them aside once done inspecting. Had it been anyone else, they might have been a pile of dust at this point. As it was, Mutran had information that Teridax wanted. “Tren Krom,” he said loudly. “What did you find out about him?” At the name of the beast, Mutran’s head swivelled and a manic glint twisted the otherwise cold eyes beneath his Kanohi. “Look at my memory,” the scientist chuckled. “What?” “That’s what it said, that Tren Krom, when it turned me into a chronicler. Oh, I did as you wished, my brother and I’ve seen much, so much. So much more than you could ever have asked of me!” For a moment, Teridax was taken aback by his underling’s behaviour. It was so erratic but filled with a passion that enticed his curiosity. “Go on,” he demanded as he settled back into his chair. “Tell me what happened when you met Tren Krom.” “Oh, Tren Krom. Hahaha! Yes! Tren Krom! I went! I did as you asked! I went to negotiate with him and I found him! He was a strange creature, all crimson slime and tentacles and eyes that darted this way and that. I almost mistook him for an old experiment! But I didn’t! Instead I told him of the Brotherhood and he silenced me. He said….He said he could take all the necessary information from me without me even needing to talk. I just stood and waited and all of a sudden, I heard this piercing wail and only realised moments later that it was my own. I was crumbling to the floor and clutching my head as it slithered all snake-like into my head! “’Look at my memory’, the beast cried, but it needn’t have bothered because I was already forcing my way inside. And just like that a door opened in its mind and all the horrors of the universe flooded out to meet me. “I screamed! Oh, but I didn’t scream, my brother, I didn’t just scream! I wriggled and squiggled and I writhed and thrived and I fought and I sought, oh, I sought, I sought, I sought for salvation! But salvation never came because salvation will not emerge to coil its burning wings around me and shield me from the blinding horrors of existence! I was so alone, so cold and so desolate but at the same time everything was with me. “I wish you could have been there, I wish you could have seen the things that I saw. My mind, my mind was so open, like a book, like a wound and all the bacteria of knowledge flooded inside! It corrupted me, it twisted me and I was reborn! I saw things! I saw the birth of the universe itself! I saw the fire that ignited the heart of life! I kissed the sun and I danced amongst the stars. Mata Nui was born under my watchful eye in that moment! “Everything became clear to me now. For the first time in my life, I finally understood. I knew, I knew the boundaries of our universe. I knew our limits, an answer that thousands and thousands of years of delicate research could not provide. I found the walls. And I discovered how to break them down. “Why do you look at me this way, brother? Do you doubt me or do you fear me? I beg you to understand the truth in my words. There is no feeling like this, no sensation and no words that can summarise my madness. No! No, it’s not madness, it’s so much more! It’s purity! I feel so pure! I feel so alive! “I…I’ve always looked for inspiration! I’ve looked for something to fuel my mind and when that idea hits, the euphoric feeling that burns! There’s nothing like it! And it’s my life now, it’s all I have! I live to create now, all over again! “Because you didn’t see what I saw! The truth to our universe! The secret that we’ve never been told! That the suns are fake! That the sky is an illusion! That our lives are not our own! Because Mata Nui is not our creator or our deity! Mata Nui is our home!” -------------------------------------- Choice #3: "Corruption" The snow banks of Ko-Koro were some of the most beautiful parts of the island. The glistening ice portrayed a light show of epic proportions. There were many inhabitants, some Matoran, some otherwise. They could all feel the snow coming down with equal parts wonder and disdain. In the middle of it were two white, figures- one tinted blue and the other a sort of alabaster. The latter was tall and resonated power, but left a chill in the already-cold air of Ko-Wahi. Not that the former, short and stout, was much of a juxtaposition. "Kopaka," said the shorter, brandishing a tablet of stone and a marker, "tell me again of how you defeated the Muaka." 'Kopaka' was obviously not much of people person. His traveling companion had to actively work to match his gait, rather than easily fall into step beside him. "I've told you so many times, you should be able to recite it word for word, Kopeke," he said, sighing deeply, "but very well." He proceeded to tell the story once again as they continued to tread across the snowy plains, Kopeke etching down each part. Just as they got to the good part, however, they were interrupted by a rather hungry pack of wild Rahi. "Stand back!" Kopaka barked, leaping out in front of the chronicler and drawing his sword. They didn't threaten him, however, and with a few slashes they had all been scared off or wounded. "What would cause those Rahi to attack us?" Kopeke asked, "they're usually peaceful. At the least, not this hostile towards us." Kopaka shook his head, "corruption. That would be my first guess. Of course, it could be a number of things." "Hey! Hey, help!" A new voice, far off, yelled. Kopaka turned his head towards the voice and saw its speaker: a Matoran frozen upside down in the ice. Unfortunately, there was a chasm between himself and the distressed Matoran. "I'm coming," he yelled, conducting his sword at the chasm, even as a bridge of ice formed. As a Toa, these things were never a problem. He rushed across, but Kopeke stayed behind- after all, he wouldn't be too much help. As it turned out, he just might've been. As Kopaka freed him, he took a closer look at his mask. His eyes widened and he stumbled back- an infected mask. Out of nowhere came a flying Rahi- also infected -that knocked him off his feet. Kopeke almost rushed to help him, but the ice bridge had weakened exponentially as Kopaka fell. It seemed to Kopeke that all hope had been lost, when a green blur came into view. He tackled the Rahi straight from the air. Lewa had arrived. Though in the midst of battle, they traded banter just as normal. "Nice of you to drop by," Kopaka smirked, standing and steadying his blade. "I was in the area-vicinity," the cheerful Toa of air replied. As far as Kopeke could see, they defeated the Rahi without trouble. Then, something completely unexpected happened. The two began fighting. The chronicler squinted, and spotted a glint of color on Kopaka's face- a Krana. Kopaka had been corrupted. ---- "...and they were still fighting when I left." Nuju nodded, "this explains the recent Rahi attacks. However, there is nothing we can do. "The Toa must fight their own battles." -------------------------------------- Choice #4: "The Chronicler's Burden" The Chronicler walked slowly, a massive pack on his back. He was Po-Matoran, and well accustomed to such a load. he had been gone a long time, nearly a year, off beyond the mountains. But now he had come back, to share the treasures that he had won, each story painstakingly etched in solid stone. Word spread among the villagers that the Chronicler was coming. there would be much celebration after the sun set, culminating in the Chronicler telling a story. The story would not be long, and would not be followed by another. But it had always been something intriguing, beautiful, precious. And the Chronicler had a way of speaking, of painting a picture and evoking emotions that was legendary. Then he would give his load of tablets to the village elder for safekeeping, and the elder would give him blank tablets in return. And in the morning he would be gone again. So they listened carefully. -------------------------------------- Choice #5: They say that the life of the chronicler is more esteemed than that of a Turaga, more desired than anything else a Matoran can do. They’re wrong. Dead wrong. Being a chronicler is like being a trophy, with no real purpose. You’re a burden and a nuisance for the mighty heroes you follow.Even worse is what you see. Sure, a chronicler from Metru Nui or some nice and lawful place has it easy. Maybe some vicious Rahi, maybe a criminal or two, but nothing as ghastly as the scene we walked through. Ahead my team leader stood, looking about with a grim expression. The village we traveled to was deserted; bereft of the living that is. I winced as I trod upon a limp hand, picking my way through the corpses.“Who did this, Toa?” My voice annoys me to no end: shaky after the sudden scare. The Toa of Stone glances down at me.“Piraka, chronicler. That’s who did this. Skakdi, Vortixx, who knows. They’re Piraka to the core.” His voice was harsh, and he turned away before I could answer. I was stung by his tone before—glancing at his shaking shoulders—I realized that he too was overcome by the tragedy we stood in the midst of.I turned away instead, hunting out the team healer, a young Lightning Toa. Unlike the rest of us she was at work, lining the still bodies next to each other rather than in the grotesque sprawling they had assumed before. I looked at her, not at the dead Matoran below me.“What are we going to do?” The real questions never come when they’re needed. Most chroniclers must get sick of reality sometimes when they depict the flowery speeches that go one between the Toa. She looked up at me, her soft blue eyes pained.“What we’ve always done these past years, Chronicler. We leave the dead and we move on.”I nodded, unable to look into those deep orbs, stumbling away. I sat down in a deserted building, at an old desk. My tablet was in my hand, but I couldn’t write. A dead Ko-Matoran lay next to the desk, his hands grasping futilely at a bundle of scrolls. No doubt those were more important to him than his own life. I left my tablet on the desk then, bending over him. As I moved him into a more dignified posture I felt the tears coming. I gave in, crouching against a wall and sobbing.These moments were not what they promised you when they handed you the scrolls and the tablets, when they welcomed you with speeches and cheers.These were moments that even Toa could not face. There was no overarching evil to face, no mastermind to bring to justice. It was only another band of scum, of no worth to the world, no worth save for that which they deprived the innocent of. I don’t know how long I crouched there in my grief, but at last I staggered back to the desk.It was then that I began writing this with a vigor I had never known.Life is Karzahni when you really look into it. Recording it just adds another stage to it. Because you see these horrors, and then you relive them by writing them. And you make others live it, even if they can only glimpse it in your text. But for me, right now, it’s the best I can do. I’m not a Toa, I have no powers or weapons or fancy masks. All I have is this tablet, all I can do is write this.I’m a Chronicler. This is my ordeal. -------------------------------------- Choice #6: "The Ash Bear’s Den" A lone Matoran wandered through the jungles of Le-Wahi. He had come to be known as the Chronicler, and he had gotten lost on his way to the jungle village. Now, he was desperately searching for a path back to civilization. Something dropped from the treetops behind him, and he turned to spot Lewa, the Toa of Air. “Who be ground-walking this far from bright Le-Koro?” Lewa wondered. “I’m the Chronicler,” the Matoran answered. “And I’m sort of lost.” “Chronicler, ‘eh,” Lewa said. “I’ve tale-heard of you from my fellow Toa. Well, I was on my way to quick-spot a Le-Matoran, but you’ll do in a pinch. I need your fast-help.” “Certainly, Toa,” the Chronicler said. “But what can I do?” “I am look-seeking a Kanohi Ruru in the den of Graalok the Ash Bear,” Lewa explained. “We two be good buddy-friends, but she not-know that yet, and protects den very well. She out hunting deep-wood, but I could use Matoran to warn-call of her return.” “So, you want me to be a lookout?” the Chronicler asked, struggling to follow the Toa’s slang. “Much-yes!” Lewa exclaimed. He picked up the Matoran, and jumped into the trees. “Quick, den-cave is in this direction!” Five minutes later, the two of them arrived at the edge of the hills, and the Chronicler could see a small cave opening. “You stay here and shout-yell if Graalok back-comes,” Lewa said, and he ducked into the cave. The Chronicler settled into position and looked out into the forest. The jungle was peaceful enough, and he began to wonder why Lewa had even brought him along. But his thoughts were interrupted as he heard a roar, and in the distance he saw the orange outline of the charging Ash Bear. “Lewa, she’s heading this way!” the Chronicler shouted. “Lewa, can you hear me? LEWA!” The Ash Bear was on top of the Matoran before he knew it, and she swung her claw which threatened to tear him to shreds. The Chronicler tried to leap backwards, and although he avoided her first swipe, he tripped and back down. Now the Rahi would get him for sure. But Graalok’s second attack was thrown back by a gust of wind, and Lewa appeared at the cave’s edge. “Back, beast, or I will blow-blast you with high-winds!” he said. Graalok merely roared again and prepared for another charge. Lewa looked unsure about his chances, so he said, “Time for plan-change!” He grabbed the Matoran and yanked him into the cave. Before the Ash Bear could follow, Lewa struck the walls with his hatchet and caused a cave in. The Chronicler blinks as the rocks ceased rumbling, but now he was surrounded by complete darkness. “We’re trapped, aren’t we,” he said. “Not-fear, for there is exit-tunnel in back,” Lewa said. “I believe it will out-lead us to open air.” “But how will we find it in here when we can’t see a thing?” the Chronicler asked. “I have mask that will ever-help with that,” Lewa said, and he donned his noble Kanohi Ruru, the mask of night vision. “I can well-see in shadows with this, and I’ll lead to escape-hole!” After a minute of walking through darkness, the Toa and Matoran reached the end of the tunnel and emerged in daylight. Lewa grinned, and summoned back his original Miru Kanohi. “Well, that fun-time adventure, Chronicler. Next time you’re in high-fly Le-Koro, you can speak-tell of our adventure.” He was cut off by another roar, and Graalok appeared over the hill. She leapt forward and swiped her paw, throwing the Toa into a nearby swamp. The Chronicler drew a bamboo disc and prepared to defend himself, but now the Ash Bear seemed less aggressive. With a grunt, she slipped in through the tunnel they had left and returned to her den. “What was that about?” the Chronicler wondered. “Oh, she just angry-mad that I slip-sneaked into her den,” Lewa said, crawling out of the muck of the swamp. “She got in good claw-smack, and for her, that’s ever-good as apology.” “You’re one crazy Toa to mess with an Ash Bear like that,” the Chronicler said. Lewa grinned. “Like I said, we be buddy-friends. . . someday.” He looked down as the swamp grime that covered him. “Oh, and perhaps when you story-tell of our adventure, you could out-leave the swamp-mess part.”

Theme #5: Find the Power Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an Bionicle theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 2nd, 11:59PM PST. Note: The deadlines are now midnight PST (3am EST), giving you three more hours. Edit: The Chronicler Polls have been posted! Still time to vote in the Bones and Dark Hunt polls as well.

Entry #11: "Stars and Memoirs" An elderly Turaga sat at his desk, tablet, pen, and ink before him. His white-and-orange armor glinted in the dim light. He dipped his pen in the ink and began to write. "I've lived a long life and a full life. I actually don't remember most of my life, thanks to the Makuta Teridax. But of the life I do remember-- Oh, such things as I have seen and done." He set down his pen and gazed out the window at the moon rising over the ocean. Thousands of memories floated behind his eyes. He lightly touched the upper portion of his Kanohi, the Noble Vahi. After a moment he returned to the tablet. "Before I pass among the stars, I have decided to create this Chronicle of my life and adventures. Heed, dear reader, within this volume lay many untold tales and once well-hidden secrets. But before I begin, let me give an introduction. "I once lived on an island paradise we called Mata Nui. From there my people crossed the Silver Sea to reunite with our ancestral home, and before long I was dragged along on a string of other adventures, finally ending up in a strange and marvelous world. It was a place which I had never known existed, and one whom few even now know to exist. A time of great strife was passing over that forgotten land, and it was at this time that I found my destiny. As a Toa I devoted my entire energies to the task of caring for and leading my new people. From there things got even stranger, but I've already said too much on that subject for the time being." He glanced out the window again, in reflection. So many adventures he had had, and the next would soon begin. "The world of Spherus Magna has been at peace for many a year now, and I feel that it is the time for a change. My old components are itching to be traveling again, and there are many a younger being keeping watch over Natoro, the city for which I am Head Turaga. I have always had a love for exploration and adventure. Natoro is beautiful, it is true, and there are many here for whom I care, but they will do fine without me. Indeed, I have already explored much of Spherus Magna and encountered many beings, old and new, friendly and not-so-friendly. Now it is time for me to move on to the next chapter." He paused again. His people, along with many hundreds of Spherus Magna's best engineers, had been hard at work for the last few months, working on a major new project. "You see, I have recently discovered an old volume, one ancient in origin. Indeed, it seems that this tale is older than the Matoran Universe itself. It tells the tale of a brave band who, under the orders of those Ancients, the Element Lords, took command of a machine which the Elementals had invented, and set off among the stars themselves. There they encountered entire new worlds and great perils, worlds of paradise and worlds kept under iron fist. Indeed, they remained on this long quest, and never did stop reaching for that last, unreachable star, as it were. "This tale has so inspired me that I took it upon myself to reinvent this old machine, the likes of which had never been seen or heard of before besides from the tale itself, so far as I am aware. The city of Natoro agreed with me, and indeed, so did many a city among the broad expanse of the United Cities of S.M., that in this time of long-lasting peace this oppurtunity to forge new frontiers and expand horizons will be more than worth it. They have agreed with me, and I am overjoyed that they have also agreed to let me take part in this mission myself. I shall be the Chronicler, a title which pleases me to no end. My people have been hard at work, and in just a few short weeks the new Star Explorer shall be complete. "I am overjoyed at this new prospect. I could hope for nothing preferable before I pass into those realms of which only Mata Nui knows for sure. But now, dear reader, before this new chapter begins, let me consign to you these tales of the past. If you are brave, then press on into the depths." -------------------------------------- Entry #12: "Preserving the Past" Hey, uh. I don’t have much time to talk, so I guess I’d better make the most of it. Oh, yeah. Guess I’d better introduce myself, sorry. Name’s Greil. Not a Toa, no – I look like one, yeah, but I come from a species native to the Southern Islands. Which isn’t really that important, I guess. What matters more is what I do; I’m a… historian, I guess you’d say. The Matoran call me a Chronicler, or at least most of them do. I’ve been a lot of places, seen a lot of things. All of it’s recorded in that book over there, or at least the parts that aren’t in that one. Or any of those in that stack. Or… yeah, you get the idea. That’s not really what I’m trying to tell you about, though. Yeah, adventures are cool. Watching history unfold before your eyes is something that never gets. But, see, it’s all there. All in those books. Feel free to read about any of it, if you like. Just bear with me for a few minutes here, all right? See, as you can probably tell, I’ve got a thing for the past. Recording it, documenting it. Crafting a chronicle of our existence so the deeds we do won’t be forgotten. Like, uh… hang on a second, let me just… Yeah, here it is. Volume Six, chapter forty-three – “The Deeds of Toa Hydrac.” His exploits were the stuff of legends while he was alive. Now, though? You ask the people of his village about him, and all they have is vague recollections of a Bo-Toa who protected the island a while back, “or something like that.” A piece of the past lost. Events that may as well not have happened for all the thought they’re given. See how fragile the past is? The mere passage of time destroys it, melts it from our memory. So yeah. That’s what I do. Preserve the past. Guard it, protect it. If I don’t, it’ll just vanish, and we’ll never recover it. Wait, wait, I’m not done. ‘Cause, see, that’s not all there is to the past. Tell me – what’s the point of preserving it, huh? Why do we try to remember everything that happened before now? To honor the heroic deeds of those who came before us? Just for completeness, to have a full record? Both of those have some merit, yeah. That’s what I had in mind when I set out on this quest, this endless, lifelong journey to record what’s happened in this world we call our home. But see, there’s something else that I realized. Ultimately, the past is gone. I mean, think about that, really think about it for a minute. The past means a lot of things to a lot of people. Some recall the deeds of their heroes, wishing they could someday mirror such feats. But the thing is, you’ve got your own life to live – you can’t live it if you focus on the past. Many live in regret of the decisions they’ve made, wishing they had done things differently. Wishing things had turned out better. But the things you’ve done – they’re gone! Because they’re in the past. When it comes down to it, living in regret doesn’t really make sense at all, does it? ‘Cause really, since you can’t change the choices you’ve made, what’s left to do but go out there and make better ones, yeah? I guess what I’m trying to say is this: It’s good to remember the past, but don’t let it distract you from the present. Well, uh. Looks like that’s all the time I’ve got. Like I said, feel free to check out those books. Or maybe you could go out there and live your life. I don’t really mind either way; I’ve got some things to take care of… It’s up to you. -------------------------------------- Entry #13: "Kodan's Last Chronicle" Kodan’s Log, 34-18 We left early in the morning from the Coliseum to the northernmost of the sea gates that surrounded Metru Nui. For a very long time, they had been open to allow trade ships and refugees from less stable lands in. However, Turaga Dume has ordered they all be closed, as a threat against our city has been discovered. This is the last gate to close. I travel with Toa Sesho, Toa of Psionics, and Toa Hetilus, Toa of Iron. I do not know why two Toa are required for a task as menial as closing gates; I, or any Matoran, could easily operate the controls alone, but Turaga Dume knows what is best. We can only hope that he will Kodan put down his log book as the boat came to a stop. The three passengers disembarked and began for the machinery that closed a large door over the gate, and did so without word. As they finished, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the sea. He performed his task as silently as he did efficiently. Toa Hetilus’s Kanohi Kakama was knocked into the sea during the battle, and Kodan’s log entry was never completed. -------------------------------------- Entry #14: "Letter From an Old Friend" Takua, If you're reading this then I'm either dead, or declared dead. I don't see myself dying or disappearing from Metru Nui anytime soon, but then again, being Chronicler isn't exactly low-risk,and there are a few things I should see to. This is one of them. So, first of all, I just want to say you're a good friend. (Yes, it's cliched. Give the dead guy a break, all right?) True, you annoyed me the first time we met. I believe your exact words to me were, "Your job is to wander all over the island and be given a front-row seat to anything exciting? How did you find an excuse to slack off regular work for this?" I did not approve of the fact that you saw my dangerous and laborious position as "an excuse to slack off" and not “regular work.” But after maybe the third time I ran into you around the city (since we are both wanderers attracted to excitement like lava eels to heat) I realized you didn't mean to be offensive. You just honestly didn't understand why I should get a free pass to do all the things you were forcibly restrained for doing. (Nor have you ever accepted the obvious differences.) But we could hardly help being acquaintances, since (as noted above) we tend to wind up in the same places. (Jaller behind you, of course. You are undeservedly lucky to have a best friend who will try that hard to stop you from being an cool dude.) And, of course, you're the prime witness to (if not cause of) over half the noteworthy things I do miss, meaning I have to interview you about them. And then you started criticizing my writing style, which meant that you had to try it yourself, so Jaller and I could laugh at you instead. Still, though, you absolutely refuse to admit my job as Chronicler involves any effort or unpleasantness, or, in fact, that it qualifies as a "job" at all. This leads me to the second thing I need to say: If you think it's so easy, do it yourself. No, really. I'm naming you as my choice for the next Chronicler.... Having paused to allow you to recover from your shock, I will now explain my reasoning. (Consider this a rehearsal for the recommendation letter I have to write Turaga Dume.)Yes, you're reckless, but a certain amount of recklessness is necessary in a Chronicler. Yes, everyone says you're irresponsible, but they're judging that by how well you do at a job you are emphatically not suited for. (If you fall behind in any of your Chronicler duties even once, I will take that as your concession that it is at least as valid a job as mask-making or anything else.) And yes, you can be an impetuous, thoughtless, trouble-seeking cool dude, to a degree not beneficial in anyone but... but... ...well, nobody's perfect, are they? And I think your various assets outweigh this defect. What do I consider assets, you ask? You love travel and excitement of all kinds, even more than I do. (Yes, I enjoy it. That doesn't mean it's not a real job, it's just work I like - oxymoronic as I know that seems to you.) You're definitely not a coward. Though you have a pretty realistic worldview, you still believe in heroes and heroism. I'm not having some cynic like Onewa stealing my job. And, though I hate to admit it, you're really not a half-bad writer. So there you have it. In the highly hypothetical event of my death or extended disappearance you will become Chronicler. If you can't, I'd probably accept Kopeke from Ko-Metru (though I'm not going to explain that here too) but you're my first choice. Your friend, Kodan the Chronicler Toa Takanuva stared at the letter before him, uncertain whether to laugh or to cry. When he and Hahli Mahri had been sent to search their fellow Chronicler's former home for important writings, he had not expected to find a letter from along-lost and now unknown friend. Nor had he expected the discovery that he had been recommended for the position of Chronicler, a thousand years and a universe away from his appointment. He wondered if the formal recommendation was nearby, but did not search for it. Instead he called to his fellow Toa. "Hey, Hahli. You know how the Turaga are trying to choose a new Chronicler - do you know Kopeke?" -------------------------------------- Entry #15: "Words by Kopeke" I have never been one to do much speaking. I never had to. I let others talk their throats hoarse if they wanted. I let them discharge their views, right or wrong, whether I agreed or not, to their hearts' contents. Words never solved anything. I listened when I thought it was worth while, but what good would it have been to answer? I stood by and did what I had to do. For many years it was my job to listen and observe. It wasn't my own story I was chronicling. It was the story of the universe. I was just watching. That was my duty and I stuck to it. Words are useless, idle things. Now, so am I. The time of my usefulness is past. My destiny as a chronicler was fulfilled when I became a Toa. During those centuries I spoke even less. I did my duty and I wasted no time talking. My deeds have passed into legend alongside the feats of the many great heroes in our history. Still I was only an observer. Only I had become an observer of my own destiny. That was a long time ago. We live in more peaceable times now. The world has little use for Toa, and even less for quiet Turaga. My destiny is over. My chronicles are written. I spend my days now in tranquil seclusion. There is not much here for me to observe. Only memories. I have lost my purpose. I am now useless, idle. In losing my purpose I have found it. Idleness need not be useless if it is worthily devoted. If words are worthless, if I am idle, let us unite and find a destiny for us both. Now I have a new gift to give the universe. My time has been well spent observing our world. I have done much, and seen more. I may have nothing tot tell that has not been told, but that does not mean my mind is empty. In an idle chair, with words and stylus, I will create new legends. For the first time I open my mouth to speak. After millennia of silence, I have a lot to say. -------------------------------------- Entry #16: "Burdens Upon My Soul" 1… 2… 3… 4… Four skips before the pebble finally sank into the ocean. The Toa responded by throwing another stone, watching it cut through the water in a straight line. This one managed three skips. In frustration the Toa released a gust of air with the next pebble, accomplishing only the drowning of the pebble. Zero, just like me. This latest war between the Toa and the Glatorian had been just as bloody as the previous three; even now the Toa could only take out his frustrations on rocks and lakes. Everything had become so terrible, so fast. For a short while there had been some semblance of peace and harmony after Mata Nui had died. This was thanks in large part to the Mata and the Glatorian Mata Nui had befriended. Then the horror crept in as a devastating creature had been unleashed upon the Toa. Three skips. The Toa of Air still remembered those days, despite being a rookie Toa at the time. One by one the Toa heroes of old fell, alongside Mata Nui’s friends who attempted to help the Toa. It wasn’t long before only the Mata and a handful of Toa were left alive. The Toa often felt guilty for surviving. Two skips. Eventually Tahu and the Mata set out, hoping to rid the land of this scourge. Though they accomplished their task, they never returned. The news that their greatest heroes had been wiped out devastated all of the surviving Matoran and Toa, but soon their despair became hatred when they realized the monster never targeted a single Glatorian. One skip. Of course the Glatorian were just as angry at the loss of many of the heroes they had sent to aid the Toa. They blamed the Toa, for the arrival of this beast and so they too sought revenge. That was when all Karz broke loose. Zero skips. A gust of wind managed to fling sand into the Toa’s face causing him to drop the pebble. The sand only gave the Toa of yet another reason to hate this place. The small band of Toa accompanying him didn’t even have the luxury of being assigned to one of the more temperate climates. However even that wasn’t always the best option, the Jungles just meant more chances of an ambush. Everything about this place was terrible. This time the Toa kicked the pebble, silently watching as it arced into the air. The pebble somehow managed six skips leaving the Toa swearing at fate for being such a cruel mistress. Why would she aid him when he did something wrong? Picking up another pebble he let it fly. Eight skips. Perhaps fate wasn’t always so cruel, but it certainly hadn’t been kind in the past few hundred years. He still remembered how wide-eyed the Toa had gone into the war, only to have their idealistic hopes of a bloodless war vanquished. On Spherus Magna it was kill or be killed. Seven skips. He still remembered his first kill. It had been a terrible experience that still shook his very core. Toa don’t kill. That had been the fundamental rule, the one driven into him since his early days as a Matoran, however on Spherus Magna none of that mattered. Six skips. Unfortunately the pain of killing only faded as time went by. Soon all of the Toa were laying waste to legion of Glatorian every day, and yet they kept losing. For every ten Glatorian they killed by day, the Glatorian killed fifteen of them at night. Five skips. His brothers and sisters hadn’t been spared from this fate either. One by one each Toa of his former team perished. Eventually only he was left. He had nothing but sympathy for the Chronicler. His own memories weighed so deeply upon his soul, he couldn’t imagine the pain of a Chronicler who had to deal with everyone’s memories. Four skips. “Brother!” A voice rang out from across the camp, alerting the Toa of Air. “The Glatorian are attacking!” Three skips. The news only served to further ruin the Toa’s mood as he lethargically grabbed another rock. However this one was different from the others, it was covered in blood. Picking it up he let it fly out towards the enemy. Two lives. However this time things it was his turn and so he could only resign his head as the counter attack was launched his way. One life. He was finally free from his memories. -------------------------------------- Entry #17: "How to Be a Chronicler" You want to be a Chronicler? You can’t just walk up, tell the Turaga you want to be a Chronicler, and get your badge just like that. For one, you go to the Turaga and ask for an application form, and secondly you need to follow certain qualifications. Luckily, we’re here to help! Here’s a list of 17 simple steps for any aspiring Chronicler-to-be. 1. Be a Matoran. Toa, Turaga, Agori, Glatorian, Skakdi, Vortixx, Makuta, Visorak, Takea, Gadunka, Great Spirits, Great Beings, and whatever Sidorak’s species are called cannot apply. No, this is not species-ism in the slightest. It’s a story requirement. You think Takua kept his position after he became a Toa? Nope, he got ousted ASAP and Hahli took his place. And she got ousted when she became a Toa. In short, DON’T BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN A MATORAN. 2. Be stupidly courageous, stupidly adventurous, and stupidly stupid. Do stuff that would make any daredevil cringe. I mean, come on, who wants a Chronicler that just sits down and writes? Go out and get yourself blasted into amnesiac status because of a few glowy stones. Go and chase a certain weird-looking rock even though you’re going to die unless a random Toa appears out of nowhere. 3. Give up and just go mad. It would help a ton. Trust me. 4. Bend the truth. No one wants to hear about how a random Le-Matoran ate a Bula Berry. That Le-Matoran did NOT eat a Bula Berry. He ate a whole bushel of EXPLOSIVE Bula Berries, while swinging on a vine, while fighting flying Takea mutations, while staring into Makuta’s eyes, without his mask, Gukko birds chasing him, all before he lets go of the vine, flips in the air, and hijacks one of the birds to engage in a daring dogfight. Now THAT’S a story. Did it happen? Yes it did. 5. Look for loopholes. The above story happened…in my mind. There. 6. Never go into specifics. They’ll be the death of you. I’m not even exaggerating. 7. Exaggerate. This is different from bending the truth. Bending the truth is adding details. Exaggerating is amplifying them. The Gukko Birds in the above story were poised to self-destruct if the Le-Matoran even touched them, but he did and he lived. That’s exaggeration. 8. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS italicize and/OR capitalize EVERYTHING you SAY. IT ADDS A TON of emphasis and makes STORIES so much MORE INTERESTING. WE want INTERESTING NOT BORING. ALSO BREAK YOUR CAPS LOCK SO IT’S ALWAYS ON. IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RESCREAMING THEN. WE LOVE SCREAMING. 9. TABLET AND CHISEL ONLY. PENS ARE EVIL AND WERE THE REASON ELIMINATOR KILLED KODAN. HE USED A PEN FOR A STORY SO HE DIED. ALTHOUGH HE RODE A VINE WHILE EATING A BUSHEL OF EXPLOSIVE BULA BERRIES. BUT THEY EXPLODED BECAUSE OF ELIMINATOR. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE HE DID. 10. EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS. 11. GET INTO TROUBLE WITH YOUR LOCAL TURAGA. PUT A DISK LAUNCHER AGAINST HIS HEAD OR SOMETHING. OR BURN DOWN A VILLAGE. TELL EVERYONE THAT THIS IS A DREAM AND MAKE THEM WONDER WHOSE IT IS AND IF THEY’RE ENJOYING IT. ALSO EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS EXPLOSIONS. 12. DO NOT TALK ABOUT HOW TO BE A CHRONICLER. 13. DO NOT TALK ABOUT HOW TO BE A CHRONICLER. 14. EXPLOSIONS. 15. BE YOURSELF? YEAH, THAT SEEMS RIGHT. THAT’S WHAT EVERY HOW TO GUIDE ENDS WITH. BE YOUR MAD, INSANE, TROUBLESOME, EXPLOSIONY, EXAGGERATING, TRUTH-BENDER SELF. 16. FIND AN IMPORTANT RELIC. MAYBE, SAY, SOMETHING LIKE A MASK OF LIFE? IT MIGHT BE IN A CAVERN WITH A POOL OF LAVA AND NO WAY OUT. 17. OBEY AND SERVE ME. ADVANCE THE PLAN. After these 17 simple steps, you should be ready to go out and apply for the job with no fear! Good luck, and may Mata Nui be with you always! Sincerely, By Katuma Xedirat -------------------------------------- Entry #18: "The Chronicler's Burden" The Chronicler walked slowly, a massive pack on his back. He was Po-Matoran, and well accustomed to such a load. he had been gone a long time, nearly a year, off beyond the mountains. But now he had come back, to share the treasures that he had won, each story painstakingly etched in solid stone. Word spread among the villagers that the Chronicler was coming. there would be much celebration after the sun set, culminating in the Chronicler telling a story. The story would not be long, and would not be followed by another. But it had always been something intriguing, beautiful, precious. And the Chronicler had a way of speaking, of painting a picture and evoking emotions that was legendary. Then he would give his load of tablets to the village elder for safekeeping, and the elder would give him blank tablets in return. And in the morning he would be gone again. So they listened carefully.

