Things to Run Away From Really Fast

★★★★☆

...or "Taking Over a Country in Five Easy Steps".

09/27/10



"Your son, your majesty, is a psychotic despot who's been running your country into the ground."

"And you have a solution?"

"Your youngest child went missing several years ago. You should inform your court that I have returned."

Johanna swings the sword furiously at her attacker. Her blonde hair, braided into a plait, sweeps through the air as she ducks his return attack. She's on the defensive, frantically blocking his sword, barely avoiding being cut. The man's face is expressionless as he forces her into a corner.

A slow clapping starts up from across the room. The attacker stills, and Johanna steps away, keeping her sword ready.

"Bravo," says the man on the other side of the room. "You've done extraordinarily well, getting this far."

"I'll kill you," she hisses back, not taking her eyes from the bodyguard, "For destroying my family."

"With that sword?" asks the prince, "I think not."

"I've fought my way through your legions," she pronounces, "Decimated them."

"Yes," says the prince, "But then, you had someone to protect, which is the purpose of your enchanted sword. Tell me, where is your brother?"

"He's dead," says Johanna, "Murdered by your men!" On the last word, a knife materializes in her other hand. She rushes the bodyguard, swipes down, slicing at his face.

Blood splatters against the wall, and Johanna clutches at her throat in surprise. She falls to the ground, aware that she's bleeding out. From the corner of her eye, she can see another man emerge from the shadows. Stupid, she thinks, should have realized he would have backup...

She's standing on a stone bridge, which spans the entirety of a mountainous valley. At the end of the bridge is a city. Blue spires reach up into the sky, and Johanna is dimly aware that she's looking at the Capitol City. This was her home, before everything. It's still peaceful. The sky is blue, and sunlight shines down, lighting up the valley and the mist with an ethereal glow. The valley is lush, full of greens and grains and enough food keep most of the kingdom from growing hungry. It's almost unbelievable, that such an awe-inspiring sight could hide such a great evil.

"I brought you back." I tell her.

Johanna turns to look at me. "Why?" Her face is blank, but I can hear the anguish in her voice.

"I don't think you understand," I say slowly, "I brought you back. Nothing you've endured has happened yet. Your family is still alive."

She's quiet for a moment, looking out over the blue lustre of the city in the distance. "What's the catch?"

I have to smile at that. "You can prevent all of this from happening," I say, "If you do exactly as I say."

plots to pacify the population with the latest crop of sweet potato, wading through water fields under the bridge

I'm standing in a stone building (opulence, splendor) at the centre of the city. I know the precise moment that it happens, because it feels like a string is being cut. And just like that, destiny has been rewritten. The prince is dead, long live the prince.

A cell phone chimes in my pocket. I answer on the third ring.

"Hello, 'Father'," I say, irony in my tone. "So, when is my coronation?"

Scare Factor: 3/10

Wait, wait. Your crown prince is an evil sociopath, so you want my dream self to rule instead? Good luck with that.

1. Establish yourself as an heir to the throne.
2. Find someone who wants the prince dead.
3. Bring them back in time.
4. Assassinate the prince.
5. How old was the king, again?

I don't think I've been getting email notifications for the past few days. Weird.

09/08/10



Ixburg, SK

2000

He's killed, just like that. His daughter, seven years old, is alone in their apartment across town. I'm the daughter.

I slip from the bed, tiny and blonde and short-haired, and push open the door to the rest of the apartment. Somehow, I'm not surprised to see a man there. The man is stocky and blond, and I can see that he's grinning when the orange light from the window hits his face.

I incline my head. "Sir." I say, my voice neutral.

He grins wider and nods back. I step back into the doorway of my bedroom, and he brushes past me into the bright light of the hallway.

He'll be back, if only to keep an eye on me. I need to leave.

Originally Posted by DreamViews DC

It really doesn't count for the RPG if you make up the stories while you're awake.

Originally Posted by Samael

That's why I'm posting in this thread, isn't it? You know, the planning thread. Plotting thread. Where we plot.

I'm incubating a dream, okay?

Originally Posted by DreamViews DC

You still have to write your character profile, btw.

Originally Posted by Samael

...I'm going to finish the story now.

Unknown, IL

2010

I'm a man in a black suit, sitting in the back of a black car, which is driving to the outskirts of a town in Illinois. And we're in Illinois, of course, because the Organization tracked an Extranormal here. One false move, one positive test, and suddenly Jane Doe (Age 17, Grade 12, parents work from home) is about to be assassinated by a team of armed government goons.

It's funny. Extranormals can't strictly be barred from going to school, or holding regular jobs. Hell, they can even travel. Different countries have different restrictions, of course, but the good ol' US of A is all about liberty. The Organization can track them, though. Legality's a little fuzzy, but some real dangerous ones pop up occasionally. What to do with them?

