MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets

by George Saoulidis

  It would probably do more damage anyway.

  He was a goner, Nyx knew it. Mortals were so fragile.

  Hecate whimpered and tears fell down her cheeks, but she didn’t turn around. After a couple of minutes that felt like ages, there was no more struggling, no more choking in one’s own fluids, no more living around her.

  She turned slowly.

  Nyx covered up the room under a blanket of darkness.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Nyx said to the girl.

  “W-Who are you?” she stuttered, trembling in the dark.

  Nyx could of course see her, but no mortal eyes could. “I’m Nyx. And you are Hecate, right?”

  The girl nodded in affirmative, not thinking that the person talking to her probably couldn’t see her.

  “That’s nice,” Nyx said softly. “Follow my instructions and I’ll take care of you. Take three steps to your right and then turn around.”

  The little girl did so. She took small, hesitant steps, and was trembling in her bathing suit.

  Nyx felt bad. It really wasn’t her job to deal with this mess. Mortals did these things to one another every single day for millennia, she really shouldn’t intervene.

  “Miss Nyx?” Hecate asked after a long period of silence.

  “What is it, girl?”

  “Now what do I do?” the girl asked, and she sounded terrified.

  Trembling in the dark. Now that was something Nyx couldn’t allow to continue. She sighed. “Turn to your right. The other right. Take two steps. Well, another one, that was too short a distance. Good. There’s a door handle up to your height. Get out of this room and don’t look back.”

  Hecate did exactly as Nyx instructed. Huh. Nyx liked obedience, it darkened her heart.

  “Now?” Hecate asked, basically crying and shivering, holding her naked body.

  Nyx dropped the darkness particles around her and revealed herself to the mortal. “Now what?”

  The girl just looked up at her, sniffling. Not terrified. Not disgusted, not reverent, nothing. She didn’t kneel. Those damn Greeks never kneeled.

  “Are they alright?” Hecate asked, turning to the dark room.

  “Don’t bother with them no more.”

  Hecate reached out with her thin hand and held Nyx’s own. “Can you take me out of here, Miss Nyx?”

  Nyx let her coat of darkness fall into strands around her. The girl clearly wasn’t too impressed by it. She leaned close to her, bringing her face opposite hers. “I can do one better, Hecate.”

  Hecate sniffed her nose. “What?”

  “I can give you magic.”

  “I’d like that, Miss Nyx.”

  The End.

  Read more of the Mean Gods on https://meangods.com

  Alien Animal Control

  "Snakes with lasers?" Park whined. They were both in their underpants.

  "Yup," Adrian said, opening the crate with their gear.

  Park reached inside and lifted his smartsuit from it, then held it up. It didn't seem to fit his size. "This is too large for me."

  Adrian slapped his head. "You moron. They're adaptive. Look." He picked up his own and slid his legs in, then his arms. The seam in his back closed up on its own and with a fart, the suit tightened on him.

  "Oh, right." Park wore his own suit and it did the same, but it seemed his farted louder.

  "Hello, Park," the suit said in his ears.

  "It speaks!" Park squealed, stepping back.

  "Of course it does, you moron..." Adrian said, tapping on his left wrist. "They're intelligent, 0.7 points."

  "Oh. Hi, suit. How do I call you?" Park said to this own wrist.

  The suit laughed. "I can hear you just fine anywhere, you don't have to do that. Well, this is my first deployment. How would you like to call me?"

  Park tapped his chin. The suit had morphed to cover it, protecting him fully from a lot of things, he'd learnt during training. "How about, Fart?"

  The suit laughed again. "Because of the morphing process, right? Sure, why not, Park. Call me Fart."

  Park perked up. "Okay, Fart, what can you do?"

  He instantly regretted that as an endless list of capabilities and specs scrolled in his HUD.

  "Stop, Fart, stop. What can you do in regards to this case?"

  "Well, I can change my surface to deflect laser weapons, here," Fart said and turned into a mirror.

  Park looked down at his hands and body, he was reflective all over, but still had full mobility. "Cool!"

