《An Extra-Ordinary Story about Ordinary People》 1, More And then, everything went black. When i opened my eyes again, I couldnt feel anything. Nothing at all. Not even my eyes. In fact, my eyes in particular were sort of... stale? Not quite. More like... stuck? Yeah, i couldnt move them one bit. I tried to look to my left, despite the darkness, but nothing changed. I couldnt feel my arms or legs or anything either. It was just black. Who was I?Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. I dont know. I can only remember this God-forsaken blackness. But even then, I felt that, somehow, it wasnt supposed to be like, well, like this. I can only remember blackness, but i can feel something beyond. I couldnt see, hear, smell, or anything like that, but, well, i could kind of feel? I could feel a... a what?... What exactly is this feeling? Its like tasting a new taste, smelling a smell you just cant place, suddently seeing what those little punching shrips see, suddently feeling something youve never felt before. I tried to feel it more, and it kind of... moved. I dont like that. Feelings dont move. Maybe it isnt a feeling at all? Maybe i am feeling? I felt a bit more. The feeling moved. God. Thats wierd. I moved a bit more until i felt something other than the feeling. It felt concrete. Like an actual thing. I grasped the feeling in my feeling, and the feeling squirmed. But it didnt squirm too long. Had it squirmed any longer, i wouldnt have been able to take it. Soon, the other feeling was gone. In return, my own feeling was stronger. I could feel it. I felt more. More and more. I want to feel more. More. 2, Producing I think days were spent. Just feeling. Feeling more and more. Consuming. But even though that feeling was growing, that feeling of fullness, batteling that feeling of blackness, it didnt feel quite right. Nobody can live, simply consuming. One must produce. But how? I didnt know.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I knew that the feeling that i got from those feeling that moved an squirmed was energy. Energy i could use to produce. So i produced. Its a strange feeling. To grow, and to produce yourself. Like streching out a hand. Longing to grasp something. But i grasped nothing. I felt empty. But i also felt larger. I felt more small feelings. They were smaller now. Or perheaps i was bigger? Most likely the latter. I grasped them all. They all dissappeared. How long has it been? I dont want to think about it. I felt fuller. Like a chalice overflowing with nectar. I releasted it again. That empty feeling returned. It was uncomfortable. The feelings were small. Too small. I didnt even bother grasping them anymore. There was a large feeling. It moved a lot. When i felt it, and it felt me, i grasped it. It grasped me as well. It wasnt a hand. It was more like a jaw, a maw, trying to grasp me in its own emptyness. I resisted. I grasped it harder. The big feeling gave up and left me, but i felt full again. I used a bit of my fullness to fuel my growth. But not all of it. I dont like the emptyness. I dont like the blackness, either. I like feeling full. Full and large. Like a treasure chest. Ill try to produce more from now on. 3, Grasping I could feel it. It was time. Time for what? Im not sure. I didnt absorb the feelings anymore. I absorbed what i could not feel. I knew i needed those unfelt feelings to take the final step, but i didnt know why. So, in a final burst, i could feel all the fullness i had worked so hard empty itself into a single burst of energy.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ... I knew something had happened, and yet, it felt as if nothing had happened. However, a question floated in my head. What is this?... The question was, "what do i want?" That should be obvious by now. I want to feel. And so, i felt. I grasped out, and altough i felt nothing, i knew that i felt. The wind fluttered like innocent butterflies between my static fingers. The air was moist and cold, like the tounge of a snake, flickering. I could grasp it. I could feel it. After so long, "feeling" had returned to me. I know the thing one should miss the most after loosing all senses should be the vision, as we use it the most, but i suppose i was being taunted all along, every now and then feeling a feeling, grasping it, only to feel it dissapear in my own feelings. I couldnt see it, but i was sure that i was now both above and beneath ground. Below, there was me. Above, there was a hand. It must look like some sort of halloween prop. 4, Encounter So... what now? I can grasp my hand. Feel the cool breath of the wind escape between my fingers. Stretch out and feel some familiar sensations return. But what for? I want to feel more. I want to feel the smooth surface of a rock, grinded spherical by the sand of shores. I want to feel fuzzy furryness of a cat dozing off in my lap. I want to feel a warm, gentle hand, enveloping my own in a loving embrace. I wa-, and that i felt. Her hand was small and soft, trembeling gently as it felt my wrist, stopping only at a few points to press gently into my skin for some unknown, unseen purpose.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. By the sensations that i felt, i must have not only my hand but also a fair bit of my arm out there. Not enough to move around, sadly. Her small fingers danced like small fairies over the palm of my hand, but i didnt try to grasp them. Did she feel my warmth? Did she feel my intent? Did she understand what i wanted? Her small, brittle hand enveloped mine. But as soon as her small hand enveloped the back of my hand (enveloping the front of my hand must have been too hard of an angle) i felt another grasp around my wrist, and she pulled. She pulled as hard as only a child could, but nothing seemed to happen. But after only a second, something seemed to go awry, and i felt a hard thump above me. Did she fall over? No, i can still feel her hands holding onto mine. So... whats the deal? As soon as i thought that, she released my hand from her grasp and i felt her body running, thumping through the woods. What just happened? I wasnt sure, but i wanted to feel it more. Again. Longer. Will she return? ... hm? Hmm? I had expected my hand to return to its position before she grasped it, but it wouldnt. Before she had grasped it, the hand had limped, hanging perpendicular by the wrist. I would ocassionaly hang it on the other side for the sake of change, but it would always fall back. Limp. So... why does my hand feel the cold, damp fuzzy grass? In fact, it isnt just my hand, its my wrist and the rest of it, too. Did... did my arm fall off?... 5, Contemplation before Confrontation This is the worst. Well, it isnt that bad, i could still be in that limbo of feeling-not-feeling, but-, oh shut up, this is horrible in a whole other way. I wanna move. Move about, feel the leaves that have fallen, feel the dew on the blades of grass, feel the creepy crawling creatures climbing, whatever! But if i move... will i still be found? That girl... i know its a girl since her hands were so small. I think. It might just be a child in general, but whatever! If i move, she, he, she might not find me. ...i have yet to think about what will happen once she does find me.