Here's the thing: Extranormals go crazy all the time. They lose control of their powers and suddenly they're either a human icicle or a pile of ashes. Most of the time they take innocent bystanders with them. It's really no problem at all to fake a meltdown. Kill the EN, murder all the bystanders, blow shit up. It's easy.

This one's powers are a little more subtle, so no flashy special effects. Fortunately, ENs tend to be a little crazy to begin with, so it wouldn't be unheard of for one to suddenly... snap. Possibly kill her entire family with a butcher knife. Double murder-suicide, neat and clean.

The man in the passenger seat has the knife.

We pull up the gravel driveway. The other three men silently open their doors and step out. I hide a grin by turning toward the empty road as I step out of the car. No one's coming.

The plan is to enter the house and kill the parents, then ambush the girl when she comes home from school.

Neat and clean.

Except.

Her father died ten years ago.

Her mother died even before that.

And Jane Doe is a really stupid pseudonym.

The only person in the house is the lodger who rents out the basement. That lodger is an Extranormal himself, a young black man who's trying to lie low. Obviously, that's not working out.

I can sense him in the front entrance of the house, ready to attack the first man who comes in. I give the all-clear to the other men.

The man with the knife kicks open the door and walks into an ambush. I shoot the other two in the back.

Once upon a time, there was a man in a black suit. The man was supposed to sit in the back of a black car, and break into a house, and help murder an entire family. While he was still alive, this man used to really hate shapeshifters.

Scare Factor: 3/10
Rating: 6/10

08/09/10



I'm standing in the shadows, talking quietly with the owner of a tavern. I lean casually against the open door frame, and the owner seems nervous, as if he'd very much like to tell me to leave. I ask him for information on my target, an older man who knows secrets that someone is paying to keep hidden.

The front door slams open, and most of the bar turns to look. My target is standing at the center of attention, panting. He looks around nervously.

I put a finger to my lips, warning the owner to keep silent, and step back into the night. Remotely, I see the man look at the open side door, before shaking his head and descending the stairs at the center of the room. I walk into the bar, through the front door this time. The target turns around and eyes me suspiciously, but my dark brown cloak is unremarkable, and I'm making my way to the bar.

When he turns a corner, I'm down the stairs after him. I see him slip into the dormitories, the beds that the tavern rents out, and I enter the room after him. He's not there. Unconcerned, I head towards the bed that an old woman, who used to work for the tavern, said was his the last time he stayed here. I strip the bed and see subtle signs of stitching at the seams. I rip into the mattress, sending stuffing across the room, and taking what's hidden there.

The stack of papers is old, but well preserved. I focus on the title.

These are the carvings of the things I saw.

The rest of the information needs to be translated. I carefully place the manuscript in my bag and fasten it shut, slinging the bag across my shoulder.

The old man must have escaped through the Shadow Ways (portals?), but I have what I need. I walk down the hallway and find an exact copy of the room I just left. I think about searching it, but decide that the phenomenon is entirely normal, since this is a dream.

What one person will pay to keep hidden, others will go to any length to reveal. Curious and excited, I take the stairs to the main floor, ready to meet my contact.

Questions. Scare Factor: 2.

I didn't get to find out what the manuscript was, and I wasn't lucid even though I knew I was dreaming. What a frustrating ending.

06/16/2010

The problem with world-class assassins is that everyone wants to kill each other.



An old woman hums tunelessly, pushing her squeaking cart along the grey-flecked tiles. Her nails tap tap tap against the stainless steel handle, along with a beat only she can hear. She slows the cart down, the wheels shrieking their protest, and smiles at the young man behind the desk, pointing to the ID clipped to her shoulder. He glances up, looking bored, and barely glances at the ID before waving her along.

The hospital room is single-occupancy, dim and empty except for the bedridden patient. He wakes up from a doze, looks at the woman in scrubs as she enters the room. She slides a platter off of the food cart and slides it onto the tray sitting across his bed.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Burke?" The woman smiles.

"Horrible," he manages, glancing up blearily as she injects something into his IV. "Anything good to eat?"

"Of course, dear. There's tuna sandwiches, if you like those."

He perks up a bit, and nibbles at the sandwich. It's decent for hospital food, he decides. He'll be glad to get back to his normal life, with four-course dinners and world-class chefs.

The woman is still there when he finishes the sandwich. "That was actually pretty good," he tells her.

"Well, it is my own special recipe."

His mouth is dry, and he can feel his heart beating faster. Burke frowns. He's sweating. "Excuse me," he says, "But could you get a doctor? I think the symptoms are coming back."

The woman is unhooking the machines monitoring his vital status.

