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23rd
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Fir

 

It was always so cold out, he thought he could freeze at any moment. He tried to remember what the Summer was like, but the days had dragged on so long he couldn't. Honestly, he was beginning to question if there ever was a Summer. This place did things to you, did things to your mind. You never knew what was real, what was imagined. For all he knew he could have lived in this world all his life.. but if that was true shouldn't surviving just from day to day be easier than this?

 

He was always so hungry, and everything he met immediately tried to kill him. A village full of Werepigs in the middle of the night, a savannah full of Beefalo during mating season.. one time he'd accidentally wandered towards a circle of little stone huts. He thought he'd finally found someone to help him, but the residents just stared in bewilderment before chasing him down with painful darts and hunting dogs. He'd barely managed to get rid of them, he thought his life was over for sure that day. Now every perilous day was filled with anger, red hot anger at what this world was doing to him.

 

That's why he was caught so off guard when the Treeguard attacked him.

 

He'd been in the forest, and made the terrible mistake of taking his anger out on the trees. Each one that hit the ground felt so good, like knocking over bowling pins. But that's when the footsteps started. He had to squint to see it, the thing had completely blended in with all the other evergreens around it. Anger turned to surprise, surprise turned to fear. He'd never seen something so huge in his life.. and it was coming straight for him! For once he thought he would have to fight something he couldn't handle, something that would kill him.

 

Oh, sure, he fought valiantly. You always do when you're fighting to survive. He even did some damage, but he was no match for the Treeguard. Every swipe cut into his flesh, left splinters on his skin. It was painful, and after a while it became too painful to carry on. All he could smell was pine. He collapsed in front of it, bleeding out into the snow. As the lumbering Treeguard slumped away from his dying body, his eye slowly closed.

 

Deerclops was no more.

 

---

 

Oh hey, you're still reading this post. Well, I'll take that to assume you liked the story enough to finish it! I like making short stories, so if you thought this was good feel free to throw a concept at me that I can cook up into a fun little tale.

Edited by 23rd
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MOAR! Seriously, it's a very good story. I like the desperate and a tad hopeless setting you did there. However, I found the battle with the treeguard kind of disappointing as the tree-guard is one of the 'bosses' of DS. I know it is a short story but if you could rewrite that scene it would be great. You're writing is very good and if you could write about the 'boss' battle with the tree-guard, refining the desperate and hopeless situation, THAT would be a great. Again, very good story. I hope to see more. I'm following this topic

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MOAR! Seriously, it's a very good story. I like the desperate and a tad hopeless setting you did there. However, I found the battle with the treeguard kind of disappointing as the tree-guard is one of the 'bosses' of DS. I know it is a short story but if you could rewrite that scene it would be great. You're writing is very good and if you could write about the 'boss' battle with the tree-guard, refining the desperate and hopeless situation, THAT would be a great. Again, very good story. I hope to see more. I'm following this topic

Well, considering whose point of view it's told from, making it too desperate or even adding specifics on how he fights back would muck up the ending. I was going more for "miserable" than "hopeless", really, but I quite appreciate the feedback! Future stories with boss mobs in them will have a bit more action and peril. There'll be more to come, thank you for following!

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Oh JeMiChi, you know just what to say to flatter me, don't you? Alright, just for that, I'll crank out a second one right now! I'll dedicate this one to @TeoSS69.

 

Through the Eyes of Madness

 

Wolfgang stared at the.. thing.. in front of him. Burly eyebrows furrowed, and he found himself sweating a little. It was made of wood, and there were no external devices that he could see keeping it afloat, but yet it hovered in the air as the sun cast a bizarre series of shifting shadows around it. The purple gem in the middle gleamed menacingly, as though it were the eye of a demon staring out hatefully at the strongman. He spoke out, not for anyone to hear, but in the hope that voicing what was in his head would help him make sense of his thoughts. "What has Wolfgang done?"

 

He had a nightmare that night.