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. I just want to feel her warmth. ... that sounds really wierd and i didnt mean for it to come off in that way. But this boredom is really killing me. Whats worse, being able to do nothing or being able to do something and still doing nothing? Im still expanding underground, by the bye. Not that thats any important. I felt a few tree-roots. Some tried to fight me, others made an alliance with me. I dont know how or why i remember it, but i think the ladder was called a mycorrhiza or something. The former made me a parasite. Well, its their fault for rejecting my advances, and... ... that sounds wierd as well. Goddamnit. Maybe im just wierd in general? No, that cant be. Anyhow. Thanks to these symbioses, ive succesfully grown, well, large. How large? No idea. My mind doesnt feel streched, and instead i feel a kind of relieving fullne-, what was that? ... there it was again. Is there something... sniffing my arm? Oh lord, no. I can feel a heavy thumping up above. Its not the little girl. What is this? This is scary. I dont like this. The thumping draws closer. I feel like shivering. Dont touch my-, it sniffed it. It totally did. Oh, god. Its sniffing my arm. It has a heavy, moist breath. Di-, did it just lick me? Its tounge was like... like sandpaper. Please dont do it aga-, it did again. Dont eat me. Please. I dont think im edible. I think im a fungus. Oh, god, do cats eat fungi? This is a cat, right? Its too big to be one, though. Mountain-lion? Lynx? Do i care? No, as long as i dont die, i dont care in the least. It keeps licking. Stop. Please. 6, Carried And so, i did a maneuver i had saved for, well, some situation. Some situation such as this one. Whatever. Whether this pather or tiger or whatever ate mushrooms or not, i still didnt want it to, you know, take my arm. Hand. Whatever 2.0. The maneuver in question was a rather simple one. A, quickly extend my roots, mycelium, whatever 3.0, up to the ground beneath my arm, B, connect my mycelium to the arm-hand-thing, C, pump in as much energy into it as i can and hope something happens. And thats about it, really. I think i had been subconciously supplying energy to it when it was naturally connected to me, but ever since that girl, boy, whatever 4.0, plucked it from my mycelium, i think its been losing energy since i every now and then move it around. Im not going to wonder how i can move it, since that doesnt seem plausible in any way, shape or form. If it can be explained in theory, existing here as practical proof of the theory might, well, compromise my freedom. Who knows. Whatever might have caused this situation in the first place is entirely unessesary to my current survival. Which is why im currently pumping all energy i have in me, sadly making the allied and subservant trees nearby me, well, wither. But i can feel my arm grow.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. What was once simply a hand and a wrist has become and entire arm. I would love to expand it further, but i really dont think its possible. I dont have the time to make my arm expand, so im currently just pumping it full with energy to... something. Whatever 5.0. I dont really have time to think, considering how this large feline is currently tugging at my arm. It has yet to tear through my skin, but thats just a matter or time. I wish... i wish i could see what the heck is going on. Right now, all ive got going is the strange sensation of energy flowing through me and to me. Seeing wouldnt help me too much, but it really would be nice. Seeing. Havent done that in a while. Soon enough, ive barely got enough energy left in me to think, and so, i let go of the arm. The large cats falls backwards, not much unlike the girl who had done so before, and i feel my arm dangeling freely in the air. The cat doesnt seem to want to hurt me, i think. Its grasping my arm quite gently. Im not sure whether i should move around or remain still. Well, i guess ill just let it be. This cat seems to be headed somewhere, so ill just wait until then. But ill have to say... this is rather nice. Moving about. The warmth in her breath. Reminds me of something. Feels sort of, well, nostalgic. Its nice, anyways. She sways from side to side, her heavy body swinging me along. Her gentle maw keeping me secure. Where is she taking me? Do i care? Eventually, she stops. She releases her grip on me and i fall a few centimetres and hit the ground lightly. Its cold and damp and hard. A cave? Yes, that must be it. So im in the lair or the lioness, then? Neat. Ive got enough energy to maneuver this arm for, well, a long time. ... Nothing happens. On this bone-chilling, dead rock, i feel nothing. No tremors, no movements, no anything. Did she leave? Was she ever there at all? I feel a sand-paper like tounge run over the back of my hand and i feel a pang of joy spread. Im not alone. Thank god. I try to move my hand a bit and soon find it resting on the muzzle of some great furry beast. Its vibrating. If i had an ear or two, im sure i would hear the gentle, calming purr of a kitten. But as it is, all i feel is that vibrating. Which isnt all that bad. The muzzle is soft and warm and the little nose is wet and cold. I move my hand a bit higher and feel the cheek of the beast. Its soft. Oh, so soft. I scarch a little, pet a little, caress a little, and i am happy. Oh, so happy. The warmth of another is, and will always be one of the most comfortable feeling, whether it be human or other. In this case, a very friendly, very large cat. I wish i could hear it. That soft purring. I really wish i did. And i do. 7, Reunited The purring was loud at first. Too loud. It penetrated me, reverbated through me, shook me from tip to toe. Like a mountain crumbeling under the might of god. Like the skies ripping apart by the seams. The the whole world collapsing in on itself. But it was pleasant. Loving. My hearing soon adjusted. I have no idea how i can hear. I dont feel as if i grew an ear or something.