#l1r3rat1

[lit-works]

Seattle, of The Washington Free State. A metropolis of the future, where gargantuan gun-metal skyscrapers loomed over an unending labyrinth of neon illuminated streets. The city was carved into corporate zones, with each one’s only commonality was the brutal enforcement of their own policies...unless you’re one of the corporate elites of the city, in which case you get to make up and live by your own rules. Like the other free states of the former USA, Washington is heavily influenced by the Megacorporations. These Corporations(N54) all wielded significant power and held more control than the local government. A society where business interest often took precedence over that of its citizens. The city faced crime, extreme poverty, and constant power struggles amongst corporations, but the region’s autonomy allowed it to address those issues in its own way: Little oversight, and even less regulation. Ultimately, Seattle served as a prominent hub for technology and Corporate activity, and attracted both skilled professionals and those who intended to exploit the system. 

The entire city is eagerly on edge – it is 24hrs before industrial synth-pop musician, Amethyst “The Saviour of Synth-Pop", releases his new album, NOT ENOUGH GRID. Amethyst has been hyping this album for several years, and even his most devoted fans wonder if he’s really going to deliver this time. Throngs of people littered the streets and stared up at the city’s massive LCD screens, waiting for the N54 broadcast of the new album that they hope will inspire a generation...much like Amethyst’s 1st album, IMPETUS, did 2 decades ago. 

Deep within the city was The Aspect Underground, a gritty nightclub known for its dark layout, Rorschach-pattern floors, and electric-cabled dancing areas. In The Aspect Underground it’s customary for patrons  to wear black hoodies emblazoned with glow tape that spells out nonsense Kanji. “What’s your Kanji say?” was the usual start of ever conversation, hook-up, and brawl. 

The basement of the club was lined with black leather couches and smelled vaguely of tennis balls and sweat, but tonight held over a dozen street thugs and would-be gangsters – anyone who wanted to sign up for the chance to make 100K Credits. The basement was typically reserved for Fickle Refurb and his closest friends. As the guests conversed and made banter amongst themselves, Fickle Refurb strutted into the room with his bodyguards. He had recently tattooed himself, putting blue tears on his face to represent his grief. 

“Listen up, my fodder boys and girls. I’m sure you’ve heard my story many times already. But, I’m gonna tell it to ya again. Here I was, sitting upstairs, minding my own business, me and Hannah Reign, my beautiful, perfect, glitter girl...when who walks in? Amethyst. Here I think, ‘Hey, we got a celebrity in my house tonight’. So i buy him a drink. Not just any drink, one of those Top-Shelf Japanese whiskeys, right? And what does HE do? Does he say thank you? Does he give me a polite little nod? Nope. He struts right up to my girl, stares her in her eyes, and asks her if she wants to take a ride in his brand new Violacious Limousine.  

“And my doll, my beautiful girl Hannah, just smiles and walks out with him. Now, you all saw me go for my Centronica. Was gonna gun him down right there. But rich boys like Amethyst always got special security implants now. Just turned my 4-5 right off on me. And I was left just standing there like a sucker; watching as he strut off with my girl. 

“Now you listen up real close. I’m not gonna let this rich singer saviour-boy embarass me no more. I don’t care how famous he is, cause tonight, one of you is gonna gun him down for me...BEFORE HE RELEASES THIS SHIT NEW ALBUM! If you do this, I’ve got 100K Creds for you. 50K more if you make it so bloody it ends up on the snuff circuit, get me? I can’t wait to see how this turns out.��� 

The enthusiastic crowd of assorted criminals shouted their support as Fickle broke into dramatic tears.  Soon, Fickle Refurb’s right-hand Lieutenant FRIK SHUN took over the briefing and announced that Amethyst usually hangs out in his penthouse apartment in the Syngara Agriculture Tower. “While it’s possible he’s still there, his watcher brigade hasn’t seen him enter or exit in over a week.” 

[2 B Cont.d]

[lit-works]

4. Dark secrets

"Ah, that was some fun, senseless violence; Just like the 90's, eh, buddy?" DeadPool laughed as he wiped the blood from his Katanas. "Ya know, it kinda reminds me of that one time you and I were--"

"DeadPool--"Cable began as he interrupt DeadPool.

"Right, right, time to get serious. You know me, the job always comes first. Well, probably more like second...no later than third--"

"Wade!"