 

It was the same world, full of the same trees and rocks and the wonderful smell of manure Wolfgang had come to look forward to. It was so smelly, but it could be used to make delicious food and keep him warm if he used it for fire! The fires it made were also smelly. While far from stupid, Wolfgang picked up things much slower than most people, so it took him a while to notice how off things were around him. "Hair-cow, you so flu- what is that?!" He immediately stopped hugging the indifferent Beefalo next to him to instinctively jerk backwards, scared of what he saw. It was something small, but black.. black as charcoal. It took a moment before he realized it was a jackalope, although a more seasoned survivor would call this specific animal a Beardling. The fur looked a coarser and the coloring was out of the ordinary but it was still completely harmless. Wolfgang laughed at himself, chest puffing out as he walked up towards the small critter. "Tiny rabbit! You scared me! Come here, Wolfgang is going to pet you."

 

He always seemed to forget how quick the little things were, and he had to chase it all the way back towards his tent before he was able to make a leaping grab at it. Wolfgang let out a bellowing, playful laugh despite the Beardling scurrying away just before his fingers could reach it, but that was cut short fast when he felt a tiny stabbing pain. "Ouch! Stupid bunny, Wolfgang will crush you! No one bites Wolfgang!" He'd gotten up off the ground and was about to smash the cowering Beardling under his foot when it happened. First he felt the fingers climbing up his legs, and before he knew it Wolfgang was encapsulated in the tight grip of an unseen attacker. As he screamed he finally heard the demented carnival music, coming from seemingly nowhere. It had been there the whole day, notes disappearing into the ambiance, but once he'd been grabbed the sound was deafening. No matter how much he struggled, how much he yelled, he couldn't break free. They held tight, and then his unseen assailant began pulling downwards, into the dirt. Wolfgang could feel himself sinking as he was dragged down, down..

 

A Beefalo let out a hearty moo in the distance, and Wolfgang bolted upright on his scratchy bedroll, sun beating against the material of his tent and pouring in through the flaps, lighting up the inside. Cold sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and his breathing steadied slowly. "Was just.. was just dream. Not real.." He took a few minutes to relax, let the dream start to fade. Once he was ready to greet the day Wolfgang stepped out of his tent, walking right by a tuft of coarse black hair on his way out of the camp.

Edited by 23rd
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Overall, excellent work! My PM goes into specifics. 

I don't appear to have anything in my inbox. If it's not too much trouble, could you copy paste and send it in a new message? Love the feedback. I can tell you took the time to make sure it was helpful.

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Astounding. I love these, you should make more!!

I'll make you a deal. Say one word about something relating to Don't Starve. It can be anything from items to characters to mobs to a biome, and I'll write a story around it.

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Corn

 

Husks of Brown

 

Wickerbottom really should have known that trying to teach the pig villages agriculture was a bad idea, but she just couldn't keep knowledge to herself. It was a positive trait on paper, but it'd gotten her into a lot of hot water and it looked like that very trait had gotten her into trouble again through a series of increasingly ridiculous situations. As she smacked yet another Spider Warrior in the side of the head with the sharp end of her spear, she began to reflect on why she found herself ankle deep in corn, poop and spider glands.

 

"Now, if you plant this seed in the mushy dirt between the wooden spokes it will grow into more food you can eat at the end of the day. Am I easy enough to understand, now? I hope I haven't lost you in my vocabulary." The pig, she believed this one was named Lucius, nodded its head several times excitedly. "SEED GOES IN DIRT TODAY. FOOD COMES OUT TOMORROW." Wickerbottom cracked a small smile, despite her facial expressions being subtle to the point of being non-existent, and certainly unnoticed. Maybe these pigs weren't as simple as their speech patterns suggested, perhaps they were perspicacious enough to progress as a community!

 

Looking back now, she realized they weren't. Somehow, in some way she couldn't possibly comprehend, Lucius had figured out how to pick out corn seeds specifically, and made eight times the amount of farms he would need to sustain the entire village.. in corn. Why corn? "CORN IS YELLOW. SUN IS YELLOW. CORN IS GIFT FROM SUN." So much for perspicacity. That's when Lucius decided that the entire village should know there's too much corn, and that's when everyone ate more corn than they could handle. In a completely farcical turn of events this led to a 300% increase in defecation, and before she knew it Wickerbottom's hope spot in the middle of a spider infested forest was a giant septic tank filled with corn.