Theme #2: The Chronicler Entry #1: "Easy Shadows" There are not many stories that are fully true. This is because most stories are old, and time twists tales in such a way that nobody can really be sure what happened or not. So many things happen over such a short period of time that the strings are bound to get tangled and there are so many discrepancies that someone has to sort them all out. It is the job of a Chronicler to learn all they they can about the history of their assigned location or people. In such a vast world, to make sure that all the details of their history are correct and never too far-fetched. This is quite difficult when you have to talk to a pathological liar. The Vortixx's claw-like fingers drummed on the wooden table as she held her face in her other hand. Her name was Roodaka, and though her weapons had been removed, she was still deemed dangerous enough for the Chronicler to have guards assigned to her. However, when they realised that she wouldn't be talking to anyone other than the small Vo-Matoran, they had left the cell and locked the door. "So, you probably want to know my motives for turning the Toa into Hordika first," she purred. The Chronicler shivered, but didn't let this deter her until she realised that she was too scared to speak. She nodded, knowing that if she shook her head then she would have to say something. The Vortixx smirked knowingly and looked at her with her right eye. "Their corpses would have been useful, and it was also my way of testing Sidorak. If he had accepted the idea, he would be again proved to me that he was unworthy of my time. If he had disagreed and mutated them - for almost no good reason I may add - then he had succeeded for once. Needless to say, this was yet another of my tests that he had failed." As she finished the sentence in a harsher tone than before, she scraped her fingers down on the wood, tearing out a small chunk and throwing it at the wall. "However, I had many plans for what happened next. If they had died, then I could have used their corpses for brokering deals and for a little thing that you know nothing of called power. But as they lived, I could use their new mental state for my own good." The Chronicler leaned in, still scrawling on a piece of parchment given to her by an Agori of the Fire Tribe. Roodaka observed her haughtily before continuing. "My first choice was actually Matau. He had darkness - so much that it was a shame to waste it. Nokama would have been a better choice to destroy their precious unity, but she was stubborn and unyielding. The others could have done the job, but Vakama was willing to walk straight into my web." She chuckled. "Just like a Toa should." The Chronicler blinked. She should not have been surprised - Turaga Vakama had admitted it, after all - but to hear these words spoken by a known villain, and to be told how foolish their leader had been, brought a small chill to the Chronicler's soul. "You know everything that happened in Metru Nui. I will not deny this, nor shall I add anything such as personal motives. I know that you want to hear about my weaknesses, so all of your new Orders and Federations can find some way to punish me. "I have some advice for you, little Matoran. Rules, such as those that you live and breathe every day by, are nothing but restrictions placed on you so you don't usurp those who placed themselves in power." She stood up and walked to the cell door. There, she picked the lock and opened the door. "Come, little Matoran. I will teach you about the benefits of the places that your Turaga tell you are shadows. You will never be powerless again, and wouldn't it be wonderful to not be looking over our shoulder every day to make sure that I am not there with my knife to your throat?" The Vo-Matoran looked up from the parchment, before nodding and following the Vortixx out of the door. -------------------------------------- Entry #2: "The Close of the Civil War" Any good Chronicler knows that a story is no more than a sum of other stories.If a worthy Chronicler happened upon the Makuta-led massacre of civil war leaders in the Archives, that Chronicler ought not to think of only the heres and nows — the bodies strewn across the floor, the bloodstains on Teridax’s blade, the morbid satisfaction betrayed by his grin — but of the befores and afters.Such a Chronicler might say: There lies Odipheus the Po-Matoran, his right arm separated from the rest of his body, his eyes open in an empty gaze: Odipheus, who had pleaded in his prayers for the chance to face he who dared to incarcerate him, now free from bodily pain; who had asked that blood be shed and received his wish in more ways than one. And there lies Ta-Matoran Karhi, whose fiery temper ignited the hopes and fears of his kin, intimidating in death as he was in life: who drew his sword only to serve his friends and, in the end, gave up his life for them.That Chronicler might continue and note the Ga-Matoran Kokora, who courted Odipheus for a time before being repulsed by his rebellious streak and, for the duration of the Matoran Civil War, served only as healer and assistant. He may remark in brief about the passing of Ko-Matoran Irhu, perhaps the most pragmatic among those of the coldest Metru, who preached for cool heads and was rewarded being flung into battle with the opposite.But there was no Chronicler here.Teridax was cunning. As he had determined the war would end on his terms, so end it would — along with the talks of rebellion and the songs of heroes wrongly apotheosized and villains improperly labeled, of the very essence and hubris that had caused the conflict in the first place.Oh, Miserix would be furious if he discovered, and the Matoran would cry foul.But — and here lay the inherent pulchritude, the beautiful simplicity of his plot — Teridax would have cleaned the blood off his blade by then, and he would speak with squared shoulders and somber eyes of how he had been offered no other options. He would speak of a defender backed against a wall and forced to strike out against those he had sworn to protect. And no one would correct him.For he had made certain that he, and no virtuous individual, no Matoran or Toa — only he would write the chronicle of how the civil war came to its close. -------------------------------------- Entry #3: "Corruption" The snow banks of Ko-Koro were some of the most beautiful parts of the island. The glistening ice portrayed a light show of epic proportions. There were many inhabitants, some Matoran, some otherwise. They could all feel the snow coming down with equal parts wonder and disdain. In the middle of it were two white, figures- one tinted blue and the other a sort of alabaster. The latter was tall and resonated power, but left a chill in the already-cold air of Ko-Wahi. Not that the former, short and stout, was much of a juxtaposition. "Kopaka," said the shorter, brandishing a tablet of stone and a marker, "tell me again of how you defeated the Muaka." 'Kopaka' was obviously not much of people person. His traveling companion had to actively work to match his gait, rather than easily fall into step beside him. "I've told you so many times, you should be able to recite it word for word, Kopeke," he said, sighing deeply, "but very well." He proceeded to tell the story once again as they continued to tread across the snowy plains, Kopeke etching down each part. Just as they got to the good part, however, they were interrupted by a rather hungry pack of wild Rahi. "Stand back!" Kopaka barked, leaping out in front of the chronicler and drawing his sword. They didn't threaten him, however, and with a few slashes they had all been scared off or wounded. "What would cause those Rahi to attack us?" Kopeke asked, "they're usually peaceful. At the least, not this hostile towards us." Kopaka shook his head, "corruption. That would be my first guess. Of course, it could be a number of things." "Hey! Hey, help!" A new voice, far off, yelled. Kopaka turned his head towards the voice and saw its speaker: a Matoran frozen upside down in the ice. Unfortunately, there was a chasm between himself and the distressed Matoran. "I'm coming," he yelled, conducting his sword at the chasm, even as a bridge of ice formed. As a Toa, these things were never a problem. He rushed across, but Kopeke stayed behind- after all, he wouldn't be too much help. As it turned out, he just might've been. As Kopaka freed him, he took a closer look at his mask. His eyes widened and he stumbled back- an infected mask. Out of nowhere came a flying Rahi- also infected -that knocked him off his feet. Kopeke almost rushed to help him, but the ice bridge had weakened exponentially as Kopaka fell. It seemed to Kopeke that all hope had been lost, when a green blur came into view. He tackled the Rahi straight from the air. Lewa had arrived. Though in the midst of battle, they traded banter just as normal. "Nice of you to drop by," Kopaka smirked, standing and steadying his blade. "I was in the area-vicinity," the cheerful Toa of air replied. As far as Kopeke could see, they defeated the Rahi without trouble. Then, something completely unexpected happened. The two began fighting. The chronicler squinted, and spotted a glint of color on Kopaka's face- a Krana. Kopaka had been corrupted. ---- "...and they were still fighting when I left." Nuju nodded, "this explains the recent Rahi attacks. However, there is nothing we can do. "The Toa must fight their own battles." -------------------------------------- Entry #4: They say that the life of the chronicler is more esteemed than that of a Turaga, more desired than anything else a Matoran can do.They’re wrong. Dead wrong. Being a chronicler is like being a trophy, with no real purpose. You’re a burden and a nuisance for the mighty heroes you follow.Even worse is what you see. Sure, a chronicler from Metru Nui or some nice and lawful place has it easy. Maybe some vicious Rahi, maybe a criminal or two, but nothing as ghastly as the scene we walked through. Ahead my team leader stood, looking about with a grim expression. The village we traveled to was deserted; bereft of the living that is. I winced as I trod upon a limp hand, picking my way through the corpses.“Who did this, Toa?” My voice annoys me to no end: shaky after the sudden scare. The Toa of Stone glances down at me.“Piraka, chronicler. That’s who did this. Skakdi, Vortixx, who knows. They’re Piraka to the core.” His voice was harsh, and he turned away before I could answer. I was stung by his tone before—glancing at his shaking shoulders—I realized that he too was overcome by the tragedy we stood in the midst of.I turned away instead, hunting out the team healer, a young Lightning Toa. Unlike the rest of us she was at work, lining the still bodies next to each other rather than in the grotesque sprawling they had assumed before. I looked at her, not at the dead Matoran below me.“What are we going to do?” The real questions never come when they’re needed. Most chroniclers must get sick of reality sometimes when they depict the flowery speeches that go one between the Toa. She looked up at me, her soft blue eyes pained.“What we’ve always done these past years, Chronicler. We leave the dead and we move on.”I nodded, unable to look into those deep orbs, stumbling away. I sat down in a deserted building, at an old desk. My tablet was in my hand, but I couldn’t write. A dead Ko-Matoran lay next to the desk, his hands grasping futilely at a bundle of scrolls. No doubt those were more important to him than his own life. I left my tablet on the desk then, bending over him. As I moved him into a more dignified posture I felt the tears coming. I gave in, crouching against a wall and sobbing.These moments were not what they promised you when they handed you the scrolls and the tablets, when they welcomed you with speeches and cheers.These were moments that even Toa could not face. There was no overarching evil to face, no mastermind to bring to justice. It was only another band of scum, of no worth to the world, no worth save for that which they deprived the innocent of. I don’t know how long I crouched there in my grief, but at last I staggered back to the desk.It was then that I began writing this with a vigor I had never known.Life is Karzahni when you really look into it. Recording it just adds another stage to it. Because you see these horrors, and then you relive them by writing them. And you make others live it, even if they can only glimpse it in your text. But for me, right now, it’s the best I can do. I’m not a Toa, I have no powers or weapons or fancy masks. All I have is this tablet, all I can do is write this.I’m a Chronicler. This is my ordeal. -------------------------------------- Entry #5: "Treasure" Takua's hut was a mess. But he liked it that way. Everyone told him he needed to organize, throw things out. But he liked all of his possessions, and knew where all of them where located. Need a five inch wrench for an air tube? Look in the pile by the northeast corner. Need a leash for an Ussal Crab? Hanging on the wall right next to a Mahi horn. Sure it wasn't professionally curated, but that was a job for the archivists. He wasn't an archivist, he was an adventurer. And today he was going to have an adventure. He'd heard rumors of a valuable object floating around Ko-Metru. And if there's one thing Takua loved, it was valuable objects. His first stop was to talk to a Matron named Kapura. He was supposed to be on duty, but Takua knew he preferred the company of the junk piles. He made his way over to the Ta-Metru dump, and sure enough, Kapura was there digging as usual. "Hey, Kapura!" Takua called. "I need you to--" Kapura brought his fingers to his lips, halting Takua's speech. "Quiet!" He whispered. "Spies could be anywhere." "Sorry," Takua whispered back. "I've heard rumors of a valuable object hidden in Ko-Metru. I know you have an ear in every rumor mill of Metru-Nui and was wondering what you've heard" Kapura leaned in close and whispered in Takua's ear. "They say there's something embedded in the very top of Tower 43," he said. "Nobody wants to go after it, though. Vahki guard that place like it's a widget reserve." Kapura stopped talking, his eyes looking around panicked. "We're being watched!" he exclaimed, "Run!" And with that he took off. Takua looked around, but he didn't see anything. He carefully slunk off toward the nearest tube station. - He shortly arrived in Ko-Metru, and quickly made his way toward the Knowledge Towers. He noted from a map that Tower 43 was located below a cliff. Approaching from the cliff, he noticed about the tower. Unlike the rest, which ended in points, this one didn't. Instead it was capped with a flat platform. There must be something there. He went into his backpack and took out rope, stake, and hammer. Pounding the stake into the cliffside, he tied the rope around himself and made a makeshift rappel line. He breathed slowly, gathering his courage, before jumping from the cliff. He climbed down quickly. The Vahki would see this. He jumped three feet from the top and immediately started to search. It didn't take long. He saw an object embedded in the ice, and without thinking grabbed his hammer and smacked the ice. The ice cracked. The object fell out. He threw it in his backpack without looking at it. He knew Keerakh were coming. He climbed the rope as fast as he could. When he got to the top he just ran. The nearest tube station was a quarter kio away. Looking back he didn't see any Keerakh. But you never saw Keerakh until it was too late. - The tube station was in sight! Takua's lungs were burning, but he didn't dare stop. When he got to 22 bio away, he turned back. Nothing. He looked ahead. There was a Keerakh. He sprinted. The Keerakh ran toward Takua, it's staff glowing. It swung. Takua lifted his legs, plopping to the ground like a wingless bird, and slid on the ice right under the staff. That move would have never worked anywhere else. Getting up, he continued to sprint, and at what he figured was the last second, jumped into the tube. Takua was out of breath. He was choking on the protoermis, but he had to leave the Vahki behind. Right before he passed out, he jumped out of the tub. He landed hard, but the breath he took was heavenly. And as the green trees indicated, he was out of Ko-Metru. - Takua took a relaxing trip back home. When he was finally in his favorite chair, he opened his backpack and looked at his find. His jaw dropped. He couldn't breath. In his hand was the ultimate treasure: a gearbox from the original Vahki model! They should have all been destroyed, but here was one right in his hand! He guessed that it accidentally got stuck in the tower during growth. He put the gearbox on his wall of fame. It sat right beside a Ga-Metru temple stone and an iron ingot. -------------------------------------- Entry #6: "Uniform" I’ll never fit in… Hielo thought Every time I have an adventure, everyone stares at me quizzically. As if they’re judging if I really am a Ko-Matoran. Hielo wandered into his flat in Ko-Ouda. He’d never applied for a job, he never wanted one. After all, who wants to sit around all day studying or working? Oh wait, that’s right; Everybody else. Hielo thought as he sat down. He flicked on his television and watched it halfheartedly. He was distraught to say the least. No one liked him, no one appreciated his company, and no one thought that he was worth anything. Not even him. Hielo got up to go to bed when something of interest caught his attention: the chief chronicler of Ouda-Nui had been connected to a crime ring in Onu-Ouda and the Turaga was now seeking a replacement! I’m the guy for the job. Hielo thought as he grabbed his bag and set out for the central city of Ouda-Nui. “Hey! Watch it!” A Matoran driver yelled as he jerked to a stop. “Sorry!” Hielo yelled back. Getting through the city was hard. There were too many side streets and roads that intersected, and the traffic signals being out of sync only made it worse. One had to have sharp wits and reflexes to make it out of here with a few cuts. Here I am; the Tower. Hielo thought. The Tower was the very center of Ouda-Nui. Only the rich, the famous, and the officials lived here. After a week’s journey, Hielo had finally made it. Now to get inside… “Wow, they don’t like guest.” Hielo said. He didn’t make it past the lobby. Apparently you needed a visitor’s pass, which Hielo did not possess, to get inside. Well, so much for plan A. Hielo thought. “Time for plan B” He said as he gazed upward towards the top of the Tower. In hindsight, this was most definitely NOT a good idea. Hielo thought as he looked down. He was thirty stories in the air and still had twenty stories to go before he reached the Turaga’s private flat at the top. By now, a large crowd of Matoran had amassed in front of the building. Great, just what I needed; extra attention. The Turaga of Ouda-Nui was just waking up from his afternoon nap when Hielo tumbled through a window. “What’s this?” The Turaga said, “An adventurous Matoran, I don’t come across many of those.” “Forgive my entrance, Turaga.” Hielo said, exhausted. “I’ve come to apply for the job of chief Chronicler.” Hielo said. “What is your name?” The Turaga asked. “My name is Hielo, Turaga.” Hielo replied. "Well then, Hielo, the title of Chronicler is not one that is given away freely. One must earn it by traveling throughout Ouda-Nui and keeping a detailed history of such an adventure.” The Turaga said. “Very well, Turaga. I will return in one month with the stories of my journey.” Hielo said with a slight bow as he climbed out of the window. “I would recommend that you use the lift.” The Turaga said. “Nah, the welcome desk attendant doesn’t like me very much.” Hielo said as he jumped through the window. The Turaga chuckled a little. He’s the one. I can feel it. The Turaga thought. “Every Matoran has His or Her place. Hielos does not; he must be terminated” An ominous voice said. “Or have you forgotten, my dear Turaga, that every Matoran must be uniform. Have you forgotten you place? Must you be terminated?” “No, master, I am making the call now." The Turaga said as he keyed in a com code. I’m really glad that the parachute worked. Hielo thought as he walked away from the Tower. Now it’s time to head off to Le-Ouda. “He’s on his way toward Le-Ouda” A voice crackled through the intercom. “Make sure he doesn’t make it into the city, Korvux.” “Sure thing boss, but Hielo isn’t a Matoran that’s so easily killed.” Korvux said as he assumed his sniping position in a nearby tree. He’ll have no idea what hit him. Korvux thought as he activated his camouflage. -------------------------------------- Entry #7: "The Eternal Silence of A Bitter Man" I never thought I would be tasked with this; I never imagined I would be asked to record the history of an entire universe. And yet, here I am, parchment in my hand, and ink stains tainting my snow-white fingers. I watched as my friends grew into heroes, becoming characters in the legend I humbly wrote down. I watched others aspire for greatness, achieve greatness and become something that ascended beyond mere mortality, as I merely sat and watched, content to be the recorder. I could have been a hero; I could have welcomed the Toa Mata, become one of the Toa Inika, doing wondrous things, and feeling such great rushes of emotion. Yet I do nothing but carry stone tablets, and I feel nothing but the rough wood of a chisel’s handle, scraping my once-delicate hands into a callous mass of bone, muscle and protodermis. Am I a fool for letting them do such things? Should I have seized the day, should I have spoken when I was silent, and acted when I was frozen in my own lethargy? Should I have dared to not only dream, but to act? I do not know. I merely write down the doings of Destiny; I have no knowledge of the force that sets the universe in motion, giving each of us a meaning and a task. There are so many that think my life is a glorious one. They think of me not as a slave to an unseen master, but as a loyal and hardy squire, recording the doings of a brave warrior. They do not see the apparent sadness, but only the absent glory. I am a bitter man, having lived far too long for my own good. I have never seen the golden light of glory, but only the crimson and shadowy stain of suffering. It is said that the Chronicler’s occupation is a post to be respected, but I am unable to see why. I am little more than a glorified clerk, working for a cruel, enigmatic master, at best mysterious, at worst treacherous. And yet I find myself unable to stop. The cruel, heartless force known as Duty has become the sword of Destiny, striking down any attempt to rebel. I write, I record, and I listen, but I never act or think. I am a husk of a being, forged by my job, and hollow inside, an automaton, born to serve an unseen Lord by performing an unclear task. Only one of the Three Virtues I can claim to disown, for my role in society demands my ignorance of it. Unity, the principle that drives both Rahi and sapient beings into a stupidly gregarious mindset, is as foreign to me as the feeling of accomplishment. I can only watch as my peers work together, uniting to complete a task impossible for the lone worker, as I feel nothing but confusion. Even before I was appointed this accursed office, I worked unaccompanied, relying on only myself to carve beauty out of the blocks of heartless, biting ice. I was always silent, for I saw the idiocy of my brethren to be unworthy of notice. But I am naught but a bitter, cruel man. My intelligence may be tempered by cynicism, but it also tainted by a certain lack of empathy. My name is forgotten, replaced by my title. Perhaps if I hear the word one more time, some component of my soul will return. Kopeke. A rather nice name that belongs to a rather disagreeable man. Perhaps “Chronicler” is my proper name; I have chronicled and recorded enough to earn it. I suppose it can’t be argued; it has been given to me by Destiny, reinforced by Duty, and strengthened by a lack of Unity. I’m naught but a bitter man, with ink-stained hands, worn rough by the days of carving stone. I am the Chronicler of Spherus Magna, the recorder for not one, but two entire universes. I am a bitter writer, my words tainted with my scorn, my once delicate, beauty-crafting hands now as hard and callous as my heart. Recording the sins of a universe has done this to me. I have watched false hope after false hope die; I have seen a universe in its death throes, and I have tilled salted ground. But I am unable to feel. I am unable to think. I can only record, writing down these things in eternal silence. -------------------------------------- Entry #8: "But Never Fun" “Why?” “Now, that’s too simple a question to too complex a situation.” “I don’t think you believe that. You did it because you could.” “There is some truth to that. But if you thought that was all it was, you wouldn’t have asked anything at all.” “Enlighten me, then. Why?” “Well, it all started when—well, you should know yourself. You were there at the battle of the Rotting Gorge, were you not?” “Not close enough to know what you’re referring to, and that was an enormous battle to begin with. My account was written based off other’s, too.” “That seems to be how most of your work is done.” “Indeed. Which makes our present situation most awkward.” “I suppose. But then, a coward would be expected to think that.” “I prefer not to think of myself that way. I am simply not openly suicidal.” “Then why won’t you come closer? Do you really think I could hurt you in my state?” “I don’t know if you could or couldn’t. As it is, I’m trying to figure out if you would.” “Be a little more trusting.” “I would rather not.” “Do you remember what happened at the Gorge?” “A lot of things happened at the Gorge. Be a little more specific.” “I mean the Nova.” “You should have just said that.” “You should have known that’s what I was talking about.” “I’m not a mind reader. You should know that, at least.” “…Do you remember the Nova?” “Of course I remember the Nova. That’s all anyone talks about when the Gorge is brought up.” “Yes…And for good reason. That devastated both sides and killed both Toa and Skakdi. It would be irresponsible not to discuss it.” “Don’t make me laugh. You never had any intentions of discussing it. You probably made up your mind the second you saw it.” “Oh? And what is it that I decided?” “You decided it was awesome.” “It was probably awe inspiring. But then, that’s your opinion as well.” “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I would want to repeat it.” “Empty words, Matoran. You do not have the power required to do it even if you wanted. Perhaps if you did, it would be a different story.” “Perhaps. But maybe that’s why I am not a Toa, and why no fools like me should be, either.” “You haven’t heard all I have to say yet.” “I doubt your situation will improve either way.” “Anyway, as you well know, that Nova ended the conflict. Our commander had been the one that detonated, while he was battling the Skakdi warlord. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of either left after the blast (Or of a few dozen others), and the front ranks were left in disarray. Truly a messy situation.” “What’s your point?” “Well, one of the commander’s main aides, one the casualties of the Nova, was a very close friend of mine. According to another mutual acquaintance, she had sensed the commander’s intent before battle, but did not warn anybody.” “Then she was a fool.” “I thought so at first. But then I wondered why she would keep quiet about something like that. Then it struck me that none of us had ever seen anything like a Nova before. It is the grandest demonstration of a Toa’s power possible. Wouldn’t you be curious to see how much power you really had, even if the marker was only the extent of destruction you caused?” “Not at all, but that aside, my question remains. You were there. So why again?” “Because I wasn’t. The Rotting Gorge is enormous. All I saw was some smoke out in the distance. I only learned later that my friend had been killed.” “And because you weren’t present, you felt you needed to repeat the Nova.” “Yes.” “Then you are also a fool.” “Yes. And now I am sure, so was she.” “Her foolishness cost dozens their lives. Why would you do this?” “Well, only one life is ending today, and it’s the life of a fool. I don’t see it as a great loss.” “Then you are a greater fool than I thought.” “Why?” “You are a Toa. Without you here to protect us, how many more will fall?” “That’s why you’re here, Chronicler. Tell others the story of this fool. Warn them of my stupidity. It should be fun.” “It is true that that is my Duty. But if you think I will enjoy it, you truly understand nothing.” -------------------------------------- Entry #9: "The Burning Truth" Teridax folded his arms and coldly regarded his brother, Mutran, so soon back from his mission. There was something amiss in the scientist’s behaviour. He refused to be seated and instead chose to float restlessly around the room, picking up objects and flinging them aside once done inspecting. Had it been anyone else, they might have been a pile of dust at this point. As it was, Mutran had information that Teridax wanted. “Tren Krom,” he said loudly. “What did you find out about him?” At the name of the beast, Mutran’s head swivelled and a manic glint twisted the otherwise cold eyes beneath his Kanohi. “Look at my memory,” the scientist chuckled. “What?” “That’s what it said, that Tren Krom, when it turned me into a chronicler. Oh, I did as you wished, my brother and I’ve seen much, so much. So much more than you could ever have asked of me!” For a moment, Teridax was taken aback by his underling’s behaviour. It was so erratic but filled with a passion that enticed his curiosity. “Go on,” he demanded as he settled back into his chair. “Tell me what happened when you met Tren Krom.” “Oh, Tren Krom. Hahaha! Yes! Tren Krom! I went! I did as you asked! I went to negotiate with him and I found him! He was a strange creature, all crimson slime and tentacles and eyes that darted this way and that. I almost mistook him for an old experiment! But I didn’t! Instead I told him of the Brotherhood and he silenced me. He said….He said he could take all the necessary information from me without me even needing to talk. I just stood and waited and all of a sudden, I heard this piercing wail and only realised moments later that it was my own. I was crumbling to the floor and clutching my head as it slithered all snake-like into my head! “’Look at my memory’, the beast cried, but it needn’t have bothered because I was already forcing my way inside. And just like that a door opened in its mind and all the horrors of the universe flooded out to meet me. “I screamed! Oh, but I didn’t scream, my brother, I didn’t just scream! I wriggled and squiggled and I writhed and thrived and I fought and I sought, oh, I sought, I sought, I sought for salvation! But salvation never came because salvation will not emerge to coil its burning wings around me and shield me from the blinding horrors of existence! I was so alone, so cold and so desolate but at the same time everything was with me. “I wish you could have been there, I wish you could have seen the things that I saw. My mind, my mind was so open, like a book, like a wound and all the bacteria of knowledge flooded inside! It corrupted me, it twisted me and I was reborn! I saw things! I saw the birth of the universe itself! I saw the fire that ignited the heart of life! I kissed the sun and I danced amongst the stars. Mata Nui was born under my watchful eye in that moment! “Everything became clear to me now. For the first time in my life, I finally understood. I knew, I knew the boundaries of our universe. I knew our limits, an answer that thousands and thousands of years of delicate research could not provide. I found the walls. And I discovered how to break them down. “Why do you look at me this way, brother? Do you doubt me or do you fear me? I beg you to understand the truth in my words. There is no feeling like this, no sensation and no words that can summarise my madness. No! No, it’s not madness, it’s so much more! It’s purity! I feel so pure! I feel so alive! “I…I’ve always looked for inspiration! I’ve looked for something to fuel my mind and when that idea hits, the euphoric feeling that burns! There’s nothing like it! And it’s my life now, it’s all I have! I live to create now, all over again! “Because you didn’t see what I saw! The truth to our universe! The secret that we’ve never been told! That the suns are fake! That the sky is an illusion! That our lives are not our own! Because Mata Nui is not our creator or our deity! Mata Nui is our home!” -------------------------------------- Entry #10: "The Ash Bear’s Den" A lone Matoran wandered through the jungles of Le-Wahi. He had come to be known as the Chronicler, and he had gotten lost on his way to the jungle village. Now, he was desperately searching for a path back to civilization. Something dropped from the treetops behind him, and he turned to spot Lewa, the Toa of Air. “Who be ground-walking this far from bright Le-Koro?” Lewa wondered. “I’m the Chronicler,” the Matoran answered. “And I’m sort of lost.” “Chronicler, ‘eh,” Lewa said. “I’ve tale-heard of you from my fellow Toa. Well, I was on my way to quick-spot a Le-Matoran, but you’ll do in a pinch. I need your fast-help.” “Certainly, Toa,” the Chronicler said. “But what can I do?” “I am look-seeking a Kanohi Ruru in the den of Graalok the Ash Bear,” Lewa explained. “We two be good buddy-friends, but she not-know that yet, and protects den very well. She out hunting deep-wood, but I could use Matoran to warn-call of her return.” “So, you want me to be a lookout?” the Chronicler asked, struggling to follow the Toa’s slang. “Much-yes!” Lewa exclaimed. He picked up the Matoran, and jumped into the trees. “Quick, den-cave is in this direction!” Five minutes later, the two of them arrived at the edge of the hills, and the Chronicler could see a small cave opening. “You stay here and shout-yell if Graalok back-comes,” Lewa said, and he ducked into the cave. The Chronicler settled into position and looked out into the forest. The jungle was peaceful enough, and he began to wonder why Lewa had even brought him along. But his thoughts were interrupted as he heard a roar, and in the distance he saw the orange outline of the charging Ash Bear. “Lewa, she’s heading this way!” the Chronicler shouted. “Lewa, can you hear me? LEWA!” The Ash Bear was on top of the Matoran before he knew it, and she swung her claw which threatened to tear him to shreds. The Chronicler tried to leap backwards, and although he avoided her first swipe, he tripped and back down. Now the Rahi would get him for sure. But Graalok’s second attack was thrown back by a gust of wind, and Lewa appeared at the cave’s edge. “Back, beast, or I will blow-blast you with high-winds!” he said. Graalok merely roared again and prepared for another charge. Lewa looked unsure about his chances, so he said, “Time for plan-change!” He grabbed the Matoran and yanked him into the cave. Before the Ash Bear could follow, Lewa struck the walls with his hatchet and caused a cave in. The Chronicler blinks as the rocks ceased rumbling, but now he was surrounded by complete darkness. “We’re trapped, aren’t we,” he said. “Not-fear, for there is exit-tunnel in back,” Lewa said. “I believe it will out-lead us to open air.” “But how will we find it in here when we can’t see a thing?” the Chronicler asked. “I have mask that will ever-help with that,” Lewa said, and he donned his noble Kanohi Ruru, the mask of night vision. “I can well-see in shadows with this, and I’ll lead to escape-hole!” After a minute of walking through darkness, the Toa and Matoran reached the end of the tunnel and emerged in daylight. Lewa grinned, and summoned back his original Miru Kanohi. “Well, that fun-time adventure, Chronicler. Next time you’re in high-fly Le-Koro, you can speak-tell of our adventure.” He was cut off by another roar, and Graalok appeared over the hill. She leapt forward and swiped her paw, throwing the Toa into a nearby swamp. The Chronicler drew a bamboo disc and prepared to defend himself, but now the Ash Bear seemed less aggressive. With a grunt, she slipped in through the tunnel they had left and returned to her den. “What was that about?” the Chronicler wondered. “Oh, she just angry-mad that I slip-sneaked into her den,” Lewa said, crawling out of the muck of the swamp. “She got in good claw-smack, and for her, that’s ever-good as apology.” “You’re one crazy Toa to mess with an Ash Bear like that,” the Chronicler said. Lewa grinned. “Like I said, we be buddy-friends. . . someday.” He looked down as the swamp grime that covered him. “Oh, and perhaps when you story-tell of our adventure, you could out-leave the swamp-mess part.”