  "Are you done fooling around?" Adrian said.

  "Yeah, just getting acquainted with Fart."

  "With who? You know what, nevermind. Let's just get to the surface. Come on, rookie, follow me."

  Adrian started walking and Park's legs simply moved of their own volition. "Argh! What is happening?" Park squealed, his body moving on its own.

  Fart's voice was calm. "Don't be alarmed, Park. Your trainer has slaved this suit to his own and set a 'follow' command."

  "This is weeeird..." Park said, still following his trainer.

  They reached the airlock. "Here, we're gonna drop to the planet, the suits will handle everything."

  "D-Drop?" Park stuttered. "But we're in orbit!"

  "Don't be a pussy, Park..." his trainer said and slapped the airlock's button. It opened and he stepped inside, dragging Park behind him like a dog on an invisible tether.

  Park gulped.

  "Would you like a sedative?" Fart asked.

  "No. I don't take drugs," Park snapped back, feeling very scared.

  "Time for planetfall, rookie," Adrian said and opened the controls. He raised a red cover and pressed it, then punched in a code.

  Park turned towards the outer hull. The airlock cycled and the outer doors opened, the ship farting them out into space.

  He screamed the entire trip to the ground, but Fart was kind enough to mute the comms.

  The End

  Read more Antigravel stories here.

  Killing Blind

  “Come on, shoot that motherfucker,” the sniper rifle said with its tinny voice.

  “No. This is recon only, weren’t you listening during the briefing?” the woman said through gritted teeth. She was looking through the scope, crouching down and peeking through the valley at a meeting place 2 kliks away.

  “So what? They’re not the boss of you. Just shoot ‘im. Come on. Shoot ‘im. Shoot ‘im,” Trifle said annoyingly and filled her synced field of view with targeting data and ballistic measurements.

  She shushed it. The woman hovered the scope between the two men, who were standing a few meters apart and talking about their deal. The off-road vehicles that had brought them were facing each other, and their security was tense and twitching over their holstered guns. “It hasn’t gone down yet. Are you sure you’re recording? We need proof for this.”

  “Sure, I’m recording this lame ass deal in this lame ass desert on this lame ass moon. I’d hate to sneeze and miss all the excitement.”

  “I’ll get you lubed up if you shut up for five minutes,” the woman said to her sniper rifle.

  “Will you get that sexy android to do it? If so, we got a deal!” Trifle said excited.

  “The five minutes have already begun.”

  “Okay, sheesh. Touchy much, Red?” Trifle said and then shut up.

  The men in the distance were talking now. The scope popped up a holographic parabolic microphone and allowed the woman to hear what they were saying. It was very distorted but you could make out the words.

  “-After this, the second half. Deal?” the man on the left said.

  The other man’s response was more garbled. “I’ll need to see the NRX first. G- -n’t be pleased.” Predictive algorithms flickered through the possible words on her vision. ‘Grunt/Grant/Gallant,’ ‘want/wand/won’t.’ ‘32.5% chance.’

  “Tell that fucker that I’m the only NRX supplier in the quad. If he doesn’t like my terms, feel free to keep on looking.”

&nbs
p; The man on the right pulled up a communicator and spoke softly for a while, too soft to make out from this distance. The he clicked it off and said “’Kay, ‘e says to get on with the d-.” The predictive text said ‘eel/feel/deal.’

  “Is he chewing his finger or something? Damn that accent, can’t make out half he says,” Trifle blurted.

  “You couldn’t manage not talking for five minutes?” Red said, clearly not surprised.

  “Come on, how could I remain silent while staring at this illiterate git?” Trifle snorted.

  “We won’t shoot him.”

  “Why not? It’ll be for the benefit of society. Look at his nose, it’s an affront to aesthetics in half the galaxy,” Trifle said and chambered a round with an audible clang.

  Red sighed. “Okay, fine, you make a good case. Let’s shoot him then.”

  “Really?” Trifle said, excited.

  “Of course not,” she said tersely.