 

Oh, but the powers that be weren't done with her yet! She thought this was the end of her punishment for trying to create a civilization that could sustain itself? No, absolutely not, far from it! The Spider Queen and all her children in the outlying woods just had to find out about the excess supply of food and come rushing in.

 

So that's why she was fighting a horde of spiders while wading through several inches of excrement blended with a sea of corn. Lovely.

 

"RAAAAUGH!" There was the Queen, nimble legs carrying her past the edge of the village as the bloated nest that was her body bobbed and swayed behind her. "OH JUST CRAWL BACK TO THE HOLE YOU CAME FROM AND DIE ALREADY!" Wickerbottom was absolutely livid! She had enough (literal) crap to deal with as it was, and now she had to deal with this horrible monstrosity! In her frustration she hardly noticed that everyone from the pigs to the spiders to the Queen herself had stopped dead in their tracks, staring at her in bewilderment. Even the spiders couldn't believe they'd just seen Wickerbottom, of all people, display such raw emotion! Of course this moment of pause passed quite quickly seeing as the elderly librarian had begun dashing forward, amorphous brown goop splashing away from her sides the way a puddle of water splashes when driven through by a car.

 

The pigs, Lucius included, were suddenly inspired by this display of bravado and recklessness, squealing out their approvals as they all dropped the Spider Warriors they had been pummeling into the blanket of brown and yellow corn at their feet. The Spider Queen rose her forelegs to strike at Wickerbottom, but soon found that two pigs had grabbed those legs and were holding them back while all their friends ran behind her, punching the nest on her back with wild abandon. It was painful, almost as painful as the flint on the end of the spear being crammed into her face again and again by the woman screaming obscenities that would make a sailor blush. The Queen was so sure she could just come in and take the food she knew was here, but instead she'd had control completely wrestled away from her. Trying to yank herself away with her hind legs was no help either, she soon realized to her primal horror, as there were three pigs sitting atop her to keep her pinned against the ground.

 

Once the Spider Queen was finally, FINALLY dead Wickerbottom dropped her spear onto the ground, the wet sound of it rolling around in the manure at the edge of the village sending a disgusted shiver through her body. She couldn't stop sneering at the mess on her shoes, at the pigs, at the dead spiders everywhere.. ugh! It was just so terrible!

 

She never wanted to see another husk of corn again!

Edited by 23rd
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Last one for tonight until I change my mind and decide to make another one because I can't sleep at 2 in the morning.

 

The Price of Freedom

 

He was off the Throne, and They were gone!

 

It was like Christmas in July! The redbirds were singing, the air was crisp, it was like every perfect fairy tale ending there was. Maxwell was just.. just so happy. Sure, he wasn't in civilized lands, but just to be off that damned chair was such a rush of endorphins that he couldn't be happier doing labor to survive. Wilson P. Higgsbury, that absolute buffoon! He'd actually taken Maxwell's place, and the look on his face was so rich and thick it could be drizzled on pancakes.

 

After the first hour or so Maxwell calmed down, restraining the spring in his step. He couldn't wipe the wicked smile away though, that was going to be there for a long time. He'd watched so many people struggle to survive with varying levels of success, and there had always been constants among them. Seeing fire pits, crockpots, a science machine and crude patches of farmland constructed so many times was better than studying from textbooks, that was for sure. The day was turning to dusk, and he'd made quite a comfortable camp with a wonderful view of the ocean already.

 

The ocean breeze was nice, as was the feeling of letting his legs swing over the cliffs. The wilderness.. it used to seem like such a terrible thing back in 1906, but now.. now he couldn't imagine life without it. This was bliss.

 

It only took one night for everything to go wrong.