The Bones polls have been posted! Sorry for the slight delay; please vote!

Vote here for your favorite Bones story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 1st at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Bones Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: High noon. Lovely time to take a stroll through a desert valley in the middle of the summer, no? (The answer, by the way, is yes. As in “yes, it’s not.”) Either way, though, that’s what I was doing. Huh? You want to know why I was doing something like that? Eh, well, fair question, I guess. Long story short, I was leading an archaeological team out here. We’d finally found something, our first lead in weeks, and – me being me – I wasn’t much in a mood to wait a minute longer than I had to to see this place for myself. And so here I was, gulping down my twentieth bottle of water in as many minutes as I scanned the landscape, my carefully trained eyes searching for anything significant they could find. The problem, though, is that careful training of the eyes doesn’t give you much of an advantage when there’s nothing to see but bones. Well, I guess there’s the sand, too, but I guess that’s not really important. Anyway, back to the bones. They were everywhere, layered thickly across the sand all the way to the canyon walls. Human remains crunched beneath my feet as I walked, bleached and brittle after centuries of baking in the desert sun. What is this place? I wondered, popping the cap off another water bottle as the contents of the previous one flooded out of my skin. Or what was it, rather? I came to a halt, glancing around again and still finding nothing of interest. A place of death, obviously. A place of a lot of death. But did the owners of these bones die here, or were they placed here? If the latter, then why? And either way, what killed them? I guess that’s one of the most thrilling parts my job – answering those questions. Figuring out the who, the what, the why and when and how. Taking whatever evidence we can collect and piecing it together, figuring out what makes sense, what doesn’t. A bit like breathing a faint breath into some of these bones and watching them grow back together, come back to life. The problem with that, though, is that to piece evidence together you have to have evidence in the first place. And instead of evidence, what we’ve got is an army of skeletons. I twisted open another water bottle, pouring a drop of it onto the ground. Within seconds it had vanished without a trace. It was gonna be a long day… ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "Dust and Stone" Waves of intense light and blistering heat crashed down over the landscape, forming a swelteringly dry atmosphere. Cacti and other plants were dotted across the hard-baked earth for miles around. A dirt road stretched into the horizon, at which point clouds of dust signified the coming of a fast-moving vehicle. As it neared it became more distinct, taking the shape of a white limousine. Finally, it came to a stop at the crest of some uplands. The rear side-door opened and a pair of fancy black shoes stepped onto the ground. The shoes were accompanied by a pair of long beige pants and a jacket of the same color. The man's outfit was completed by a pair of sunglasses and a fedora that matched the jacket and pants. An attendant exited the vehicle from closer to the front. "Right this way, Mr. Winston," said he. He took the lead as the two men started across the baked ground. An old cattle skull caught the attention of Mr. Winston not far off and he chuckled. Excitement built within him as they proceeded forward. His team had been hard at work for months on the project he had financed. He couldn't wait to see what they had discovered. In the meantime, the heat bored through his outer clothing and burned through his skin. Already sweat was soaking his fancy beige suit. Every step became a chore for the man of mid-fifties. Once he nearly tripped over a rock, before the attendant steadied him. As he walked, Winston wondered about what he would soon see. He had refused that anyone should report any news to him before he had seen it for himself, though from the excitement they failed to conceal when informing him that their work was done, he knew it was something special. His mind continued to wander, filled with images of worlds long lost and ageless wonders. Space and time stretched before his imagination. He wondered if there would ever be found any limit to human discovery. What more was out there, just waiting! By now they were nearing the edge of the upland, and their path turned downwards, and it was there that Mr. Nathaniel Winston stopped to rest. Briefly his eyes turned skyward, and he again wondered where human innovation would soon lead them. He shook his head and laughed. "It is a pleasant age to live in, Mr. Jurik, a pleasant age to live in." The two men pressed on, the attendant steadying the older as they moved downhill. Finally they reached the place where a section of the hill had been stripped away, leaving a cliff-side. Down below, a team of archaeologists moved around a worksite, in the middle of which lay a good number of fossilized bones. The excavation work was complete, and the bones were placed more or less in the proper arrangement. Winston stopped dead. His breath caught in his throat. Tears formed in his eyes. "A complete skeleton," he breathed. He laughed, overcome, and giddy with joy. The lead archaeologist climbed around the cliff to meet him. "Mr. Winston!" he cried. "So glad to see you!" He was beaming brilliantly, his broad smile stretched from ear to ear. "A beautiful sight, isn't it?" "Breath-taking." The archaeologist laughed. "And you know what else? It's a completely new species! Never before been described! If I'm not mistaken it's of the family dromaeosauridae." Mr. Winston positively glowed with satisfaction. "I see my investment was well spent." "Indeed! In fact we've already decided on a name for it, sir. The Winstonosaurus." The old man paused and reflected, touched. "No," he said finally. "That sounds terrible. You can come up with something better." He grinned. The archaeologist chuckled, in relief, Winston thought. "Very well then." The two men sat gazing at the pile of bones for a minute longer. "Alright, I've got it. How about the Fortiraptor, Mr. Winston?" "Very good! Sounds much better! Of course you may want to learn more about the creature before making the final decision, but that works for me." The archaeologist nodded and coughed, suddenly becoming awkward. Finally he lowered his voice and leaned over to Winston. "Sir, I'm afraid I have some bad news to report as well." Mr. Winston was taken aback. "What is it, Gladstone?" "Well, sir, you see. . ." He broke off for a moment. Mr. Winston chuckled. "What is it, man? Spit it out." "Sir, there was a murder in the camp last night." ----------------------------------- Choice #3: "Hearts and Bones" In dreams, I live. Awake, I sleep. In life, faith and desires struggle but in dreams, it flourishes. There is no need for hope to spring eternal if it never dies. Because she lives there in my dreams. Kathy. We walk the twilight gardens of my imagination. I love everything about her, the generous laughter born of her smiling mouth, the air of mystery that hangs around her at all times, coloring the wilderness of my life. She is perfection itself. Katherine lives here in my life. My wife. I love her deeply. She has a kind heart but sickness kills her laughter. Her mystique is marred by mundane reality, the mountains we cannot cross. I love her because Kathy lives in her. Because away from reality’s flaws, Katherine is flawless. She is part of me and I am part of her. We have lived together for so long but it won’t be long now, I am afraid. Soon our relationship will be nothing but hearts and bones. Eternal love and timeless skeletons. On the last leg of the journey They started a long time ago The arc of a love affair Rainbows in the high desert air Mountain passes slipping into stones Hearts and bones “I feel so weak... I’m sorry we can’t go out like we planned.” Katherine shuddered, looking so terribly pale. “Sweetheart, home with you is paradise.” I smiled at her, hoping she would smile back. I've always hated how worry twists her pretty features. She didn't. “I really wanted one last happy night for you to remember... Who knows how long we have?” “We can still have one. Let’s light some candles and sit down to dinner. It’ll be romantic and we’ll save on electricity,” I said light-heartedly. She laughed sadly. “Kathy.” Didn't she know the most special anniversary was with her smiling, her ethereal splendor lighting up the evening? “Dinner with you is a delight, at home or in a fancy restaurant.” “That’s sweet of you, Reeve, but since we have so little time left-” “That makes dinner with you all the more special.” She still sighed. “Cheer up, beautiful.” Her hand stole to her hair... the little that remained after the treatment. “How can you call me beautiful still?” “Love, you’re always beautiful.” I understood her insecurity, the sorrow of a woman who had lost more than her health. I only wished she could be as confident as she once was... as confident as Kathy. I saw only the laughing girl I had first fallen in love with. “You don’t see me,” Katherine said, pain in her voice. “You love only a memory.” Her eyes filled, longing for love yet unable to accept it. She wanted so badly to be told that she looked beautiful and I loved her anyway. I loved Kathy. How could I tell her that the memory was who she was to me? My heart broke to see her so sad and thin, worn out from sickness and therapy. It was all I could do to hold Kathy's image in front of me. I couldn't love seeing Katherine in pain but I loved her, the girl I saw underneath. Loving her was all I could do to help. The arc of a love affair Waiting to be restored You take two bodies and you twirl them into one Their hearts and their bones And they won't come undoneHearts and bones I laid my forehead against hers, my hands twined around Kathy’s. She smiled, jewels glittering under her eyelashes. “I love you.” She smiled. “I know.” I breathed out softly, reveling in her confidence in our relationship. Her vibrant spirit was my only solace in a world that was so tragically empty. It had been two days since Katherine died. All I had left was Kathy and I clung to her. “I’m sorry. I never wanted-” “Take comfort, Reeve. I am still here.” It was true. We could not be separated. I had imagined Kathy from the day the doctor gave us the death sentence, determined death would not do us apart. Each time I saw Katherine, every word she said – I stored the memories and Kathy grew, until she was Katherine. Katherine in all her beauty and joy, graceful even in sorrow. We were part of each other. We always will be. My bones will one day lie with Katherine but my heart will forever lie with Kathy, the girl who lives on. ----------------------------------- Choice #4: "Dust to Dust" "Alan, I think I've discovered an ancient mass grave." Alan looked up from his book. His younger sister was standing before him, wearing a slightly disturbed expression and a bathing suit. "Really," he said. "So where was this? In our backyard? Or in the swimming pool parking lot?" Cecily rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Alan. I was coming home by the bike trails, and I saw something white from the corner of my eye." Her voice dropped. "It was a finger poking out of the ground. "So I went closer, and I saw more white sticking out, here and there. It looked like - well, like a big pile of bones covered by a thin layer of dirt and lots of plants." Alan looked at her skeptically. "Really?" "Really." He swung his legs off the sofa and sat up, tossing his book down. "All right. Where is this, exactly?"--- Approximately fifteen minutes later, Alan was kneeling on the ground, examining the protruding finger. "Well, it's not as though I'm an expert on bones," he said, "but I'd say this is the genuine article." He frowned. "The question is, what are they doing here?" "Some sort of historical massacre, right? Or maybe a pre-pioneer tomb from an Indian civilization?" "But it isn't, Cessy," her brother responded. "Look at the dirt - it's freshly disturbed. And the plants-" he moved a few steps and pulled on a creeping vine. It came out of the ground at his first tug "-look, they're barely planted at all. Someone put them here just to cover up the fresh digging." "But that doesn't make sense!" Cecily protested. "I mean, I'm convinced, but why would someone be burying skeletons in the woods? Where would anyone get all these bones?" "I can tell you that," a new voice said. Alan and Cecily whipped around to face the edge of the clearing. A tall man wearing glasses stood there, smiling. He was wearing working clothes, and had one hand casually in his pocket; the other balanced a shovel on his shoulder. Alan glanced at his sister, and moved closer to her. "Did you bury them?" "Yes, I did. "I only buried them yesterday, actually. I knew it was a shoddy job - especially with that heavyrain last night - but I thought it was an acceptable risk for one day, until I could finish it properly." He frowned at them. "Apparently you defied the odds." "But...where did you get them? She was right; people don't normally need to hide bones. Bodies, yes, but by the time they're skeletons, bodies have usually been dead for quite a while." Alan really had no idea what to do. His thoughts were mostly What the heck is happening? and How do we get away? Until he came up with an answer to at least the second question, he figured heshould keep stalling. Besides, he was curious. "The key word there is 'usually'," the man replied. "To give you the short answer, I obtained the skeletons in the process of my experiments. I've been experimenting on ways to alter the aging rate of the human body." Alan's eyes widened and he heard Cecily inhale. Seriously? "Why?" "Why do you think?" the man replied impatiently. "Immortality, of course. "I haven't perfected it yet, but-" his eyes narrowed "-it's quite capable of having the reverse effect on you." His hand began to lift out of his pocket. So much for stalling. "RUN, CESS!" Alan cried. He threw himself at the man, trying to buy his sister time. He was bare bones before he could see if he'd succeeded. ----------------------------------- Choice #5: "Littered Bones" When I looked out into the streets, I see bones. They littered the roads, trees, and even the water. The eyes of the skulls look at me, and say to me, “Help us.” It was a blur when the attack happened. They came out of nowhere. All I remember was a shining blue light that stayed on for 10 seconds, and then it faded. The earth shook like a 9.5 magnitude earthquake, but no damage was done strangle to my building. As I walked out of the building to see what happened. That’s when I saw the shreds of clothes and piles of bones. What was strange is that, there was no blood or skin on them at all. I felt like the only one that survived the attack. Bones continued to watch me as I walked down the road. The burning skies of dusk make the event almost eerie for me. Then I saw the return of the blue light off in the distance behind some fallen buildings. Their support beams can be seen sticking out, and the glass just shattered. I made myself wonder if whatever did this is even of this world. Could it be that this is what happened in War of the Worlds, where people died in the streets like now, bodies without flesh to cover their brittle bones? I really didn’t want to know, but I must if it would make me feel much more at ease. So I continued to follow the path of littered bones on the streets, in search of the cause of the destruction around me. As I got closer to the light, it shined brighter and more frequent than last time. My skin began to grow goose bumps, and the hair on my arms spiked up. My spine began to become cold as the Alaskan winter, and nerves began to tingle out of control. The light began to glow brighter and blink faster. The more I got closer, I could see the light being emitted behind a wooden door. I place my hand on the doorknob and prepared to open it. When I swung open the door, a bright flash of white light struck me. I did not know if I died at all, but seeing that I was still in my bed, the bones were just a nightmare. ----------------------------------- Choice #6: "Bones In Space" "Bones," the lookout reported numbly, "Crossed bones on a black flag."The captain's face hardened. It was the year 3177 AD, but the flag still meant the same thing. Pirates, in inter-stellar space.There had been reports of a rogue vessel trolling the spaceways between Alpha Centauri and Sol. The route was crucial to the war effort, and had implications far beyond the Alpha Centauri system."Sound battle stations."The captain rose from his chair and engaged his microphone. "Give me the enemy ship, lieutenant.""Yes sir."With a hiss of static the green light blinked on."This is Captain Throne of the SLS O'Kane. Unless you power down your weapon systems we will commence our attack.""This is Collestus of the free ship Enemiga. It has been awhile, old friend."The captain showed no reaction, but within his heart was in turmoil. Collestus was one of his mentors from the Royal Academy, and there wasn't a better ship-to-ship combat strategist in the fleet. There had been rumor that Rear Admiral Collestus had disappeared, but he had never connected them to the appearance of the Enemiga. Collestus a traitor... It was unbelievable."We will power down our weapon systems and surrender our ship to your prize crew. Opening main hatch now to receive your shuttle."Throne's eyes narrowed, and he smiled slightly. Treachery was always a safe strategy."Surrender received, Enemiga. Our shuttle will deploy shortly. Over and out."The captain gestured the first officer to his side."Load the shuttle craft with all the proton torpedos that it will hold, and a skeleton crew of our lowest grade ship livestock.""Yes Captain Thorne."The captain thought for a second. What if Collestus fired on the shuttle craft while it was still in the O'Kane's hold? The torpedoes would detonate in the explosion and the ship would be broken in half."Cancel the proton torpedoes and load the shuttle with magnetically activated Gauss bombs.""Yes Captain.""Game on, mentor." ----------------------------------- Choice #7: "All Things Considered that was a Poorly Thought out Move from Ben Stiller’s Part" “This is so cool, like Night at the Museum, but on steroids.” “That doesn’t sound right. I think you need to have muscles for steroids to even work. Using them in this situation seems rather pointless.” “That is…you…you’re being such a characteristically obtuse tool right now it’s a wonder people don’t use you to draw circles.” “That is a terrible joke and nobody is going to get it.” “That just makes it funnier.” “If you say so.” “And what do you mean ‘nobody?’ Are you doing that thing where you subtly imply awareness of our existence being confined to fiction? That is so stupid. This is real life” “Are you seriously doing that thing where you ironically state that this is ‘real life’ despite all evidence to the contrary? That is such a modern day cliché. Hanging that lampshade is so obsolete.” “You just hung a lampshade on my lampshade. If I wasn’t not a cool dude I would say something like ‘Lampshadeception’ right now.” “…if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re pretty cool.” “…” “…” “Anyway, as I was saying, NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM. But with dinosaurs!” “That movie already had dinosaurs.” “No, it had one dinosaur.” “We also only have one dinosaur.” “What! That is terrible.” “How can you not know we only have one dinosaur.” “I was kind of busy. You know, running for my life. You insensitive foolwad.” “..you said it was cool.” “Irrelevant.” “How are we even having this conversation while running from a skeleton dinosaur through a trailer park? That seems really implausible.” “That is odd. But why are you describing our situation is so much non-detail?” “It doesn’t look like this story is ever going to start using prose.” “What.” “Like. All of it so far has been our witty discourse on Night at the Museum.” “I wouldn’t call that witty. Or discourse.” “…does this conversation even have any literary purpose within the story? It seems really pointless right now.” “I don’t think so. Not unless Ben Stiller shows up later on and uses some special powers to stop the dinosaur, and let’s be honest here, that seems unlikely.” “Why are we still talking about that movie. It wasn’t even that good.” “Walking skeleton!” “I’m pretty sure that movie didn’t invent that concept. There’s probably like an entire genre of walking lizard bones.” “Yes, but do any of them have Ben Stiller?” “I don’t know. Maybe. Who cares?”“Evidently, you do not.” “Now you get it. But also, we are literally being chased by a reanimated dinosaur skeleton. We could be lunch. So we really have bigger things to think about.” “I don’t know about being lunch. I don’t think he has any digesting muscles.” “Hey, it’s not polite to assume. It might be a lady skeleton.” “You’re right. Sorry, skeleton.” “Don’t apologize to the skeleton. It has to say sorry first, for chasing us.” “That sounds really petty. Besides, why wouWhooooooaaa what the heck is that.” “That appears to be a reanimated human skeleton.” “Is that…is that Ben Stiller?” “I’m pretty sure that is not Ben Stiller. He’s kind of alive at the moment.” “And now he’s running next to us.”“Yep.” “I think you’re right, prose would really help this story.” “Yeah I’m not even sure if you’re you at this moment. Whatever that means.” “I’m going to talk to him to see if he is Ben Stiller.” “…” “He says he is Ben Stiller’s subconscious museum guard, possessing the body of a plastic skeleton.” “That is…just…the stupidest thing ever written. This isn’t even a brick joke. It’s just a big stupid brick.” “Personally, I think bricks are awesome.” “Whatever, is there anything special about him to help us?” “Well, he can talk, and run. That’s pretty special, if you think about his being only a skeleton.” “…so no?” “So no.” “Why is he even here?” “I think he wants us to let the dinosaur eat us.” “What makes you think that?” “Well, he just said that.” “…I’m not doing that.” “I don’t think he’s giving us a choice. He just tore off his own arms and now….now he is tripping us.” “…Stop describing everything that happens.” *** “…this is stuuuuupiiiiiiid.” “Let’s be fair, that dinosaur wasn’t that well-kept. It’s not its fault it felt apart the second it tried to eat us.” “My whole life is a sham.” “Truth.”