  The men in the distance completed their illegal exchange and parted ways, their vehicles leaving a trail of dust behind as they sped away.

  “Careful with your fingers,” Trifle said and Red dexterously held it up only by the gun handle. “We don’t want to ruin your manicure.”

  “I’ve never had a manicure in my life,” Red said as she strolled back towards the colony.

  “And now we know why you’re still single,” Trifle said, condescending. The gun pulled the long barrel inside back into a modest length, the scope spun and screwed itself shorter and the gyroscope spheres adjusted in different lengths as it became an assault rifle again. “There. All nice and fit once more. Now, if only you could do the same about that bum of yours…”

  “Oi, watch it!” Red threatened and holstered the rifle diagonally on her back.

  “Yup, I can see it better now. Could use some shrinking. Planetoid ladies are so out of fashion these days, you know,” Trifle drolled.

  Red didn’t reply. She knew that anything she said to Trifle could be used as ammunition, and she simply wasn’t in the mood. It was scalding hot, the red giant above boiled the ground, the horizon was shimmering with mirages and illusory lakes and the wind whipped any exposed skin with sand. She was covered head to toe with her Olwether suit, protective goggles and all, and she fished the gloves back from a pocket and slid them on. She always sniped with exposed hands, to feel the grip of the weapon and the tiniest breeze. The suit had picked up the surrounding colours, camouflaging her automatically, and as she looked down, it felt like her feet were vanishing into the sand. Her cloak billowed behind her in desert tones.

  She bit back a retort, thinking again about Trifle’s last comment. Why had it stung that much? She certainly wasn’t planetoid in shape. In fact, most men, even some distant panhuman species, found her positively desirable. It was the reason, she assumed, that her father needed Trifle in the first place, to fend of nasty people who might get the wrong idea about his little girl. She didn’t realise that she was attractive back then, growing up isolated with a single dad.

  It was so easy for her mind to drift in this featureless landscape with the Olwether suit taking over half her body and marching on at a steady pace. She wondered, if she died of exhaustion in the desert, would the suit keep marching on? Would she stroll back into town like a technological zombie? She assumed so, the suit was clever enough to keep her alive but dumb enough to just carry on with its last command. She sipped some of her recycled moisture and shook her head, dismissing the nostalgic thoughts. She needed to focus on the job, not daydream about past decades. It was ridiculously hot, but her suit kept her alive. Trifle’s familiar weight on her back comforted her, though she’d never admit to that because she’d never hear the end of it. The hypercooled rifle was radiating cold, and in this environment, it was a relief.

  She had people to snipe.

  Read more Antigravel Stories.

  That's No Dinosaur Egg!

  "Ta-da!" Hammond announced and placed the egg on the table.

  John choked down a freak-out. "What the hell is that?"

  "It's a dinosaur egg," Hammond announced, puffing his chest.

  "Where did you get such a thing?" The egg was indeed very large, with weird lumps on it. It was nothing like John had ever seen.

  His husband sighed theatrically. "On eBay, of course..."

  "And why did you buy it?" John squealed.

  Hammond shrugged. "I dunno. I liked it, I guess."

  "This can't possibly be a dinosaur egg," John pointed at the thing.

  "But it is. It's from a Chinese biotech company, they engineered a dinosaur and made an egg," Hammond said, putting his fingers between each other, mimicking a mixing process.

  John lifted his chin. "Oh," he managed to squeal in a whisper. "That can't be good."

  Hammond pfted. "Come on, baby. You worry too much."

  "Because you don't worry enough!"

  "I'm going for a run." Hammond stormed out of the living room, leaving John alone with the ugly egg. He had propped it up in the middle of the table on top a scrunched up scarf. John had bought his husband that scarf, now it would get a smell.

  Ugh...

  John brought a towel from the kitchen, touched the egg with disgust on the top to keep it straight and replaced the scarf. "Ugh, it's warm..." he said, pushing the towel around it.

  Really, Hammond had overdone it this time. Genetically engineered eggs? What was he thinking?