 

Maxwell woke early, groggily looking out past the comfort of his straw roll towards the tide smashing against the cliff. That must be what woke hi- something moved. Palms pushed against grass, and Maxwell's lanky body got onto its feet to walk towards the edge of the grassland, looking out into the ocean. There, it moved again, what was that?

 

He only had to squint for a moment before it jumped out at him. The silhouette was familiar enough. Pointy hair, bumps and ridges where the vest was secured over top the dress shirt, there was no denying who he was looking at. But there was no color, the form was completely black and composed of shadows.

 

Maxwell tried to rush back to the fire, find something to help him defend himself, but he'd underestimated the apparition. A familiar chill, like that of a corpse's skin, gripped at his neck and pushed him forward into the ground, keeping him held in place. The only thing that kept the fear at bay was his frustration at not having thought to prepare for this.

 

That's when he heard the voice, dear God that voice.. it was slimy, deep and menacing all in one unholy combination. "I'm in control now. This is my world." Then, just like that, the pressure was gone. There was no hand holding onto the back of his neck, nothing whispering menacingly in his ear; the only indication that he hadn't imagined the whole experience was the salt water clinging to the collar of his suit jacket. Maxwell felt insecure, vulnerable, for the first time in ages. It wasn't hard to figure out why.

 

He was off the Throne, and They were gone.

Edited by 23rd
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I wanted to wait until 2:00 AM to write this so I could make the joke work, but the idea really wants to be written down, and won't stop kicking around in my head, trying to get out. My grateful thanks to my friends the truthseeker and Xjurwi for instilling my mind with the brilliant concept in the first place.

 

Figure in the Night

 

What the hell had she just seen?! Willow's lighter immediately snuffed out, the area in front of her going pitch black as she raced towards the campfire that was moments from going out itself. Flammable things from bits of rope to sections of board were in a pile next to it, and letting instinct take over she immediately threw whatever she could into the fire. It was coming back to life, flames rising towards her as the radiating heat licked at her pale skin.

 

Feeling the end of her right pigtail beginning to singe calmed her down. Nothing helped ease the panic quite like that burning smell, even if it was a part of her. Now she had a clearer head, and as long as the heat the fire gave off enveloped her she felt safe.. so safe. It was a little like being wrapped in the arms of someone you knew could protect you from any of the monsters under your bed, in your closet.. out in the darkness.

 

Willow's eyes open again, as she tried to comprehend what she'd seen in that split second. It wasn't like the other monsters that she'd seen. In its own way, the thing had been beautiful. Well, it looked like it was beautiful, once. Its black hair was messy and ragged, but at the same time it looked so clean and well tended to, unlike the unwashed mess atop Willow's head. She could still see what looked like pieces of a formal dress, beautiful in the simplicity of its design. Willow had seen dresses like that on the front pages of newspapers back when she was a kid, people would wear them at fancy social events like when you go to the theater for plays and magic shows.

 

She had no idea how long she'd been staring at the fire when she realized that the thing she saw.. well, glimpsed, really.. hadn't attacked her. Everything except for those gross pigs and hairy beast things tried to kill her the second they saw her, but not this monster. It just wanted her to put out the lighter..

 

"Excuse me.. Ms. Monster Lady? I'm sorry about the lighter.. I didn't mean to scare you." She hated how timid and frightened she sounded, like some sort of little girl. Her apology was met with silence for what felt like ages, and slowly she drifted off to sleep.

 

After pleasant dreams of brick fireplaces and ham dinners Willow awoke to an exhausted fire and the smell of perfume. ..perfume? Rubbing her eyes groggily, she turned towards her fire to see a small note resting at the base of it, a petal from a red rose tumbling about at the edge of the parchment.

 

It's okay, I know you like your lighter. I didn't mean to scare you either, I'm sorry! I made you something to make up for it.

-Charlie

 

Suddenly she became aware of a second smell. Sweet, yet so savory at the same time. Her mouth was practically drooling. Just underneath the note was a Honey Ham laid out on a grass weave that'd been made with care, and Willow couldn't keep the smile from spreading over her face.

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Oh JeMiChi, you know just what to say to flatter me, don't you?