Vote here for your favorite Bones story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 1st at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Bones Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "The Breaking" The moment the infant mankind turned its eyes to the stars, it hungered to touch them. As mankind matured from nomads to farmers and merchants, and Eratosthenes determined that the Earth was not flat, humanity’s yearning fermented into something akin to lust. With no Earthly boundaries, dreams of exploration soon turned heavenward: to space, the final frontier.It was fitting: Throughout history, mankind attributed grandeur and divinity to space. Early astronomers traced patterns between stars that resembled warriors and great beasts; worshippers, in their prayers, found solace in gazing toward heaven; when John F. Kennedy’s dream of sending a man to the moon was realized, millions of hearts trembled.The next steps were surprisingly fast: by 2030, a lunar colony; by 2050, a Martian colony; by 2180, colonies on Jovian satellites.But these were only temporary mollifications for mankind’s desire to touch the stars. As is always the case, humanity wanted more.* * *The wispy blonde hair and anemic appearance of Doctor Markus Littman, Ph.D., inspired little confidence, but that fateful conference, May 12, 2208, he revealed they belied ferocity worthy of the greatest orators. His inflections rose and fell, his eyes flashed with electricity, and his gesticulations nearly tore his arms from their sockets. Only the elite said he was crazy. The remaining viewers, inundated with dreams of science fiction becoming reality, were more accepting of his claims that flesh and bones were outdated — that man could be downloaded into a CPU and sent to the stars.* * *“We’ve loaded you with painkillers; you won’t feel a thing.”Lawrence Hopkins, ninety-three years old, gazed at the ISS-08’s sterile white ceiling and refrained from wheezing into his oxygen mask. People back on Earth had said he looked young — he’d taken longevity pills once a week — but his hair was less salt-and-pepper, more white, and the cold metal bed upon which he lay prompted thoughts of mortality.The room’s exit was a few meters beyond Hopkins’s feet. In his next exhale, he expelled thoughts of quitting from his mind.Dr. Littman stood to the side, mouth hidden behind the curled index finger of his right hand. After he had outlined the procedure to Hopkins, he had been silent as his assistants made the appropriate connections. Hopkins had been sedated twice already as wires were strung from his brain to a large machine to his left and cables placed in his body to ensure it didn’t shut down before the procedure ended.The man who’d mentioned the painkillers, a lab-coated youth probably fresh out of college, turned from his comrade standing by the machine and gave Hopkins a smile obviously meant to be assuring. “Okay, you’re ready to go.” A pause. “Godspeed.”Hopkins nodded weakly. The two men departed at a look from Littman, whose eyes danced as he approached Hopkins’s bedside.“You’re a brave man,” he said. Hopkins wished he hadn’t.Littman left the room quickly.Now a tinny voice broadcasted through the intercom: “Begin checklist. Subject heart rate...”The list was long and included terms too technical for Hopkins to recall. He closed his eyes and waited until the call-and-response concluded.“...Checklist complete. Begin startup sequence.”Hopkins had expected something grand, like an engine’s ignition. The machine, however, only flashed a few lights and hummed quietly.“Begin transfer.”For a moment, Hopkins thought nothing would happen. Then he heard more than felt an electrical discharge within his head — the painkillers were working. His vision flickered and blurred, but that was expected during his loss of motor control.He suddenly realized he had given little thought to what being a computer would feel like, only that he might die before knowing.Now he was floating. But that couldn’t be — he was still bound to the surgical bed — he could see his eyes, closed in trepidation, and his body, still as death. Yet he was floating higher, feeling himself drawn from his body as if bonds were being stretched and torn—* * *“You feel normal?”The voice that responded from the machine’s speakers was not Hopkins’s for a simple reason: The machine was unable to sound like Hopkins. Nevertheless, it answered to Hopkins, and the transfer had proceeded as planned; thus, Littman reasoned, it must be Hopkins.“Yes,” it intonated. It paused. “Except...”“What?”“I don’t know — my memory’s off, I think.”“All will be explained,” said Littman, mentally noting that memory loss was an unpredicted symptom. It was, however, within the realm of probability. Mostly, it was unimportant. He would give it thought later. ----------------------------------- Choice #2: "Nothing But Words" “Sticks and stones may break my bones . . . but words will never hurt me . . .” You wanna bet? Night. The moon glows dim and vague behind a looming foreground of smoky clouds. Street lamps lend what light they can, when they don’t flicker off. When they do, some superstitious factory-worker or the little girl who lives next door pick up speed with a gasp or a squeal. That’s when I strike. From the shadows behind my window I see them coming around the bend, I watch them come up the street, and then I hit the button. I’ve spent a lot of time wiring these street lamps. I hear a muffled scream. I’ve had a lot of experience with this. I can tell by the voice it’s a girl in her late teens; nineteen is my guess. I smile to myself, leaping over the sill. Somehow, it’s always the most fun to do it to the women. They scream more often, when they’re not armed. Sometimes the men hit back—when they’re not armed. I creep silently through the lightless dark. I can see her, though I give her no chance to see me. Not just yet. But I pick up a thick twig and snap it loudly, just for the fun of watching her freeze. I can see her tense from head to toe. She pauses, breathing frantically, mutters something to herself. “Just a cat” or something. Words. Nothing but words. She quickens her step, not quite running but getting close to it. I jump out onto the path in front of her. She jumps, must be at least a foot in the air. She screams, takes a step back, hand over her heart. Why is it they’re always so frightened? Could it be the suddenness of my assault? Maybe the darkness of the night? Is it the mask, the cape, the black horns? Yeah, probably it’s the horns that do it. I might be a psycho in a Halloween costume, but on a dark, stormy night, I’m a dangerous psycho in a Halloween costume. “What—what the—” I cut her off. “I’m going to kill you.” She faints right then and there. Words, nothing but words. But it does the job. I laugh with sadistic glee as she falls; but then I hear a thud, and a sickening crunch. I kneel quickly beside her to look. Something isn’t right about the angle her arm sticks out at. Probably hitting the fire hydrant like that when she fell didn’t help. That never happened before. It wasn’t supposed t happen. I feel her shoulder. Oh, there’s definitely something wrong here. No, no—is it broken? I hope not. It was just a harmless prank, I didn’t— Is there something wrong with her neck or am I imagining it? Oh, please God— I pull the cell phone out of her pocket and dial 911. Terrible accident. Tripped over a fire hydrant, broke her neck I think. Is that possible? In a hoarse voice I give the address, and beg them to be quick about it. Helpless, I can only crouch behind a bush and watch over her until the ambulance arrives. The paramedics get her on the stretcher with expert delicacy, treating her as compassionately as if she were their own child. And all without a word. She’ll be safe now. Under the cover of my dear shadows, I slink guiltily back to the welcoming embrace of my lightless room. Nothing like this ever happened before. It was always just a game. Nothing but words. ----------------------------------- Choice #3: "Happy Hour" The bartender drew the glass from the faucet and slid the mug across the hardwood top to Kay. “Here y’go, miss. Enjoy it.” She took the glass wearily, took a sip, looked up, turned, spat, looked back, turned again, looked back again, looked down at the drink, looked up again. She cleared her throat nervously and leaned forward. “Um, excuse me.” “Somethin’ the matter with your drink, miss?” “Er, no. No, it’s just that, um, well…” she coughed. “You’re a skeleton now, and you weren’t fifteen seconds ago.” He nodded. “That I am, miss. That I am.” His appropriately-bone-white hand plucked a rag off the back shelf and began to wipe down a spare mug with it, click-clack-click-clack-click-clack. She tried again. “So, if I can ask… why are you a skeleton?” “Don’t much know m’self, miss. Sometimes things just happen.” He tapped a fingerbone on the stark-white china pate that was his forehead. Was that what you would call it now? Maybe it was a forebone. Kay didn’t know. Kay really, really didn’t know. Her eyes flicked down to the mug still in front of her. Oh no. “Oh my god, you- you put some kind of drug in here, didn’t you-“ “Miss, it’s water. You saw me fillin’ it with your own two eyes. Plus, ain’t those your friends or coworkers or what have you over at the pool table? ‘Twouldn’t be much use for me to try anything when they’d jump down my throat the minute anything went funny.” He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow that wasn’t there anymore. “Plus – I may be nothin’ but bones, but that just ain’t right.” “Okay. Water then. Right.” She took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes, and counted to five. One, two, three, four, don’tbeaskeletondon’tbeaskeletondon’tbea- Still a skeleton. A kind of faint whimpering noise escaped her mouth. The bartender shrugged. “I am sorry about this. It ain’t ever easy seein’ someone get turned into a stack a’ bones right in front of ya, I know. But ‘twasn’t a thing I could do about it. These things happen, y’know?” “No, no, no, I don’t know,” she said, her voice turning more than a little desperate. “I don’t know that people turn into skeletons sometimes. Are you dead? Oh god, am I dead?” “Probably and probably not,” he replied. He tilted his head again and clicked his teeth together in thought. “Well, actually, I’m probably not dead either. So probably not on both fronts.” “If I scream, are people going to look over and see a normal bartender?” “Wouldn’t surprise me. ‘S how these things work, don’t they? Trouble comes outta nowhere, lands right in your lap, and minute you try to offload it on someone else it slips out the back porch, and you wind up lookin’ like a crazy person. ‘What,’ they ask, ‘is possibly the matter? I don’t see the trouble.’” She leaned forward. “Mister Skeleton, please don’t start giving me life advice right now, I think I might be about to pass out.” “Drink some water then. No point in gettin’ all worked up about it. You gotta roll with the punches, right?” “Look, my boss reassigned my account this morning. My deadbeat brother took my car and didn’t say when he’d be back. My girlfriend’s not answering her texts, my dog’s vet bill is three times more than I thought it would be, and now my bartender’s turned into a skeleton. I think I’m allowed to stop rolling by now.” He shrugged, his collarbones swinging up and down like a see-saw. “Alright, alright, I follow ya. But this is what I’m sayin’, y’see? Can’t just let it all get ya down. Ya gotta take it head on. Skull on, in my case.” Kay grabbed the glass of water off the bar and began to chug it. Don’t think about the skeleton don’t think about the skeleton don’t think about it just finish the water, get up, go play pool, give Jen another text, go home, call the vet, send Jim an e-mail, get Mom to call Ted just don’t think about the skeleton. She gasped and slammed the mug back onto the bar. The bartender took it. “Y’want another round?” Primly, she stood, grabbed her purse, turned 180 degrees on her heel, and walked off towards the pool table. Behind the bar, the skeleton clacked his teeth together a few times. Sometimes you just got those customers you had to turn into a skeleton to help out. ----------------------------------- Choice #4: "Bones" They say society is nothing without its leaders. They say any given community is simply a pen of fools with those governing it. But what if the leaders become a disease? A plague to the people's body? What if the government is merely the skin of its people, a useless pile of flesh without the bones to fill it? A small town in south Georgia had decided to shed this skin before it destroyed them.It was dead midnight, some time in winter. Two cousins stood outside a barn, both clearly upset. The bigger one held an axe in his hand, the other a shovel. They spoke in hushed tones, as if there were phantoms watching them who couldn't be allowed to hear what they were saying. If one got closer, they'd see the axe-bearing man was not only upset, but outraged."I told you, Sal, they've gone too far this time.""We can't do anything about it," said Sal, distraught blatant in his face."It was my father, Sal! Your uncle! Our kin!""I know that, Gabe. But we can't very well do anything, can we?"Gabe was the bigger of the two cousins, but Sal was much stronger. Gabe looked down at him, fury in his eyes. "They killed him, Sal. In cold blood. We both know he didn't do nothing to deserve it, either.""Look Gabe, you have to face facts. They's the police, we's the farmers. If they kill our kin, we can't do nothing but keep it to ourselves, 'less we want to end up the same as him.""I know something we can do," he patted his axe, a bead of sweat sliding down his face despite the cold."Gabe...no.""Whatever!" Gabe turned and walked towards his truck, tossing his axe away, "it'll be one of us next, I'm telling you."Two months later"We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Sid Williams, a good man, and a faithful father..."It had been a slow death, they said. The electric chair had malfunctioned, they said, and he hadn't died for at least an hour and a half. Sal had given a speech for his father. He looked to Gabe, nodding, mouthing a single word:"Tonight."Later that day, they gathered, a group numbering around fifteen. They were going to make an example of a policeman. Only one. To them, the mindless carnage was inadequate. But they couldn't kill more than that- any more and the police would send a man hunt after them. This, of course, couldn't be allowed to happen.Most of them were armed with axes. Some were armed with spades. A few, shovels. This was all they needed. Once they reached the town, they stopped. One last chance to leave."Anyone who continues past this line is a marked man. We've all lost kin to the devil, but you may not fancy selling your soul to him. Anyone who wants to leave, leave."None did."Good, good."The break-in was quick. They shattered windows and alarms went off. Police rushed to the entrance, guns locked and loaded. The attack was pitiful. Gabe hadn't accounted for one thing: bullets.Sal's bones still sit outside the courthouse, a warning to all who think they can get away with trying to attack lawmen. In short, the bones do make up the body's structure....but the skin will always trap them inside. ----------------------------------- Choice #5: "Lasting" “In the end, all we are is a pile of bones, yellowed and tarnished by nature. Whatever personality we might have had, whatever achievements, impact, or difference we might have made, are, in time, forgotten. You’ll most likely only last a measly few years, seeing how even your corpse isn’t eternal,” he sneered, enjoying the rush of superiority that came with the words. “These are all very obvious truths, and yet they sadden you. Why? Is it because you have some bloated sense of pride, some sickeningly stubborn belief that suggests you actually matter? Your own little world, an insignificant dust mote at best, won’t even be bothered to remember you, and yet you expect the ever-growing universe to?” She nodded once. It was then that he realised that she, unlike so many others he had done this to, wasn’t sobbing uncontrollably. She wasn’t even quaking, and her eyes weren‘t even wet! In fact, to his great surprise (and amusement) there was a frighteningly large amount of passion and rage in her glorious hazel eyes. Stunned, he paused for a moment, and then recovered both his train of thought and his dignity. “If so, I will politely refrain from laughing. I am a gentle and polite being, but my kind is a rare one, so I wouldn’t expect such courtesy from others.” The man finished, out of breath, the shadow of a smile at the corners of his lips. He found himself beginning to grin at her, as he had grinned at all the others, that harmless little school-boy grin that conveyed such an irresistible and mischievous charisma. It wouldn’t happen again; he wouldn’t allow it. He strode off into the darkness before his lips could stretch into a full smile. He reappeared a moment later, his expression now that of frustration. The alleyway he had believed to be the way to the town’s square was, in fact, a dead end. The girl was still standing there, with arms crossed and a cruelly satisfied smile on her lips. She was clearly enjoying this. He opened his mouth to continue their conversation, and then decided against it, striding down another alley. He returned to find her still standing there, the smug smile still visible. “You seem awfully satisfied,” he said, his calm stare slowly seeming to melt into a glare. “I am.” With a sneer, he tried again, walking down what had to be the alley he had used to arrive at his current destination. Once again, it was futile, for the light-studded steel walls merely ended with a wall of solid steel, completely uniform with the rest. It appeared that the city had decided it no longer wanted nightly walks. A quick check with his trusty tool revealed that it was indeed nothing more than a normal wall. Undeterred by the impossible, he arrived once more at the three-way. Of course, she was still there, that smug smile plastered on her face, and her eyes burning with the fire of enjoyment born of his frustration. “What are you smiling about?” “You’re wrong. Those things you said; they’re all wrong,” she said confidently, though the gleam of satisfaction had faded from her gaze. “Oh?” “I’m not going to die and just disappear,” she began, staring at him with the up most certainty. “I’ll be remembered. I’m going to do great things; wondrous things. They can bury me somewhere, but I’ll be a legend. I’ll live on in others’ hearts. My life won’t end with the resting of my bones, I can tell you that. I’ll live on forever, I’ll have left a mark,” she concluded, nodding once as if to confirm herself. “Is that so?” “Yeah, it is.” His smile had returned, but it now had widened into a smirk. “Well then, I see you’ve got an adventurous spirit. I don’t doubt you’ll do great things; I believe you’ll do extraordinary things.” Somewhere, in the distance, a police siren began to wail. “Now, when do you plan to start living like this? Where is your legend going to start?” As the girl’s stern expression slowly dissolved into mischievous happiness, he spoke one final time. “Come along, my dear. We have a story to tell.” And with that, they began to run, ignoring the dead ends, and never looking back. It was then that they began a legend that would be told, even when their bones were nothing but dust. ----------------------------------- Choice #6: "Bones of the Past" Peritus lifted his reptilian head from his studies as his colleague Solum entered the room. “Peritus, you’ve got to see what we just unearthed at the latest dig.” Peritus followed his friend into the next room, curious as to his discovery. Peritus was many things, among them a reptilian biped, a member of the only sentient species currently living on the planet Earth, a founding member of the local scientific institute, and a paleontologist who studies prehistoric life. The two reptilians entered the excavation room, where they found a collection of bones strewn across the table. Peritus’s eyes went wide at the sight of them. “You don’t me to tell me…” Solum grinned. “It’s a full skeleton, sir.” “And it’s in such pristine condition too!” Peritus exclaimed. “The bones have been perfectly preserved and fossilized; this is indeed a rare find.” “Do you have any idea what it is?” Solum asked. “We were able to figure out that it was a biped, and it has the skeletal structure of a mammal, but beyond that. . .” “I believe I do know what this is,” Peritus said. “You have found the remains of a homo-sapien, otherwise known as a human.” “A human!” Solum repeated, his yellow eyes lighting up. “That is indeed a rare find! All the museums will want to showcase this.” “Yes, a human,” Peritus repeated. “While we’ve found plenty of remnants of the human civilization, we know precious little of their society.” “Weren’t they taken out by an asteroid or something?” Solum asked. “Sorry, my geologic history is a little rusty. I seem to remember a mass extinction caused by a major collision.” “No, you’re thinking of our dinosaur ancestors, who died off sixty-five million years before the humans,” Peritus explained. “The humans were active in the late Pleistocene era, and evidence suggests that they spread into a worldwide civilization. But there was ultimately another mass extinction, and the humans and many other mammals didn’t survive. Only the small rodents remained of the mammalian empire, and the surviving reptiles once again rose to the top of the evolutionary ladder. And, eventually, our species evolved from them, and we formed our own sophisticated society.” “What took out the humans then?” Solum wondered. “We don’t know for certain,” Peritus said. “There is no evidence that an asteroid or comet was to blame. Soil samples from the period suggest that there were excessive amounts of carbon-dioxide in the air, so perhaps volcanic activity was to blame.” “What’s your theory?” Solum asked. “I know you’ve researched on humans in the past.” “They were quite a species,” Peritus said. “From the few specimens we’ve uncovered, I know that they were far frailer than our reptilian brethren. But they had opposable thumbs, like us, which allowed them to utilize tools, and from there they were able to build civilizations. We’ve found remains of human buildings before, so we know that they were able to construct large structures. And there’s even evidence that they developed agriculture as a means to sustain large populations in small geographic areas.” “But if they were so good at building stuff, why did they vanish?” Solum asked. “Surely they could’ve survived whatever natural disaster caused the mass extinction.” “I have a theory,” Peritus said. “Among the human artifacts we’ve recovered are many weapons, some which are quite deadly, even to reptilians. The humans may have been a very war-like species. If they were unwilling to work together, there’s the potential that they could have brought upon their very own extinction. At the very least, fighting amongst themselves could’ve hindered them during the disaster of their time, and could explain why they are not here today.” Peritus paused, and added, “But that is all mere speculation, since we have no solid evidence to tell what happened to them in their final days.” “Impressive,” Solum said. “I can’t believe you can piece that together by merely digging up old artifacts and looking at fossilized bones.” “That’s all part of paleontology,” Peritus said with a toothy grin. “There’s a story behind every bone; it’s our job to guess at what it is.” ----------------------------------- Choice #7: "The Bones Never Lie" The old man quietly made his way through the crowd, his head constantly looking behind to make sure no one was following. He knew that getting caught in this place, of all possible places was a terrible idea. No man of a respectable standing visited the vagabond’s carnival, and yet here he was. He had taken every necessary precaution to make sure he would not be recognized, he had worn the most raggedy, used garments he could find. He had made sure that everything about him reeked filth; he did not want to be caught. Looking ahead once more the old man saw the tent he was looking for. Checking behind himself once more, the old man quickly pulled back the curtains and slipped in. He sighed in relief when no one followed him in, only to be startled by the appearance of a woman right in front of him. She, no, the entire tent, reeked of incense. The old man’s sight, already failing from age, was being obscured by the smoke in the room. “So,” the woman in front of him began, her voice soothing and hypnotic. It was as if she was a snake charmer and the old man was the snake. Of course many of the old man’s enemies wouldn’t hesitate to call him one anyway. “I see you finally arrived, our land’s great king has fallen as low as to visit a humble fortune teller like me.” Her words would indicate she was mocking him, but her voice seemed to praise him. The revelation that she knew of his identity startled the old man, he take great care to conceal it from everyone, so how had she figured it out before he had even breathed a single word. However before he could question her, the woman interrupted him again. “Do not be so alarmed,” she cooed as she circled over to a table, upon which rested a pile of bones. “After, did you not come here seeking my gifts? The bones foretold your arrival, is that not proof enough that I am no fraud.” The way she said the words the king almost felt as though she were laughing, as if this had occurred before, the thought did not please him. “Uh yes,” the old king responded, “I suppose that is enough proof.” His voice indicated how rapidly he was trying to regain his authority, after all he was supposed to be the one in charge, not her. He was the king, he tried to reassure himself, even as the smoke and incense only seemed to swirl to grant more authority to fortune teller. “I must say I was skeptical of your abilities, but I have come for a single query, I wish to know the meaning of my dreams.” Even as the king was about to relate his odd dreams to her, the woman began speaking. “Ah yes, your dream of ever rising mountain and an eagle that aspires to fly even higher. However the eagle can never surpass the mountain and every time just as it reaches the top a bolt from the heavens strikes it down. Yes,” she mused, as her hands began to circle above the pile of bones. “I can see it very clearly. Your dream has been consuming your nights. Let us see what the bones have to say about your fate.” No sooner has she said the words, were the bones thrown into the air, the smoke and incense all swirling around the bones. However just as suddenly it was over, and the bones had fallen back to the table with a clang. “I see. Your dreams are a culmination of your past, present and future. You are the eagle and the kingdoms of the world are the mountain. If you continue to follow this path of trying to surpass the unsurpassable, you will die.” For a long moment a deathly silence hung over the room. The king’s eyes were wide and in shock, the room suddenly seemed like a vortex trying to swallow him. Standing up, he spoke, his voice once more containing his full grandeur of royalty. “It seems, that I have wasted my time here. Good day.” With a pull of his ragged cloak, as if he was trying to channel the awe of a king’s billowing robes, he made for the curtain, just as the fortune teller’s final words reached him. “Caution my king, the bones have foretold this and the bones never lie.”