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I dont know how this is working. But im glad it does. As time goes on, i adapt to the whole thing. The purring doesnt become any more distant, but it smooths out, and becomes absolutely wonderfull. My energy feels a bit depleted. But i can still move well. I keep petting the large cat and it keeps purring. Since i had the chance to, why didnt i wish for sight? Well, i did wish for sight, but did i get it? No, no i did not. Who knows why? Im a walking talking hand who''s also a mushroom, why cant i grow an eyeball or two instead of hearing? Woe is me. I turn my focus from the cat. The purring is soothing, but there areplenty of other nostalgic noises to be heard. The screams of the wind, tumbling through this cave. The song of birds, just outside it. The footsteps of-, footsteps? Rythmic, heavy footsteps. Thump thump thump. It sounds human. Is that a good or a bad thing? Im gonna take it as a good thing, despite my unusual predicament. The purring beside me stops. The cat rises, leaving me on the floor. It doesnt growl or anything, but i know this cant be good. The footsteps come closer. I hear a hushed voice. It sounds like a man. Faint breathing from the beast beside me. It never struck me before, but even now, in such a tense situation, i still hear the birds chirping. Is this how the mentally unsound feel? A loud voice. A growl. Fireworks. Silence. Something wet. 8, Help "Oh, Lord," i heard someone say under their, his, breath. I agree. Oh, Lord. I know it was stupid, but my arm flailed about in the wetness, trying to get a grasp on the situation. I touch something. Something furry and wet and warm. But it isnt warm for long. The wamth drains like the blood, as i know it to be, pooling under my arm. Im not sure, but my arm spasmed. Just flailed around. Like a fish on dry land. Im not sure why i was surprisen when that poor, poor man shouted: "Oh my God in heaven above," as if He was acting through me. Maybe He was. Probably wasnt. My arm stopped moving about once i heard his hurried steps echo further and further away.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But they never really went away. I heard some mechanical beeps before his voice, interrupted by heavy panting, hurredly asked if he had reached nine-one-one. "Yeah, ive, uh, got a situation? Yeah, um, theres this arm-, yes, uh, no, i didnt do anything! Its just, i dunno, i was-, i was walking in the woods, right? With my gun-, no i didnt shoot anythi-, anybody! Just listen, right? I was walking, with my gun and-, yes, i have a license, right, i, uh, so i got to this cave and, well, theres usually nothing there, but, today, i dunno-, well, there was this mountain-lion there, and-, yeah, i shot it! And it dropped over head. But you know why?! IT was-, ohgod, it was like... there was this arm, right? Just lying there. No, no body! Just an a-, arm. Right. Um. Where? Uh, right outside of Iowa, in that forest there, i cant remember the name, uh, Stephen something, Stepthens state? Whatever! Uhm, but like, after i had shot it, right, the, um, the arm? It kinda moved? What? Why would you send an ambulance? I dont care what you send, just send any-, hey! Dont put me on hol-, Jesus Christ Lord above, what am i going to do. Wait here? Yeah, thats about it, but, that arm..." Oh lord. Iowa? Dear God. The man breathes heavily outside the cave, occasionaly speaking a word or two of prayer beneath his haggard breath. After a few minutes, i hear some strange sound in the sky. The man outside must have heard it as well, as he mutters: "A helicopter? They sent a helicopter?? This better be good-" The surring gets closer. It sounds strangely familiar. Should i be happy i chose to hear, or sad that i chose not to see? The beating gets louder and louder. Its like a storm brewing. Thump thump thump. "Hey! Down here!" he shouts loudly, most likely flailing his arms to catch their attention. Vrrrrrr, Thump. "...are you the police?" he asks someone. "No, we are not. Now, is this the cave?" someone replies. "Y-, yes, Sir," he says meekly. Two pairs of footsteps draw closer, echoing through the cave. A, Elsewhere - Elsewhere - God, why do I do this to myself. I slowly peel my eyes from the report I hold in my hands, trying my best not to rip it into shreds. Supermen. Of course. Always had ''em, always will. But it''s not their existence or all those big ass battles they fight against some monstermen that bother me, no, it''s the reports. How are you supposed to make a functioning report of a situation where the two objects of interest are moving as fast as a speeding bullet? God. These reports are a mess. I can''t even bother anymore. I throw the report into the pile and lift the phone before it even has the chance to ring. Moment later, a little tune starts playing and I press one of the buttons. "Smith speaking," I say robotically. On the other side, a sweet-mouthed lass starts relaying some paranormal situation or another, as I''ve told every policestation to do in the case of a possible SNC sighting. I can''t escape the reports. Well, oh well. Haven''t had a field day since my time as a rookie Exo-Soldier shooting bullets at some abomination of nature that was invounerable to said bullets. Gotta keep my knees swift. I quickly rise from behind my villain-like desk in my darkly-lit villain-like office and exit into the villain-lair-like-super-secret-facility I call my workplace. "Pence," I say, a young lass soon erupting hurridly from a surprisingly ordinary cubicle, considering where we are. "Y-, you called, Sir?" she nervously said. She was short, pale, and a bit round around the edges. Despite her looks, however, she was a fine solder. Was. Nowadays, she''s a great secretary. It might be a bit controversial nowadays, having a woman as a secretary, but she was the one who wanted to. And I let her. "I''m undertaking a field-mission on my own to investigate a recent SN-Sighting," I told her matter-of-factly. Her face lit up in surprise. Makes sense, I am rather close to my retirement. I should just spend my last few years holed up in my dark and dreary office, waiting for some super-hero to burst in and say "You''ve lied to the people long enough! It is time for you to feel the wrath of the citizens!" or something like that. Not that I lie to the people or anything. Well, that might be a lie. Heh. "S-, sir? Will you atleast don your old Exo-Skeleton? Isn''t it dangerous to face a possible SNC by yourself?" she managed to say after some time of silence. "No, I''m sure this is nothing. I''ve been stuck in that lair of mine for far too long to care for dangers. And even if there is some "Super-Natural-Creature" there, I''d love to feel the adrenaline pumping once again," I confess. Lying to your secretary is the same as lying to yourself, so I abstain. She nodds solemnly and lumbers back to her cubicle. Good. It''s not often a man goes to inspect a possible SNC by themself. Mostly because it''s only something a fool such as myself would do. And why can I do something foolish like this without anything saying a thing against it? Becuase I''m at the top. One of the few. I sigh to myself and hop into a helicopter. Don''t know whose it is, but few have the gall to complain. I learned how to fly one of these back in the day, but technology has exploded recently, so I guess I''ll have to improvice. She rises slowly with a bit of a murmur, her blades slowly getting speed. I thought this part would be harder, but she''s as tame as a house-cat. She''s also secret enough to be equipped with one of those invisibility-cloats that''s all the rave nowadays. Iowa. Some forest near Iowa. Even if I were a big, stupid monster that wanted to destroy the world because I stubbed my toe I wouldn''t begin in Iowa. I thought all God''s creatures would know not to begin their career in Iowa.