 

Haha, you are welcome! It's true after all :grin:

I just read all the new stories, and they are really interesting! You are so fast at writing, and I admire your imagination! Keep up the good work! ^w^

 

Gotta like them all!!! *spams the like button*

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Great work, and glad i could help with the inspiration too!

 

 

Willow's kinda nice (when she's not psychotically burning things to a fine ash.) 

 

 

Gentlemen, I bring you.. more CORN!

 

 

 

And how is Dr. Weird not abducted into the DS world yet? His creations seem like perfect residents there (after they are done killing and eating Steve of course.) I mean that Rabbot would be PERFECT in the caves as their Bunnyman leader, right?

 

 

(Or Klei can simply make a fat rabbit named the "Bunny King")

Edited by the truthseeker
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Haha, you are welcome! It's true after all :grin:

I just read all the new stories, and they are really interesting! You are so fast at writing, and I admire your imagination! Keep up the good work! ^w^

 

Gotta like them all!!! *spams the like button*

 

Awww, how is it you know all the right compliments? Okay, here's another one; the truthseeker wanted to see how I'd depict Woodie in a story outside of my Violent Melting Pot roleplay, so here goes.

 

Lycanthropy

 

The days seemed to roll by faster than they usually did with another human to keep him company. Wes wasn't great at back and forth conversation, but he was a wonderful listener. He'd listen to Woodie's stories about splitting a two-four with that rink rat of a Mountie to celebrate nailing their dekes (whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, Wes just smiled and nodded when the slang got heavy) and helped chop down lumber when asked. It seemed like Wes did a lot of the chopping, he couldn't help but wonder why that was.

 

It must have been nine days into their travels together that Woodie alluded to the "terrible secret" that plagued him. Wes had just harvested a crop of potatoes that they'd managed to grow, having been promised something called poutine that night, when he saw Woodie staring at a map worriedly. Wes was so excited to see it; finally, something that would help them keep track of the lay of the land! But when he'd rushed over to see what Woodie was looking at all he saw were constellations, with illustrations of the moon's phases in the top left corner. To say he was confused was an understatement.

 

"Wes, whaddya at?" In context, it was obvious that meant "what are you doing?" Wes pointed towards the map, then the dusk skyline, a perplexed expression asking the question words hadn't needed to. "Oh, this? Well.. for about three days a month, I get a bit out of my head. If I told you any more than that, you wouldn't believe me.. but there's something I need you to do for me."

 

Later that evening, Wes was finishing up the peculiar favor he'd been asked to do; he couldn't believe he'd been talked into this. The Canadian definitely had that persuasive charm to be able to talk him into it, that was for sure. He fastened the fourth rope to the wooden stake planted in the ground, and looked back towards Woodie with concern. Wooden stakes had been planted in a rectangular pattern, and on each one a rope connected to one of Woodie's limbs, suspending him inches from the ground as they held him firmly in place, completely constricted. "I know it looks ridiculous now, Wes, but.. you'll see. Take care of Lucy for the next three days." Now he was being asked to take care of an axe. A well crafted axe, granted, but.. must be a lot of sentimental value, the way Woodie talked about it. Sighing, the mime gave a nod and headed back towards his tent to turn in for the night.

 

You can probably guess what happened next.

 

Wes couldn't get to sleep that night, he just stared at the rising moon and thought about the strange day he'd had. Woodie's sudden 180 from lovable goofball into serious brooder, strange bestial sounds coming from the other side of the camp, and he hadn't even gotten that poutine.. wait, strange bestial sounds? Panic struck, and Wes grabbed a torch as well as one of the two spears they'd been keeping by the tents. He rushed back towards Woodie, fearing for his friend who was completely defenseless against whatever was attacking him, and froze in his tracks. The sounds were coming from Woodie, but that couldn't be Woodie. It was in his place, being held by the same ropes, but it just couldn't be Woodie! Thrashing, snarling, a furry beast was trying to claw apart ropes it couldn't reach while snapping at the air wildly. It reminded Wes of a beaver, but larger and more intimidating. He didn't notice the stakes coming loose in the creature's struggle, but even if he had there was hardly anything he could do about it.

