They were trapped. Cool, jazzy commands were piped into the elevator. Destroy. Eat. Reproduce. Disassemble.
After the device was unveiled the crowd became overwhelmed with the urge to litigate. Lawyers from all over the kingdom were summoned.
The assassin regretted everything. Almost everything. That guy was an asshole and deserved it.
“The tone is much too low for you to hear. But the frogs, they can hear it. And they hate it.”
Everyone who played the game received a three year assignment in the most luxurious body bank in the outer rim.
At thirty degrees it was a flaming liquid. At ten degrees it was smooth and delicious. At zero degrees it evaporated with invective.
A devious philosophical paradox could destroy the facility–the most promising counter-attack would be forever eliminating language from the world.
Once captured, the scientist negotiated for his life with the secret formula to Yum Incorporated’s most popular product–delicious DreamFat.
The screaming, rutting creatures threatened to destroy the entire settlement. They were as big as battleships and would copulate for weeks.
Tunnels under The Capital had been stocked with dreams and nightmares since the condition of the general populace showed no signs of improvement.
The stone sculpture on the shelf was obscure and initially innocuous. By the end of the week however, it throbbed with some covert purpose.
It did not come from space–it came from an abandoned gas station in Jersey. No one could understand what it wanted.
The creature came into the room seeking food, again. The contract was tenuous. The disagreements were sharp and sometimes bloody.
The first rays of daylight illuminated the blue plastic bag and clumps of biomatter. Birds chattered merrily.
The device was covered in alphanumeric keys, each attached to the studded, stainless steel center by pulsating tendons.