"Don't worry," she says. "It has nothing to do with your heart attack, Mr. Burke." She smiles kindly at him. "My special recipe is called Chalk Tuna. The compounds I've used in your sandwich are reacting with the drugs in your IV. It's untraceable, almost completely undetectable during an autopsy... rather brilliant, if I do say so myself."

Burke's fingers twitch. He wants to reach for the button, to call a nurse, call anyone, but he can't move. He tries to shout, but his mouth won't open, his voice won't work. An icy sensation begins to crawl in from his extremities, cold and burning at the same time.

"It's also a paralyzing substance," the woman muses, "and it's an incredibly painful way to die."

She smiles fondly down at the man seizing on the bed. "Have a nice day, Mr. Burke."

The cart begins its squeaking journey back to the elevator. Burke shuts his eyes and tries to scream.

---

Matilda has approximately four minutes to return the cart and exit the hospital. After that time, the real nurse will make her rounds and find Mr. Burke dead, the machines having shorted out due to faulty wiring. The doctors will attempt to resuscitate him, but the poison in his veins will prevent this from taking effect. There will be questions for the young man at the desk in front of the elevator, but Matilda plans to disappear long before any suspicion can fall on her.

Without a suspect or a murder weapon, the incident will be written off as a simple heart attack, and Mr. Burke's son will inherit his company.

Stepping out into the sunlight of the alley, Mathilda allows herself a moment to bask in the enjoyment of a job well done. She feels a shift in the air, a chill, and a blade burrowing into her skull.

I sheathe the wrist-blade and let the body fall, watching impassively as the infamous assassin kicks up dust on the dry ground. She twitches slightly, extending a hand in a clawing motion before going still.

I leave the body where it is. There's sure to be a complicated frame-up job involving several people who want to take power, but I've done my part. As long as Matilda is dead, I can get out of here and -

I'm throwing myself to the side. A line of throwing knives hit the brick behind me. I take cover, diving behind a dumpster, throwing a fireball in the direction of my attacker.



He's on the roof across from me, I reason. I came down from the hospital fire escape, but he was hidden by shadows - damn! I don't have an escape route, and we need to get out of here before they start looking for Burke's killer. Unfortunately, the owner of those throwing knives is not someone to be reasoned with.

"Simon?" I shout, stepping out from my hiding place. He's on the roof. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Everyone's in town, Sam!" That's Simon, all right. He looks giddy, sounds like he's on a sugar high. The man's more of a sociopath than I am. "Haven't you heard?"

"Yes." Goddamned council didn't even ask before invading my city.

"And you got Matilda first! I've been wanting to take her down for ages."

"Creepy?" I ask.

"Creepy." He confirms.

My fingers twitch, ready to call up another fireball. Simon tracks the movement, and I change my mind. "Simon," I say, "Would you like to play a game?"

His face splits into a grin. "First to a hundred?" He asks.

"I was thinking the whole conference."

Simon laughs. "I like the way you think," his smile widens even further. "Shame I'm gonna have to kill you."

He lifts up a hand and I'm running before he presses the button. I round the corner and the alley explodes.

I love my job.

---



I'm on top of a mountain, looking down on the valley. The city is sprawled out below. I take a breath, feel the cool mountain breeze drifting through my lair.

Some days, it pays to be evil.

I turn around to where my mom and dad are sitting at a stone table, looking around and seeming confused. My brother is there, too, but he just looks hungover.

I go to sit across from them at the table. My mom's eyes narrow as she gets her bearings, and I can feel her light-based aura sparking unpleasantly. I try not to flinch.

"It's in our best interests," I say carefully, "to wipe out all of the assassins as quickly as possible. They'll be gathering at the convention centre. Now, we can't all go in -"

"Why is that, exactly?" my mom snaps.

I roll my eyes. "You're a Reader. They'll spot Your Holiness from a mile away."

"How exactly did you get into this mess?" asks my dad.

I paint a look of surprise onto my face. "You mean you don't know?" I ask incredulously. "Our family - your side of the family - have been Assassins going back hundreds of years! Well," I trail off, "The last one was in the sixteenth century." Good times, as I recall. Reincarnation can be so much fun.

My mom's aura is sparking angrily. I try to ignore it.

"Look, we need to wipe as many people out in one swoop as we can." I have a thought.

"Mom... isn't your cousin doing the catering?" I ask.

She looks at me suspiciously. "He is. Why?"

I let a smile form. "Have you ever heard of Chalk Tuna?"

Conferences. Scare Factor: 4.

So ends the 100th post special edition of Things to Run Away From Really Fast! I've been meaning to write this up for ages...

The only thing I can remember from last night's dream is that I had an extra pair of running shoes. They were orange.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

I scrutinize my real life appearance for effectiveness as an assassin. I conclude that I will easily be able to infiltrate the corporation.

