WRITING SURVIVAL!!!

[Suuper-san]

Congrats on the milestone! Little bits of work all add up!
The regularity is something that once you've got, all sorts of opportunities open up as you see how to use the time you have.

[legomaestro]

Cheers Suuper!

Day 31

"Wh-what is a vampire doing protecting a damn... Human." The vampire fell in two pieces. Lady Valencia's blade was sharp as always, and Dr. Bromovitch fell to the floor coughing.

"That was... Too close."

"It's amazing that you survived so long, child."

"Hey, I'm turning 20 this week." The blonde haired teenager stood up and rubbed his neck, "And, I'll show you how I survived. We're here."

They were standing outside of a shopping mall. What used to be one of course. The last 10 years were a hell on earth if there ever was one. A zombie apocalypse would do that.

"Come on." Dr. Bromovitch said.

Valencia's black shadow blade dissapeared in her scanty black dress. She called it shadow magic. Dr.
Bromovitch suspected it was just superbly advanced technology. Either way, she was a great help. Without her he'd have died a million times. The zombies were bad enough, but starving vampires were the worst.

"Here." Dr. Bromovitch said next to a cola machine. Pressing a sequence of numbers, there was a deep rumble and the door opened to reveal an elevator inside.

"After you."

"We'll barely fit in there."

"Oh come on you're not that f-"

With a nosebleed, Dr. Bromovitch entered the elevator. It took them to ground level.

When they disembarked lights came on to reveal a massive warehouse-like room. It was full of various machinery, mostly military based jets and trucks.

"Is this your secret base?"

"No. But someone I knew heard of it. With this, I have a lab to try to find a cure."
Valencia nodded. "How long will it take?"

"Optimistically? 3 years."

Valencia shut her eyes. 3 years.

She wanted to tear up this human right now and drink his blood. The starvation had driven her near mad. But
if she could handle the scarcity of human blood for a decade, she could wait a little longer.

Dr. Bromovitch held out his hand, "We solve this crisis."

She grinned, "And then we are enemies again."

The hunted and the hunter teamed up together, to solve a greater threat.

The vampires need human blood, but the humans needed to survive the zombie apocalpse.
Scientist and vampire would solve this problem.

And then mutually, with much gratitude, end eachother.

[legomaestro]

Day 32

There's a cup of the devils' sins that's called Lucifers' Chalice. Everyone chases after the Holy Grail, so finding it wasn't really difficult per se, but as a legendary object with a legendary curse, everyone stayed far from it. Besides, the volcano it was located at was pretty nasty. Full of demons and traps and all of that nasty business.

Good thing I'm great at this adventuring thing.

After avoiding 4 death traps, solving one puzzle, slaying two demons and breaking only my left ankle, there it was, sitting on a pedestal, ready for a drink.

While it did have such a sinister name, the effect was something potent.

It was similar to eating the Fruit of Knowledge.

The cup of the devils' sins had a simple ability, but this ability was rumoured to unlock the potential of any soul.

The ability to question the Laws of the Universe.

It would sell for a pretty penny on the black market.

I wasn't in it for the money, but the money did help with my reputation and travel expenses. Looking at my ankle I sighed as I carefully put the cup in my satchel bag. The medical expenses would be a pain too.

[legomaestro]

Day 33

She shredded the guitar and shredded the army before her, because that was what Metal benders did. At first adjusting to this fantasy realm full of elves, dwarves, orcs and demi-humans had been a problem, but her Blessing allowed her to bring something intimately familiar to her.

Her father would be proud.

It was difficult to wield such a magic for the sake of the goody two-shoes of a kingdom, because no matter how brutal war was they were a bit too prudent and upright to get in the mood, but when the battle really started and swords clashed, her magic with the guitar worked even better. It gave them buffs and sent them into a berserker rage, and she controlled the battle field with every pick of her guitar strings.

It was an epic thing to watch

[Suuper-san]

That would be a nice isekai to watch. Much better than taking your smartphone haha.