Theme #1: Bones Entry #1: "Bones" They say society is nothing without its leaders. They say any given community is simply a pen of fools with those governing it. But what if the leaders become a disease? A plague to the people's body? What if the government is merely the skin of its people, a useless pile of flesh without the bones to fill it? A small town in south Georgia had decided to shed this skin before it destroyed them.It was dead midnight, some time in winter. Two cousins stood outside a barn, both clearly upset. The bigger one held an axe in his hand, the other a shovel. They spoke in hushed tones, as if there were phantoms watching them who couldn't be allowed to hear what they were saying. If one got closer, they'd see the axe-bearing man was not only upset, but outraged."I told you, Sal, they've gone too far this time.""We can't do anything about it," said Sal, distraught blatant in his face."It was my father, Sal! Your uncle! Our kin!""I know that, Gabe. But we can't very well do anything, can we?"Gabe was the bigger of the two cousins, but Sal was much stronger. Gabe looked down at him, fury in his eyes. "They killed him, Sal. In cold blood. We both know he didn't do nothing to deserve it, either.""Look Gabe, you have to face facts. They's the police, we's the farmers. If they kill our kin, we can't do nothing but keep it to ourselves, 'less we want to end up the same as him.""I know something we can do," he patted his axe, a bead of sweat sliding down his face despite the cold."Gabe...no.""Whatever!" Gabe turned and walked towards his truck, tossing his axe away, "it'll be one of us next, I'm telling you."Two months later"We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Sid Williams, a good man, and a faithful father..."It had been a slow death, they said. The electric chair had malfunctioned, they said, and he hadn't died for at least an hour and a half. Sal had given a speech for his father. He looked to Gabe, nodding, mouthing a single word:"Tonight."Later that day, they gathered, a group numbering around fifteen. They were going to make an example of a policeman. Only one. To them, the mindless carnage was inadequate. But they couldn't kill more than that- any more and the police would send a man hunt after them. This, of course, couldn't be allowed to happen.Most of them were armed with axes. Some were armed with spades. A few, shovels. This was all they needed. Once they reached the town, they stopped. One last chance to leave."Anyone who continues past this line is a marked man. We've all lost kin to the devil, but you may not fancy selling your soul to him. Anyone who wants to leave, leave."None did."Good, good."The break-in was quick. They shattered windows and alarms went off. Police rushed to the entrance, guns locked and loaded. The attack was pitiful. Gabe hadn't accounted for one thing: bullets.Sal's bones still sit outside the courthouse, a warning to all who think they can get away with trying to attack lawmen. In short, the bones do make up the body's structure....but the skin will always trap them inside. ----------------------------------- Entry #2: "Hearts and Bones" In dreams, I live. Awake, I sleep. In life, faith and desires struggle but in dreams, it flourishes. There is no need for hope to spring eternal if it never dies. Because she lives there in my dreams. Kathy. We walk the twilight gardens of my imagination. I love everything about her, the generous laughter born of her smiling mouth, the air of mystery that hangs around her at all times, coloring the wilderness of my life. She is perfection itself. Katherine lives here in my life. My wife. I love her deeply. She has a kind heart but sickness kills her laughter. Her mystique is marred by mundane reality, the mountains we cannot cross. I love her because Kathy lives in her. Because away from reality’s flaws, Katherine is flawless. She is part of me and I am part of her. We have lived together for so long but it won’t be long now, I am afraid. Soon our relationship will be nothing but hearts and bones. Eternal love and timeless skeletons. On the last leg of the journey They started a long time ago The arc of a love affair Rainbows in the high desert air Mountain passes slipping into stones Hearts and bones “I feel so weak... I’m sorry we can’t go out like we planned.” Katherine shuddered, looking so terribly pale. “Sweetheart, home with you is paradise.” I smiled at her, hoping she would smile back. I've always hated how worry twists her pretty features. She didn't. “I really wanted one last happy night for you to remember... Who knows how long we have?” “We can still have one. Let’s light some candles and sit down to dinner. It’ll be romantic and we’ll save on electricity,” I said light-heartedly. She laughed sadly. “Kathy.” Didn't she know the most special anniversary was with her smiling, her ethereal splendor lighting up the evening? “Dinner with you is a delight, at home or in a fancy restaurant.” “That’s sweet of you, Reeve, but since we have so little time left-” “That makes dinner with you all the more special.” She still sighed. “Cheer up, beautiful.” Her hand stole to her hair... the little that remained after the treatment. “How can you call me beautiful still?” “Love, you’re always beautiful.” I understood her insecurity, the sorrow of a woman who had lost more than her health. I only wished she could be as confident as she once was... as confident as Kathy. I saw only the laughing girl I had first fallen in love with. “You don’t see me,” Katherine said, pain in her voice. “You love only a memory.” Her eyes filled, longing for love yet unable to accept it. She wanted so badly to be told that she looked beautiful and I loved her anyway. I loved Kathy. How could I tell her that the memory was who she was to me? My heart broke to see her so sad and thin, worn out from sickness and therapy. It was all I could do to hold Kathy's image in front of me. I couldn't love seeing Katherine in pain but I loved her, the girl I saw underneath. Loving her was all I could do to help. The arc of a love affair Waiting to be restored You take two bodies and you twirl them into one Their hearts and their bones And they won't come undoneHearts and bones I laid my forehead against hers, my hands twined around Kathy’s. She smiled, jewels glittering under her eyelashes. “I love you.” She smiled. “I know.” I breathed out softly, reveling in her confidence in our relationship. Her vibrant spirit was my only solace in a world that was so tragically empty. It had been two days since Katherine died. All I had left was Kathy and I clung to her. “I’m sorry. I never wanted-” “Take comfort, Reeve. I am still here.” It was true. We could not be separated. I had imagined Kathy from the day the doctor gave us the death sentence, determined death would not do us apart. Each time I saw Katherine, every word she said – I stored the memories and Kathy grew, until she was Katherine. Katherine in all her beauty and joy, graceful even in sorrow. We were part of each other. We always will be. My bones will one day lie with Katherine but my heart will forever lie with Kathy, the girl who lives on. ----------------------------------- Entry #3: "Lasting" “In the end, all we are is a pile of bones, yellowed and tarnished by nature. Whatever personality we might have had, whatever achievements, impact, or difference we might have made, are, in time, forgotten. You’ll most likely only last a measly few years, seeing how even your corpse isn’t eternal,” he sneered, enjoying the rush of superiority that came with the words. “These are all very obvious truths, and yet they sadden you. Why? Is it because you have some bloated sense of pride, some sickeningly stubborn belief that suggests you actually matter? Your own little world, an insignificant dust mote at best, won’t even be bothered to remember you, and yet you expect the ever-growing universe to?” She nodded once. It was then that he realised that she, unlike so many others he had done this to, wasn’t sobbing uncontrollably. She wasn’t even quaking, and her eyes weren‘t even wet! In fact, to his great surprise (and amusement) there was a frighteningly large amount of passion and rage in her glorious hazel eyes. Stunned, he paused for a moment, and then recovered both his train of thought and his dignity. “If so, I will politely refrain from laughing. I am a gentle and polite being, but my kind is a rare one, so I wouldn’t expect such courtesy from others.” The man finished, out of breath, the shadow of a smile at the corners of his lips. He found himself beginning to grin at her, as he had grinned at all the others, that harmless little school-boy grin that conveyed such an irresistible and mischievous charisma. It wouldn’t happen again; he wouldn’t allow it. He strode off into the darkness before his lips could stretch into a full smile. He reappeared a moment later, his expression now that of frustration. The alleyway he had believed to be the way to the town’s square was, in fact, a dead end. The girl was still standing there, with arms crossed and a cruelly satisfied smile on her lips. She was clearly enjoying this. He opened his mouth to continue their conversation, and then decided against it, striding down another alley. He returned to find her still standing there, the smug smile still visible. “You seem awfully satisfied,” he said, his calm stare slowly seeming to melt into a glare. “I am.” With a sneer, he tried again, walking down what had to be the alley he had used to arrive at his current destination. Once again, it was futile, for the light-studded steel walls merely ended with a wall of solid steel, completely uniform with the rest. It appeared that the city had decided it no longer wanted nightly walks. A quick check with his trusty tool revealed that it was indeed nothing more than a normal wall. Undeterred by the impossible, he arrived once more at the three-way. Of course, she was still there, that smug smile plastered on her face, and her eyes burning with the fire of enjoyment born of his frustration. “What are you smiling about?” “You’re wrong. Those things you said; they’re all wrong,” she said confidently, though the gleam of satisfaction had faded from her gaze. “Oh?” “I’m not going to die and just disappear,” she began, staring at him with the up most certainty. “I’ll be remembered. I’m going to do great things; wondrous things. They can bury me somewhere, but I’ll be a legend. I’ll live on in others’ hearts. My life won’t end with the resting of my bones, I can tell you that. I’ll live on forever, I’ll have left a mark,” she concluded, nodding once as if to confirm herself. “Is that so?” “Yeah, it is.” His smile had returned, but it now had widened into a smirk. “Well then, I see you’ve got an adventurous spirit. I don’t doubt you’ll do great things; I believe you’ll do extraordinary things.” Somewhere, in the distance, a police siren began to wail. “Now, when do you plan to start living like this? Where is your legend going to start?” As the girl’s stern expression slowly dissolved into mischievous happiness, he spoke one final time. “Come along, my dear. We have a story to tell.” And with that, they began to run, ignoring the dead ends, and never looking back. It was then that they began a legend that would be told, even when their bones were nothing but dust. ----------------------------------- Entry #4:"Happy Hour" The bartender drew the glass from the faucet and slid the mug across the hardwood top to Kay. “Here y’go, miss. Enjoy it.” She took the glass wearily, took a sip, looked up, turned, spat, looked back, turned again, looked back again, looked down at the drink, looked up again. She cleared her throat nervously and leaned forward. “Um, excuse me.” “Somethin’ the matter with your drink, miss?” “Er, no. No, it’s just that, um, well…” she coughed. “You’re a skeleton now, and you weren’t fifteen seconds ago.” He nodded. “That I am, miss. That I am.” His appropriately-bone-white hand plucked a rag off the back shelf and began to wipe down a spare mug with it, click-clack-click-clack-click-clack. She tried again. “So, if I can ask… why are you a skeleton?” “Don’t much know m’self, miss. Sometimes things just happen.” He tapped a fingerbone on the stark-white china pate that was his forehead. Was that what you would call it now? Maybe it was a forebone. Kay didn’t know. Kay really, really didn’t know. Her eyes flicked down to the mug still in front of her. Oh no. “Oh my god, you- you put some kind of drug in here, didn’t you-“ “Miss, it’s water. You saw me fillin’ it with your own two eyes. Plus, ain’t those your friends or coworkers or what have you over at the pool table? ‘Twouldn’t be much use for me to try anything when they’d jump down my throat the minute anything went funny.” He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow that wasn’t there anymore. “Plus – I may be nothin’ but bones, but that just ain’t right.” “Okay. Water then. Right.” She took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes, and counted to five. One, two, three, four, don’tbeaskeletondon’tbeaskeletondon’tbea- Still a skeleton. A kind of faint whimpering noise escaped her mouth. The bartender shrugged. “I am sorry about this. It ain’t ever easy seein’ someone get turned into a stack a’ bones right in front of ya, I know. But ‘twasn’t a thing I could do about it. These things happen, y’know?” “No, no, no, I don’t know,” she said, her voice turning more than a little desperate. “I don’t know that people turn into skeletons sometimes. Are you dead? Oh god, am I dead?” “Probably and probably not,” he replied. He tilted his head again and clicked his teeth together in thought. “Well, actually, I’m probably not dead either. So probably not on both fronts.” “If I scream, are people going to look over and see a normal bartender?” “Wouldn’t surprise me. ‘S how these things work, don’t they? Trouble comes outta nowhere, lands right in your lap, and minute you try to offload it on someone else it slips out the back porch, and you wind up lookin’ like a crazy person. ‘What,’ they ask, ‘is possibly the matter? I don’t see the trouble.’” She leaned forward. “Mister Skeleton, please don’t start giving me life advice right now, I think I might be about to pass out.” “Drink some water then. No point in gettin’ all worked up about it. You gotta roll with the punches, right?” “Look, my boss reassigned my account this morning. My deadbeat brother took my car and didn’t say when he’d be back. My girlfriend’s not answering her texts, my dog’s vet bill is three times more than I thought it would be, and now my bartender’s turned into a skeleton. I think I’m allowed to stop rolling by now.” He shrugged, his collarbones swinging up and down like a see-saw. “Alright, alright, I follow ya. But this is what I’m sayin’, y’see? Can’t just let it all get ya down. Ya gotta take it head on. Skull on, in my case.” Kay grabbed the glass of water off the bar and began to chug it. Don’t think about the skeleton don’t think about the skeleton don’t think about it just finish the water, get up, go play pool, give Jen another text, go home, call the vet, send Jim an e-mail, get Mom to call Ted just don’t think about the skeleton. She gasped and slammed the mug back onto the bar. The bartender took it. “Y’want another round?” Primly, she stood, grabbed her purse, turned 180 degrees on her heel, and walked off towards the pool table. Behind the bar, the skeleton clacked his teeth together a few times. Sometimes you just got those customers you had to turn into a skeleton to help out. ----------------------------------- Entry #5: "The Breaking"The moment the infant mankind turned its eyes to the stars, it hungered to touch them. As mankind matured from nomads to farmers and merchants, and Eratosthenes determined that the Earth was not flat, humanity’s yearning fermented into something akin to lust. With no Earthly boundaries, dreams of exploration soon turned heavenward: to space, the final frontier.It was fitting: Throughout history, mankind attributed grandeur and divinity to space. Early astronomers traced patterns between stars that resembled warriors and great beasts; worshippers, in their prayers, found solace in gazing toward heaven; when John F. Kennedy’s dream of sending a man to the moon was realized, millions of hearts trembled.The next steps were surprisingly fast: by 2030, a lunar colony; by 2050, a Martian colony; by 2180, colonies on Jovian satellites.But these were only temporary mollifications for mankind’s desire to touch the stars. As is always the case, humanity wanted more.* * *The wispy blonde hair and anemic appearance of Doctor Markus Littman, Ph.D., inspired little confidence, but that fateful conference, May 12, 2208, he revealed they belied ferocity worthy of the greatest orators. His inflections rose and fell, his eyes flashed with electricity, and his gesticulations nearly tore his arms from their sockets. Only the elite said he was crazy. The remaining viewers, inundated with dreams of science fiction becoming reality, were more accepting of his claims that flesh and bones were outdated — that man could be downloaded into a CPU and sent to the stars.* * *“We’ve loaded you with painkillers; you won’t feel a thing.”Lawrence Hopkins, ninety-three years old, gazed at the ISS-08’s sterile white ceiling and refrained from wheezing into his oxygen mask. People back on Earth had said he looked young — he’d taken longevity pills once a week — but his hair was less salt-and-pepper, more white, and the cold metal bed upon which he lay prompted thoughts of mortality.The room’s exit was a few meters beyond Hopkins’s feet. In his next exhale, he expelled thoughts of quitting from his mind.Dr. Littman stood to the side, mouth hidden behind the curled index finger of his right hand. After he had outlined the procedure to Hopkins, he had been silent as his assistants made the appropriate connections. Hopkins had been sedated twice already as wires were strung from his brain to a large machine to his left and cables placed in his body to ensure it didn’t shut down before the procedure ended.The man who’d mentioned the painkillers, a lab-coated youth probably fresh out of college, turned from his comrade standing by the machine and gave Hopkins a smile obviously meant to be assuring. “Okay, you’re ready to go.” A pause. “Godspeed.”Hopkins nodded weakly. The two men departed at a look from Littman, whose eyes danced as he approached Hopkins’s bedside.“You’re a brave man,” he said. Hopkins wished he hadn’t.Littman left the room quickly.Now a tinny voice broadcasted through the intercom: “Begin checklist. Subject heart rate...”The list was long and included terms too technical for Hopkins to recall. He closed his eyes and waited until the call-and-response concluded.“...Checklist complete. Begin startup sequence.”Hopkins had expected something grand, like an engine’s ignition. The machine, however, only flashed a few lights and hummed quietly.“Begin transfer.”For a moment, Hopkins thought nothing would happen. Then he heard more than felt an electrical discharge within his head — the painkillers were working. His vision flickered and blurred, but that was expected during his loss of motor control.He suddenly realized he had given little thought to what being a computer would feel like, only that he might die before knowing.Now he was floating. But that couldn’t be — he was still bound to the surgical bed — he could see his eyes, closed in trepidation, and his body, still as death. Yet he was floating higher, feeling himself drawn from his body as if bonds were being stretched and torn—* * *“You feel normal?”The voice that responded from the machine’s speakers was not Hopkins’s for a simple reason: The machine was unable to sound like Hopkins. Nevertheless, it answered to Hopkins, and the transfer had proceeded as planned; thus, Littman reasoned, it must be Hopkins.“Yes,” it intonated. It paused. “Except...”“What?”“I don’t know — my memory’s off, I think.”“All will be explained,” said Littman, mentally noting that memory loss was an unpredicted symptom. It was, however, within the realm of probability. Mostly, it was unimportant. He would give it thought later. ----------------------------------- Entry #6: "Bones of the Past" Peritus lifted his reptilian head from his studies as his colleague Solum entered the room. “Peritus, you’ve got to see what we just unearthed at the latest dig.” Peritus followed his friend into the next room, curious as to his discovery. Peritus was many things, among them a reptilian biped, a member of the only sentient species currently living on the planet Earth, a founding member of the local scientific institute, and a paleontologist who studies prehistoric life. The two reptilians entered the excavation room, where they found a collection of bones strewn across the table. Peritus’s eyes went wide at the sight of them. “You don’t me to tell me…” Solum grinned. “It’s a full skeleton, sir.” “And it’s in such pristine condition too!” Peritus exclaimed. “The bones have been perfectly preserved and fossilized; this is indeed a rare find.” “Do you have any idea what it is?” Solum asked. “We were able to figure out that it was a biped, and it has the skeletal structure of a mammal, but beyond that. . .” “I believe I do know what this is,” Peritus said. “You have found the remains of a homo-sapien, otherwise known as a human.” “A human!” Solum repeated, his yellow eyes lighting up. “That is indeed a rare find! All the museums will want to showcase this.” “Yes, a human,” Peritus repeated. “While we’ve found plenty of remnants of the human civilization, we know precious little of their society.” “Weren’t they taken out by an asteroid or something?” Solum asked. “Sorry, my geologic history is a little rusty. I seem to remember a mass extinction caused by a major collision.” “No, you’re thinking of our dinosaur ancestors, who died off sixty-five million years before the humans,” Peritus explained. “The humans were active in the late Pleistocene era, and evidence suggests that they spread into a worldwide civilization. But there was ultimately another mass extinction, and the humans and many other mammals didn’t survive. Only the small rodents remained of the mammalian empire, and the surviving reptiles once again rose to the top of the evolutionary ladder. And, eventually, our species evolved from them, and we formed our own sophisticated society.” “What took out the humans then?” Solum wondered. “We don’t know for certain,” Peritus said. “There is no evidence that an asteroid or comet was to blame. Soil samples from the period suggest that there were excessive amounts of carbon-dioxide in the air, so perhaps volcanic activity was to blame.” “What’s your theory?” Solum asked. “I know you’ve researched on humans in the past.” “They were quite a species,” Peritus said. “From the few specimens we’ve uncovered, I know that they were far frailer than our reptilian brethren. But they had opposable thumbs, like us, which allowed them to utilize tools, and from there they were able to build civilizations. We’ve found remains of human buildings before, so we know that they were able to construct large structures. And there’s even evidence that they developed agriculture as a means to sustain large populations in small geographic areas.” “But if they were so good at building stuff, why did they vanish?” Solum asked. “Surely they could’ve survived whatever natural disaster caused the mass extinction.” “I have a theory,” Peritus said. “Among the human artifacts we’ve recovered are many weapons, some which are quite deadly, even to reptilians. The humans may have been a very war-like species. If they were unwilling to work together, there’s the potential that they could have brought upon their very own extinction. At the very least, fighting amongst themselves could’ve hindered them during the disaster of their time, and could explain why they are not here today.” Peritus paused, and added, “But that is all mere speculation, since we have no solid evidence to tell what happened to them in their final days.” “Impressive,” Solum said. “I can’t believe you can piece that together by merely digging up old artifacts and looking at fossilized bones.” “That’s all part of paleontology,” Peritus said with a toothy grin. “There’s a story behind every bone; it’s our job to guess at what it is.” ----------------------------------- Entry #7: High noon. Lovely time to take a stroll through a desert valley in the middle of the summer, no? (The answer, by the way, is yes. As in “yes, it’s not.”) Either way, though, that’s what I was doing. Huh? You want to know why I was doing something like that? Eh, well, fair question, I guess. Long story short, I was leading an archaeological team out here. We’d finally found something, our first lead in weeks, and – me being me – I wasn’t much in a mood to wait a minute longer than I had to to see this place for myself. And so here I was, gulping down my twentieth bottle of water in as many minutes as I scanned the landscape, my carefully trained eyes searching for anything significant they could find. The problem, though, is that careful training of the eyes doesn’t give you much of an advantage when there’s nothing to see but bones. Well, I guess there’s the sand, too, but I guess that’s not really important. Anyway, back to the bones. They were everywhere, layered thickly across the sand all the way to the canyon walls. Human remains crunched beneath my feet as I walked, bleached and brittle after centuries of baking in the desert sun. What is this place? I wondered, popping the cap off another water bottle as the contents of the previous one flooded out of my skin. Or what was it, rather? I came to a halt, glancing around again and still finding nothing of interest. A place of death, obviously. A place of a lot of death. But did the owners of these bones die here, or were they placed here? If the latter, then why? And either way, what killed them? I guess that’s one of the most thrilling parts my job – answering those questions. Figuring out the who, the what, the why and when and how. Taking whatever evidence we can collect and piecing it together, figuring out what makes sense, what doesn’t. A bit like breathing a faint breath into some of these bones and watching them grow back together, come back to life. The problem with that, though, is that to piece evidence together you have to have evidence in the first place. And instead of evidence, what we’ve got is an army of skeletons. I twisted open another water bottle, pouring a drop of it onto the ground. Within seconds it had vanished without a trace. It was gonna be a long day… ----------------------------------- Entry #8: "Littered Bones" When I looked out into the streets, I see bones. They littered the roads, trees, and even the water. The eyes of the skulls look at me, and say to me, “Help us.” It was a blur when the attack happened. They came out of nowhere. All I remember was a shining blue light that stayed on for 10 seconds, and then it faded. The earth shook like a 9.5 magnitude earthquake, but no damage was done strangle to my building. As I walked out of the building to see what happened. That’s when I saw the shreds of clothes and piles of bones. What was strange is that, there was no blood or skin on them at all. I felt like the only one that survived the attack. Bones continued to watch me as I walked down the road. The burning skies of dusk make the event almost eerie for me. Then I saw the return of the blue light off in the distance behind some fallen buildings. Their support beams can be seen sticking out, and the glass just shattered. I made myself wonder if whatever did this is even of this world. Could it be that this is what happened in War of the Worlds, where people died in the streets like now, bodies without flesh to cover their brittle bones? I really didn’t want to know, but I must if it would make me feel much more at ease. So I continued to follow the path of littered bones on the streets, in search of the cause of the destruction around me. As I got closer to the light, it shined brighter and more frequent than last time. My skin began to grow goose bumps, and the hair on my arms spiked up. My spine began to become cold as the Alaskan winter, and nerves began to tingle out of control. The light began to glow brighter and blink faster. The more I got closer, I could see the light being emitted behind a wooden door. I place my hand on the doorknob and prepared to open it. When I swung open the door, a bright flash of white light struck me. I did not know if I died at all, but seeing that I was still in my bed, the bones were just a nightmare. ----------------------------------- Entry #9: "Nothing But Words" “Sticks and stones may break my bones . . . but words will never hurt me . . .” You wanna bet? Night. The moon glows dim and vague behind a looming foreground of smoky clouds. Street lamps lend what light they can, when they don’t flicker off. When they do, some superstitious factory-worker or the little girl who lives next door pick up speed with a gasp or a squeal. That’s when I strike. From the shadows behind my window I see them coming around the bend, I watch them come up the street, and then I hit the button. I’ve spent a lot of time wiring these street lamps. I hear a muffled scream. I’ve had a lot of experience with this. I can tell by the voice it’s a girl in her late teens; nineteen is my guess. I smile to myself, leaping over the sill. Somehow, it’s always the most fun to do it to the women. They scream more often, when they’re not armed. Sometimes the men hit back—when they’re not armed. I creep silently through the lightless dark. I can see her, though I give her no chance to see me. Not just yet. But I pick up a thick twig and snap it loudly, just for the fun of watching her freeze. I can see her tense from head to toe. She pauses, breathing frantically, mutters something to herself. “Just a cat” or something. Words. Nothing but words. She quickens her step, not quite running but getting close to it. I jump out onto the path in front of her. She jumps, must be at least a foot in the air. She screams, takes a step back, hand over her heart. Why is it they’re always so frightened? Could it be the suddenness of my assault? Maybe the darkness of the night? Is it the mask, the cape, the black horns? Yeah, probably it’s the horns that do it. I might be a psycho in a Halloween costume, but on a dark, stormy night, I’m a dangerous psycho in a Halloween costume. “What—what the—” I cut her off. “I’m going to kill you.” She faints right then and there. Words, nothing but words. But it does the job. I laugh with sadistic glee as she falls; but then I hear a thud, and a sickening crunch. I kneel quickly beside her to look. Something isn’t right about the angle her arm sticks out at. Probably hitting the fire hydrant like that when she fell didn’t help. That never happened before. It wasn’t supposed t happen. I feel her shoulder. Oh, there’s definitely something wrong here. No, no—is it broken? I hope not. It was just a harmless prank, I didn’t— Is there something wrong with her neck or am I imagining it? Oh, please God— I pull the cell phone out of her pocket and dial 911. Terrible accident. Tripped over a fire hydrant, broke her neck I think. Is that possible? In a hoarse voice I give the address, and beg them to be quick about it. Helpless, I can only crouch behind a bush and watch over her until the ambulance arrives. The paramedics get her on the stretcher with expert delicacy, treating her as compassionately as if she were their own child. And all without a word. She’ll be safe now. Under the cover of my dear shadows, I slink guiltily back to the welcoming embrace of my lightless room. Nothing like this ever happened before. It was always just a game. Nothing but words. ----------------------------------- Entry #10: "The Bones Never Lie" The old man quietly made his way through the crowd, his head constantly looking behind to make sure no one was following. He knew that getting caught in this place, of all possible places was a terrible idea. No man of a respectable standing visited the vagabond’s carnival, and yet here he was. He had taken every necessary precaution to make sure he would not be recognized, he had worn the most raggedy, used garments he could find. He had made sure that everything about him reeked filth; he did not want to be caught. Looking ahead once more the old man saw the tent he was looking for. Checking behind himself once more, the old man quickly pulled back the curtains and slipped in. He sighed in relief when no one followed him in, only to be startled by the appearance of a woman right in front of him. She, no, the entire tent, reeked of incense. The old man’s sight, already failing from age, was being obscured by the smoke in the room. “So,” the woman in front of him began, her voice soothing and hypnotic. It was as if she was a snake charmer and the old man was the snake. Of course many of the old man’s enemies wouldn’t hesitate to call him one anyway. “I see you finally arrived, our land’s great king has fallen as low as to visit a humble fortune teller like me.” Her words would indicate she was mocking him, but her voice seemed to praise him. The revelation that she knew of his identity startled the old man, he take great care to conceal it from everyone, so how had she figured it out before he had even breathed a single word. However before he could question her, the woman interrupted him again. “Do not be so alarmed,” she cooed as she circled over to a table, upon which rested a pile of bones. “After, did you not come here seeking my gifts? The bones foretold your arrival, is that not proof enough that I am no fraud.” The way she said the words the king almost felt as though she were laughing, as if this had occurred before, the thought did not please him. “Uh yes,” the old king responded, “I suppose that is enough proof.” His voice indicated how rapidly he was trying to regain his authority, after all he was supposed to be the one in charge, not her. He was the king, he tried to reassure himself, even as the smoke and incense only seemed to swirl to grant more authority to fortune teller. “I must say I was skeptical of your abilities, but I have come for a single query, I wish to know the meaning of my dreams.” Even as the king was about to relate his odd dreams to her, the woman began speaking. “Ah yes, your dream of ever rising mountain and an eagle that aspires to fly even higher. However the eagle can never surpass the mountain and every time just as it reaches the top a bolt from the heavens strikes it down. Yes,” she mused, as her hands began to circle above the pile of bones. “I can see it very clearly. Your dream has been consuming your nights. Let us see what the bones have to say about your fate.” No sooner has she said the words, were the bones thrown into the air, the smoke and incense all swirling around the bones. However just as suddenly it was over, and the bones had fallen back to the table with a clang. “I see. Your dreams are a culmination of your past, present and future. You are the eagle and the kingdoms of the world are the mountain. If you continue to follow this path of trying to surpass the unsurpassable, you will die.” For a long moment a deathly silence hung over the room. The king’s eyes were wide and in shock, the room suddenly seemed like a vortex trying to swallow him. Standing up, he spoke, his voice once more containing his full grandeur of royalty. “It seems, that I have wasted my time here. Good day.” With a pull of his ragged cloak, as if he was trying to channel the awe of a king’s billowing robes, he made for the curtain, just as the fortune teller’s final words reached him. “Caution my king, the bones have foretold this and the bones never lie.” ----------------------------------- Entry #11: "Dust to Dust" "Alan, I think I've discovered an ancient mass grave." Alan looked up from his book. His younger sister was standing before him, wearing a slightly disturbed expression and a bathing suit. "Really," he said. "So where was this? In our backyard? Or in the swimming pool parking lot?" Cecily rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Alan. I was coming home by the bike trails, and I saw something white from the corner of my eye." Her voice dropped. "It was a finger poking out of the ground. "So I went closer, and I saw more white sticking out, here and there. It looked like - well, like a big pile of bones covered by a thin layer of dirt and lots of plants." Alan looked at her skeptically. "Really?" "Really." He swung his legs off the sofa and sat up, tossing his book down. "All right. Where is this, exactly?"--- Approximately fifteen minutes later, Alan was kneeling on the ground, examining the protruding finger. "Well, it's not as though I'm an expert on bones," he said, "but I'd say this is the genuine article." He frowned. "The question is, what are they doing here?" "Some sort of historical massacre, right? Or maybe a pre-pioneer tomb from an Indian civilization?" "But it isn't, Cessy," her brother responded. "Look at the dirt - it's freshly disturbed. And the plants-" he moved a few steps and pulled on a creeping vine. It came out of the ground at his first tug "-look, they're barely planted at all. Someone put them here just to cover up the fresh digging." "But that doesn't make sense!" Cecily protested. "I mean, I'm convinced, but why would someone be burying skeletons in the woods? Where would anyone get all these bones?" "I can tell you that," a new voice said. Alan and Cecily whipped around to face the edge of the clearing. A tall man wearing glasses stood there, smiling. He was wearing working clothes, and had one hand casually in his pocket; the other balanced a shovel on his shoulder. Alan glanced at his sister, and moved closer to her. "Did you bury them?" "Yes, I did. "I only buried them yesterday, actually. I knew it was a shoddy job - especially with that heavyrain last night - but I thought it was an acceptable risk for one day, until I could finish it properly." He frowned at them. "Apparently you defied the odds." "But...where did you get them? She was right; people don't normally need to hide bones. Bodies, yes, but by the time they're skeletons, bodies have usually been dead for quite a while." Alan really had no idea what to do. His thoughts were mostly What the heck is happening? and How do we get away? Until he came up with an answer to at least the second question, he figured heshould keep stalling. Besides, he was curious. "The key word there is 'usually'," the man replied. "To give you the short answer, I obtained the skeletons in the process of my experiments. I've been experimenting on ways to alter the aging rate of the human body." Alan's eyes widened and he heard Cecily inhale. Seriously? "Why?" "Why do you think?" the man replied impatiently. "Immortality, of course. "I haven't perfected it yet, but-" his eyes narrowed "-it's quite capable of having the reverse effect on you." His hand began to lift out of his pocket. So much for stalling. "RUN, CESS!" Alan cried. He threw himself at the man, trying to buy his sister time. He was bare bones before he could see if he'd succeeded. ----------------------------------- Entry #12: "Bones In Space" "Bones," the lookout reported numbly, "Crossed bones on a black flag."The captain's face hardened. It was the year 3177 AD, but the flag still meant the same thing. Pirates, in inter-stellar space.There had been reports of a rogue vessel trolling the spaceways between Alpha Centauri and Sol. The route was crucial to the war effort, and had implications far beyond the Alpha Centauri system."Sound battle stations."The captain rose from his chair and engaged his microphone. "Give me the enemy ship, lieutenant.""Yes sir."With a hiss of static the green light blinked on."This is Captain Throne of the SLS O'Kane. Unless you power down your weapon systems we will commence our attack.""This is Collestus of the free ship Enemiga. It has been awhile, old friend."The captain showed no reaction, but within his heart was in turmoil. Collestus was one of his mentors from the Royal Academy, and there wasn't a better ship-to-ship combat strategist in the fleet. There had been rumor that Rear Admiral Collestus had disappeared, but he had never connected them to the appearance of the Enemiga. Collestus a traitor... It was unbelievable."We will power down our weapon systems and surrender our ship to your prize crew. Opening main hatch now to receive your shuttle."Throne's eyes narrowed, and he smiled slightly. Treachery was always a safe strategy."Surrender received, Enemiga. Our shuttle will deploy shortly. Over and out."The captain gestured the first officer to his side."Load the shuttle craft with all the proton torpedos that it will hold, and a skeleton crew of our lowest grade ship livestock.""Yes Captain Thorne."The captain thought for a second. What if Collestus fired on the shuttle craft while it was still in the O'Kane's hold? The torpedoes would detonate in the explosion and the ship would be broken in half."Cancel the proton torpedoes and load the shuttle with magnetically activated Gauss bombs.""Yes Captain.""Game on, mentor." ----------------------------------- Entry #13: "Dust and Stone" Waves of intense light and blistering heat crashed down over the landscape, forming a swelteringly dry atmosphere. Cacti and other plants were dotted across the hard-baked earth for miles around. A dirt road stretched into the horizon, at which point clouds of dust signified the coming of a fast-moving vehicle. As it neared it became more distinct, taking the shape of a white limousine. Finally, it came to a stop at the crest of some uplands. The rear side-door opened and a pair of fancy black shoes stepped onto the ground. The shoes were accompanied by a pair of long beige pants and a jacket of the same color. The man's outfit was completed by a pair of sunglasses and a fedora that matched the jacket and pants. An attendant exited the vehicle from closer to the front. "Right this way, Mr. Winston," said he. He took the lead as the two men started across the baked ground. An old cattle skull caught the attention of Mr. Winston not far off and he chuckled. Excitement built within him as they proceeded forward. His team had been hard at work for months on the project he had financed. He couldn't wait to see what they had discovered. In the meantime, the heat bored through his outer clothing and burned through his skin. Already sweat was soaking his fancy beige suit. Every step became a chore for the man of mid-fifties. Once he nearly tripped over a rock, before the attendant steadied him. As he walked, Winston wondered about what he would soon see. He had refused that anyone should report any news to him before he had seen it for himself, though from the excitement they failed to conceal when informing him that their work was done, he knew it was something special. His mind continued to wander, filled with images of worlds long lost and ageless wonders. Space and time stretched before his imagination. He wondered if there would ever be found any limit to human discovery. What more was out there, just waiting! By now they were nearing the edge of the upland, and their path turned downwards, and it was there that Mr. Nathaniel Winston stopped to rest. Briefly his eyes turned skyward, and he again wondered where human innovation would soon lead them. He shook his head and laughed. "It is a pleasant age to live in, Mr. Jurik, a pleasant age to live in." The two men pressed on, the attendant steadying the older as they moved downhill. Finally they reached the place where a section of the hill had been stripped away, leaving a cliff-side. Down below, a team of archaeologists moved around a worksite, in the middle of which lay a good number of fossilized bones. The excavation work was complete, and the bones were placed more or less in the proper arrangement. Winston stopped dead. His breath caught in his throat. Tears formed in his eyes. "A complete skeleton," he breathed. He laughed, overcome, and giddy with joy. The lead archaeologist climbed around the cliff to meet him. "Mr. Winston!" he cried. "So glad to see you!" He was beaming brilliantly, his broad smile stretched from ear to ear. "A beautiful sight, isn't it?" "Breath-taking." The archaeologist laughed. "And you know what else? It's a completely new species! Never before been described! If I'm not mistaken it's of the family dromaeosauridae." Mr. Winston positively glowed with satisfaction. "I see my investment was well spent." "Indeed! In fact we've already decided on a name for it, sir. The Winstonosaurus." The old man paused and reflected, touched. "No," he said finally. "That sounds terrible. You can come up with something better." He grinned. The archaeologist chuckled, in relief, Winston thought. "Very well then." The two men sat gazing at the pile of bones for a minute longer. "Alright, I've got it. How about the Fortiraptor, Mr. Winston?" "Very good! Sounds much better! Of course you may want to learn more about the creature before making the final decision, but that works for me." The archaeologist nodded and coughed, suddenly becoming awkward. Finally he lowered his voice and leaned over to Winston. "Sir, I'm afraid I have some bad news to report as well." Mr. Winston was taken aback. "What is it, Gladstone?" "Well, sir, you see. . ." He broke off for a moment. Mr. Winston chuckled. "What is it, man? Spit it out." "Sir, there was a murder in the camp last night." ----------------------------------- Entry #14: "All Things Considered that was a Poorly Thought out Move from Ben Stiller’s Part" “This is so cool, like Night at the Museum, but on steroids.” “That doesn’t sound right. I think you need to have muscles for steroids to even work. Using them in this situation seems rather pointless.” “That is…you…you’re being such a characteristically obtuse tool right now it’s a wonder people don’t use you to draw circles.” “That is a terrible joke and nobody is going to get it.” “That just makes it funnier.” “If you say so.” “And what do you mean ‘nobody?’ Are you doing that thing where you subtly imply awareness of our existence being confined to fiction? That is so stupid. This is real life” “Are you seriously doing that thing where you ironically state that this is ‘real life’ despite all evidence to the contrary? That is such a modern day cliché. Hanging that lampshade is so obsolete.” “You just hung a lampshade on my lampshade. If I wasn’t not a cool dude I would say something like ‘Lampshadeception’ right now.” “…if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re pretty cool.” “…” “…” “Anyway, as I was saying, NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM. But with dinosaurs!” “That movie already had dinosaurs.” “No, it had one dinosaur.” “We also only have one dinosaur.” “What! That is terrible.” “How can you not know we only have one dinosaur.” “I was kind of busy. You know, running for my life. You insensitive foolwad.” “..you said it was cool.” “Irrelevant.” “How are we even having this conversation while running from a skeleton dinosaur through a trailer park? That seems really implausible.” “That is odd. But why are you describing our situation is so much non-detail?” “It doesn’t look like this story is ever going to start using prose.” “What.” “Like. All of it so far has been our witty discourse on Night at the Museum.” “I wouldn’t call that witty. Or discourse.” “…does this conversation even have any literary purpose within the story? It seems really pointless right now.” “I don’t think so. Not unless Ben Stiller shows up later on and uses some special powers to stop the dinosaur, and let’s be honest here, that seems unlikely.” “Why are we still talking about that movie. It wasn’t even that good.” “Walking skeleton!” “I’m pretty sure that movie didn’t invent that concept. There’s probably like an entire genre of walking lizard bones.” “Yes, but do any of them have Ben Stiller?” “I don’t know. Maybe. Who cares?”“Evidently, you do not.” “Now you get it. But also, we are literally being chased by a reanimated dinosaur skeleton. We could be lunch. So we really have bigger things to think about.” “I don’t know about being lunch. I don’t think he has any digesting muscles.” “Hey, it’s not polite to assume. It might be a lady skeleton.” “You’re right. Sorry, skeleton.” “Don’t apologize to the skeleton. It has to say sorry first, for chasing us.” “That sounds really petty. Besides, why wouWhooooooaaa what the heck is that.” “That appears to be a reanimated human skeleton.” “Is that…is that Ben Stiller?” “I’m pretty sure that is not Ben Stiller. He’s kind of alive at the moment.” “And now he’s running next to us.”“Yep.” “I think you’re right, prose would really help this story.” “Yeah I’m not even sure if you’re you at this moment. Whatever that means.” “I’m going to talk to him to see if he is Ben Stiller.” “…” “He says he is Ben Stiller’s subconscious museum guard, possessing the body of a plastic skeleton.” “That is…just…the stupidest thing ever written. This isn’t even a brick joke. It’s just a big stupid brick.” “Personally, I think bricks are awesome.” “Whatever, is there anything special about him to help us?” “Well, he can talk, and run. That’s pretty special, if you think about his being only a skeleton.” “…so no?” “So no.” “Why is he even here?” “I think he wants us to let the dinosaur eat us.” “What makes you think that?” “Well, he just said that.” “…I’m not doing that.” “I don’t think he’s giving us a choice. He just tore off his own arms and now….now he is tripping us.” “…Stop describing everything that happens.” *** “…this is stuuuuupiiiiiiid.” “Let’s be fair, that dinosaur wasn’t that well-kept. It’s not its fault it felt apart the second it tried to eat us.” “My whole life is a sham.” “Truth.”

The polls for A Dark Hunt have been posted! Please go vote!