"what?! What do you need me to do, Nathan. Give Professor X's Wheelchair flat tires? Steal Scott Summer's visor while he's in the shower? Fill Beast's shampoo bottle with Hydrogen Peroxide?"

"I need you to track down the four Death Seeds." Cable answered.

"That sounds significantly less hilarious than any of the ideas the author of this thing gave me." DeadPool groaned.

"You're right, there's nothing funny about them. They're ancient artifacts that contain the essence of Apocalypse. In order to prevent his arrival in this timeline, I need you to retrieve them."

"Then you came to the right guy! I'm an expert and preventing disasters, when I'm not the one causing them --quick question, buddy : You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one of those Death Seeds, do ya?"

Cable just glared at DeadPool with a puzzled countenance.

"No, 'Course not. That's why you hired me. Luckily, being a highly-paid mercenary like me means you know people who know things. Bad, bad things--and kicking the crap out of them for information is the best part of my work day!" DeadPool jested. "Man, I hope he signed that contract already!"

-

"Ya see, before the Multiverse existed, The Celestials created these things called 'Exterminators' to balance their creations with life and death. However, the Exterminators turned on the Celestials, which forced the Celestials to lock them up. Following their failure, The Celestials created the Death Seeds to serve the same purpose as the Exterminators but were much more manageable. These Death Seeds were then given by Celestial Gardeners to select individual servants to shepherd a planet's evolution and the superior species that live there." HYDRA Bob began to explain to DeadPool as he lit a cigarette and leaned against a partially ruined building, his compatriots' invasion of New York raged behind him and his friend. "The mutant Apocalypse was one of those who volunteered to be an instrument of the Celestials to ensure the natural evolution of superior species'."

"No shit. But, Apocalypse has been MIA for a while, and I was told to collect 4 of these things, so how does that work?" DeadPool asked.

"In general, while there only ever seems to be one planetary caretaker per planet at a time, Death Seeds are numerous and can be planted in others. However, Death Seeds will only ascend and bloom in the recipient as the next Apocalypse if the current one dies, which HYDRA scientists believe suggests the spares are of much lesser quality. Additionally, if the current Apocalypse dies and there is no spare, the power automatically transfers to another. I'm surprised you don't actually know more about these things given your involvement with X-Force."

"Well, I've never officially been allowed to be in the Big Boys' Club, despite them needing and using me for when they gotta do suicidal wetwork missions. Plus, I take a lot of blows to the head which has caused a lot of memory loss."

"Well, Apocalypse once used a Death seed to transform Angel into Archangel."

"Haha, ya'know, I thought that was just that rich dude's emo phase. He even started listening to a lot of The Cure."

"Well, even tho the Death Seed does grant great power it is also known to corrupt one's mind to the point where death becomes beautiful and makes way for something new to come and wouldn't have a single bit of remorse for the genocidal slaying of say millions or billions of people to again their goal. The infection of the Death Seed compels with the singular duty to ensure the rising of a superior species, such as you mutants, that could only be achieved by the extermination of an inferior race, such as humans, and failure to do so meant the Celestials would eventually arrive and eradicate the entire population of this failed 'Earth' experiment."

"That's pretty fucking heavy, Bob. If your company is after these things as well, they must have some idea to look. Could you help a brother out?"

"To be honest, HYDRA never really has all that much intel. But, I hear Paris is nice this time of the year, and ya didn't hear it from me."

-

"Well, that was too easy, I never get to barely even torture that guy and he tells me everything. But, at least now I've got my first solid lead on a Death Seed. I'm off to Paris, the city that never sleeps! The land of the rising sun!! But first I should probably stock up on some weapons, ammunition, and turkey subs. And by 'stock up' I mean steal them from my unwitting enemies and teenage Subway store clerks."

[lit-works]

Doctor Strange: Through 6 dimensions

Pt.6

Strange then traveled from one cosmos to another. He went to the realm of Trofane, an interval dimension that was a stepping stone between Earth and Landark, the dimension of blindness. The land was ruined.

The dimension's inhabitants lived on bizarre spiraling world-bands that coiled through the cosmos like DNA molecules. Drifting spheres, larger than cities, radiated heat and many-colored lights. The laws of physics seldom applied here.

So Strange's memories went, formed during occasional earlier visits. But the dimension had been ravaged. The coiling strips–bands a thousand miles wide–were broken in pieces, and left as jagged, blackened stumps. No wonder the two warring dimensions had needed a new battleground for their conflict!