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. The Stephen forest or whatever it was called stretches out before me in all its lushious green glory. Iowa. Huh. I search the ground and quickly find the cave mentioned. I quickly turn off the invisibility-cloak and fly closer. The witness starts flailing his arms about, apparently wanting to get my attention as if I were a blind man or something. I hover down into his view and jump down. I haven''t changed since I came from the office, so the man looks rather confused. He looks like your typical hillbilly, carrying a rifle over his shoulder. The air is heavy with gunpowder and blood. We quickly enter the cave after some rudimentary introductions and I get a view of the suspected SNC. It really is an arm, isn''t it? At first sight, it would easily look like just another chopped of arm in a pool of blood next to a very dead mountain-lion, but this is easily disregarded by the fact that where there would be a flesh wound of some sort, there is just skin. As if it was the chopped off arm of an amputee that had healed perfectly. As if it had never been part of anything human. The arm is regular-looking, with fair skin, almost a little too fair, as if it just didn''t have any pigmentation what-so-ever, well-trimmed nails and a generally normal air about it. It seems to be the arm of a man. It''s partially covered in blood, which makes it look, well, eerie, to say the least. The two of us draw closer to the arm. It doesn''t move. In fact, it is very still. But if I remember the reports correctly, it was flailing about at the time of the lions death, so: "Hey!" I shout into the cave. The arm twitches visibly but stops moving entirely, as if trying to play dead. It isn''t doing too good of a job of it, tough. "I know you can hear me, so if you''ll just do me a favour and stop pretending, this whole situation will be a lot easier for the both of us," I say in my best ''I-am-a-force-of-authority-and-you-will-obey-me''-voice that I''ve worked so long to perfect. The arms seems to hear me as the fingers start clenching and unclenching. It doesn''t seem to know what do do, so I give it a push. "If you understand me, show me your palm," I say, to which the arm answer by, well, rising its hand and showing its palm. How rare. Not only does it understand me, it also knows to obey my commands. "Do you know where you are?" I ask the arm. The arm replies my waving its hand back and forth in either an ''I dont know'' or an ''I can''t say for obvious reasons'' way. "I see. Right, well, do you know what you are?" I finally ask, since I have previously dealth with situations wherein the SNC in question is an unknowing civilian-soon-to-be-SH, to which the arm waves about for a bit in a strange manner before finally pointing out of the cave. "I assume you mean to bring me somewhere?" I ask. In situations like this, it is better to seem as if you know everything than to ask obvious questions. The arm does a thumbs up. I turn to the witness, who currently looks rather shell-chocked, and ask: "Could I borrow your shirt?" He quickly unbuttons his shirt and hands it to me. Not sure if I enjoy his eagerness or not, but I appreciate his willingness to follow orders. "Arm, whatever your name might be, I''ll soon pick you up, so don''t be frightened," I say to the arm, moving closer with the shirt in hand. The arm does another thumbs-up. I quickly pick it up using the shirt and dry the blood off of it, as I imagine it must be quite uncomfortable. It seems thankfull, but I cant confirm that due to its unfortunate muteness. "Sir, could I ask you to go home? This site is not safe for civilians," I say to the witness, who seems very eager to object, but can''t bring himself to do so and instead lumbers into the woods sadly. Good riddence. The arm remains wrapped in the shirt. It would seem i forgot to return it to its rightful owner. I''ll do so later. "Now, is there anywhere in particular you would like to lead me? Oh, exuse me! I''m Smith, it''s a pleasure to make your aquaintence, and as you cannot tell me your name at the moment, I will refeer to you as simply "Arm" henceforth. Will that be alright?" the arm, Arm, once more makes a thumbs up. I don''t think he was prepared for it, but I shook his hand. He seemed to appreciate it though, and off we were. Arm seemed to sink into deep thought for a second, as he was entirely unresponsive during said second. But after this, he seemed to have an epithany of some sort and started pointing to some place in the forest. Now this is the kind of field-work i enjoy. 9/B, Nice Fellow What a nice fellow. Im sure i should suspect him, considering how calm he is, but how can i refuse such a voice of authority? Smith. What a name. I dont think ive ever heard anyone introduce themselves like that. No Mr, no Sir, no General, no nothing. Just Smith. Maybe hes really that important? So important that he doesnt even have to explain which Smith he is. Anyhow. I could feel myself. Its like when youre trying to walk through your house in the dark, you know where your arms are and what they are doing, but you cant see them. I remember that having a name, but i cant seem to know what it was. I keep pointing towards myself. This man holding me seems, well, fearless. He holds me gently in his rough hands. Feels like a real rugged fellow. Id love to have a look at him, but, well, i cant really see. We draw closer. My hand feels sort of energized, agile. "Is this the place?" Smith says. Indeed it is. I point downwards. "Would you like me to put you down, fella?" he asks, and i agree. He gently lowers me to the ground, but im not too patient as of late. My little roots burst out of the ground. I can feel how Smith twitches, but nothing more. My roots burrow into my arm and immidietly start pumping in energy. It doesnt feel like im growing, though. He slowly lays me on the ground, and my roots start truly connecting to me.