 

Just like that, it was free, and it was towering over him. Wes was paralyzed in fear, unable to do anything but wait for his death. His death never came. Instead the creature just stared, tilted its head, and after what felt like an eternity ran off into the forest, wooden stakes smacking against the ground as they dragged behind it. "I know it looks ridiculous now, Wes, but.. you'll see. Take care of Lucy for the next three days." Wes' shoulders slumped, and he dragged himself back towards the other end of the campsite. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight. It was going to be a long three days.

Edited by 23rd
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I mean that Rabbot would be PERFECT in the caves as their Bunnyman leader, right?

 

Dreaming of Electric Bunnies

 

To whomever finds this note,

I hope you're reading this before venturing into the caves. I've fought many bizarre and terrifying creatures down there the likes of which I haven't seen on the surface before. Mammalian worms with glowing lures they use to attract prey, spiders that have evolved to spit acid, even a creature that latched to my face and stole the nutrients from my body! But of all these, the most frightening was the Beardlord, a brute of a creature with matted black fur that hits harder than any Hound. Whatever you do, do NOT carry meat into the caves with you, lest you feel its wrath. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

-Wilson P. Higgsbury

 

It crumpled the note in its cold, metallic fingers. It was on the right trail, and soon it would get its hands on Wilson and show him how well it perfected its greatest skill, killing. WX-78 had been chasing after Wilson for quite some time, following notes the fool left behind to help people who found themselves in the same necessity for basic survival as himself. Trusting fate to work things out, classic human mistake. The robot was ecstatic over finding this sinkhole, it just knew Wilson was down there! But what was this about leaving its proteins behind?

 

Gears turned, circuits sparked, all working together to process the new information WX-78 had read. After extensive deliberation it decided that Wilson had figured out he was being stalked, and this note was an attempt at getting the predator to weaken themselves by leaving behind the bulk of their food behind. That was actually quite a clever plan, and would have earned WX-78's admiration if it hadn't come from a fleshling. It wasn't fooled though, its processors were running at 100% efficiency, and it was far too intelligent to fall for such a ridiculous ploy. The robot adjusted its backpack, hoisting up a lantern it had stolen from one of Wilson's abandoned camps just prior to finding this sinkhole, making its way into the darkness.

 

Aside from the occasional stalagmite that had been colonized by cave spiders the caves were quite peaceful. Solitude, that was something WX-78 could never get enough of. The ambiance and smooth stone floors were incredibly soothing, and that only made the Rabbit Hutch it ran into all the more jarring. A huge carrot, jutting out of the ground, and on the side of it was another one of Wilson's notes.

 

I hope you didn't bring meat.

-Wilson P. Higgsbury

 

"MURDERER!"

 

The copper robot didn't even have the time to turn around before it felt teeth biting into its chassis, spinning around and thrusting its elbow in the attackers face in response. WX-78 had expected haunting eyes and filthy black strands of hair but was instead met with fluffy white fur and a face that would make fleshlings squeal in delight. Strange, but not strange enough to break the robot's stride. It set its lantern on the floor before drawing a tentacle spike from its backpack, charging the Bunnyman. "HOSTILE DETECTED: PREPARE FOR TERMINATION." The electronic voice ran smoothly through the filter of brass pipes, echoing off the walls of the caves as the sickening sound of something large and fleshy being bludgeoned to death by a sharpened object followed after it.

 

The Soulless Automaton loomed over the furry carcass, admiring its own work. "I THOUGHT BEARDLORDS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE FRIGHTENING." A hard, orange foot kicked at the corpse in front of it, watching the gash in the dead creature's chest open to show the internal organs hidden behind a cracked and beaten rib cage, a beautiful sight if ever there was one. Just then, an idea sprung into the robot's head, and it had to act on it. Backpack hit the floor, and was flung open as a small pile of gears was pulled forth from the pockets. One metal hand plunged into the Bunnyman's corpse, violently ripping forth the liver, the spleen, whatever it could force past the breaking ribs. The other hand caressed the gears tenderly, ready to fulfill its task. Wilson's demise could wait, there was science to be done.