Strange was on an especially large island of terrain, many miles on a side. It had a desert landscape and some anvil-shaped hills.

It was from Trofane that the 6 Sorcerors warned Doctor Strange of invasion, and in Trofane Strange found their remains.their auras lingered strong. There was no structure, no sanctum Sanctorum. The 6 Sorcerors needed no shelter but their own fellowship. Together they had fallen, but their brotherhood continued in death.

Strange did not dwell on the gruesome details. He only gave them the respectful burial they deserved. With no time to eulogize, Strange hoped to return to pay proper respects some time later.

The unique formations known as the anvil hills had been noted in many sources. Flat as tables on their wide tops, the mesas narrowed to astonishingly slender bases at ground level. The hills created a maze of pathways and obstacles. Though the scenery was beautiful, one route resembled every other.

Strange had come to a desolate landscape, suspended between the realities of Earth and Landark, the dimension of blindness. Trofane, once a beautiful dimension, now made Strange fully appreciate the horrors of war that awaited Earth.

Like twisting ribbons burned in a firestorm, the lands of that pocket universe had broken up into wandering chunks. This chunk was a floating desert island many miles on a side, with a range of curious anvil-shaped mesas on the horizon.

Fierce looking predators, something akin to Mako sharks with humanoid legs, prowled nearby; Strange magically concealed himself to avoid alarming them.

[l1terat1]

Is it just me, or did MHA crank the pacing up to 11 this season?!?!

[l1terat1]

Another question to determine the likelihood of us ever really being friends...

Let us assume you begin watching a new television series, and you immediately find yourself strongly relating to one of the supporting characters. You've never before experienced a fictional character that seems so similar to yourself; this fictitious individual dresses, behaves, and talks exactly like you. And--slowly, over the course of several episodes--the similarity grows spooky: on two seperate occasions, the character recounts personal anecdotes that happened in your real life. The actor/actress portraying this character begins mimicking your mannerisms. In at least three different episodes, the character's dialogue quote things you have said (verbatim) during casual conversation.

You become convinced that this is neither coincidence nor mental illness: somehow, this character is being actively based on your life. The show's writers generally depict the "you" character in a positive manner, but --as far as you can tell--you don't know anyone involved in the show's production or creation. It's totally inexplicable.

You have two friends who also watch this show. One of them is certain your theory is correct and that (somehow) the character is, in fact, based on your life. She tells you to get a lawyer and pursue legal actions against the show. The second friend concedes that many of the similarities are amazing, but that the whole notion is ridiculous, impossible, and egocentric. He tells you to seek therapy.

How do you respond to this situation? Do you do anything? Or continue enjoying a decent television series? Are either of your friends more logical in their advice?

[l1terat1]

A question to determine the likelihood of us ever really being friends

A novel titled Interior Mirror is released to mammoth commercial success (despite middling reviews). However, a curious social trend emerges: Though no one can prove a direct scientific link, it appears that almost 30 percent of the people who read this book immediately become homosexual. Many of the newfound homosexuals credit the book for helping them reach this conclusion about their orientation, despite the fact that Interior Mirror is ostensibly a crime novel with no homoerotic content (and was written by a straight man). Would this phenomenon increase (or decrease) the likelihood of you reading this book?

Q 4 of 23

[l1terat1]

Another question to determine the likelihood of us ever really being friends...

Think of someone who is your friend (do not select your BEST friend, but make sure the person is someone you would classify as "considerably more than an acquaintance").

This friend is going to be attacked by a grizzly bear.

Now, this person will survive this bear attack; that is guaranteed. There is a 100 percent chance that your friend will live. However, the extent of their injuries is unknown; he might receive nothing but a few superficial scratches, but he might also lose a limb (or multiple limbs). He might recover completely in 24-hours with nothing but a great story, or he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Somehow, you have the ability to stop this attack from happening. You can magically save your friend from the bear. But his (or her) salvation will come at a peculiar price. If you choose to stop the bear, it will always rain. For the rest of your life, wherever you go, it will be raining. Sometimes it will pour and sometimes it will drizzle --but it will never not be raining. But it won't rain over the totality of the earth, nor will the hydrological cycle be disrupted; these storm clouds will be isolated, and they will focus entirely on your specific whereabouts. You will never see the sun again.

Do you stop the bear and accept a lifetime of rain?