Vote here for your favorite Dark Hunt story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 1st at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Dark Hunt Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "The Stains of Time" Eliminator wiped his hands clean with the water of the Great Sea. Just outside Metru Nui, on a small fishing boat, he had killed another of his targets. The sea, even with its pure water, couldn't wash away the stains of blood on his hands.He decided to reflect on his life. He'd lived too long; anything before joining the Dark Hunters was a weak memory, possibly just fragments of a dream misconstrued as an actual event. As far as he was concerned, his life began when The Shadowed One recruited him without trial. His penchant for stealth and killing were just what made him so useful to The Shadowed One.There was a cough nearby. Eliminator didn't hear it over the roar of the sea.He was the hitman of choice for most. Even The Shadowed One hired him for his personal purposes: take out any rebels or incompetent Dark Hunters. He did so without prejudice or fear, attributes which all too often ruined an otherwise successful mission. Granted, the other Dark Hunters feared him and reviled him, and he personally knew of a group that plotted to eliminate him, but that didn't change anything.Metal scraped against the floor. A few grunts came from behind Eliminator, still drowned in the noise emanating from the storm.He'd been contracted so many times he couldn't count his missions anymore. His name popped up more often than any of his colleagues', and clients even offered to wait for availability. Of course he would be asked to work for Makuta Teridax, the leader of the Brotherhood of Makuta. Nobody knew what became of Miserix, but rumor had it he was executed in a volcano. The Shadowed One couldn't care less: he just wanted money. And Teridax was paying very handsomely.Footsteps, now, along with pain-ridden grunts and moans. Eliminator was too wrapped in his thoughts to hear anything.Teridax had assigned him to assassinate the Toa Mangai one by one. So far, he had killed one Toa of Water, two Toa of Ice, and was in a boat with the presumed corpse of a Toa of Air. His kills had been simple and elegant, a quick slice here, a jab there, a break here, and another dead Toa joined the ranks.So why was he so drowned in thought, why did he have doubt, why did he care?A dagger flew out of nowhere, breaking his thoughts. He caught it, only to be blown back by a strong gust of wind. Jurak stood, limping on one leg, a mini-cyclone by his side.“Don't even bother trying. You're dead. Maybe not now, but even so.” Eliminator taunted.“I know I am, but I need to know. You. I knew you before you became a Dark Hunter. We worked together, protecting Matoran, working with Toa. So answer me this. Why did you kill Kodan?”That was it. Eliminator froze in place, his inner turmoil rooting him down.It wasn't that Eliminator didn't remember anything before the recruitment, it was that he suppressed those memories. Or, rather, he had them suppressed by another figure. But suppressed memories can only be held for so long. After he killed Kodan, he'd nearly passed out of shock, something which should not have happened. Had another Dark Hunter been the clean-up guy, he'd be dead by now.He looked down at his bloodstained hands. He remembered his fights alongside Jurak, working to protect innocent Matoran with his powers over darkness. He'd fought for them. He could never kill a Toa or a Matoran. Anyone else, maybe, but them?Eliminator looked up, the rain mingling with tears in his eyes. He'd never cried before, but the sheer shock of this revelation forced them out.But he had a job regardless. And even his past could not interfere with his present.“I'm sorry, Jurak.”---------“Congratulations, you've eliminated almost all of my targets.” Teridax said as he paced up and down his chamber. Eliminator listened obediently.He looked down at his hands. The rain last night, however intense it may have been, could not wipe away the stains of bloods. The tears last night, however emotional they may have been, could not wipe away the stains of time.“Lastly, go and kill Toa Naho. She's our last little target.”As far as Eliminator was concerned, he had no past beyond the Dark Hunters, and the only thing left to do was embark on another dark hunt. ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "Searching in Shadow" I come from the island of Cimmerrii. That is all you need to know. "The Star!" they cried. "The Star!" "The Star!" They thought it was just a legend. The Turaga, in their best moods, had told us the story to terrify us. They said The Star had long ago come to feed upon the Matoran of Cimmerrii, until a desperate mob had gathered to fight it and defeat it. The Turaga always believed it would return. Until that night, I didn't believe. When I heard the shouts, I thought it was only a cruel joke. But I knew I would never sleep with this racket. That was my excuse. I wouldn't admit that I was curious, and instead promised myself that, if I got up to look, it was only to kill someone to keep them quiet. With a smile of sadistic pleasure I collected my pickax and my dented shield and stepped out into the night. It was like nothing I had ever seen, when at last I could see at all. For a moment I was blinded, and I didn't understand why. It made me think I was dying. Finally I realized that I was seeing light. If you had seen it, you would have only seen a faint glimmer, if you could have seen it at all. To Cimmerrii, it was the first light any of us could remember, and it was blinding. As my vision returned I began to see Matoran everywhere screaming, fleeing, running against one another, murdering one another, clambering over dead bodies. Not that this was unusual, and normally I wouldn't have noticed. But that night, I did, and for the first time in my life I was revolted. I was ashamed of the petty viciousness of my people. The cry continued, "The Star! The Star!" I alone stood unmoving, watching, as I never would have done before, from my doorway. I noticed that the fleeing Matoran were all running away from The Star. The longer I stood there the fewer the passersby became. Only the weakest or sleepiest stragglers blundered past now, and soon the last of them went by and I found myself completely alone. With a snort, I squared my shoulders. Let my cowardly people run if they liked! I wouldn't. If The Star was so fearsome, I would face it myself and kill it or I would die trying it. It was terrible and dreadful . . . Then why was it so warm? And why couldn't I move? I didn't want to stay, I didn't want to run, but I didn't want to take even one step toward The Star, either. Why not? Was I afraid? "Afraid!" I shouted. "You're afraid! Coward!" That did it. With a roar I took the first leap and ran forward toward the light, toward The Star, shield up and pickax high. I ran away from the darkness, into the gloom that grew a little brighter with each step. I shivered at the thought but I didn't stop running, until finally I began to realize that The Star wasn't getting any closer. I halted, tired and gasping for air. Panting, I bellowed, "Are you afraid of me? You, the terrible Star who devours little Matoran? Come back here and kill me if you can!" I broke into a run again, but as long as I kept it up The Star got no larger. "I don't care! I will hunt you to the ends of the universe if I have to!" When I recovered I ran again, and paused again, and ran again and paused again, over and over. Every time I realized The Star was getting steadily larger, and nearer, I ran even faster. The ground began to slope upwards, and I kept running. I could feel the walls of a tunnel all around me, and I kept running. I ran on and on, up and up, until suddenly I rounded a corner and the brightest light yet dazzled me. I raised my shield and swung my pickax, striking walls or nothing at all. Gathering my every last ounce of courage I charged forward blindly, up the ascending tunnel, up toward the light. With a fierce battle-cry I plunged into the light and it devoured me. I came from the island of Cimmerii. And I have found the light. That is all you need to know. ---------------------------------- Choice #3: "Hunt in the Dark" Pittsburg Pennsylvania, home to some old steel work mills. It was night time, and the moon was in full bloom. We’ve been told to never do business before sundown, but we were naïve into doing so. This is the time, I survived the hunt. It was dawn, and me and my companions were waking getting ready to go into the mills to work some trading. We didn’t matter what it was we were trading our steel for, but we were always careful about to make business with. Jaskal, Horuos, Uganl, and I changed into our human disguises so we can blend in with human society. We made sure we got everything we needed, and proceeded to an abandoned mill where we set up our trades. I was a 5,7 albino with blonde hair, freckle faced, and pale blue eyes. Jaskal was a 6,1 African American man who was all muscle built. He had a very deep voice which he sort of hated. Underneath that he was a Fa-Matoran with silver Kulasi. Horuos was a 5,9 1/3 Germanic descendant with dark red hair and green eyes. Underneath the disguise is a Vo-Matoran with a Pakari. Last was Ugnal, he was a 5,11 Mexican American with a Spanish accent in his voice. He had grey hair like an old human, and dark brown eyes. Underneath his disguise was a Su-Matoran with a Hau. When we made it to our mill, our day was going smoothly. We made more of a profit than we did on most days by obtaining gold, silver, and some other oddities that are just too strange to describe. “Bet ya that this the day we make more profit than last year,” boasted Jaskal. “Let’s just see what happens. The day is still fresh,” I said feeling slightly happy. As the hours went by, it slipped my mind that we shouldn’t stay here at night. I’ve heard that dark things happen here at the moon rise. But I didn’t care; I was having a good time making deals for our steel. Then the sun set down upon us, and we were in a rush to pack up our supplies. When we were just a mere yard away from our vehicle, we were approached by mercenaries armed with machine guns and assault rifles. They were all wearing black, and their faces were covered in black as well, so I couldn’t see their faces. There were hundreds of them surrounding us, ready to fire upon us. I could then see in front of me, that they were stepping aside for someone, but I could not see who it was. Then when the mercenaries in front of us moved, I could see two glowing red eyes and the glint of some gold armor. Then the being looked at me closely in the eyes, and that’s when I realized that it was a Skakdi. His spines were shaped like the tip of a spear. His armor was black as coal and the body armor was a crude gold. His face was rigged and had some white tribal marking running down the left side of his face. He then said to me, “Your trespassing ends here Matoran. For too long we have seen you use our grounds for your worthless trade,” he explained with his harsh voice, as he knocked the bag that Jaskal was carrying off him. “And what are you going to do about it, huh?” Ugnal bursted. The Skakdi then grabbed him by the throat and lift him to his eye level. “We’re going to hunt you down like a pack a pack of animals. That’s, what we’re going to do.” The lined us up side by side, as we were held by the hands. Then they let us go, shooting at our feet to get us moving. We were probably 20 yards away from them, when suddenly I heard a gunshot. Horuos went down fumbling like a rag doll on the pavement. Then I heard the hollering of the men as they began to charge at us, guns blazing in the air. I saw Ugnal fall to the ground, and then a man lunged at him, leaving a knife in his throat. Then Jaskal fell to a shot to the head. I turned off my human disguise so they do not recognize me. To my surprise, I had reached the forest outside of the mills. This was the last time I saw them. ---------------------------------- Choice #4: "Nothing" There was nothing left for her here. Shadow, yes, and the odd Matoran left for prey of some kind for something much bigger than she. But she was no longer a protector, and should not act as such against whatever Rahi was going to kill these unfortunate little souls. Letting go of them was much more difficult than she had expected to begin with, though. The night was supposedly unwelcoming for Toa as she had been, but now she realised that she had never breathed anything more natural. Light was suffocating, bright, blinding. In the darkness she could be free to roam the darkness. She could be herself properly with no regard for the loathing that had begun to surround her perpetually. People followed her sometimes. A large paw print, right next to a tiny little foot more like a Matoran's than anything else's was bound to be suspicious, especially with the blade marks that her arms had begun to leave. They had left quickly once they had either given up and gone to do something else, or found her. Not many people did the latter, and even fewer survived to tell the tale. She had been scared of the dark as a Matoran. Always terrified of some monster that wasn't really there and never really would be; always wanting another comfort to help her through the night. Nobody had really cared, but she had never put away a lightstone at sundown, and it was always replaced as soon as it had displayed signs of flickering out. Aimless wandering. Aimless thoughts. Maybe she shouldn't think. Maybe letting go was easier than she had thought. Maybe in three breaths, it could all be over and she would no longer feel a strange attachment to these tiny, powerless creatures, and maybe the heavy-footed Matoran would finally stop following her, ruining the silence and stumbling along, completely out of his normal habitat. Blank it out, blank it all out, and maybe nothing can permeate the sounds of your blood rushing through your head; nothing can drill through the psychotic state that you have driven yourself into; nothing can- Rip. Tear. Scream. Nothing. But nothing soon becomes something, for nothing can be nothing forever. Whatever you think, there can be no lies that you can feed yourself without end; an endless feast of truth mixed with non-truth and a tiny bit of seasoning on the latter so that you will always prefer the taste. There was a mask on the floor. It was shattered so badly, all it could be recognised as was a Pakari. She knelt down and sniffed it. There was no power in it. The corpse on the floor was something that her past self would probably faint at the sight of. Nowadays, she could just turn away. So that was what she did. ---------------------------------- Choice #5: The Toa’s body crumpled to the ground as I withdrew my blade from his back – the hunt, at last, was over. It had been a particularly challenging one – yes, that’s right, challenging, even for me. Hunting down someone who’s gotten his hands on an Olmak is no easy task. My partner would never admit to finding any assignment the slightest bit difficult, but I understood the value in recognizing my weaknesses. If I could understand them, I could conquer them, learn to succeed in spite of them. It was why I would be alive far longer than he would.Well, actually, that’s not the real reason, I guess. See, this mission had two parts. I knelt down beside the fallen Toa and wrenched the Olmak from his face; that, naturally, was our primary objective. The mask housed considerable power, power the Shadowed One wanted to ensure was in… competent hands. Phase two, well…“Excellent work,” came my partner’s voice from behind me.I turned, rising and giving a nod of appreciation. “Likewise,” I replied. He had concealed himself in the underbrush, using the powers typical of his species to cast an illusion over the clearing, distracting our quarry while I finished the job.“Lemme see that,” he said, gesturing to the mask. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.” We had planned on using the Olmak to quickly return to Odina – my partner could access the mask’s power; I could not.I tossed the mask in his direction. The moment he reached out to catch it, I lunged forward, my blade stopping an inch from his throat. To my surprise, he barely reacted, only raising an eyebrow in surprise. “What’s this?” he asked. “Treason?”“Hardly,” I said. “I’m told you’ve been compromised, that it’s my job to retire you. Personally, I’m not too thrilled about it, but you should’ve considered the consequences before you betrayed us, yeah?”Suddenly he—Laughed? “Something funny?” I demanded.He shook his head slowly, still grinning. “They told me the same thing about you.”I barely had a half-second to process the information before the Olmak in his hand exploded, a fireball large enough to engulf the entire island. ---------------------------------- Choice #6: "Colours on Canvas" I started making swords as a Ta-Matoran. It promised an honest living.That was not what I sought.One thousand years later, I would wield a sword as a Toa of flames. I was promised glory.That was not what I sought.Another thousand years would pass, and I would wield a sword again. This time, no glory was promised; heroes and defenders had become commonplace to the Matoran. We had been demoted from legends to scarecrows. We had become the security blanket locked in the attic -- impotent, redundant, kept out of misplaced sentimentality. Our lives were put on hold, dulled and faded until they were a grey canvas.Many years later, a rogue Toa of the soil attacked the village, and my sword had chance to sting again.And sting it did. Earth met steel, and earth was transformed to blood. My opponent fell, his life leaking back into his element.Anger ignited, fear swelled, shame fell, horror took grip; I drank in those crisp, genuine, heartfelt feelings. They were deep blacks, muddy greens, vibrant yellows and burning reds splashing onto the grey space of my existence -- in a blazing moment my frustration had been replaced by fire, and my lethargy had been replaced by lust.Reprimands were given; trials held. I was warned that if my actions were repeated, I would be punished.That was not what I sought.If I stayed on the straight and narrow path, they said I would become a hero of legends.That was not what I sought.More years passed, and I returned to an existence of limbo. Grey creeped back into my life, but this was a darker shade -- it was not of boredom, but of resentment.History repeated itself; a mad Skakdi of the waves stormed our gates, and my team rushed to stop it. I was pushed back by my brethren, to keep me from the rapture that battle promised. But my will proved greater than their might, and the frenzied beast was reduced to red streams splashed onto shards of blue.I looked back to my five brothers and sisters, as they silently conceded that the final line had been crossed.How right they were.Axe, scythe, shield, flail, spear...names were lost to me. Steel sang, and my old team fell one-by-one, their lives returned to their Great Spirit, their colours feeding me.But five was not enough.So I drowned my village in death.As well as the next. And the next. And the next. And the next.Some desperate men and women promised me power in exchange for mercy.That was not what I sought.Power was a sedentary thing, and my hunger required me to move and chase and hunt. Only my sword could give me what I wanted, what I needed.It promised me life.And that was what I sought.

Vote here for your favorite Dark Hunt story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 1st at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Dark Hunt Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "Creature in the Dark" Darkness clings to the city like a plague. Even the silver light that extends its tendrils into a few cracks here and there fails to penetrate the darkness. The citizens of Metru-Nui are in a state of panic and fear. Seldom were any Matoran seen traveling alone nowadays, and not a single one ever came out at night in this time of darkness. Platoons of Toa patrol every street in the metropolis, wary and tense.In the very deepest shadow, two lightless eyes watch them carefully. . . Not here. Wrong Toa. Silent footsteps run lightly across rooftops, clinging to the shadows as a creeper vine clings to its host. Another platoon of Toa go by. Hungry eyes scan the small group carefully. Not here either.They had to be around somewhere. The intelligence had specified that they were. If the information had been wrong, there would be one unhappy customer later on. Crossing more rooftops, heading in the general direction of the city's center. Thunderclouds gather overhead. Cold, merciless eyes scan closely the features of every Toa they come across, and frustration continues to build. True, there were hundreds of Toa roving the various Metru in this time of strife, but the eyes belonged to a very impatient nature.Rain begins to fall. It becomes difficult to maintain footing. Forced to enter the city, alone, into the very den of the Toa Army, resentment grew. But the money would be good. Nearing the Coliseum now. Swarms of Toa crawl around it. Thunder flashes, forcing a creature of darkness to flee for cover. A black heart pounds wildly. No, the Toa had seen nothing. Cold anger and a return to the mission at hand.Scanning the crowds of Toa. Wouldn't you know it, there were the targets, right in the middle of the crowd.But what's this? A Toa of red-and-gold speaks to his companion, one of black-and-gray, and they leave the crowd, moving to a quieter area around the side of the Coliseum.Excellent. But how to. . . There. Silent footsteps moving at top speed, hugging a sliver of shadow.Made it! Climbing the sides of the tallest building in the city. Crowds of Toa down below, like the insects they were. Climbing higher, dodging statues and protrusions. Rain falling in sheets. Making way around the building. . . Slippng through a maze of shadows. Finally reaching the ground. Thunder flashing again. Hiding behind a wall. The Toa's backs are turned. Now is the time.Stepping forward, but still under the cover of the black shadow. A grisly hand extends, sickly green light emanating from it. Power flashes. The gray Toa crumples to the ground. Grim satisfaction. One more moment and. . .CRUNCH!Toa Zaluk looks up from his dead companion, shock and anger in his heart, as a great Hau statue crashes violently to the ground a short distance away. A long, decrepit arm sticks out from under it.A grim smile plays across the features of the Toa's mask before his gaze returns to his companion. ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "The Music Box's Song" It’s often said that the most curious piece of treasure in all of The Shadowed One’s collection is a plain, wooden box with neither value nor decoration. A key juts from its front and when turned, the box begins to sing. A hollow, melancholic trill fills the room and drowns it in pensiveness. The Shadowed One has never attempted to sell it, to barter with it or even dare to gamble with it. Why he keeps this box is known to few and fewer still who would speak of it. But yet it continues to rest amongst rubies and opals, broadswords and spears, trophies and spoils of war. It exists besides them without contest and most curiously of all, it has gathered the least dust in all its years of rest. The Dark Hunter trod through the collection, his feet whispering across the stony ground with all the subtlety his name would suggest. In the distance The Shadowed One marched these halls in pursuit of a separate purpose. Whatever it was, it was of no concern to Darkness. His intent was of a different nature, independent yet important enough to allow his game to wander from his watchful gaze. The music box lay where it had always been kept, on a pedestal between two tablets inscribed with a language older than the rocks used to host them. His fingers brushed the surface and left a trail of dust in their wake. Darkness made no noise as he lifted it from its resting place and held it to his face. Something shifted beyond and The Shadowed One’s voice floated over to Darkness’ ears. Whatever those words said was left unqueried as the Dark Hunters’ attention returned to the plain box before him. He turned the key and shattered the silence with its grating groan. The gears were wound and the song began to sound. Once upon a time Darkness had made it his goal to ascend to the Dark Hunter’s throne. His plan had been to follow The Shadowed One, to watch and wait. At any moment his prey would slip, would make a mistake, would show weakness. He would wait for the moment when The Shadowed One had finally proven himself to be unworthy for rule and then Darkness would slip in and take his rightful position at the head of the organisation with a well-placed knife. Once upon a time he had thought nothing of this plan. But once upon a time was a long time ago. He had watched and he had waited. Years turned into decades and decades into centuries. Through time, Darkness had grown proficient at his job. He learnt The Shadowed One’s schedule, his plans and his aspirations. He slipped into his prey’s mind as though it were a comfortable set of armour without realising the cost. In joining the Dark Hunters he had surrendered his old self to become Darkness. In the pursuit of his goals he had surrendered Darkness and become The Shadowed One’s shadow. He was no longer an independent being. He was only an echo of The Shadowed One now. And yet, the dark hunt might have been Darkness’ life, but the box held the key to something beyond. In its hollow notes it sang a song of a time gone by when the world was different and when Shadow was something else. Something now lost, not only to himself but to the universe itself. But the music box knew and through its gentle rhythm, Darkness would know as well. The true meaning in the box’s elusive history was of course known to Darkness but it was a matter that was none of his business. He cared not for the object but for its produce. It was the music that enticed him to listen. It was the sounds it made, like a siren calling him home. Nothing could have drawn him from the thoughtful trance it cast him in, nothing besides the great shadow of The Shadowed One that loomed over him then. Darkness turned and the two regarded each other in watchful silence. Not a single word crossed between them as the box’s notes continued to unfold, for there was nothing to say. They simply stood and stared and waited for the empty desolation of silence to envelop them, and then their interaction would come to an end. Two individuals stood in this room but they would leave as one. Eventually the box fell into silence and the hunt resumed. ---------------------------------- Choice #3: "Vengeful Extermination" The Shadow Leech crawled out from under its rock and peered around. It could sense a massive source of light nearby, more than enough to save it from the starvation it was barely staving off. The light was coming closer. Silently, it slithered out of its hiding place, sticking to the shadows as it moved towards the approaching meal. The source stepped on a branch—it was close now, so close that the Leech could already taste that delectable light. Just a few more steps, and the unlucky prey would be in the perfect position… Unfortunately for the Shadow Leech, its “prey”—a Toa clad in white and gray armor—spotted it coming. The creature advanced quickly, but not quickly enough. The Toa raised the cylindrical cannon he carried, pulled the trigger, and smothered the mutant Kraata in flames. “Serves you right, you little worm.” Takanuva drew one of his Light Staffs and prodded the Leech to make sure it was dead. Once satisfied that the monster was no more, he returned the staff to his back, rested the cannon on his shoulder, and marched on. Recently, a Shadow Leech had found its way into New Atero and attacked a Matoran. The Toa, who had assumed that all of the creatures had died off when their hive was destroyed, were quite surprised at the parasite’s appearance. Worse, this seemed to be a special Leech. Its brethren from Karda Nui lived only for a matter of minutes, and took hardly any effort to slay once they were found. For some reason, this particular Leech was much more durable and had a far longer life span. Where there was one Shadow Leech, there could potentially be more. The most likely explanation was that Makuta had recreated and altered the species while in control of the Matoran Universe—or so the Turaga insisted. Whatever the case, the Shadow Leeches would need to be dealt with, and it was recommended several Toa be sent to hunt down the vermin. Takanuva had jumped at the chance. The Toa of Light yawned. It does get a little lonely out here, but I get it—the others need to help evacuate the rest of the population and finish getting New Atero in order. Not like I need any help. No way am I letting one of those things latch onto me again. He eyed the new weapon he held. Apparently it was something Nuparu had thrown together during his down time on Metru-Nui: a portable flamethrower powered by the Fire energies of the Toa Disk once belonging to Turaga Vakama. Takanuva didn’t really understand how it worked, but he couldn’t say that he cared. All that mattered was that it made his job a whole lot easier. A quiet rustle drew Takanuva’s attention. Trees and shrubbery lined the path he was travelling, so there was no telling where the Leeches could be watching him from. Lowering the flamethrower, he took a staff in one hand and slowed his pace. All of a sudden he whirled and thrust his staff, impaling a Leech that had lunged directly at his back. He tossed the creature on the ground and prepared to finish it off, only to be greeted by a more disturbing sight. At least a dozen Shadow Leeches were racing right towards him, their sickening forms twisting horrendously as they slithered their way forward. “By all means, join the party.” The cannon roared to life. Takanuva held it steady as flames poured out of it, incinerating every last Leech and charring the ground before him. A few seconds went by before he stopped to check if they were still alive. When he did, he was pleased to find that none of them were. For a moment, and not for the first time, Takanuva wondered if he should feel remorse for his actions. The Leeches were, after all, living creatures, and Toa were not supposed to kill, let along take pleasure in it. However, as he always did with these thoughts, he set the concern aside. Shadow Leeches were created by Makuta for the sole purpose of enslaving Matoran. In order to fulfill his duty to protect the villagers, the Shadow Leeches needed to be eradicated. Shouldering the weapon once more, Takanuva trudged on. ---------------------------------- Choice #4: "Apart from my Brothers" There were tears in my eyes when I fled across the plain. My massive legs churn on, throwing sand about in torrents as I run. But there was no sound in my ears, nothing to comfort that distressed sense.I have never been alone, nor do I like the idea. My brothers have always been by my side: we cared for one another, we had peace. Even if we were separated, I think we would be happy if we had peace.But peace is not about me, and peace is not what is pursuing me. I can throw about a Matoran, box about a vortixx while deciding what my lunch will be. But this thing that pursues me, I cannot beat down. I saw it move a little in the dark, swift in lithe as it spread its silence over me. I fear it, as mighty as I am.The land around me is desolate, terrifyingly almost in the early night: the grey sand edged by the grasping claws of the rocks. It is my home, and at day charming.But not at night, not with this thing hunting me. I am tired after a day’s travel. My doom is drawing closer. I look back, changing my angle. There!I flee even faster as I again see the faint shape of my hunter.My brothers are far behind. My cries did not wake them, nor could they have. For the cries themselves were muted.I am nothing alone, I never was.A cliff approaches and I change my angle, running close by its edge. Looking down I see a deep canyon beside me. My eyes narrow. None of my brothers would kill themselves out of fear. But is it death? I am not a weakling, and my bulk tells me I have much protection.It does not matter, for my strength fades. I turn about, facing my foe. I snarl. Bracing myself for the last futile fight. Its dark form confounds me: I cannot fight in darkness!It is upon me. I give one more muted cry as I feel deep claws on my back. But my cry turns, unheard, into triumph.It has given itself into my power. With one muted roar I spring sideways and forwards, twisting over. Another muted roar breaks out as I fall: but there is another cry, this one not muted.I lie stunned for a moment among the rocks: the world seems to be still. Lying on my back, I feel too shocked to move. I give a snort.I hear it.With a growl of triumph I struggle to get up. The dark form lies still and crushed beneath me, broken upon the rocks. I throw back my head, giving vent to a victorious roar.I am a Kikanalo. I do not surrender. ---------------------------------- Choice #5: "The Extent of Courage" A lone Matoran ran in the night, fleeing from shadows constantly nipping at his heels. The Matoran knew that if he were to falter, even for a moment, he would die. Like all living beings, the Matoran wanted to live. His mind kept repeating the same words over and over. Mata-Nui please give me the courage to survive. Please let me survive. I must survive.However, the more the Matoran prayed, the more frantic he became. As his mind fell further into despair, the forest around him appeared even more terrifying. The tree branches seemed to reach out, attempting to grab and devour him. The shadows of small Rahi cast themselves as though they belonged to larger, deadlier creatures. Everything about the darkness of the woods became more pronounced, more terrifying, more deadly. As the forest seemed to close in upon the Matoran, he panicked, letting out a cry for help.His cry was answered by a penetrating howl, followed by another howl, and then another. Soon, it sounded as though a network had been established, as more and more howls joined the first. The Matoran froze in his tracks and suddenly everything became deathly silent. Even the wind had died down, allowing an eerie silence to descend upon the woods. For a moment the Matoran couldn’t help but wonder if the wolves had stopped, if somehow he had been saved.Then he heard a slow rumble, growing louder and louder until finally it exploded into a symphony of howls and stampeding. The Matoran watched in horror as he saw Rahi, large and small fleeing from the forest behind him. They were running in terror from something, and it was only after the Rahi had passed him that the Matoran resumed his own flight of terror.However, it was too late now, far too late. Already the Matoran could hear light footsteps following him, no, stalking him. Their lazy gait seemed almost mocking, as if they had all the time in the world. It was as if they were laughing at the Matoran, daring him to try and flee. They were confident in the fact that escape was impossible.Just as the Matoran was about to give into his despair, he saw images of friends appear in his head. He could see the smiling villagers, men and women he had laughed and cried with. The Matoran did not want to die yet, not when he still had so much to live for. If nothing else he wanted to see his home again, tell his fellow villagers how much they meant to him. He especially did not want his death to weigh upon their hearts.I WILL SURVIVE!With newfound determination, the Matoran resumed running and this time a certain vigor had entered his legs: the vigor of a survivor. With every step his resolve only strengthened. He would not rest until he was home, and then he would thank every single person he knew, give everyone a hug for making his life one worth running back to.None of the Matoran’s optimism slowed the wolves; as the Matoran's pace increased, so too did theirs'. The dreaded moment came: the hunt was getting boring. Toying with him was no longer fun; it was time to end it. That was when the first Wolf leapt out of the woods, and the Matoran finally saw the face of Death itself.An Iron Wolf, lean yet powerful, was running alongside him. Then, when the Matoran tried to suppress his fear, the Iron Wolf responded by quickly outpacing him and then cutting his path off. As the Matoran turned to try and escape in another direction, he found that two more wolves were now blocking his way.All of the Matoran’s hope and courage was suddenly gone, replaced by a fear that no other can match. His legs locked up, his arms rigid: there was no way out, no hope, no future. The Matoran looked upwards, hoping against hope that something would appear in the sky to save him as often happened in the stories. Finally, just as the Matoran realized that nothing was coming to save him, the first Wolf pounced. There wasn’t even any glory in his death.The Dark Hunt satiated, they howled in unison, warning all people with a simple message: We are the Dark Hunt, and no one escapes us. ---------------------------------- Choice #6: "The Fair Dark" At his feet was a mangled corpse. Though only recently robbed of life, its face was so familiar; he still half expected it to talk to him like it had always done. His name was Dam. At the least, that is what they called him. At one time it had been an honored title. Now it was just a code, a falsity. His real name, along with everything else, had been stripped away. He looked at his companions, lounging around the huts of the village, cloaked in shadows. Their orders fulfilled, they sat and traded small talk. Their recent actions, if not ignored, were talked about in pride. Dam was horrified, but couldn’t seem to muster any words. How had he come to this? How could he have ever done what he just had? It was a pointless, stupid question. He knew the answer too well. At one time they had called him the Dam of the Rusting Valley for his heroism. For centuries, his actions succeeded in maintaining all danger, natural and otherwise, from the small settlement located at the base of the valley. At one point, he had used his elemental powers to erect a massive stone wall to stop the flooding of the valley by a nearby river.He wasn’t alone. Another Toa, his best friend and closest partner, protected the Matoran inhabitants to the best of their abilities. They were inseparable and trusted each other completely. Together they felt they could do anything. They often clashed with Dark Hunters, who were after the meager resources of the Valley, but, together, were always able to overcome them.Unfortunately, Dark Hunters are rarely willing to give up so easily, or forgive such insults. One fateful day, a large number of Hunters mounted an assault on the Rusting Valley. With all their power, the two Toa were unable to defeat them. And when the Hunters were on the verge of overtaking the village, he murdered them. He wished he could wash away that act, to tell himself that he had only been acting to protect, but he had murdered them in anger and fear. Mustering every last bit of power he had, he opened the floor of the Valley and sent all the Hunters to fall, and then be crushed, by his power. His partner couldn’t face him after that. He knew that a Toa could never act that way, and the Dam knew it as well. So he left. It was an exile that both wordlessly agreed to, and felt was necessary. It didn’t take long for news of this event to reach the ears of the Shadowed One. Enraged, he called for the killer to be brought to him. His punishment would be unique, befitting the severity of his crimes. Lacking a home, the support of his closest friend, and anything to protect, he was apprehended easily. The Hunters broke him down, physically and mentally, to his breaking point. They trained him to work for them and even sent him on missions, in vile hunts, the foulest the Shadowed One could find. Always he was instructed to leave survivors. Their judging eyes pierced him and only added to his torture. He was surprisingly adept at the task, but not a single soul had any delusions about the chance of his survival. Eventually, his last task came to him. His partner, in his absence, had trained and redoubled his efforts to maintain the Valley safe. So the Shadowed One assembled a team to hunt him down, and assigned Dam to lead it. Under the cover of dark, they departed, and overpowered his previous friend. As the Shadowed One hadn’t specified what to do with the village, the others razed it. His previous partner’s pained expression at seeing him with the Hunters, the destruction of their home, finally broke him. He stopped feeling. When, in a last effort, the captive Toa broke free of his bonds and attacked them, he dealt with him, swiftly and brutally. Once the task was done, he had a fleeting moment of lucidity. It was so horrifying he almost went mad again. His friend’s eyes were full of judgment and despair. As Dam stood in the growing darkness, he could feel no similar judging glances from the darkness. Perhaps, he thought deliriously, those in the dark, robbed of sight, are truly the fairest judges… His thoughts were interrupted then. His companions, free from judgment, followed their final orders. ---------------------------------- Choice #7: "Grin in the Dark" The yellow teeth were what made him hesitate. He’d never seen teeth so sordid, stained and pitted, yet smiling the same wide smile, as he watched from far away in the darkness. It made him hesitate, his muscles unwilling to push off the rock he spied from. He didn’t want to go near the Skakdi, he would rather slink away behind a rock and convince himself there would be some better assignment when he opened his eyes again. Ahkmou was still a coward, but as a Toa of Shadow he had better ways to hide. Teridax had made sure of that. They were connected by that, he thought- never brave enough to get right in the thick of things, fleeing when it went bad... he shook all these frightened thoughts off as he felt a tug on his mind. Makuta was getting impatient, and he was letting his servant know. It was time to finish this hunt. He slithered from the rock, activating a Kanohi Huna as he crept along the cliffside. The group of Skakdi did not notice the shadows that followed, assuming them to be from the fire that crackled in the center of their group. While some of them growled and grinned stupidly, however, the leader, the one Ahkmou was sent to retrieve, stared from his throne, a few feet away from the action, something bigger in his eyes that was a pale reflection in the others. Like an animal defending his home, Ahkmou thought as he crept along. Most animals were more afraid of whoever explored their homes than the explorers were. His time exploring Po-Koro, of all places, taught him that. He would attack brutally so he wouldn’t expose his fear, so he could complete the mission, and they would never suspect... He readied his Rhotuka and shadow scythe, listening carefully to the words spoken along the campfire. “The Brotherhood will exclude our faithful service from their credentials,” the lead Skakdi told his brothers. “They will conquer the world on the impression that they are able to do it on their own, and the world will crumble before them. But they will not realize it was us that helped them, and as the ground crumbles we will be waiting under the rubble. We will show them it is merely their own ground they mine!” He licked his lips in a repulsive way that made Ahkmou shudder as he lined up his weapon to fire. The first shadow bolt struck silently at one who stepped away from the fire. Noone noticed as he was swallowed by the shadows. The second, he was the same, not realizing the night in which he celebrated was his enemy. Ahkmou pecked off a few more, mustering some courage as others disappeared due to his handiwork without notice. Anonymity granted him bravery, and for the first time that night, he smiled as wickedly as the Skakdi. Soon the Skakdi began to see the shadows creeping in, not shining out from their fire. The grins were still plastered to their faces, but the puzzle could be seen in their expressions. Ahkmou fired tight-lipped, as if speaking would let his courage leak out; though most of them panicked, the one of the creatures he feared seemed to glow in the dark, his plaque filled smile brighter as the Toa of Shadow increased his fire. He was crouching low on the rock he shot from, but somehow he slipped, and went tumbling down. Ahkmou crashed into the center of the campsite, and to the view of all of the Skakdi. The element of surprise was gone, and he waited for them to swarm upon him. The blade at his throat was not meant to penetrate, but Ahkmou wished it did. His eyes remained shut as he felt fear creep back into his mind, trying frantically to replace it with the image of a Kualsi, anything that would help him. But the only thing that came were the words of the Skakdi in his ear. “You heard what we said. Flee to your master, and tell them of the Karzahni that will arrive at their door soon enough.” The pause was enough to send Ahkmou speeding out of the cave and back to Destral. As the Toa of Shadow fled, the beasts recovered their injured and unconscious, their grins returning as the fire lighted the cave once more. The hunter was now the hunted.