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I feel an abundence of energy, enough to... --- An eye. It grew an eye. The arm, that is. I had gotten a bit taken back when the roots lashed out, but I sensed no hostility in Arm, so I didn''t do anything preempitvly. I have no idea what this thing is, but it seems to be some sort of plant. But can plants grow eyes? Eyeballs? Who knows. Whatever the explenation, it''s staring me. "What''s the matter? Cat got your tounge?" I say mockingly. The single eye, situatied on the palm of his hand, continues staring. The iris has a greenish-blue sort of colour. Very pretty. The eye in general is rather large, masculine, and-, and is currently welling up. --- Its so beautiful. I cant help but cry. Who knew green was such a pretty colour? The man before me. Smith. What a man. Hes dressed in a nice, neat suit. Perfectly plain. Black tie, white shirt. The only thing extraordinary is his face. Or, whats on his face. A big, gritty scar. His face in general is quite gritty. He cant be more than... Fifty? Sixty? I cant tell. Its so nice to be able to see. I let a heavy tear fall down my cheek/palm. Smith looks confused. And concerned? Hey, hey, its alright, im just so-, --- What a creature. I think I''ve read somewhere that only humans cry. Is this a human? It feels like it. "Hey, buddy, are you alright?" I ask. The hand shakes, kind of as if shaking its head. I see. What a man. It looks around, eye still sort of wet from the crying. It looks so... amazed. Like a child, rediscovering the world after a night of dreamless sleep. Who knows. "Well, what is it?" I asked. He stared back at me. Hrm. As per the SN laws, I have to report this to the authorities, me. And have it, well, removed. Nobody is safe as long as some unknown SNC is on the loose, no matter how friendly and lovable it is. Just look at that severed arm. Adorable. "Anyhow, I''m going to have to have you haven taken into custody," I said, to which he visibly fliched. "Yeah, I know it might sound harsh and unjustified, but we can''t have an SNC such as yourself running rampant, you know?" It looked extremly confused. And a little upset? --- I looked up at him. He looked a bit worried. Whats an SNC? Wait-, since im... I let my head-hand fall to the floor. Uug. I slowly lift my hand up using my fingers. Slowly, carefully, with a lot of effort, i succesfully write: SNC? in small, crude letters. Smith looks confused at my actions. I heave myself up and quickly roll over so the letters stand clear. I point a little to them. "SNC? Oh! You dont know what that is? Ah, I should have known. Well, it stands for Super-Natural Creature, and it refeers to such creatures as yourself. At first, we did''nt have a name. You were just "monsters" or "aliens" or whatever, back in the good days, but we needed an official name, since it became official business, so, there it is. SNC being you, SN being the whole category, SNH - Super-Natural Happening - being the event, etc. It''s really quite simple." --- - I told him. He still looked confused, but there wasn''t much more I could say without it getting into confidential areas. You should never give anyone too much information. Only enough to keep them as a friend. Anyhow. "Well, I''d love to answer more of your questions, but we really need to get you out of here. Never know what might happen. You seem like a nice fella. I might as well tell you that we seldom exterminate SNCs, no, we usually keep them. In your case, you might be fit to become an SNS. A Super-Natural Soldier. I don''t know how that sounds to you, but I''m sure you don''t want to be exterminated, do you?" He shook to and fro. I hope I didn''t frighten him. The difference between a helper and a villain is whether they threaten or suggest. I quickly retrieve my good old flip-phone from my pocket, enter a code and dial a number. Most would think it should be harder than that, but this little thing is impossible to crack. "Yeah, Smith here, I''m gonna need a transportation squad. I''ve got a co-operative, intelligent SNC here. Right. I''m going to need a telekinetic, and a large glass cage. George will do. Right, I''ll stay with it until you arrive." I end the conversation and turn the phone off. He''s staring at me. I guess I can understand why. But even then, that''s quite the eye. --- Telekinetic? a, Elsewhere (yet again) It all began on a fatefull day when I asked my mother to get me a glass of water, and a Demon summoned a glass-full of nitroglycerine into my room, along with a matchbox, of course. And, as the young child of eight that I was, I just had to set the whole house into flames. And ever since, I haven''t asked anybody for a thing. Haden''t. I guess I was traumatized, for good reason. My family survived, and I had an otherwise very happy childhood. My mother was a professional pianist who played in an orchestra I could never remember the name of, something about a Casper? My father played the trumpet in the same orchestra, but after their romance took off, I guess it got kinda unethical, so he hopped off to work solo. It went very well. My younger sister wants to be a pianist like her mother and plays the trumpet as a hobby on the side, and altough I''ve tried to convince her numerous time she is way better at playing the trumpet than the piano, she just wont have it. My brother is becoming an engineer, against the wishes of his family, and me, well, I''m studying social science. Hooray. I moved out when I was seventeen, and I am currently living in a small apartment. I study most of my time, but I also work as a pianist part-time at a jazz-bar down the street. But that isn''t really that interesting, is it? No, the reason I''m saying this is because of the first event I described. See, after the Golden era, characterized by the "super-heroes" and the "super-villains", also called the "super-era" by those wierd kids who think there''s some big hidden underground organization kidnapping EOPs or something, the Silver-era took hold. This era was all about the goverments owning there "super-heroes" and making them into teams. It became like the olympics, but these sports-men could blow away a city with a sneeze and had to shave using the power of a million dying suns, so it was much more interesting. We were this close to having another world war, just to see whether the red man or the starry guy would win in a fight. Eventually, the goverments realized that having mortal gods walking this plane would be pretty bad, so the strongest, smartest and bravest "super-heroes", or, as we call them now, EOPs, as in Extra-Ordinary People, because acronyms make things more official, decided that the best way to do this was to either cure them, or kill them. People like the Hunk, who had been blasted to hell by a nuke or something, and all of his wierd side-kicks like the Bread-Hunk, They-Hunk, B-Aomb and the such were given a cure, while people like Sober-Dude who were literal illegal aliens were either sent back into space or just outright killed if they were too much of threat. And so, we are in the Bronze era. Kids who show even the slightest hint of having some sort of super-natural power, well, dissappear. Thankfully, I was so traumatized by my first summoning that I never did it again, to the great dissappointment of the demon, who really wanted to mess up my childhood. Sick bastard. But what about the very strongest and smartest, what happened to them, you ask? That is a very good question. There are a couple of theories, but the most likely one is that they all took a vow that if one of them used their powers, the other would kill them. Really, it''s all for the better. Sure, people like Big-Dude could probably help build really big stuff really fast, but do I have to remind you of what happened in 1969, when Big-Dude fought the Metal-Dude and the entire state of Arizona was just leveled to the ground? No man should hold that power, if you ask me.