  They had been married for sixteen years, and if you added them living together before the law changed you got to a round twenty. Both middle-aged, eating organic, healthy and going to the gym or out for a jog, they were rather fabulous, if John might say. They both had gray hair but instead of dyeing it, they let it au naturelle. It was the fashionable thing to do.

  And in those twenty years Hammond had never stopped being a complete child.

  John shook his head and went to the bedroom, trying to calm himself down. He put on an episode on Netflix, wore his pajamas and tucked himself in bed. As soon as he felt sleepy, he put on his night mask and let the streaming run on its own for background noise.

  He dreamt of shells cracking, that distinctive sound of something pushing through from inside the egg, trying to get out. Getting free.

  He pushed himself up, his heart pounding. He pushed his sleeping mask on top of his head. Hammond hadn't slept beside him, he was a pouty man. Every time they had a fight, he would go and sleep on the couch by himself. John tried a lot of things over the years, but finally settled on a strategy that could be summarized as, 'Leave him alone until he gets over it.'

  Worked every time.

  John grabbed a spatula from the kitchen and slowly, carefully, snuck to the living room.

  There were noises all right.

  The loud snoring was coming from Hammond, he'd never mistake that for anything else. And there was something else...

  That breaking sound.

  He turned on the lights. Hammond was a heavy sleeper, he wouldn't wake up from the lights alone.

  John turned to the table, and to his horror saw a crack on the egg.

  Crack!

  It got bigger.

  He screamed.

  "Ugh... What the hell?" Hammond said, waking up.

  John pointed at the egg. "It-It's coming out!"

  "What, no... The website said it would take at least six months for the dinosaur to be born."

  "It's not a fucking dinosaur!" John shouted at him, waving the spatula around.

  And then the egg cracked and a tentacle shot out of the hole, squishy and sticky with some kind of mucous.

  "Ahhh!" the couple screamed in unison but they couldn't move from their spot.

  The tentacle writhed in the air, moved around to feel his surroundings, knocked over the candle holders and sent John's Swarovski on the floor, smashed in shiny bits. "Oh, no..." John cried out. He took a step closer but jerked right back to his husband when the tentacle moved around in the air and felt the spot he had just vacated.

>   "Eww," Hammond said.

  "You say?" John said with sass, turning to him.

  "That's not what the website showed. I got a cute little dinosaur, a herbivore."

  "Hammond, for the last time. That's not a dinosaur."

  "I can see that!" Hammond said and made a face as they both watched the tentacle sploshing all over their furniture.

  John cried out, "This is a mess..."

  "No, don't worry babe, I can fix this," Hammond said, grabbing the spatula from his hand. He inspected it for a moment, then went for it. He slapped the tentacle around a few times. "There, you naughty, squishy... Thing."

  The tentacle retracted back into the egg.

  Hammond turned to his husband, looking smug. "See? I got it."

  John saw the tentacle explore once again. He wanted to scream but couldn't move, he just let his mouth hang and made a chocked little whimper. "Aaa..."

  "What?" Hammond said, still acting like a hero. He turned around, just in time to see the tentacle going for a rematch. He slapped it away with the spatula and pushed John away. "Move, baby, run!"

  John started to run. He was wearing slippers and his pajamas were nothing like his running kit but he ran.

  The couple got to the bedroom and Hammond shut the door behind them.

  "What do we do?" John whispered, feeling terrified.

  "Uh... Let's just leave it alone. Perhaps it'll get bored and get back in the egg? Or, perhaps it'll just go out the window."

  John slapped his shoulder. "What the fuck are you saying? Did you even leave a window open?"

  "Uh... Yes! I did, it was hot and I opened up the one in the corner before I fell asleep."

  John frowned. "This is a stupid plan, but I don't see what other option we have."

  Hammond winced. "Yeah... Sorry about that, baby."

  "It's okay," John whispered, breathing out. "Just don't get us killed by a tentacle monster."

  "I'll try not to," Hammond said. "I gotta push it away." He got to his feet.

  "No!" John cried out and immediately chocked out the sound. "It could be dangerous."