This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Gene Mods were dangerous things. Hart knew this better than most, and he was not one to quickly forget a lesson. A mistake in the synthesis, an error in the gene coding, or even bumping the manipulator arms could result in horrible mutations, diseases, even acidic fog that would fill the lab in seconds. They had been tinkering with the building blocks of both life and death in Research Station Kappa.

The cells were separate from the main building. They were connected by a series of airlocks with extensive decontamination stations at regular intervals. The Monitoring station allowed Hart — and presumably the former lab-techs — to see what was happening in the cells without needing to risk life or limb of any of his soldiers.

Had the Sonic Sensors not picked up a distant noise, they wouldn’t have bothered looking. What could still be alive in the containment cells after so long without food or water?

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

Qhog tapped their long thin finger on the shop counter. Ordinarily, they would have felt bored, but given they had yet to see a single customer brought Qhog closer to panic.

It wasn’t so much that they were afraid of disappointing their general manager, it was more that they were terrified of burning in the Lake of Fire for even a portion of eternity. There were a lot of punishments in Hell — Qhog had felt them all at some point — and the Lake of Fire was definitely their least favorite. (Their favorite was the wheel. Frankly, they weren’t sure how the wheel was supposed to be torturous for mortal souls; they had found it fun.)

Qhog leaned out over the counter and stared out the window. It was a sunny day — at least, as sunny as it got in Wittenburg — and a number of souls were walking about, doing their daily chores. Several looked to be shopping, so why weren’t any coming into their shop?

Perhaps, Qhog thought in a haze of fear, if no one shows up, they can’t blame me for not tormenting any mortal souls? The hope vanished almost instantly. Hell was not known for mercy.

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Commandant Schuler was a prisoner.

No matter how he looked at the situation, he couldn’t see it any other way. Oh, the Lance-Captain had been very polite; had a slew of excuses, apologies, and promises of vacating the colony soon enough, but Schuler was no fool. Despite all the ‘sir’s and ‘please’s, there was no mistaking the tone of command in the Lance-Captain’s voice. There was no missing the heavy rifles gripped in the hands of every armored-soldier that now crawled over the tiny colony “for their protection.”

Even now, in the back of an APC with no one but him and two “escorts,” a fully-charged plasma pistol was gripped in one of their fists, as if the gene-modded super-soldiers couldn’t snap his neck with all the effort of cracking an egg.

They didn’t even move right. Schuler watched as the APC tore over the uneven landscape, pitching left and right, rocking him back and forth against the metal walls of the transport enclosure. The soldiers barely moved at all, looking for all the world like they had been carved out of the APC, as much a part of it as the walls.

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

“They’re holding their hands up,” Horva reported. “It looks like they’re talking.”

“Damn it!” Ranthar snatched the com unit from the nearby operator. “Whoever reads me, tell Squad-Sergeant Wythe that Lord-Champion Ranthar wants to speak with him at once!”

Horva could only faintly hear the talking over the coms before Wythe’s steady voice became suddenly clear. “I’ve heard that roar before, Lord-Champion. I was stationed at Enek Powerstation. I was part of the bastion force sent to repel the Hive’s advances.”

“Sergeant Wythe,” Ranthar was furious, “What the devil are you —”

“I was there, sir!” Wythe shouted. Through the binoculars, Horva could see his hand was beginning to shake. “We managed to hole up, about twenty of us, in the lower levels. We were cut off from the command center. I was one of three sent out to scout and bring back intel on enemy activity. We reached the main power stacks, but a Hive Lord was already there along with a whole squad of crawlers. It looked around, like it was sniffing at things, and then gave… that howl and left. The whole squad just left. We got into the center and reconnected our coms to the computer, but…then…”

The Monarch detected a charming personality hidden underneath his ragged clothes…~ Filipino Folk Tale

Many years ago, in the old days of the land of Dup, when the sun was as fresh and new as a spring daffodil, and rainbow fish swam through creamy rivers, and the skies were filled with birds of all sizes and shapes; when the land was so rich as only an hour of work was enough to grow a crop of rice so pure as to be gold; when no woman was foul of skin, or wore hair lighter than purest midnight, and when no man was feeble, simple, or unable to support his family, and when no child would ever dream of dishonoring his filial duties; Here, in the old days of the land of Dup, came Young Keh.

Keh was a poor orphan, having lost his parents to a vicious troll that was later slain by a noble hero. The poor child had no roof save the sky, no floor but the grass, and no walls but the trees. He wore no fine clothing, but only rags he had found on the ground. He had no food, but only the nuts and berries that he could find and the fish he could catch.

