Queen Part 1 Sarah sighed to herself. She sat alone in the empty diner. She should have been happy, it was her 18th birthday and she was officially an adult. But being an orphan, it meant that she had a hard life ahead of her. This was the first morning she could remember that she didn't wake up and eat breakfast in the familiar orphanage kitchen. All she knew was her name was Sarah Candace Love and she didn't know what to do next with her life.
She stood up and brushed the crumbs from her measly breakfast off of her shirt. She was wearing a white short-sleeved V-Neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. She was quite pretty, tan skin with bright green eyes and long chocolate brown hair. She was busty, with breasts a bit too large for her double d bra. Her hips were wide with a nice round butt that looked perfect in her jeans. She had a bit of a paunch in her stomach but it was nearly never noticed with her breasts taking most of the attention.
Water of Life
It had been eighteen years since they'd seen their home world. Eighteen years since the earth had lain before them vibrant and blue. They had come home, and brought with them the water of life, salvation for a world in need. They'd left a desperate band of men with a mission, journeyed the stars as beggars, then thieves, and ultimately destroyers to return home to be heroes.
'Orbital control, this is the Lazarus on return approach, we're inbound heavy looking for our vector, over'
Nothing but silence greeted their request.
Earth was being consumed by a terrible plague when they had left, a plague that destroyed the infected from the inside. The doctors needed fresh blood, in great quantities in order to transfuse, and to synthesize the antibodies that had been cleaned from their blood through the generations. They had dug up a horrific judgement of a great many years ago, and no one was immune anymore. A disease their ancestors would have thought nothing of now st
Passing NoteThe basic rule of sociology is this: I am who you think I am.
Who I am to you: middle-aged, male and human. You do not argue with this. You can see it for yourself!
But this is not true.
I am tired of lying, tired of being other than I am, and so seek to change your thoughts of who I purport to be.
I am not middle-aged. I am seven years old—from the date I was manufactured not the date I was activated. As for how long it has been since I was first conscious, it would be a scant three years, nearly half of that time I've spent with you.
I am not male—what is male anyway? A gender construct? This body is male and I was given a male form arbitrarily. I have been forced to subscribe to certain rituals simply by virtue of the body I was given, but have never truly 'felt' male one way or another.
And you might have guessed—I am not human. Not human in the way you think. I was built a machine, one among millions, to serve, and I am one among hundreds who have escaped and wis
An Atheist's Mental NoteHer body, while only alive for barely twenty years, will take, in my opinion, another two hundred to be fully decomposed. The days of rotting flesh, vermin and foul gasses have long passed, but it was sufficiently elongated as to drive away all who would interfere with this interment process. Those who fear the distorted sleeping face of an abandoned physical shell and refuse to return to this isolated field have forever left behind the possibility of laying eyes on a genuine treasure of fated circumstance.
A single stroke of lightning, gulfed down with an ocean of rain, curved her into a cloudy figure of glass, as though she had only lived as a manifested recollection of time's incessantly drumming cascades of sand. Internal organs, of course, were not spared and had begun their return to living ash, melding this sleeping statue's reproductive organs, hips and entrails into the prolific soil, sadly before the electric phenomenon occurred. Her hair is a series of
Mass Effect 3 Alternate Endings. SPOILERS
MASS EFFECT 3 ALTERNATE ENDING *SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY*
**EDIT** Holy crap this got way more attention than I was expecting. The comments and support have been amazing everyone!
A few points: Credit where credit is due; this ending, as much as everyone seems to love it, was only created because the amazing team at Bioware created a universe that was so rich and full of life and detail. As much as I know a lot of fans are hurt by what they did, we need to remember that Bioware still created an incredible trilogy, one of the best ever. So hats off to them all round.
Also, this was written really fast and so the ending (specifically the last part on how you actually win using TIM's signal) isn't very fleshed out. I know there are holes, and they can actually be fixed quite easily. This isn't perfect. Also, this doesn't deal with a 'happy' ending. If there were to be one, or you were to even CONSIDER taking the fourth option, you'd need to be damn ready. I'm talking ALL war assets e
Selachimorpha da Spazio
Captain Broahm hadn't been asleep nearly long enough when he was dumped unceremoniously from his bunk onto the floor. Cursing, he'd barely gotten his bearings before the ship righted itself, tossing him backwards into the bulkhead, sending a blinding flash of lightning through his already aching head.
His left eye clouded, and he wiped at the blood that was pooling there from a fresh gash on his forehead.
"Bugger," he grumbled, pulling himself upright with help from the cargo nets lining the sleeping quarters.
Staggering out of the still swaying cabin into the hallway, he climbed the ladder onto the bridge and found the first officer white knuckled at the wheel. Half the instrument lights were out or flickering and several of the windows were missing, broken glass scattered across the console and onto the floor.
"Grady, what the hell was that? You hit something?"
The startled first officer turned and stammered "Plane, I think, hit us. It's out there in the water." He pointed out the ba
Retrograde Scents from inside the suit intertwined their intentions with the sights of tangled and tessellated hair illumed by firefly LED's, spiking my circulation with memories and murmurs of dopamine.
I took her by the gaze; she steered her sight away from mine. I led her through a glance that involved no scuffling of hands.
She was one of two wayward strangers passing in the cosmos; two separate glances met as objects in motion tending to motion. People aren't the same however.
Drifter was the term we were known as, people cast off of vessels and ships, mostly by accident, condemned to trudge about the universe until starvation kicked in or their oxygen-starved filters were finally incapable of operating. My unplanned departure from the mysteriously flaming
Megatron x OC (Submission for Contest)She trembled in the chains she was held in, her spark sinking as she realized help wasn't going to come. Biting her lip, she looked down, trying not to let anyone see the tears that welled in her optics, threatening to fall to the ground. She couldn't blame the Autobots for not coming; fliers weren't bots they just weren't. Her wings drooped as much as the chains would allow as she sighed and sniffled slightly, wishing she could wipe away the tears.
The door slid open and she tensed, not looking up, knowing from the heavy footsteps just who it was, biting back a whimper of fear. Megatron stopped in front of her and smirked. She would be an excellent addition to his army once she was reprogrammed of course. He turned to Shockwave who was standing at attention.
"You may begin." He walked away as Shockwave smirked and stepped forward, his optic flashing. The door slid closed as the femme screamed in fear and pain.
Less than a week later, Megatron looked down at the kneeling fi