Vote here for your favorite Dark Hunt story; entries have been randomized. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on July 1st at 11:59 PM EST. Entries that do well will move on to the Dark Hunt Final Poll, which will be posted at the conclusion of the 10th round preliminary poll. Choice #1: "Blind Hostilities" "Ow!" Nidhiki yelled, stumbling forward and colliding with the wall. For perhaps the three-hundredth time so far in his Dark Hunter career, he began cursing his imbecilic partner. (Obviously, this was still rather early in said career.)He also, for perhaps the hundred and fiftieth time, cursed the power of Roodaka's mutation spinner. The ability to crawl across walls and ceilings was all very well, but when trying to navigate a Makuta-black room he much preferred having two legs. And actual hands.Hissing imprecations under his breath, he had resumed his clumsy search, when suddenly a voice spoke from behind him. It was Subterranean, the third Hunter on this mission."What's the matter now, Nidhiki?" he said wearily. "I've been hearing you cursing and tripping over yourself for over twenty minutes." The arachnid could hear him smirk. "And while your opinion of Krekka's intelligence is probably accurate, I don't think the Shadowed One will be happy if you actually rip him to shreds - or do any of the other things you've been muttering about.""Oh, be quiet, Subterranean," the ex-toa snapped. "Don't you have better things to do than eavesdrop on people three rooms away?""Farther, actually. I was on sentry duty outside until a minute ago - watching out for any natives that might come by and discover our little hideout. And it's hardly eavesdropping if I can't help hearing you." The mutant's super-hearing was one of his greatest strengths, and also the reason he had been sent on this mission. Their target was guarded by a village of De-Matoran, some of the most naturally stealthy beings in the universe. "But you haven't answered my question. What's Krekka done this time?"Nidhiki's anger intensified at the mention of his partner. "Oh, nothing," he spat sarcastically. "That buffoon has apparently interpreted the instructions to 'show no light' as 'break all the lightstones,' that's all! So now I'm stuck looking for the mission instructions, in complete darkness!"Subterranean burst out laughing. "Really, Nidhiki? That's all? Honestly...if you can't handle a task like that, you shouldn't have become a Dark Hunter." He paused. "Not that you had a choice, of course - 'Toa' Nidhiki."Nidhiki stiffened. "I had more than you did," he shot back. "I heard you were run out of Metru Nui because of your looks. At least there's one good thing about this situation - I don't have to see you right now.""As if you're one to talk. Aren't you the one the Shadowed One mutated to ensure you'd be too monstrous to leave?""Maybe, but it was you who gave him the idea."Subterranean seemed to have no answer to that. Nidhiki grinned triumphantly before continuing."Now if you're not going to make yourself useful, you can leave. I have to deal with the mess created by my moron of a partner. Again."Subterranean silently obeyed, leaving Nidhiki to his dark hunt. ---------------------------------- Choice #2: "Fearsome" The waves still washed at the foot of the cliff. The spires of the ancient fortress that crowned the cliff still gnawed at the sky above. The figure still crouched, shadowed by the overhang, where the shore met the water of the Silver Sea. He crouched and waited with colorless eyes. The ship must have wrecked last night. Debris littered the shoreline. It reminded him of a time he had almost forgotten, but not quite. Four millennia, was it? Maybe more.... But the years were meaningless to him. This was his home now—his realm. Even his name was lost to time. Before him, the body of the blue-and-gold-armored creature bobbed with the tide. It was the only survivor of the wreck, it seemed. He squinted down from his shadowed perch, tail swishing back and forth as he weighed his options: It would be easy to end the thing where it lay. Just a glance, and the shore would be a wasteland of glass. Yes, it would be easy. Too easy. Old memories arose: memories of rolling surf, sand against his face, coughing up seawater, and then struggling up the shore. It had been night, pitch black. He’d set one of the thorn-trees aflame with his vision to provide some light, then lay beneath it, weak and shivering. Eyes had glittered beyond the firelight, and fear had paralyzed him for a time. But then his will had returned, and he’d met the gaze of those beastly eyes with the fearsome power of his own. In the morning, he’d awakened to find the remains of their bodies. Ravenous Kavinga and razor-toothed Hapaka, feral and gaunt. Their corpses were burnt and half-destroyed, but worst of all was what he found among them: the seven-toed tracks of the night-stalking Muaka. Muaka Elnikrai: the Dark Hunter. He knew the tracks, but no body remained. The beast had escaped into the darkness. It was still out there, somewhere, and his fear of it had bitten deep.... A sound brought him back, and he focused once more upon the figure in the surf. It was moving now, struggling up. Water dripped from its armor and face. Was that a Kanohi it wore? No, it was no Toa. In fact, they were much alike. The same species, perhaps. Sunlight gleamed on the being’s armor as it rose. It did not see him yet, hidden in the cool shadow. It surveyed its surroundings: side to side, then upward. Its gaze lingered upon the fortress atop the cliff. Such irony, that both of them should end up marooned on this island; forgotten, just like the Beings who had raised that fortress in ancient days.... Their eyes met suddenly, gaze to gaze. A long moment passed, and another memory leapt to the forefront of his mind then. It was amid the stones of the fortress high above. Years had passed since he’d been marooned, and he had survived. He had established himself as the strongest predator in this island realm. Any creature that opposed him fell to his gaze. All but one...the Dark Hunter stalked him still, cunning and terrible. It pursued him always, lurking just beyond his sight. Until one night, when he had led it on a long, dark hunt through the night, high upon the cliffside, into the stony heart of the fortress walls. And there it had ended, same as now. For a moment he had hesitated, creeping through a courtyard, and in that moment the Hunter had struck. Claws raked, teeth bit, and he had thought his death was near. But then morning had poured over the broken walltops, and the beast had recoiled from him, blinking, as he collapsed in the shade. Their eyes met—one bathed in sunlight, one in shadow—and the Dark Hunter had perished at last. And now? The silence stretched. Neither figure moved. The one who crouched in shadow felt the sudden urge to act. He was the Dark Hunter now. He was the dark.... He would hunt. He felt the fearsome power welling up behind his eyes. And then— “What is your name?” the other being asked, and something changed. The moment was broken. The power.... It ebbed away. “I...I have forgotten,” he said, hesitating. The words felt strange. “I have lived...in shadow...too long.” “Well, shadowed one, my name is old and forgotten too. In fact, it is beyond ancient. I see you wear the skull of the Muaka Elnikrai...” “...I believe you must be a fearsome Hunter.” ---------------------------------- Choice #3: "A Scientist's Reverie" The Ga-Matoran scientist walked home slowly, enjoying the moonlit night. The muted sounds, the darkened sights, of these Ga-Metruan nights, she whispered poetically. Clouds blew quickly across the sky, but the full moon remained unshaded.She walked into the vast, black shadow of the Colosseum and shivered slightly. She increased her pace somewhat as she crossed the last bridge between her and her destination.Still, for a moment she paused. The gentle herald of a thunder, goes before the skies are-Suddenly a dark shape launched out of the canal below, arcing low over the bridge and carrying the Matoran into the protodermis on the other side without a hint of a splash. There was a sudden explosion above the surface, and pieces of the bridge fell into the water all around them. She feebly struck at the face of the humanoid who held her, as she was carried through the water at alarming speed. Then they suddenly halted, and through the water she could see a pair of glowing yellow eyes behind a Great Pakari, and a single finger held up to indicate the necessity of silence. Kind, though serious, eyes. Toa Naho's.She gasped as they surfaced, pulling in the air that she so desperately needed, the impact and the cold water having robbed her of what energy she had. Toa Naho kept them both low in the water, below the peaks of the small waves. The Toa scanned the surrounding rooftops and the walls of the canal. Then, without warning, submerged them both again.Projectiles splashed into the water where they had just been, sending silvery fountains into the moonlight. This time they swam a long way, Naho taking turn after turn through the canals without hesitation.They emerged in a large culvert, deep in the darkness. There was a horribly smell, and loud echoes of the water farther in the labyrinth of sewers. Surely we're safe here, she thought, her heart slowing.Release the scientist, Naho.A deep, female voice echoed into their hiding place. Naho's grip only tightened.Something fell into the water in front of them, but Naho had already made her move. They were going deeper, deeper into the sewers.You must take a deep breath, little scientist. And hold it.She did as she was told, just as an explosion brought down the tunnel, their route to safety. And they plunged again.Rushing water, black as Makuta's mind, a friend before, an enemy behind. ---------------------------------- Choice #4: "Coldest Night" "It was such a cold night when we went. It was too cold- that's what Nuju said. He told me we shouldn't have gone out tonight, but we did anyway. See, me and Matoro had been searching for our friend Kopeke for a few nights now. If we didn't find him soon, he'd be ruled dead. Then, we'd n-no longer be allowed to search for him. S-see, that's why we came out here. To find our friend."But as the night grew colder, we found that we had to retreat into a cave. As we now know, this was the worst mistake either of us ever made. For when the winds came in, the entrance was an entrance no longer. The once-life-giving portal to survival had become an iced-over trap- and a tomb. The cave was long- longer than any cave I'd ever been in. We realized we would never be able to dig our way out, and so we yelled. We yelled for hours. We yelled until our throats were sore, and then we tortured ourselves so that we would keep yelling. "But help never came. We found Kopeke, though. Oh, yes, we found him. Corpse preserved by the cold when we found him there, a slab of stone and an etching pen in his hands. It was almost a day later that I discovered how appeasing Matoran is when you're starving. If not for this discovery, I wouldn't have outlived Matoro. See, there was something else in the cave. We could always feel it, but we never knew when it would come. The first time, we offered what was left of Kopeke. The second, all I had to do was shove Matoro back. Just one shove bought my escape. And yet, I can still hear him. Why does he still talk to me?"With no light, I am the prey to hunter, always hunting me in the dark. And one day, very soon.""Is that all?""Yeah, that's where it ends. Nothing else. Turaga Vakama- do you know who's writing this is?"Vakama looked mournfully over the slab once more. "Unfortunately, this is definitely Takua's writing," he sighed deeply, "I knew he'd been missing, but I hadn't expected this. You said this has been buried for...""Three weeks.""Hmm. Contact Nuju immediately. He might know something about this.""Um, sir? He's currently hunting for more bodies right now. No one's seen him in days." ---------------------------------- Choice #5: "Stars" Lyke sat by himself in the dark. He was used to it, and he generally enjoyed it, but the jungle at night always disconcerted him. The way the tree canopies blocked the sky made him feel claustrophobic. He jumped as he heard a rustling in the bushes, and instinctively grabbed a stick and thrust it toward the noise. Konepu barely had enough to leap out of the way before being impaled. "Woah, Lyke!" he yelled. "No need to be so jumpy. Everything that can kill us is asleep!" Lyke blushed behind his Akaku. He had a point. "Sorry-- where you able to find the nest?" Konepu shook is head. "I went as far back as the river but I couldn't find any nests." He looked up. "We've still got some time left before light and I don't want to come out for another hunt tomorrow if I can avoid it. Would you mind checking south toward the coast? I can keep an eye on our stuff this time." Lyke chucked aside his stick. "Certainly. If the glowbug nest is out there, I'll find it." "And look carefully. I don't want to have to tell Matau we couldn't find Le-Koro's precious light source. We've been borrowing enough lightstones from the Onu-Matoran and they won't be happy to lend us another emergency supply." Lyke offered a solute. "I'll do what I can, boss. Don't let the swamp rats get my berries." And with that he took off. Lyke took out a lightstone so he wouldn't kill himself while bushwhacking. But when he came to a clearing, he put it away. Partially so his eyes could catch the soft glow of a glowbug nest, and partially because the stars where out- and he loved looking at them. Even where the rest of the Matoran wanted to look down, Lyke wanted to look up. Oh, he understood why no one shared his sentiments- Rahi were dangerous. Lookouts where necessary, and many precious materials necessary for defense came literally from down… in the Earth. There was no benefit to the stars. And no matter how hard he tried to persuade others to join him for late nights on the Ta-Wahi coast, he could not get anyone interested. "Science for the sake of science is a waste of time" he was repeatedly told. He acknowledge the truth in the statement, but still felt wished his fellow Matoran weren't so afraid to branch out their knowledge a bit. His thoughts were interrupted by Konepu calling out his name. Lyke cursed- he knew he was spending way too much time out here. He got up and ran toward Konepu's voice. "Sorry I took so long," he said. "I wanted to check out the trees for good measure. I didn't find anything." It was a lie, of course. And not a very opaque one, either. "So you definitely weren't checking out the stars again," Konepu said sarcastically. "I know you think they're pretty, but we have a job to do. And if you had been paying attention you would have seen a nest not more than two hundred feet in that direction." He pointed back in the direction their camp was, and held up a jar of glowbugs for proof. Lyke couldn't deny his search was sloppy. He rubbed his neck with embarrassment. "Sorry," he said. "But how can you not appreciate them? Mata Nui must have put them there for a reason." "He also put the Le-Wahi swamps in for a reason. And I doubt it was for the benefit of Matoran. Now come on, let's head back. Matau will want these." The two headed back to the Great Tree, the stars being blotted out by the lightstones. If only we can see them closer, Lyke thought. Maybe Matoran will appreciate them more. Discover more. Figure out their relevance. His thoughts then drifted toward his Akaku, and how the lenses allowed him to see smaller objects with greater clarity. What if he could replicate the device, modify it… and point it in the other direction? Ideas formed wild in his head. He would build just such a device! And like a proud Ga Matoro resident shows off an ocean sunset, he would use his invention to show off the stars. And he knew just which coastline to put it on. ---------------------------------- Choice #6: "Fault" A scream.The Vortixx Eris awakened, a film of sweat on her face, and fumbled in the dark for the knife on her bedside cabinet before realizing she had been dreaming.Just as she had been dreaming for the past month.She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She would sleep no more.* * *A few thoughtfully placed lightstones illuminated the Xian inn’s hallway and stairwell. Two flights of steps down, the corridor opened into a large lobby. Eris crossed the lobby between the front doors and receptionist’s desk and entered the inn’s modest bar and restaurant.Only a few people were awake at this hour: another Vortixx, slumped over the bar; two Matoran murmuring, their heads almost touching; and a Steltian with a scar over his left eye and a grimace on his face as though his drink was too bitter.After purchasing a frugal meal (she would eat no more of the inn’s second-rate breakfast than she had to), Eris deliberately took a seat two tables from the Steltian’s and ate silently. It was amazing that no one else could hear the boiling emotions incarcerated in her gut.One of the Matoran approached the Steltian with a few terse words. His response was equally brief, and the Matoran returned to his table, unbeknownst that he gave Eris the final proof she needed. This was the one.The Steltian finished his drink and exited the restaurant. Eris counted to three before following — risky, yes, but she was impatient. Her sheath felt heavy against her thigh.* * *The air outside the inn was cold, but it kept Eris awake.She kept her distance from the Steltian, stretching her arms and yawning a couple times as if she had just woken up. It was only an act (she tried to convince herself), but her subconscious nevertheless reminded Eris to sleep in tomorrow, or at least go to bed early tonight.When the Steltian finally looked at her, she was gazing at the sky, tinted violet by dawn. In her peripheral vision, the Steltian paused by the front display of a store as if window shopping. She didn’t stop walking till she was past him and he entered the store.No stores in Xia were open at this hour.There were two obvious possibilities: Either the Steltian was obtaining something in the store — legally or otherwise — or he was using it as a shortcut into a back alley.The third possibility, which Eris realized only after slipping into a neighboring alley, was that the store was his hideout. She prayed not.The Steltian wasn’t behind the shop. Eris approached the back door and placed her head against it, listening. Even her acute hearing could barely recognize words.“...not enough. I spent more than time getting this...”More mumbling. Something about being cheap. Then a tinkle of coins.Apparently the storeowner was a customer.When the Steltian exited, Eris had resumed her position and ploy of a tired Vortixx on an early morning stroll. She could tell he was suspicious by the glance he gave her, but he said nothing as he passed.She waited till his back was to her before leaping onto it and pressing a drug-soaked rag upon his face.He struggled mutely and then went limp. Eris dragged him into the alley and out of sight and fell to a sitting position beside his body, her heart galloping.This was it.* * *Eris’s knife was out of its sheath and resting against the Steltian’s neck when he awakened. His eyes were wary, but he otherwise displayed no surprise or recognition.“You know me,” Eris prompted.He was silent for a brief time before comprehending. “Yes,” he said, his tone markedly formal. “Yes, Eris, I do.”“You know Thora?”He was silent longer this time. “I think I’ve heard the name.”“You should. You killed her.”“I don’t kill people.”Eris’s knife hand was shaking. “You killed her,” she repeated.“I did not, Eris. That was you.”“You made me!”“You had every ability to deny the job—”“That’s false, and you know it!”“Regardless, I’m not a murderer.”“If you’d told me I’d been hired to kill her—”“You never asked,” said the Steltian.The final straw.The scream replayed in Eris’s mind. She nearly repeated it aloud. On an impulse, she pressed the knife against the Steltian’s neck—And froze.Recoiled, gut churning.Pulled it away and, cursing, ran back into the street with burning eyes. ---------------------------------- Choice #7: "Escaping the Fiercest Hunter" Kongu made his way through the jungle in the middle of the night. There was a full moon overhead, but none of the light reached below the jungle canopy. For those on the forest floor, it was as dark as the underground shadows.Ordinarily, Kongu would’ve never been out in the jungle this late, much less on the forest floor. But he had been flying his Kahu in the late afternoon, and his poor bird hurt its wing and was forced to land far from Le-Koro. After making sure his Kahu was safely roosted, Kongu started off for his treetop village, so he could return with medicine for his bird. And since the tree limbs above were filled with Fikou webs, he was forced to make the journey on the ground.Kongu heard the sound of something behind him. He knew of many predators in the jungles of Le-Wahi, and whatever was behind him was big. It could just be one of the larger, peaceful Rahi. Or it could be something out to get him.Kongu picked up his pace, leaping over tree roots and bushes. But then he heard the creature move, and a shadow leapt towards him. Using his quick reflexes, Kongu came to a halt and ducked down, and his attacker sailed over his head.Kongu managed to get a good look at the beast, despite the darkness. It was a ferocious Muaka cat. Of all the hunters in the jungle, Muaka were among the fiercest.Panic began to fill him, and Kongu started off at a sprint. He wasn’t heading towards Le-Koro or anyplace in specific; he just tried to get away from the Muaka. Unfortunately, the Muaka turned around and continued the chase.The beast was almost upon him. Kongu took a sharp turn around a large tree trunk, and the feline missed him. But it would be back. Kongu tried to brush aside his fear and think. He couldn’t outrun the Muaka, and his agility would only help him so much. He needed a way to outsmart the beast.But how could he outthink the jungle’s greatest hunter? What could possibly stop the mighty Muaka?A sudden idea came to Kongu. He jumped into the low branches of a nearby tree, and started to climb skyward. He was halfway up the tree before the Muaka below sighted him. If Kongu thought climbing would save him, he was sorely mistaken. The Muaka flexed its claws and sank them into the trees bark. The massive beast began to climb up the tree behind Kongu, tearing away the branches and foliage that got in its way.Kong climbed onto a long branch, and ran out across it. The Muaka reached it seconds later, and with a swipe of its claws broke it free. Kongu leapt at the last moment and snagged a vine hanging from another tree, and used it to swing to its trunk. But the Muaka pounced and leapt through the air, landing on the branches right below Kongu.Kongu ran and jumped, even as the Muaka’s claws slashed at the leaves directly behind him. Ahead, he saw what appeared to be a clearing beneath the treetops, and he dove into the darkness. Behind him, the Muaka leapt too. It extended its neck, and its jaws sprang towards Kongu and threatened to close down on the Matoran.Suddenly, something caught the Muaka and checked its fall. The Rahi roared, and tried to break free, but the thin strands wrapped around its legs and stuck to it. It had been caught in a Fikou web.Kongu had just been able to see the outline of the web when he jumped, and he aimed for an opening which was wide enough for him to pass through. The gap, however, was too small for the Muaka. Even as it tried to break free, the Fikou spiders moved in on their catch. They were no match for the Muaka, and the fierce cat would eventually break free. But not before Kongu could get to safety.The Le-Matoran landed safely on the ground below, and quickly resumed his journey towards Le-Koro. When he got back, he could tell all his friends of how he had bested the fiercest hunter in the jungle... in the dark, no less.