Of course, so bountiful was the land that Keh ate better than many kings of today, and so prosperous were the people that even the rags he wore would put many kings of today to shame, but he was a poor orphan all the same.

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

The grunts almost looked harmless as they nosed through the underbrush, searching for who knew what. Tamryn swallowed his nervousness; they would look harmless until the moment they shrieked and charged at you with claws and teeth bursting out of their bodies like a snap-trap. Some of them could even fire their claws out of their hands — at least, that was the scuttlebutt. Tamryn didn’t believe it; he knew it was the experienced veteran’s privilege to lie to the new recruits. His older sister had told him it was both a rite of passage and a way for veterans to remind recruits that for all the training the Guild gave them, they didn’t actually know anything. There were some things only experience could teach you.

Tamryn’s grip tightened on his iron blaster. He wouldn’t have minded more experience before this operation. How strong were the null-pheromones? Could he sweat through them? Would the grunts attack if he got any closer? The squad was under orders; engage and then withdraw. Only fire his weapon in obvious self-defense. They were orders that made no sense to him, but that was the point of being a solider; you were a cog in a vast machine. The cogs didn’t know what the machine was doing, they knew only when and how to turn. That was what it meant to be a Dwarven soldier; serve well, bring honor to the Guild, and trust that someone knew what the machine was doing.

More and more, recently, it was getting harder to hold to that faith.

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Horva ith Irnwuld stared over the darkened forest at the distant horizon of the Maldadori Gap. The fog was dark with a hint of green, and the air was sour in the nostrils, the familiar signs of Hive industry. The scientists called it terraforming, but Horva had fought Hive infestation for years, and had seen the devastation left after the Hive moved on. It wasn’t terraforming, it was digestion.

She had grown used to the smell, though she was not proud of the fact. Her expertise had come at the cost of thousands of good men and women. If their charge were correct, if there really some way to end the fighting…

At first she had been skeptical. No, that was selling it short; at first she had been dismissive. Their own war-scientists had been studying the Hive for decades, and every report had been the same; they were highly advanced animals, acting on instinct and emergent hive-behavior. They communicated mostly through pheromones and growls, and there were no signs of sentience, let alone sapience, in individual beings.

I’ve had an…interesting relationship with fan-fiction over the years.

I will admit, I was quite dismissive of the genre at first. Not the effort or the results, but the desire to tell a story in another person’s playground. Every fan-fiction story out there could be re-written with minimal changes in a new universe; why copy someone else’s? It was a kind of plagiarism in my eyes; a kind of laziness.

A lot of this, I think, came from my social issues. The idea of inserting yourself was — well, still is — frightening. You aren’t the original “official” writer of Star Trek; if you wrote a story about the crew of the Enterprise, you might get it wrong.

Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a silly mindset when you think about how many times the official IP has “gotten it wrong,” and that’s even before you question the whole idea of a story “being wrong” in the first place. I was young and stupid.

CW: Casual discussion of catastrophe and a callous disregard for victims of tragedy.

Some men just want to watch the world burn. ~ Alfred Pennyworth

Excerpt from the Autobiography of William Forthman, Chapter VI — My Years as a Critic.

My first taste of the bouquet of human suffering occurred with the Columbine shootings on the 20th of April, 1999. A simple black and white photo from the security cameras that displayed two youths with dead eyes exploring the human condition. Something in the pose of the child on the right, leg extended and arm bent, reminded me of a dancer poised to pirouette.

I was so fascinated by this picture that I started hunting down old photographs of catastrophes. History books were a prime source for me; I found Vietnam and the second World War, I found Cambodia and Apartheid. I poured over photos and recordings with a glee that frankly surprised me until I spoke with a sommelier friend of mine. She was explaining the intricacies and bouquets of the different grapes when I realized I was becoming a Connoisseur of Human Suffering.

A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men. ~ Willy Wonka

Wilberforse Heinrich Lampozza Mondavi was born on May 23rd, 2020, in London, England. Reportedly, he did not cry nor laugh much as a child, though his nannies and doctors and teachers all reported an apparent interest in everything.

He did not speak until he was five, long after most children had uttered their first words, and reportedly his first word was ‘Schadenfreude,’ the German word for pleasure felt at another’s pain. This was considered doubly odd, for Wilberforse had never been given access to any German nannies, teachers, or media of any kind.