[legomaestro]

I Became A Metal Music Rockstar in a New World or something haha. That'd be epic.

Day 34

The Golem was finally complete. It had taken two years to write all of the instructions in careful hebrew, condensing them and using a special printer to write them all down on that ancient bit of paper, but finally it was done. It would be the greatest golem in existence, one closest to being something like human.

Claytonn was his name. At first it was just a lump of gray clay, barely human in its features. When the magician stuffed the scroll in his head however, the change began. With a blue light, the clay statue became a clay teenager with black hair, completely featureless but lithe and muscular. The magician gave him clothes and his blade.

He would show all those scientists that magic still had a place in this world.

[legomaestro]

Day 35

Planting carrots in the field, Martin Zelov finally realised that he was free of the ghost of his name. These days he could gaze upon the cybernetic samurai armour and Mark VI katana that stood at the front of his living room without any regrets, and he fully felt the peace and quiet of the life he'd decided to have as a simple farmer.

When he'd been forced into retirement by his unit he hadn't imagined that his shattered body of 60 years old could ever feel anything like this.

But he was planting carrots, and the field was already growing pumpkins and cabbage and potatoes, and the natural water filtration unit had collected ten litres of fresh unpoluted water. He remembered the very scarcity of such fresh water had led him to deciding to being a mercenary, where he gained his name and fame step by step in the troubled megacity of Los Noplis.

Martin smiled as he poured himself an inch of the water as an indulgence. He thanked the heavens and took a sip of the water.

He thought he'd like to consider getting a dog. That'd be perfect

[legomaestro]

Day 36

The laser sword was running out of batteries. He'd have to return to using the gun. So uncivilized, as a man of culture once said.

Well, it wasn't like the monsters that were coming after him cared about civilization. Or maybe they did. Who was he to judge? His job was protecting the Blue Ore from these aliens that consumed it. Maybe it meant something to them on a fundamental level. Maybe it was just food. Maybe even if it was just food they'd eventually evolve a million years down the line and worship Blue Ore.

All he knew was that it was one of the greatest clean fuels known to man, and it was native to this planet.

"How long?!" He radioed his contractor.

"Just a couple more minutes... Are you having trouble?" Came the response. They didn't seem in a hurry. Bastards. Just because human labour was cheaper and more efficient, they revelled in the moment when security forces like him cried uncle and said they didn't have what it takes. He'd show them.

"Take your time." He grunted, shooting his rifle and blasting the claws off another approaching monster.

He'd last 20 minutes at most. After that he'd run for it, no matter how much of a pay dock he'd get. He wasn't interested in dying any time soon.

[legomaestro]

Day 37

Jeronimo Jones was his name, and he was as slick as oil. His lungs as black as tar, his liver punched out, just like the poor fools who'd challenged him to a bar fight. His dad had been a boxer. A rising star that crashed hard, but not before he taught his son how to ball your fists and aim for the soft flesh, how to end a fight by starting it quickly and swiftly. How to hold up your hands in kind surrender when the bouncer and bartender came along to break up a situation that had already been de-escalated with prejudice.

Yeah, Jeronimo knew he was cool. He also knew he was a horrible person, but he was a man of his word, and he'd promised the two men on the floor that he'd leave them be if they left him be.

He finished his whisky, apologised, paid the bill and left the bar. It was a bit earlier than planned, but he supposed he could find a place where people took less offence to his white shirt and black trousers. He wasn't a rich man, but he always dressed as good as he could. It didn't mesh with the culture down here. Here was all about being a dog along with the rest. Colourful clothing, maybe. Hoodies and nike shoes or a beat up jacket. Over grown beards, trashy clothing and a tatoo with something racist.

But he was never a man to dress down to make other people feel better about themselves. He never would be.