Theme #1: A Dark Hunt image Entry #1: Member Name: dotcomTheme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 747Story: The Fair Dark At his feet was a mangled corpse. Though only recently robbed of life, its face was so familiar; he still half expected it to talk to him like it had always done. His name was Dam. At the least, that is what they called him. At one time it had been an honored title. Now it was just a code, a falsity. His real name, along with everything else, had been stripped away. He looked at his companions, lounging around the huts of the village, cloaked in shadows. Their orders fulfilled, they sat and traded small talk. Their recent actions, if not ignored, were talked about in pride. Dam was horrified, but couldn’t seem to muster any words. How had he come to this? How could he have ever done what he just had? It was a pointless, stupid question. He knew the answer too well. At one time they had called him the Dam of the Rusting Valley for his heroism. For centuries, his actions succeeded in maintaining all danger, natural and otherwise, from the small settlement located at the base of the valley. At one point, he had used his elemental powers to erect a massive stone wall to stop the flooding of the valley by a nearby river.He wasn’t alone. Another Toa, his best friend and closest partner, protected the Matoran inhabitants to the best of their abilities. They were inseparable and trusted each other completely. Together they felt they could do anything. They often clashed with Dark Hunters, who were after the meager resources of the Valley, but, together, were always able to overcome them.Unfortunately, Dark Hunters are rarely willing to give up so easily, or forgive such insults. One fateful day, a large number of Hunters mounted an assault on the Rusting Valley. With all their power, the two Toa were unable to defeat them. And when the Hunters were on the verge of overtaking the village, he murdered them. He wished he could wash away that act, to tell himself that he had only been acting to protect, but he had murdered them in anger and fear. Mustering every last bit of power he had, he opened the floor of the Valley and sent all the Hunters to fall, and then be crushed, by his power. His partner couldn’t face him after that. He knew that a Toa could never act that way, and the Dam knew it as well. So he left. It was an exile that both wordlessly agreed to, and felt was necessary. It didn’t take long for news of this event to reach the ears of the Shadowed One. Enraged, he called for the killer to be brought to him. His punishment would be unique, befitting the severity of his crimes. Lacking a home, the support of his closest friend, and anything to protect, he was apprehended easily. The Hunters broke him down, physically and mentally, to his breaking point. They trained him to work for them and even sent him on missions, in vile hunts, the foulest the Shadowed One could find. Always he was instructed to leave survivors. Their judging eyes pierced him and only added to his torture. He was surprisingly adept at the task, but not a single soul had any delusions about the chance of his survival. Eventually, his last task came to him. His partner, in his absence, had trained and redoubled his efforts to maintain the Valley safe. So the Shadowed One assembled a team to hunt him down, and assigned Dam to lead it. Under the cover of dark, they departed, and overpowered his previous friend. As the Shadowed One hadn’t specified what to do with the village, the others razed it. His previous partner’s pained expression at seeing him with the Hunters, the destruction of their home, finally broke him. He stopped feeling. When, in a last effort, the captive Toa broke free of his bonds and attacked them, he dealt with him, swiftly and brutally. Once the task was done, he had a fleeting moment of lucidity. It was so horrifying he almost went mad again. His friend’s eyes were full of judgment and despair. As Dam stood in the growing darkness, he could feel no similar judging glances from the darkness. Perhaps, he thought deliriously, those in the dark, robbed of sight, are truly the fairest judges… His thoughts were interrupted then. His companions, free from judgment, followed their final orders. ---------- Entry #2: Name: Shuhei HisaguTheme: A Dark HuntWordcount: 406Story: Coldest Night"It was such a cold night when we went. It was too cold- that's what Nuju said. He told me we shouldn't have gone out tonight, but we did anyway. See, me and Matoro had been searching for our friend Kopeke for a few nights now. If we didn't find him soon, he'd be ruled dead. Then, we'd n-no longer be allowed to search for him. S-see, that's why we came out here. To find our friend."But as the night grew colder, we found that we had to retreat into a cave. As we now know, this was the worst mistake either of us ever made. For when the winds came in, the entrance was an entrance no longer. The once-life-giving portal to survival had become an iced-over trap- and a tomb. The cave was long- longer than any cave I'd ever been in. We realized we would never be able to dig our way out, and so we yelled. We yelled for hours. We yelled until our throats were sore, and then we tortured ourselves so that we would keep yelling. "But help never came. We found Kopeke, though. Oh, yes, we found him. Corpse preserved by the cold when we found him there, a slab of stone and an etching pen in his hands. It was almost a day later that I discovered how appeasing Matoran is when you're starving. If not for this discovery, I wouldn't have outlived Matoro. See, there was something else in the cave. We could always feel it, but we never knew when it would come. The first time, we offered what was left of Kopeke. The second, all I had to do was shove Matoro back. Just one shove bought my escape. And yet, I can still hear him. Why does he still talk to me?"With no light, I am the prey to hunter, always hunting me in the dark. And one day, very soon.""Is that all?""Yeah, that's where it ends. Nothing else. Turaga Vakama- do you know who's writing this is?"Vakama looked mournfully over the slab once more. "Unfortunately, this is definitely Takua's writing," he sighed deeply, "I knew he'd been missing, but I hadn't expected this. You said this has been buried for...""Three weeks.""Hmm. Contact Nuju immediately. He might know something about this.""Um, sir? He's currently hunting for more bodies right now. No one's seen him in days." ----------- Entry #3: Name: Nick SilverpenTheme: A Dark HuntWordcount: 741Story: Grin in the Dark The yellow teeth were what made him hesitate. He’d never seen teeth so sordid, stained and pitted, yet smiling the same wide smile, as he watched from far away in the darkness. It made him hesitate, his muscles unwilling to push off the rock he spied from. He didn’t want to go near the Skakdi, he would rather slink away behind a rock and convince himself there would be some better assignment when he opened his eyes again. Ahkmou was still a coward, but as a Toa of Shadow he had better ways to hide. Teridax had made sure of that. They were connected by that, he thought- never brave enough to get right in the thick of things, fleeing when it went bad... he shook all these frightened thoughts off as he felt a tug on his mind. Makuta was getting impatient, and he was letting his servant know. It was time to finish this hunt. He slithered from the rock, activating a Kanohi Huna as he crept along the cliffside. The group of Skakdi did not notice the shadows that followed, assuming them to be from the fire that crackled in the center of their group. While some of them growled and grinned stupidly, however, the leader, the one Ahkmou was sent to retrieve, stared from his throne, a few feet away from the action, something bigger in his eyes that was a pale reflection in the others. Like an animal defending his home, Ahkmou thought as he crept along. Most animals were more afraid of whoever explored their homes than the explorers were. His time exploring Po-Koro, of all places, taught him that. He would attack brutally so he wouldn’t expose his fear, so he could complete the mission, and they would never suspect... He readied his Rhotuka and shadow scythe, listening carefully to the words spoken along the campfire. “The Brotherhood will exclude our faithful service from their credentials,” the lead Skakdi told his brothers. “They will conquer the world on the impression that they are able to do it on their own, and the world will crumble before them. But they will not realize it was us that helped them, and as the ground crumbles we will be waiting under the rubble. We will show them it is merely their own ground they mine!” He licked his lips in a repulsive way that made Ahkmou shudder as he lined up his weapon to fire. The first shadow bolt struck silently at one who stepped away from the fire. Noone noticed as he was swallowed by the shadows. The second, he was the same, not realizing the night in which he celebrated was his enemy. Ahkmou pecked off a few more, mustering some courage as others disappeared due to his handiwork without notice. Anonymity granted him bravery, and for the first time that night, he smiled as wickedly as the Skakdi. Soon the Skakdi began to see the shadows creeping in, not shining out from their fire. The grins were still plastered to their faces, but the puzzle could be seen in their expressions. Ahkmou fired tight-lipped, as if speaking would let his courage leak out; though most of them panicked, the one of the creatures he feared seemed to glow in the dark, his plaque filled smile brighter as the Toa of Shadow increased his fire. He was crouching low on the rock he shot from, but somehow he slipped, and went tumbling down. Ahkmou crashed into the center of the campsite, and to the view of all of the Skakdi. The element of surprise was gone, and he waited for them to swarm upon him. The blade at his throat was not meant to penetrate, but Ahkmou wished it did. His eyes remained shut as he felt fear creep back into his mind, trying frantically to replace it with the image of a Kualsi, anything that would help him. But the only thing that came were the words of the Skakdi in his ear. “You heard what we said. Flee to your master, and tell them of the Karzahni that will arrive at their door soon enough.” The pause was enough to send Ahkmou speeding out of the cave and back to Destral. As the Toa of Shadow fled, the beasts recovered their injured and unconscious, their grins returning as the fire lighted the cave once more. The hunter was now the hunted. ---------- Entry #4: Member Name: Pahrak #0579Theme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 715Story: Vengeful Extermination The Shadow Leech crawled out from under its rock and peered around. It could sense a massive source of light nearby, more than enough to save it from the starvation it was barely staving off. The light was coming closer. Silently, it slithered out of its hiding place, sticking to the shadows as it moved towards the approaching meal. The source stepped on a branch—it was close now, so close that the Leech could already taste that delectable light. Just a few more steps, and the unlucky prey would be in the perfect position… Unfortunately for the Shadow Leech, its “prey”—a Toa clad in white and gray armor—spotted it coming. The creature advanced quickly, but not quickly enough. The Toa raised the cylindrical cannon he carried, pulled the trigger, and smothered the mutant Kraata in flames. “Serves you right, you little worm.” Takanuva drew one of his Light Staffs and prodded the Leech to make sure it was dead. Once satisfied that the monster was no more, he returned the staff to his back, rested the cannon on his shoulder, and marched on. Recently, a Shadow Leech had found its way into New Atero and attacked a Matoran. The Toa, who had assumed that all of the creatures had died off when their hive was destroyed, were quite surprised at the parasite’s appearance. Worse, this seemed to be a special Leech. Its brethren from Karda Nui lived only for a matter of minutes, and took hardly any effort to slay once they were found. For some reason, this particular Leech was much more durable and had a far longer life span. Where there was one Shadow Leech, there could potentially be more. The most likely explanation was that Makuta had recreated and altered the species while in control of the Matoran Universe—or so the Turaga insisted. Whatever the case, the Shadow Leeches would need to be dealt with, and it was recommended several Toa be sent to hunt down the vermin. Takanuva had jumped at the chance. The Toa of Light yawned. It does get a little lonely out here, but I get it—the others need to help evacuate the rest of the population and finish getting New Atero in order. Not like I need any help. No way am I letting one of those things latch onto me again. He eyed the new weapon he held. Apparently it was something Nuparu had thrown together during his down time on Metru-Nui: a portable flamethrower powered by the Fire energies of the Toa Disk once belonging to Turaga Vakama. Takanuva didn’t really understand how it worked, but he couldn’t say that he cared. All that mattered was that it made his job a whole lot easier. A quiet rustle drew Takanuva’s attention. Trees and shrubbery lined the path he was travelling, so there was no telling where the Leeches could be watching him from. Lowering the flamethrower, he took a staff in one hand and slowed his pace. All of a sudden he whirled and thrust his staff, impaling a Leech that had lunged directly at his back. He tossed the creature on the ground and prepared to finish it off, only to be greeted by a more disturbing sight. At least a dozen Shadow Leeches were racing right towards him, their sickening forms twisting horrendously as they slithered their way forward. “By all means, join the party.” The cannon roared to life. Takanuva held it steady as flames poured out of it, incinerating every last Leech and charring the ground before him. A few seconds went by before he stopped to check if they were still alive. When he did, he was pleased to find that none of them were. For a moment, and not for the first time, Takanuva wondered if he should feel remorse for his actions. The Leeches were, after all, living creatures, and Toa were not supposed to kill, let along take pleasure in it. However, as he always did with these thoughts, he set the concern aside. Shadow Leeches were created by Makuta for the sole purpose of enslaving Matoran. In order to fulfill his duty to protect the villagers, the Shadow Leeches needed to be eradicated. Shouldering the weapon once more, Takanuva trudged on. ---------- Entry #5: Member Name: The Remorseful AutomatonTheme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 750Story: The Music Box's Song It’s often said that the most curious piece of treasure in all of The Shadowed One’s collection is a plain, wooden box with neither value nor decoration. A key juts from its front and when turned, the box begins to sing. A hollow, melancholic trill fills the room and drowns it in pensiveness. The Shadowed One has never attempted to sell it, to barter with it or even dare to gamble with it. Why he keeps this box is known to few and fewer still who would speak of it. But yet it continues to rest amongst rubies and opals, broadswords and spears, trophies and spoils of war. It exists besides them without contest and most curiously of all, it has gathered the least dust in all its years of rest. The Dark Hunter trod through the collection, his feet whispering across the stony ground with all the subtlety his name would suggest. In the distance The Shadowed One marched these halls in pursuit of a separate purpose. Whatever it was, it was of no concern to Darkness. His intent was of a different nature, independent yet important enough to allow his game to wander from his watchful gaze. The music box lay where it had always been kept, on a pedestal between two tablets inscribed with a language older than the rocks used to host them. His fingers brushed the surface and left a trail of dust in their wake. Darkness made no noise as he lifted it from its resting place and held it to his face. Something shifted beyond and The Shadowed One’s voice floated over to Darkness’ ears. Whatever those words said was left unqueried as the Dark Hunters’ attention returned to the plain box before him. He turned the key and shattered the silence with its grating groan. The gears were wound and the song began to sound. Once upon a time Darkness had made it his goal to ascend to the Dark Hunter’s throne. His plan had been to follow The Shadowed One, to watch and wait. At any moment his prey would slip, would make a mistake, would show weakness. He would wait for the moment when The Shadowed One had finally proven himself to be unworthy for rule and then Darkness would slip in and take his rightful position at the head of the organisation with a well-placed knife. Once upon a time he had thought nothing of this plan. But once upon a time was a long time ago. He had watched and he had waited. Years turned into decades and decades into centuries. Through time, Darkness had grown proficient at his job. He learnt The Shadowed One’s schedule, his plans and his aspirations. He slipped into his prey’s mind as though it were a comfortable set of armour without realising the cost. In joining the Dark Hunters he had surrendered his old self to become Darkness. In the pursuit of his goals he had surrendered Darkness and become The Shadowed One’s shadow. He was no longer an independent being. He was only an echo of The Shadowed One now. And yet, the dark hunt might have been Darkness’ life, but the box held the key to something beyond. In its hollow notes it sang a song of a time gone by when the world was different and when Shadow was something else. Something now lost, not only to himself but to the universe itself. But the music box knew and through its gentle rhythm, Darkness would know as well. The true meaning in the box’s elusive history was of course known to Darkness but it was a matter that was none of his business. He cared not for the object but for its produce. It was the music that enticed him to listen. It was the sounds it made, like a siren calling him home. Nothing could have drawn him from the thoughtful trance it cast him in, nothing besides the great shadow of The Shadowed One that loomed over him then. Darkness turned and the two regarded each other in watchful silence. Not a single word crossed between them as the box’s notes continued to unfold, for there was nothing to say. They simply stood and stared and waited for the empty desolation of silence to envelop them, and then their interaction would come to an end. Two individuals stood in this room but they would leave as one. Eventually the box fell into silence and the hunt resumed. ---------- Entry #6: Member Name: NuileTheme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 734 Story: Searching in Shadow I come from the island of Cimmerrii. That is all you need to know. "The Star!" they cried. "The Star!" "The Star!" They thought it was just a legend. The Turaga, in their best moods, had told us the story to terrify us. They said The Star had long ago come to feed upon the Matoran of Cimmerrii, until a desperate mob had gathered to fight it and defeat it. The Turaga always believed it would return. Until that night, I didn't believe. When I heard the shouts, I thought it was only a cruel joke. But I knew I would never sleep with this racket. That was my excuse. I wouldn't admit that I was curious, and instead promised myself that, if I got up to look, it was only to kill someone to keep them quiet. With a smile of sadistic pleasure I collected my pickax and my dented shield and stepped out into the night. It was like nothing I had ever seen, when at last I could see at all. For a moment I was blinded, and I didn't understand why. It made me think I was dying. Finally I realized that I was seeing light. If you had seen it, you would have only seen a faint glimmer, if you could have seen it at all. To Cimmerrii, it was the first light any of us could remember, and it was blinding. As my vision returned I began to see Matoran everywhere screaming, fleeing, running against one another, murdering one another, clambering over dead bodies. Not that this was unusual, and normally I wouldn't have noticed. But that night, I did, and for the first time in my life I was revolted. I was ashamed of the petty viciousness of my people. The cry continued, "The Star! The Star!" I alone stood unmoving, watching, as I never would have done before, from my doorway. I noticed that the fleeing Matoran were all running away from The Star. The longer I stood there the fewer the passersby became. Only the weakest or sleepiest stragglers blundered past now, and soon the last of them went by and I found myself completely alone. With a snort, I squared my shoulders. Let my cowardly people run if they liked! I wouldn't. If The Star was so fearsome, I would face it myself and kill it or I would die trying it. It was terrible and dreadful . . . Then why was it so warm? And why couldn't I move? I didn't want to stay, I didn't want to run, but I didn't want to take even one step toward The Star, either. Why not? Was I afraid? "Afraid!" I shouted. "You're afraid! Coward!" That did it. With a roar I took the first leap and ran forward toward the light, toward The Star, shield up and pickax high. I ran away from the darkness, into the gloom that grew a little brighter with each step. I shivered at the thought but I didn't stop running, until finally I began to realize that The Star wasn't getting any closer. I halted, tired and gasping for air. Panting, I bellowed, "Are you afraid of me? You, the terrible Star who devours little Matoran? Come back here and kill me if you can!" I broke into a run again, but as long as I kept it up The Star got no larger. "I don't care! I will hunt you to the ends of the universe if I have to!" When I recovered I ran again, and paused again, and ran again and paused again, over and over. Every time I realized The Star was getting steadily larger, and nearer, I ran even faster. The ground began to slope upwards, and I kept running. I could feel the walls of a tunnel all around me, and I kept running. I ran on and on, up and up, until suddenly I rounded a corner and the brightest light yet dazzled me. I raised my shield and swung my pickax, striking walls or nothing at all. Gathering my every last ounce of courage I charged forward blindly, up the ascending tunnel, up toward the light. With a fierce battle-cry I plunged into the light and it devoured me. I came from the island of Cimmerii. And I have found the light. That is all you need to know. --------- Entry #7: Member Name: TolkienTheme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 750Story: "Fearsome" "Fearsome" The waves still washed at the foot of the cliff. The spires of the ancient fortress that crowned the cliff still gnawed at the sky above. The figure still crouched, shadowed by the overhang, where the shore met the water of the Silver Sea. He crouched and waited with colorless eyes. The ship must have wrecked last night. Debris littered the shoreline. It reminded him of a time he had almost forgotten, but not quite. Four millennia, was it? Maybe more.... But the years were meaningless to him. This was his home now—his realm. Even his name was lost to time. Before him, the body of the blue-and-gold-armored creature bobbed with the tide. It was the only survivor of the wreck, it seemed. He squinted down from his shadowed perch, tail swishing back and forth as he weighed his options: It would be easy to end the thing where it lay. Just a glance, and the shore would be a wasteland of glass. Yes, it would be easy. Too easy. Old memories arose: memories of rolling surf, sand against his face, coughing up seawater, and then struggling up the shore. It had been night, pitch black. He’d set one of the thorn-trees aflame with his vision to provide some light, then lay beneath it, weak and shivering. Eyes had glittered beyond the firelight, and fear had paralyzed him for a time. But then his will had returned, and he’d met the gaze of those beastly eyes with the fearsome power of his own. In the morning, he’d awakened to find the remains of their bodies. Ravenous Kavinga and razor-toothed Hapaka, feral and gaunt. Their corpses were burnt and half-destroyed, but worst of all was what he found among them: the seven-toed tracks of the night-stalking Muaka. Muaka Elnikrai: the Dark Hunter. He knew the tracks, but no body remained. The beast had escaped into the darkness. It was still out there, somewhere, and his fear of it had bitten deep.... A sound brought him back, and he focused once more upon the figure in the surf. It was moving now, struggling up. Water dripped from its armor and face. Was that a Kanohi it wore? No, it was no Toa. In fact, they were much alike. The same species, perhaps. Sunlight gleamed on the being’s armor as it rose. It did not see him yet, hidden in the cool shadow. It surveyed its surroundings: side to side, then upward. Its gaze lingered upon the fortress atop the cliff. Such irony, that both of them should end up marooned on this island; forgotten, just like the Beings who had raised that fortress in ancient days.... Their eyes met suddenly, gaze to gaze. A long moment passed, and another memory leapt to the forefront of his mind then. It was amid the stones of the fortress high above. Years had passed since he’d been marooned, and he had survived. He had established himself as the strongest predator in this island realm. Any creature that opposed him fell to his gaze. All but one...the Dark Hunter stalked him still, cunning and terrible. It pursued him always, lurking just beyond his sight. Until one night, when he had led it on a long, dark hunt through the night, high upon the cliffside, into the stony heart of the fortress walls. And there it had ended, same as now. For a moment he had hesitated, creeping through a courtyard, and in that moment the Hunter had struck. Claws raked, teeth bit, and he had thought his death was near. But then morning had poured over the broken walltops, and the beast had recoiled from him, blinking, as he collapsed in the shade. Their eyes met—one bathed in sunlight, one in shadow—and the Dark Hunter had perished at last. And now? The silence stretched. Neither figure moved. The one who crouched in shadow felt the sudden urge to act. He was the Dark Hunter now. He was the dark.... He would hunt. He felt the fearsome power welling up behind his eyes. And then— “What is your name?” the other being asked, and something changed. The moment was broken. The power.... It ebbed away. “I...I have forgotten,” he said, hesitating. The words felt strange. “I have lived...in shadow...too long.” “Well, shadowed one, my name is old and forgotten too. In fact, it is beyond ancient. I see you wear the skull of the Muaka Elnikrai...” “...I believe you must be a fearsome Hunter.” --------- Entry #8: Member Name: Vorahk1Panrahk2 Theme: A Dark Hunt Word Count: 722 Story: Stars Lyke sat by himself in the dark. He was used to it, and he generally enjoyed it, but the jungle at night always disconcerted him. The way the tree canopies blocked the sky made him feel claustrophobic. He jumped as he heard a rustling in the bushes, and instinctively grabbed a stick and thrust it toward the noise. Konepu barely had enough to leap out of the way before being impaled. "Woah, Lyke!" he yelled. "No need to be so jumpy. Everything that can kill us is asleep!" Lyke blushed behind his Akaku. He had a point. "Sorry-- where you able to find the nest?" Konepu shook is head. "I went as far back as the river but I couldn't find any nests." He looked up. "We've still got some time left before light and I don't want to come out for another hunt tomorrow if I can avoid it. Would you mind checking south toward the coast? I can keep an eye on our stuff this time." Lyke chucked aside his stick. "Certainly. If the glowbug nest is out there, I'll find it." "And look carefully. I don't want to have to tell Matau we couldn't find Le-Koro's precious light source. We've been borrowing enough lightstones from the Onu-Matoran and they won't be happy to lend us another emergency supply." Lyke offered a solute. "I'll do what I can, boss. Don't let the swamp rats get my berries." And with that he took off. Lyke took out a lightstone so he wouldn't kill himself while bushwhacking. But when he came to a clearing, he put it away. Partially so his eyes could catch the soft glow of a glowbug nest, and partially because the stars where out- and he loved looking at them. Even where the rest of the Matoran wanted to look down, Lyke wanted to look up. Oh, he understood why no one shared his sentiments- Rahi were dangerous. Lookouts where necessary, and many precious materials necessary for defense came literally from down… in the Earth. There was no benefit to the stars. And no matter how hard he tried to persuade others to join him for late nights on the Ta-Wahi coast, he could not get anyone interested. "Science for the sake of science is a waste of time" he was repeatedly told. He acknowledge the truth in the statement, but still felt wished his fellow Matoran weren't so afraid to branch out their knowledge a bit. His thoughts were interrupted by Konepu calling out his name. Lyke cursed- he knew he was spending way too much time out here. He got up and ran toward Konepu's voice. "Sorry I took so long," he said. "I wanted to check out the trees for good measure. I didn't find anything." It was a lie, of course. And not a very opaque one, either. "So you definitely weren't checking out the stars again," Konepu said sarcastically. "I know you think they're pretty, but we have a job to do. And if you had been paying attention you would have seen a nest not more than two hundred feet in that direction." He pointed back in the direction their camp was, and held up a jar of glowbugs for proof. Lyke couldn't deny his search was sloppy. He rubbed his neck with embarrassment. "Sorry," he said. "But how can you not appreciate them? Mata Nui must have put them there for a reason." "He also put the Le-Wahi swamps in for a reason. And I doubt it was for the benefit of Matoran. Now come on, let's head back. Matau will want these." The two headed back to the Great Tree, the stars being blotted out by the lightstones. If only we can see them closer, Lyke thought. Maybe Matoran will appreciate them more. Discover more. Figure out their relevance. His thoughts then drifted toward his Akaku, and how the lenses allowed him to see smaller objects with greater clarity. What if he could replicate the device, modify it… and point it in the other direction? Ideas formed wild in his head. He would build just such a device! And like a proud Ga Matoro resident shows off an ocean sunset, he would use his invention to show off the stars. And he knew just which coastline to put it on. ---------- Entry #9: Member Name: Flaredrick: The Sniper Theme: A Dark Hunt Word Count: 747 Story: Hunt in the Dark Hunt in the Dark Pittsburg Pennsylvania, home to some old steel work mills. It was night time, and the moon was in full bloom. We’ve been told to never do business before sundown, but we were naïve into doing so. This is the time, I survived the hunt. It was dawn, and me and my companions were waking getting ready to go into the mills to work some trading. We didn’t matter what it was we were trading our steel for, but we were always careful about to make business with. Jaskal, Horuos, Uganl, and I changed into our human disguises so we can blend in with human society. We made sure we got everything we needed, and proceeded to an abandoned mill where we set up our trades. I was a 5,7 albino with blonde hair, freckle faced, and pale blue eyes. Jaskal was a 6,1 African American man who was all muscle built. He had a very deep voice which he sort of hated. Underneath that he was a Fa-Matoran with silver Kulasi. Horuos was a 5,9 1/3 Germanic descendant with dark red hair and green eyes. Underneath the disguise is a Vo-Matoran with a Pakari. Last was Ugnal, he was a 5,11 Mexican American with a Spanish accent in his voice. He had grey hair like an old human, and dark brown eyes. Underneath his disguise was a Su-Matoran with a Hau. When we made it to our mill, our day was going smoothly. We made more of a profit than we did on most days by obtaining gold, silver, and some other oddities that are just too strange to describe. “Bet ya that this the day we make more profit than last year,” boasted Jaskal. “Let’s just see what happens. The day is still fresh,” I said feeling slightly happy. As the hours went by, it slipped my mind that we shouldn’t stay here at night. I’ve heard that dark things happen here at the moon rise. But I didn’t care; I was having a good time making deals for our steel. Then the sun set down upon us, and we were in a rush to pack up our supplies. When we were just a mere yard away from our vehicle, we were approached by mercenaries armed with machine guns and assault rifles. They were all wearing black, and their faces were covered in black as well, so I couldn’t see their faces. There were hundreds of them surrounding us, ready to fire upon us. I could then see in front of me, that they were stepping aside for someone, but I could not see who it was. Then when the mercenaries in front of us moved, I could see two glowing red eyes and the glint of some gold armor. Then the being looked at me closely in the eyes, and that’s when I realized that it was a Skakdi. His spines were shaped like the tip of a spear. His armor was black as coal and the body armor was a crude gold. His face was rigged and had some white tribal marking running down the left side of his face. He then said to me, “Your trespassing ends here Matoran. For too long we have seen you use our grounds for your worthless trade,” he explained with his harsh voice, as he knocked the bag that Jaskal was carrying off him. “And what are you going to do about it, huh?” Ugnal bursted. The Skakdi then grabbed him by the throat and lift him to his eye level. “We’re going to hunt you down like a pack a pack of animals. That’s, what we’re going to do.” The lined us up side by side, as we were held by the hands. Then they let us go, shooting at our feet to get us moving. We were probably 20 yards away from them, when suddenly I heard a gunshot. Horuos went down fumbling like a rag doll on the pavement. Then I heard the hollering of the men as they began to charge at us, guns blazing in the air. I saw Ugnal fall to the ground, and then a man lunged at him, leaving a knife in his throat. Then Jaskal fell to a shot to the head. I turned off my human disguise so they do not recognize me. To my surprise, I had reached the forest outside of the mills. This was the last time I saw them. - -------- Entry #10: Member Name: NeelhTheme: A Dark HuntWord Count: 492Story: "Nothing" Nothing There was nothing left for her here. Shadow, yes, and the odd Matoran left for prey of some kind for something much bigger than she. But she was no longer a protector, and should not act as such against whatever Rahi was going to kill these unfortunate little souls. Letting go of them was much more difficult than she had expected to begin with, though. The night was supposedly unwelcoming for Toa as she had been, but now she realised that she had never breathed anything more natural. Light was suffocating, bright, blinding. In the darkness she could be free to roam the darkness. She could be herself properly with no regard for the loathing that had begun to surround her perpetually. People followed her sometimes. A large paw print, right next to a tiny little foot more like a Matoran's than anything else's was bound to be suspicious, especially with the blade marks that her arms had begun to leave. They had left quickly once they had either given up and gone to do something else, or found her. Not many people did the latter, and even fewer survived to tell the tale. She had been scared of the dark as a Matoran. Always terrified of some monster that wasn't really there and never really would be; always wanting another comfort to help her through the night. Nobody had really cared, but she had never put away a lightstone at sundown, and it was always replaced as soon as it had displayed signs of flickering out. Aimless wandering. Aimless thoughts. Maybe she shouldn't think. Maybe letting go was easier than she had thought. Maybe in three breaths, it could all be over and she would no longer feel a strange attachment to these tiny, powerless creatures, and maybe the heavy-footed Matoran would finally stop following her, ruining the silence and stumbling along, completely out of his normal habitat. Blank it out, blank it all out, and maybe nothing can permeate the sounds of your blood rushing through your head; nothing can drill through the psychotic state that you have driven yourself into; nothing can- Rip. Tear. Scream. Nothing. But nothing soon becomes something, for nothing can be nothing forever. Whatever you think, there can be no lies that you can feed yourself without end; an endless feast of truth mixed with non-truth and a tiny bit of seasoning on the latter so that you will always prefer the taste. There was a mask on the floor. It was shattered so badly, all it could be recognised as was a Pakari. She knelt down and sniffed it. There was no power in it. The corpse on the floor was something that her past self would probably faint at the sight of. Nowadays, she could just turn away. So that was what she did. ---------

Hey guys, only a little less than 7 hours to enter!

Actually, the deadline for the first theme has been extended one day, if you still want to enter. =] The new deadlines are: A Dark Hunt: June 29th, 11:59 PM EST. Bones: June 29th, 11:59 PM EST The Chronicler: June 30th, 11:59 PM EST.

Theme #3: The Chronicler Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an Bionicle theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: June 30th, 11:59PM EST. Also, once again keep in mind the new deadlines: A Dark Hunt: June 29th, 11:59 PM EST. Bones: June 29th, 11:59 PM EST The Chronicler: June 30th, 11:59 PM EST.

Hey guys, in lieu of BZP being down for several hours, the deadline is extended for one day. However, the schedule will not change. This means that a new Bionicle theme will be posted shortly, and both the Bones and A Dark Hunt deadline is tomorrow night (June 29th 11:59 PM EST). Let me know if there are any questions!

"The Best Catch" reviewed.

Official SSCC Review First off, I really apologize for the slight delay on this--the Flash Fiction Marathon came up suddenly and has taken a lot of my time. Never fear, I am here with a review at last! So without further ado, let's begin. Overall, this is definitely a very sweet and charming story. The voice used throughout is interesting--definitely extremely chatty, and moreso than usual in a short story. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing. It works well, and is consistent throughout, so that's good at the very least. Another thing it accomplishes is that it makes it very personal at times, which can be very good in a story like this. However, one of my main problems was that sometimes things went too far--almost to the point of slapstick humor, you could say, that really draws away from the story itself. The biggest part that this comes out is toward the end when you say "we're having a moment" in all caps. Perhaps that was meant to be humorous, but it just felt out of place to me. It's a sad/sweet story, but then there's that line that "ruins the moment", if you will. If that was intentional (i.e., supposed to be comedic and not serious), then I think there should be a lot more humor throughout, so that the entire story is more comedic/funny. If it wasn't intentional, then I think it should be removed or changed, so that the focus is once again on the emotions of the moment. For me personally, emotions are incredibly fun to work with, and I felt that a lot more could've been put into this (if it was indeed meant as a serious piece--if not, ignore this =P). To make the tragedy even more tragic and heartbreaking, etc. The plot itself moves quickly, but not overly quickly I don't think, so well done there. The dialogue also feels natural, the descriptions were well-done, etc.--overall the writing itself had very few problems. The only other things I want to mention are various nitpicks: Not sure I'd consider this "perfect". It is a solution, and definitely a great thing, but I just feel like "perfect" would be able to see each other in person every day or something, whereas this is an acceptable solution. Yeah, not a huge deal, but like I said, nitpicks. =P This was something else: why would he need to use persuasion? I felt like, with your descriptions right before this, he and Macku had become close through letter-writing etc. Maybe it's just me, but I felt like persuasion was too strong a word. *shrug* "that" seems weird to me--I think simply "the" would work better. There may have been other times, but these were the two I noticed: in both cases, "she" should be uncapitalized. it follows the same rules as a comma, because technically the "she asked/said" is still part of the same sentence, even though there's an exclamation point/question mark. So: "Hello!" she said. "Hello?" she said. "Hello," she said. Hopefully that clears things up. Anyway, that's about it. Again, I thought this was definitely a really nice and sweet story. Keep writing! ^^

The second theme, and first OTC theme, has been posted! You guys still have a little less than 24 hours for The Dark Hunt, but don't forget to enter the OTC one, too! New Bionicle theme will come out tomorrow.

Flash Fiction Marathon [Bionicle Topic :: Entries Index] With the success of last year's Flash Fiction Marathon, here we are again with another one! Once again, you are to run a marathon. A marathon of short stories, or, more appropriately, flash fiction pieces. For the next ten days there will be ten themes. Five will be OTC-themed, and five will be Bionicle-themed.Sound like something you’re interested in? Then make sure you read the following: Contest Rules and Important Information Each entry MUST be under 750 words in length. This is flash fiction.One new theme will be given out each night. Each theme will be given out around Midnight, EST, every night for 10 daysThe contests will alternate between BIONICLE and OTC. The first contest will be BIONICLE, the second will be OTC, then going back to Bionicle and so on.OTC entries are not allowed to be Bionicle. That's what the Bionicle themes are for.For each theme, contestants will have 48 hours to enter – so, if it’s a Bionicle theme, you will have until the next Bionicle theme is announced (as there will be a OTC theme in between there) to enter your story; the themes will overlap.After the 48-hour entry period, the entries will be placed in a poll for you – yes, you! – to decide the winner for the day. At the end of all 10, the 10 winners will be pooled together and judged by judges for a final prize.It is very likely that an extra prize will be given for those who enter all 10 challenges, both OTC and Bionicle.If you are going to post your stories, do so in the correct forum; OTC stories belong in OTC, Bionicle stories belong in the Short Stories section of the Library.All entries must adhere to BZPower's rules and guidelines.Your story must be new and never before posted on BZP. You can certainly have been working on your entry before this, but it must be posted on BZP after the start of the contest for it to be eligible.Keep it PG-13-ish appropriate. So no overly gory descriptions, excessive violence, sexual content, inappropriate content, et cetera.You cannot edit your entry once that theme's entry period is over. So if you post your story on the first day, you have another whole day to edit. If you post your entry last minute, you will not have much time to edit. The polls will be going up the night that the theme ends.If your story is not posted in this topic with the correct format, your entry will not be entered into the contest.Do not use unnecessary formatting -- see more in the "How to Enter" section. ---------------------------------------------------- How To Enter: There will be two main topics, one for Bionicle (here) and one in OTC (this one); make sure you post your entry in the right one. If you are entering a Bionicle theme, post in the Bionicle topic, not this one. To enter, please use this form:Member Name:Theme:Word Count:Story: NOTE: Do NOT link to your story. It is fine if you wish to post it on BZPower, but for entering this contest, we ask that you post your story in this topic. Thanks!Furthermore, do NOT have any unnecessary coding when entering your stories. This means no color, no signoffs, no indents, etc. You may use italics, underline, etc. if it’s used for the body of your story, but please leave your posts as bare possible. If you have a pre-set posting style, just know that the story will be removed of its formatting. ---------------------------------------------------- And so, without further ado, I present to you: Theme #10: Art To FictionWrite a story that the above image would be an illustration for. The above scene must occur in your story, but beyond that it fair game. Remember that this is an OTC theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 7th, 11:59 PM PST. Previous Themes: Theme #2: Bones Theme #4: Character Story Theme #6: The Mask Theme #8: Glass ---------------------------------------------------- It is our honor and pleasure to host yet another contest for you. We wish you all the best of luck, and hope we receive as many entries as possible! Your hosts, Andrew (Velox)John (55555)

Go enter! People loved it last year, so we brought it back. Please enter and help make it the success it was last year. Edit: And the OTC topic is up, as well as the first OTC them! Still one more day to enter the Bionicle theme!

DID YOU GET A FREE TOOTHBRUSH? OTHERWISE YOU TOTALLY GOT RIPPED OFF.

That'd be awesome! : D Ah, man, yeah that's always one of the problems with contests during summer. =/ I look forward to reading the ones that you do enter, though!

Flash Fiction Marathon 2 [OTC Topic :: Entries Index] With the success of last year's Flash Fiction Marathon, here we are again with another one (approved by HH)! Once again, you are to run a marathon. A marathon of short stories, or, more appropriately, flash fiction pieces. For the next ten days there will be ten themes. Five will be OTC-themed, and five will be Bionicle-themed.Sound like something you’re interested in? Then make sure you read the following: Contest Rules and Important Information Each entry MUST be under 750 words in length. This is flash fiction.One new theme will be given out each night. Each theme will be given out around Midnight, EST, every night for 10 daysThe contests will alternate between BIONICLE and OTC. The first contest will be BIONICLE, the second will be OTC, then going back to Bionicle and so on.Bionicle entries may be human-Bionicle, if you wish. Just as long as they have some sort of relation to Bionicle. As usual, the story does not have to follow the canon storyline -- you may create your own characters, settings, etc., as long as in some way the story relates to Bionicle.Bionicle themes must be Bionicle. The OTC themes are for non-Bionicle stories.For each theme, contestants will have 48 hours to enter – so, if it’s a Bionicle theme, you will have until the next Bionicle theme is announced (as there will be a OTC theme in between) to enter your story; the themes will overlap.After the 48-hour entry period, the entries will be placed in a poll for you – yes, you! – to decide the winner for the day. At the end of all 10, the 10 winners will be pooled together and judged by judges for a final prize.It is very likely that an extra prize will be given for those who enter all 10 challenges, both COT and Bionicle.If you are going to post your stories, do so in the correct forum; OTC stories belong in OTC, Bionicle stories belong in the Short Stories section of the Library.All entries must adhere to BZPower's rules and guidelines.Your story must be new and never before posted on BZP. You can certainly have been working on your entry before this, but it must be posted on BZP after the start of the contest for it to be eligible.Keep it PG-13-ish appropriate. So no overly gory descriptions, excessive violence, sexual content, inappropriate content, et cetera.You cannot edit your entry once that theme's entry period is over. So if you post your story on the first day, you have another whole day to edit. If you post your entry last minute, you will not have much time to edit. The polls will be going up the night that the theme ends.If your story is not posted in this topic with the correct format, your entry will not be entered into the contest.Do not use unnecessary formatting -- see more in the "How to Enter" section. ---------------------------------------------------- How To Enter: There will be two main topics, one for Bionicle (this one) and one in OTC (link pending); make sure you post your entry in the right one. If you are entering a OTC theme, post in the OTC topic, not this one. To enter, please use this form:Member Name:Theme:Word Count:Story: NOTE: Do NOT link to your story. It is fine if you wish to post it on BZPower, but for entering this contest, we ask that you post your story in this topic. Thanks!Furthermore, do NOT have any unnecessary coding when entering your stories. This means no color, no signoffs, no indents, etc. You may use italics, underline, etc. if it’s used for the body of your story, but please leave your posts as bare possible. If you have a pre-set posting style, just know that the story will be removed of its formatting. ---------------------------------------------------- And so, without further ado, I present to you: Theme #9: Paradise Any interpretation is valid. Remember that this is an Bionicle theme, and your story must comply with the contest rules.Deadline: July 6th, 11:59PM PST. Previous Themes: Theme #1: A Dark Hunt Theme #3: The Chronicler Theme #5: Find the Power Theme #7: The Order ---------------------------------------------------- It is our honor and pleasure to host yet another contest for you. We wish you all the best of luck, and hope we receive as many entries as possible! Your hosts,Andrew (Velox)John (55555)