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. And then, we get back to me. If no man should have such power, why do I get to have a SP and not have to, well, dissappear without a trace? Well, first of all, nobody knows about it, and second of all, I never use it! Almost. And why should I use it, for that matter?? Sure, it sounds cool and all, being able to summon things just by asking for it, but, well, it''s not that simple. Let me demonstrate. I pull myself out of my meaningless thoughts and bring my attention back to the matter on hand. My pasta. Ive got a pot full of spaghetti and water, enough to last me the whole week if I eat it carefully, but... I turn my attention to the shelf beside me. My little kitchen, consisting of a stove, a micro-wave oven and nothing else beside a scrawny table and a stool my parents had left for me, flashed by. The litte shelf had three things on it, a small can containing pepper, another containing sugar, and a third... not containing any salt. The pasta was boiling. My father was a good cook, and he had tought me to make sure the pasta-water was as salty as the sea. Salt-less pasta was a disgrace to his good name. Might as well. "Hey, dude, gimme some salt," I say out loud so he''ll be sure to hear me. The demon, that is. His name was actually something super-long and super-complicated, but saying it kinda summons him to the mortal plane, which I once accidentaly did, only to know I did it accidentaly when I sneezed, which is when he told me his name. He was very amused, tough. Anyhow, so I just call him Tim or "dude". It''s just plain easier. As my thoughts trailed off, I found my eyes sliding back to the wooden counter beside my stove, where a small, glass container now sat, as if it had always been there. I pick it up and check the description. "Potassium Sodium Cyanide," it said in big red letters, along with even bigger, redder letter saying "DANGER". Harr, harr. Very funny. See, this is what he does. He never gives me anything that I want. In fact, he usually gives me something that is downright the opposite of what I want. All depending on the situation, of course. It might seem like a stupid thing to do, but I''ve decided to put rules on it. I can''t confirm the rules, becuase I could potentially level the city, or worse, cause the end of the world, but it sets me at ease to know he can''t just summon the Devil Himself because I slipped on a banana-peel or something. You never know. First up, he only summons something if I ask for it. Otherwise, he doesn''t really do much of, well, anything. Second, what he summons is actually entirely based off of what I ask for, and - or want. Like if I ask for a pinch of salt, he isn''t gonna summon a gamma-bomb to explode my arse or anything, no, he''ll just summon a pinch of cyanide. A pinch being the point of interesting. I haven''t tried it, but if I tried summoning like a billion dollars, I think he might give me something of equivalant worth. Like a building. On top of me. Anything to annoy me. I don''t know much else, but I''ve got a theory I really can''t confirm, which is that I don''t think he is actually summoning anything, I think it''s more of a specialized, instant teleportation. Or something. Maybe. I''m not sure. I grab the cyanide off the counter and pop off the lid, taking a whiff. It might be seen as rather dangerous, but cyanide isn''t airborne. I think. My life is a guessing-spree gone wrong. Yup. Smells like almonds alright. I put the lid back on and sigh as I drag my feet through my little apartment to the bathroom. I open up the mirror and stuff the cyanide into it. You never know. All and all, it isn''t a bad existance. But it is a risky one. Anyhow, off to school. Collage. Whatever. C, A Pleasant Conversation with an Arm It didn''t take long for them to arrive. It never does, since it''s almost always an emergency of sorts. Arm looked surprisingly erratic. "Hey hey hey, calm it buddy. We''re not gonna hurt ya," I told him as calmly as I could. He still stared at me. Suspiciously. "What? Alright, like this, I''m gonna pick you up, and you''re gonna take the chance to communicate with me through writing, as I know you can. That alright with you?" I asked, to which he waved his hand, as if nodding. I grabbed him by the triceps and sqatted down on the ground beside where the wrote his previous message. It felt uncomfortable, sitting on top of some entitiy that could probably spear me to hell and back. He struggeled a bit, trying to find a comfortable position, before going limp, his pointed finger lightly touching the ground. He made a few quick strokes, his wrist doing the heavy work. In no time, a little smiliey smiled back at the two of us. ''Hehe,'' he wrote beside it. "Are you done yet?" I asked, to which he flinched. ''!! Yes'' he quickly wrote. This is going to be wierd. "Now, do you have anything specific to ask?" ''Yes, uh, who a'' "Who a?" He tugged a bit. Oh. I moved him a bit to the right, and he continued writing. ''re you?'' "I am Smith." ''Smith who?'' "Oh, sorry, it was stupid to presume. John Smith. My parents used to call me Johnny." ''That doesnt help'' "You''re gonna sacrifice your grammar for a statement?" ''Sorry, I meant "who are you" as in a mor'' I moved him a bit. ''e "introduce yourself", way.'' "Oh, well, I believe I said so earlier, but thats classified information." ''How can your entire person be classified information?'' "I''m a high-standing person in a secret organization, I''ll tell you that much." ''whoa'' "grammar, please." ''Sorry, I was just amazed by the fact that anybody could claim to be in a secret organization in this day and age.'' "This day and age?" ''Yeah, you know, the two-thousa'' "...I don''t think there''s any need to move you, what''s the matter?" He moved his hand downwards a bit. ''what year is it'' "I''ll ignore your habit of simplifying your language and answer your question, as you seem quite confused. It''s 2018." ''2018? Really??'' "Yes, really. What, don''t believe me?" ''But it''s so futuristic!'' "What is?" He didn''t write anything for a few seconds. ''Your attitude, first of all!'' "My attitude? What''s wrong with it?" ''Nothing, it''s just - you''re way too calm!'' "Well, of course I''m calmed. I''m rather used to dabbeling in things like this. It''s my job, first of all." ''Yeah, but... look, I don''t know much, but I do know that people aren''t usually used to, you know, meeting a living arm. Or whatever I am.'' "Well, whatever you are doesn''t really matter. What really matters is that you are sentiant, and a rather pleasant fellow all-around. But whatever you remember, it can''t be reality. Creatures similar to yourself have been appearing for over fifty years now. The only ones i can imagine freaking out over you would be, well, the common folk. Normal people."Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ''You''re not a normal person, then?'' "...you got me there. No, I wouldn''t consider myself a normal person." ''What would you consider yourself as, then?'' "Well, if you''ll forgive me for using language from the Golden Era, I would consider myself to be a would-be superhero." ''...'' I turned him over and looked him in the eye. He looked very suspicious. He''s a very suspicious fella, isn''t he? "What is it now?" I turned him back around. ''Superheores aren''t real.'' I couldn''t keep myself from laughing loudly. I haven''t laughed that good in years, I think. ''what'' "Grammar." ''What would make you laugh so? Superheroes is a comic-thing. And look at you! You''re wearing a nice suit with a nice tie and a nice shirt, how could you ever consider yourself a superhero???'' "I didn''t say I was one. I could have been one. Maybe during the 70''s or something." ''That cant be.'' "Well, it is. Was. It used to be. Acting as a superhero would then is enough to put you in a certain chamber in the basement of a certain secret organization. If you''re lucky, and you get discovered before then, you have the chance to join said secret organization to, you know, work with them. Whatever." ''What do you mean by whatever??? How cant you speak about such things so casually???'' "I''d appreciate if you didn''t exaggerate so much, but really. It''s whatever. It doesn''t matter. You''re not a human, after all. No family you take you from, no society from whence you dissappear. Now, calm down for a second and let me explain what''s going to happen. A chopper is going to come, bringing my pal George and some more official men. Soldiers. SNS, as they are formally called. They won''t hurt you, kill you, or anything of the like. They will simply transport you to one of our bases. It''s a simple procedure, really." He stared at the ground in defeated silence. I turned him back around and stared him in the eye. He averted his gaze. "Hey, don''t be like that. I don''t mean to frighten you or anything, if that''s how I came across," I told him as calmly as I could. He still looked somewhat dissatisfied. One of his fingers pointed at the ground and I let him down. Some of the previously described roots grabbed hold of him. Two things happened following this. First, and eyelid appeared on the back of his hand. It must be a strange thing to realize, but in there, he did actually have an eyeball. Isn''t too strange to think that he could have an eyelid on the other side as well. The eyelid forced itself to open, and the eyeball rolled over, looking back at me. It looked kind of as if it was mocking me, but making hasty decitions is one of those newbie things I seldom do nowadays. Secondly, I heard a voice. I had been so enamored in what was happening to his hand that I didn''t realize a mouth had formed on the stump where the arm would have connected to a body. Guess his chances of becoming a whole human are over, huh. The voice said: "Urgh" "Nice to meet you too," I replied courtly. "Diss iss wirdd," it said. "I agree," I replied. "Wajtt lemme git ushed tjo itt," it blubbered as well as it could using the strange mouth-like thing. The next couple of minutes were spent by the mouth doing vocal excersices, singing songs I''ve never heard before, and making sounds I dont know well how to describe. At some point, it sang a tune i recognized as Catmans iconic tune, but when I asked it about it, it went on a rant about how I never told him anything. Ungratefull slob. "So? Are you done yet?" "Yeah, yeah, I''m, uh, done. Thank you." "For what?" "Well, you know, uh, not leaving?" "Leaving an unauthorized SNC alone would be a violation of my responsibilities. Especially of my ethics." "SNC, SNC, can you call me something else?" "I call you Arm, don''t I?" "Yeah, sure, and that''s very nice of you, but could I atleast have a name?" "Sure. What should I call you then, Mister Arm?" "Uh" "You don''t know, do you?" "I know my name, shaddap!" "Right." "Ummm... something about... I don''t know, Ron? No... Robert?..." "Arm?" "Shut it! Just... just call me... oh!" "What is it?" "I''ve got it!" "Got what?" "Are you deaf or something? My name!" "Right. What is it, then?" "It''s... Aaron." "Uhuh. That''s a pretty normal name. Can I call you Arm for short?" "No, I''d rather you didn''t!" "Sure, I wont. Arm." I laughed maniacally. God, this was a good idea. I haven''t had this much fun in yea-, Suddently, I noticed something. All around my sitting form, small, white roots had sprouted in a half-circle. "You are in my realm now, Smith..." "Oh no, what a predicament I have found myself in! How can I ever escape?" "You must answer my riddles three..." "I bet my life that you don''t know tree riddles." "Sure I do! There''s that one with the baby, man and elder, and then theres..." "See? I won this battle, foul creature of the under-world!" "You win this round, air-breather!" Fwopp fwopp fwopp, I could easily hear the blades of the chopper, even before they were visable. "It seems theyve arrived," I said, rising from my crouched position. "Exuse me," I said, grabbing Ar-, Aaron once more. "Is there any specific way you''d like to be carried, master of the under-world?" I asked politly. "I''d love to be able to see and talk at the same time, so if it isn''t too wierd, could you carry me around your neck? Like, elbow by neck, hand on one side, mouth on other?" he asked timidly. I don''t see why not. "Sure, don''t bother me at all," I replied, carefully placing him around my neck like a scarf. I wasn''t sure whether the proper description would be as if you were in a permanant state of having your picture taking with a gang of enthustiactic friends, or as if you were in bed with a beloved, but standing. Considering the context, I think I prefer the former. This was, I can actually carry him without actually holding him. Neat! D, Extraction Even before the helicopter had landed, George Sydney, the telekinetic I had asked them to bring, had jumped out of the chopper and landed before me. What a show-off. My morbid scarf twitched at this movement, as if he had never seen an SNI, which he probably hadn''t. George was a tall, scrawny kinda guy, with a large pair