He was a man who needed something though. In particular needed someone. Penelope. He was committing the greatest cardinal sin that any self-respecting private detective would avoid: Falling in love with a sex worker. A platonic love, to make things worse. He'd tried to impress her with a quote from Oscar Wilde and she'd defeated him with perfectly recited Samuel Beckett, with an accent to boot. One talk led to another, letters were exchanged, and he was hooked. He needed to know her. Jeronimo was a Sapiosexual if there ever was one.

Only problem was, Penelope'd skipped town. It was the sort of town-skipping that was explained in that sort of way that meant trouble, and Jeronimo was going to get to the bottom of it. He'd find her. He had to.

[legomaestro]

Holy shoot by sheer carelessness I've missed a day hahaha. How the heck did that happen . Was so focused on drawing forgot about this. Fuuuuu.


EDIT HAHAHAHA LOOPHOLE APPARENTLY WEEKENDS ARE DIFFERENT AND EXEMPT ACCORDING TO THE ORIGINAL RULES MWAHAHAHAHA

Day 1

Day 38

The sheriffs' shoes were of white leather. With golden spurs on them. It always caught everyones' attention, along with his swagger. This was a man of pride, and everyone knew it. The town lived only as well as it could because he was around.

He was standing in front of a duel. Something that no man would dare intefere, but the sheriff was a religious man.

"You boys know what day it is today?" He asked in a voice too young for his gruff demeanour.

"You want to get shot, sheriff?"  Asked one of the men. He had his gu on the holster, eying his opponent every bit as the sheriff, ready to unload on either of them at a moments' notice.

The sheriff instead adressed the other man,

"Do you know what day it is?"

"It's a Saturday, Sir."

"Sabbath, ye mean." The sheriff said, "Now I don't care what gripes or misdeeds you have against eachother, but nobody's going to."

They fired simultaneously at the sheriff. They knew how these things went. The big bad sheriff said a speech, was skilled enough to hold on his own and if they gave him a chance they'd be gunned down.

***

The Sheriff observed the two piles of ash and bones where the gunmen used to be and sighed,

"You should've let me talk to them."

"No one works on the Sabbath. No one kills on the Sabbath. That is the Lords' will."

"Uh huh." The sheriff said while wrinkling his nose. This was the fourth smiting this week. It really was a bother having an angel hang around town. Worse thing was he couldn't even see it. He only heard the voices. Saw the lightning, the miracles. Everyone thought it was the Sheriffs' doing, but he knew better.

Some divine power had taken up shop in his run down town for some reason and was being quite biblical about it all. It was worrisome.

"Well... Give me more time next time." The sheriff sighed. He told the undertaker to take away the ashes and went about his business.

The Sheriff dusted his hat and observed

[legomaestro]

Day 39

Some days, George felt like he'd quit smoking cigarrettes.It was the only thing that held him back from truly being the cream of the crop. If there was a list out there with a ranking for the best long-ranged assassin in the world, he was top 3, easy.

But there was no facebook for trained assassins. He wished that there was some sort of social milleu, though. He did rub shoulders with unsavoury types. Did know a couple of people who haunted the same circles. Online and offline, but the true trigger men? By virtue of their profession, he never got to talk to any of them.

George thought of cigarettes now as he watched the man fish. It was a lakehouse. The man had retired amicably enough and between being a high value target and a hobbyist prepper, finding his location had been impossible. In fact, two metres ahead and the perimeter alarms would go off and he'd be dead before he knew it. Drones were a nasty business, and this general was a nastier man.

It was ironic that he was going to die all because of love. George had been hired not by a spy agency, government or even a man out for revenge. No, he'd cheated on a woman who'd been cheated on once too many.

Love was strange.

George let the man catch his fish. He'd let the gentlemen enjoy that, at least.


The Laws of Engagement were absolute: In matters of life and death, let a man have their last cigarette, their last steak. Even the gods agreed.

[legomaestro]

Day 40

I gave The King a kiss, the last one I would ever give.

As the poison worked its way through him and he started turning purple and swallowing his tongue, I did nothing as the guards gathered me up and screamed in my face. I would've bit my tongue to die or made them kill me, but the poison would already do that. I was immune, but not too immune.