I get an apartment in Halifax that's mostly identical to my old one. Apparently I'm subletting from someone else, though, as I keep finding old-lady clothes around the place. It's also furnished, which is nice, even if the furniture is ugly as hell.

I'm Dean Winchester. I help Sam choose a truck and trailer so he can go drive off into the prairie sunset. The theme of this dream is basically that it's time to let Sam go on his own. This is a much more peaceful scenario than the Supernatural finale.

I'm a guy with a mullet, driving a semi-trailer. I'm about to be accused of a crime I didn't do, and I'm trying to skew the evidence in my favor before they think to come after me. Maybe I had an in-dream premonition, or maybe I'm on another dream-loop.

I'm mad at the really cold weather, then I'm mad at the really hot weather, then I'm mad at the really cold weather, and oh my God, that really is freezing. Warmth now please.

I'm living with my second cousins, and also fighting my brother for one of the basement suites. His friend gets it. Damn.

One of my cousins finds out something about my character (I don't know what), and she takes her sisters and leaves.

I'm driving along the highway, now, but the lane I need to be in keeps changing, and I'm cutting people off. I end up at a McDonalds, because there's something I need to pick up there.

I'm inside. The place is empty, and isn't being used as a restaurant. Something about a box. I check my inventory and see a vat of cotton that I have to sell later.

The city is being evacuated. I have to hurry. I go upstairs, blue and red lightsabers drawn. I wonder if my cousins could have been party-members if I hadn't scared them off. Oh well, I'm still near the beginning of the game.

I enter one of the offices and fight the people inside. I win.

RPGs. Scare Factor: 1.

I hop on a bus with a duffel bag and a backpack, headed out to Halifax. I arrive at the hostel. There's a book sale in one of the rooms. I gravitate toward the back corner and recognize the cover for a Sherlock Holmes collection. I open it up, pleasantly surprised to find the book full of illustrations. I head over to another corner by the windows and flip through a few children's books for reference. The illustrations in every book are watercolour and ink or acrylic and ink. They have a grainy, spooky tone to them and some of the watercolour scenes are brilliant. I pick out a few and head to cash.

"You've got two books there?"

I glance down at the pile in my arms. "More than that," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm charging you for five, then. Your total is $4.25."

I hand her a five dollar bill and get three quarters back. Looking at the pile again, I realize that there's actually six books, but one is only a few torn out pages. Fair enough, I decide. I head back to my room to pack.

I'm looking at a shelf full of food and wondering when I found the time to buy all of this. I pack it away (bread goes squish) along with the books. It's a perfect fit, but I'm going to be annoyed travelling with all this luggage.

Chel, a girl who was a grade above me in high school, arrives as I'm leaving. We have an excited conversation involving the odds of meeting up on the other side of the country.

I decide to stop in Quickton before heading to Vancouver. For a break in a long goddamn bus ride, if nothing else. The bus station by the Westin is suddenly a part of Ixburg.

***

In Quickton, grocery shopping. Sprained left leg, hobbling along, wondering where my crutches went. I limp along on my left ankle after I get tired of hopping. It hurts, but it could be worse. I talk to my late grandma.

***

Still in Quickton, I'm on trial as a witch. The woman accusing me is a made up character who, apparently, went to high school with me. I spend most of the trial resisting the urge to burn her alive via dream-powers. Apparently that wouldn't help my case much.

I'm defending myself; no lawyers allowed. I catch the woman in the middle of a lie and ruthlessly pounce on it, drawing out answers that prove she wasn't where she said she was. Something about flowers that are yellow and in a pot. Daisies, probably.

I'm not sure if my argument's had any effect on the jury yet, so when the Judge asks me about the green lightsaber they have in custody, I immediately reply, "My lightsabers aren't green." I consider summoning my dual sabers to the courtroom, but again, supernatural powers are not what anyone needs to see right now.

I go into a tangent, wondering what my colour actually is. Purple is tempting, and I've always been partial to red and blue, but orange is pretty close and I'm not genuinely Sith-like (far too dogmatic for me). I don't really like orange much, though. I swing a couple orange sabers around in the hallway just to try them out.

I'm sitting back in my box with my arch-nemesis a couple places down, wondering if the trial can adjourn for the day. It's almost five and I'm bored.

We all go home for the night. I've been released into the custody of my parents, so I'm walking into a bigger version of their house, kicking off my shoes as I go. I'm picking up a piece of paper that might be an assassination contract a la Assassin's Creed. Unfortunately, without some serious creativity, I won't be able to collect on it. I'm supposed to stay here, after all...

Witch Trials. Scare Factor: 2. Reaction: I think I was completely guilty of everything I was accused of.[/QUOTE]