 

---

 

Thinking about writing a sequel to this one from Wilson's PoV down in the Ruins.

Edited by 23rd
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Dreaming of Electric Bunnies

 

To whomever finds this note,

I hope you're reading this before venturing into the caves. I've fought many bizarre and terrifying creatures down there the likes of which I haven't seen on the surface before. Mammalian worms with glowing lures they use to attract prey, spiders that have evolved to spit acid, even a creature that latched to my face and stole the nutrients from my body! But of all these, the most frightening was the Beardlord, a brute of a creature with matted black fur that hits harder than any Hound. Whatever you do, do NOT carry meat into the caves with you, lest you feel its wrath. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

-Wilson P. Higgsbury

 

It crumpled the note in its cold, metallic fingers. It was on the right trail, and soon it would get its hands on Wilson and show him how well it perfected its greatest skill, killing. WX-78 had been chasing after Wilson for quite some time, following notes the fool left behind to help people who found themselves in the same necessity for basic survival as himself. Trusting fate to work things out, classic human mistake. The robot was ecstatic over finding this sinkhole, it just knew Wilson was down there! But what was this about leaving its proteins behind?

 

Gears turned, circuits sparked, all working together to process the new information WX-78 had read. After extensive deliberation it decided that Wilson had figured out he was being stalked, and this note was an attempt at getting the predator to weaken themselves by leaving behind the bulk of their food behind. That was actually quite a clever plan, and would have earned WX-78's admiration if it hadn't come from a fleshling. It wasn't fooled though, its processors were running at 100% efficiency, and it was far too intelligent to fall for such a ridiculous ploy. The robot adjusted its backpack, hoisting up a lantern it had stolen from one of Wilson's abandoned camps just prior to finding this sinkhole, making its way into the darkness.

 

Aside from the occasional stalagmite that had been colonized by cave spiders the caves were quite peaceful. Solitude, that was something WX-78 could never get enough of. The ambiance and smooth stone floors were incredibly soothing, and that only made the Rabbit Hutch it ran into all the more jarring. A huge carrot, jutting out of the ground, and on the side of it was another one of Wilson's notes.

 

I hope you didn't bring meat.

-Wilson P. Higgsbury

 

"MURDERER!"

 

The copper robot didn't even have the time to turn around before it felt teeth biting into its chassis, spinning around and thrusting its elbow in the attackers face in response. WX-78 had expected haunting eyes and filthy black strands of hair but was instead met with fluffy white fur and a face that would make fleshlings squeal in delight. Strange, but not strange enough to break the robot's stride. It set its lantern on the floor before drawing a tentacle spike from its backpack, charging the Bunnyman. "HOSTILE DETECTED: PREPARE FOR TERMINATION." The electronic voice ran smoothly through the filter of brass pipes, echoing off the walls of the caves as the sickening sound of something large and fleshy being bludgeoned to death by a sharpened object followed after it.

 

The Soulless Automaton loomed over the furry carcass, admiring its own work. "I THOUGHT BEARDLINGS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE FRIGHTENING." A hard, orange foot kicked at the corpse in front of it, watching the gash in the dead creature's chest open to show the internal organs hidden behind a cracked and beaten rib cage, a beautiful sight if ever there was one. Just then, an idea sprung into the robot's head, and it had to act on it. Backpack hit the floor, and was flung open as a small pile of gears was pulled forth from the pockets. One metal hand plunged into the Bunnyman's corpse, violently ripping forth the liver, the spleen, whatever it could force past the breaking ribs. The other hand caressed the gears tenderly, ready to fulfill its task. Wilson's demise could wait, there was science to be done.

 

---

 

Thinking about writing a sequel to this one from Wilson's PoV down in the Ruins.

 

LOL....looks like WX-78 has a new phrase,

 

"REANIMATE!"

Edited by the truthseeker
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