It was done at last. Finally, my parents had been avenged.

[legomaestro]

Day 41

There were pins and needles for everything in his loft. Needles for thread, needles for acupuncture, needles for torture, pins for holding up paper on walls. He'd catalogued them all, mastered them all, and there was what could only be described as a tome at the center of his desk.

Cleaning out an apartment after a recluse tenant dies is never any fun. It could be worse, I mean nothing would be worse than finding Mrs. Donnever being eaten by her cats, but it was in general never fun. It was a testament to the fact that no matter how sentimental people were about human life and all the grand quotes they said, after all was said and done you could end up an old man and die alone in an apartment in a big city, with only your odour the only reason why people would come to look at your place. How sad was that, that people only noticed you were gone because you started to stink up the place?

I'd decided long ago that if I didn't get married by 50 years old, I'd put up a post in the newspaper looking for a wife, settle for anything. I refused to die like this.

Anyhow, this mans' apartment was one of the more interesting ones. The Landlord had ordered me to clean it up incase the man had stunk up the place or left stains anywhere, but we'd noticed his death relatively soon. His door had been ajar, and finding him after 7 hours asleep in his chair, the EMTs had taken him away without touching a thing.

These needles were inteesting though. And the book. Something drew me to it. I pocketed it with me.

If only I knew what i'd gotten myself into.

[Coach Fro]

Before you ask, no. I am not alive. This is the ghost of Fro speaking.


Before anyone had knew it Michael had gone missing.

It was officially reported by the local news on a Tuesday afternoon, but needless to say they were a bit late. By the time the story had reached the public's attention, the poor guy had already left town, never to be seen again.

His family not noticing was understandable, since he recently moved from to a suburb on his own that was quite a ways from where they lived. His mother, despite never being all the way comfortable with him living on his own just yet, trusted that he was grown enough to deal with the pressures of being an adult. She knew she wouldn't hear from him too often. After all he was a recluse. Going a week without hearing from her son would have been nothing out of the norm.

As far as his friends were concerned not much could be said from their end. Michael was never the one to reach out to them. And since they knew Michael wasn't the biggest fan of going outside they barely saw him either.

In a way he was invisible to the people around him. Was it on purpose perhaps? His coworkers often stated that even at work Michael distanced himself from others, even to go as far to refuse help when asked. He never explained why he acted that way, so eventually everyone around him stopped caring. But of course, when the report of him going missing had went out, people that knew him were worried, confused and even heartbroken.

But Michael himself would never know how people truly felt about him. In his mind he didn't deserve to know. How could someone who refused to open up to others deserve to know their true feelings? The question loomed in the depths of his mind. Maybe, he thought, he would earn that right one day.

     

[legomaestro]

I'm sure there's a ghost trap lying around here somewhere

*goes to look *


Day 42


There was something he knew the moment the plane crashed: He wouldn't be getting out of this alive. In the movies the planes crashed at convenient places, convenient crevisces with all the supplies they needed. but this was a two seater and he'd only brought a rucksack with bare necesseties, he didn't even have that much warm clothing for any sort of climb.

His knee was busted, but he crawled out of the fueselage well enough and found he had at most enough room for ten paces in any direction, beyond that it was a sheer drop to rock below.

He found himself calm. Eerily calm. He didn't swear, he didn't fumble. He carefully inspected his wound, bound it. He looked at the plane for a couple of minutes, wondering if it would explode before getting back in and collecting his rucksack. He felt the cold coming in faster than he planned and then realized his knee was still bleeding: The makeshift torniquet hadn't done much.

He sighed and lie there looking up at the sky.

It was beautiful.

He supposed in some way,  it was the perfect way to go. He was as a hero at the end of an epic tale of romance and adventure. He was the noir detective at the end of the film, his past having finally caught up to him. He was the fool trying to escape the office for a week just to fly around the mountains, one who flew a little too high and crashed.

If his dad were alive, he'd be pissed.

Well... He supposed they could laugh about it later. After.