of glasses hiding his all-too intelligent, currently squinting bright-blue eyes. His hair was blond and dirty, and his lips were curved into a frown. "Why is it always me who has to deal with these kinds o-, what the fuck?" he snapped at me, or atleast tried to. He must be near-blind, considering how long it took him to notice my friend here. Aaron. What a name. "I see you''ve noticed my friend, George," I snapped back. "Would you like to give him a formal introduction, or should I?" I said. He glared at me, seemingly rather unhappy about something. Very well. "Aaron, this is George Sydney, a telekinetic with a sense of humour. George, this is Aaron Doe, an arm who needs your help to get back home to his mama," I jeered. "Haha, very funny. Should I shake his hand, too?" he said, laughing that peculiar little laugh I could only describe as if the wind had gotten chopped up and stuffed into a turkey. Put the turkey in the oven for ten minutes at 400 degrees, and here we are. "You can shake it, but you have to ask for permission first," I said. "No, there''s no need," another voice said. George must have jumped a decimeter off the ground. We''re lucky he didnt bring down a tree or two, as he tends to do. "Don''t scare him Aaron, we don''t want the whole place evacuated because George got a spook," I told the arm hanging off my neck. "Really?" "Really." "Hey, don''t talk about me af if I''m some walking disaster!" "Aren''t you?" "Grrr..." "Now, now, calm it. We are both here on formal business." "See, this arm here, Aaron, is an SNC, as you can see." "Hi." "Yes, hi. Now, the thing is, this isn''t all of him. He''s underground." "Like a plant?""I think I''m more of a fungus." "As he said, he is more of a fungus than a plant." "I love mushrooms. Fry ''em in oil and put them on meat, it''s the best." "Please don''t eat me." "Restrain yourself. Now, we need to take his whole net of mucelium and just lift it up, you hear me? You did bring the glass cage, right?" "Yeah, sure, its right-," A large glass cube hits the ground, a little cloud of dust and leaves rising. "-there. So, where is this mycelium thing?" he asked, looking around a bit. "As a metter of fact, George, we are currently standing on it," I replied. "We a-, whoahwohaowhoayoustopthat," George said right as a bunch of tiny little threads escaped the earth and captured his boot. "Aaron, I would personally suggest not to spook this guy," I warned Aaron. "Right, sorry," Aaron replied, the little white tentacles releasing the boot and retrackting into the ground once more. "So, uh, um, I''ve just gotta pick the whole thing up, right?" "Yup, pretty much." "Be gentle, will you?" "Uh, sure, Aaron. I''ll try." George waved a bit at us and we took a few steps back until he didn''t wave anymore. He slowly got down to the ground and felt it with his hand. He closed his eyes and sat crouched on the ground for a few moments. Eventually, he rose. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "This is really big," he said seriously whilst took off his thick glasses. Or, well, "he" didn''t. Paul Wilkes did. Did I meantion he has a couple of personalities in that big brain of his? A faint smile surfaced on Pauls lips and he took a few steps back. "You should probably take a few more steps, Sir." he said. He always calls me Sir, which I don''t personally like, but when he''s the one speaking, you really shouldn''t question it. And so, I took a few steps back, muttering "how big are you, really?" to the arm hanging loosly beside me. He seemed nervous, as he didn''t answer. Paul looked at the ground before him before taking a wide stance, his arms tensing and relaxing, moving a bit here and there before finding the right position. Eventually, me made two really big, sweeping movements with his arms, to which Aaron exclaimed a pained cry. "What did you do, Paul?" I asked him. It wasn''t too wise to bother him, but any damage to Aaron is damage to his trust in us, which we must keep pristine. "I had to sever a few roots in order to get it in a single piece. Please relax and have faith in me," he said before making a few flashy movements. The leaves before us started to move, and with a large movement, all of the leaves which were previously there all flew into eachother, becoming one large ball of leaves. This ball quickly flew into the now landed chopper, where it remained. Now, after all the preparations had been done, it was time to extract the whole system. Aaron was staring wildly as the ground started to tremble and move. A deep groove appeared on the surface, like a large maw. This maw soon opened, exposing a large, brain like web of thin, white strings. Aaron was transfixed. This large brain started moving, as if trying to escape from the maws, which it did. With a violent force, the humoungous thing, surely at least as big as the chopper itself, flew into the air, where it hung uncerimoniously. It is always a pleasure to see him do his work. The glass container, which had previously just been sitting next the chopper, flew into the air. It had a lid, techincally, but considering how co-operative Aaron has been, being more of a SNI than a SNC, I think it would do well to skip it this time. On the subject of Aaron, he wasn''t currently doing too much. I guess he just hadn''t known how big he was? Because this really is big. The largest of fungi can become several kubic kilometers in size, so I guess this isnt that big as far as that is concerned, but what about his potential? Anyhow. The bulging mass of dirt and mycelium was quickly dumped into the container, but something must have happened, as Aaron screamed out in agony. "Some of the roots may have snapped due to the shape of the conatiner, should I mend them together, Sir?" Paul asked robotically. "No, I would rather you didn''t," I answered almost just as robotially. Aaron was squirming in pain, and I would have loved to help him, but there was really nothing I could do. Paul quickly reattached the chains between the container and the chopper. He quickly hopped inside, gesturing for us to come along. I went around the gaping hole in the ground and sat down in the back of the chopper. Paul took on his pair of glasses again, siting down by the controls of the chopper. As soon as his hands touched the controls, however, his face was lit up by surprise and confusion. He turned here and there, looking to the left and right, finally furrowing his brow and looking back at me and Aaron. "Nice to have you back, George," I said happily. See, Paul always knows what George was doing, but George never knows what Paul did. If I was any interested in psychology, I would love to have him as a patient. But I''m not, so I''ll let him live his life. George turned back to his panels and controlls silently, sighing almost inaudiably. The chopper started silently, and off we were. Back to Home Base.