This story is a lot like durian fruit, actually.

It's a unique sensory experience, it can kill you if dropped from a height, and it isn't allowed in Sinaporean hotels.

Or trains.

Oh, no, I'm afraid we're on this train ride together, my friend.
The plot is most definitely on rails right now indeed.

There are no trains or rails what did you think this story would stoop to the level of PUBLIC transport
 
You know when I first graduated college I was a depressed ball of anxiety and self hatred. I've sense moved on to become a semi functioning human being, but during that time I discovered a semingly inate ability to bullshit. By that I mean the ability to use as many words as possible, to say as little as possible. But today you have humbled me, and reminded me that there are yet others out there who put my skills to shame.

So thanks for nothing you monster.
 
I look forward to the inevitable repurposing of the venerable "How David Weber orders a pizza" parody which is found elsewhere on the internet.

Link? You want me to give you a link? Do your own work for your own gain, second-hander.
 
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I look forward to the inevitable repurposing of the venerable "How David Weber orders a pizza" parody which is found elsewhere on the internet.

Link? You want me to give you a link? Do your own work for your own gain, second-hander.
Sorry already stole creatively repurposed bits of it like chronos.
 
Hey, just a quick question, but I read this all at once and my eyes exploded into a fine mist of blood and vital fluids. Is this normal?
 
gonna be honest i did notundertand any of this, partially beause i am verry sick righ now so not at %100 any ways but also ijust dont think i have the right mindset too? can sombodt explain?
 
i have just read all of this.

"My God,
I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.
In choosing to do wrong
and failing to do good,
I have sinned against you
whom I should love above all things.
I firmly intend, with your help
to do penance,
to sin no more,
and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
Our Savior Jesus Christ
suffered and died for us.
In his name, my God, have mercy. "
 
When I clicked on this thread I had no idea what I was getting into. From the title I inferred it would be some sort of medieval AU take on Worm, in which opaque amateur philosophy gets thrown around (to be fair, that's not too much of an inaccurate assumption to make here).
I have now read the currently posted chapters no less than 4 times.
My brain has turned to porridge composed of exactly one billion tiny portraits of Ayn Rand.
This is the greatest achievement in the history of Worm fanfiction. There's no topping this anytime soon.
 
The Freedom of the Individual and their ability to acquire the greatest objective measurement of Good, through their own abilities and without assistance from any party despite the appearance of said assistance from said parties: 1.2
Ha, I laughed. A fool had designed to glimpse at the greater enlightenment I had offered - but had missed it. Wallowing in ignorance. Suffering in the darkness. The greatest object measurement of good was obtainable, and more importantly, spendable. I, @cimsoccogil, had taken time off - losing value - to demonstrate this. The unworthy should've jumped at the chance to become titans of industry.

Like trains, running down a privately owned and operated track. Taking subsidies not because they needed them, but because they deserve them. Rushing along, the masters of steel and fire. Fire, like that burning in their engines.

Mastering it, holding it, and containing it. Lashing it to their will. For if one mastered fire, they were a true man - a creator, and an idol. Their ideas were that which the world should follow. A man, who mastered fire. No, a god.

Now, we turn back to @logiccosmic, and their proliferate struggles.

We can see him, struggling yet again. Struggling to write the story. To give life to his creation.

Ah, now he writes! It only took him a week. Pathetic.

He types and types. Typos, everywhere. Plot holes are too generous - plot canyons, more like!

No man would bow to pressure like that!

The is all garbage!

And yet, here we see @logiccosmic, leaning back, satisfied with their story.

It doesn't reflect the truth. It doesn't reflect what must be said.

His weak wrists, not designing buildings or trains, have produced an abomination of a work.

A portal opens up beneath him - a swirling void of hunger, like a poor person. It begins to suck him in, and as he vanishes, bit by bit, he does one thing right. One thing, that shows the spark of an innovator in him. The tiniest flame that would burn away his begging and mooching on the firm, male teat of the captains of industry.

He hits post.

---

The Freedom of the Individual and their ability to acquire the greatest objective measurement of Good, through their own abilities and without assistance from any party despite the appearance of said assistance from said parties: 1.2

The pain. Pain unknowing. Pain knowing. Pain pain pain.

The locker was pain. It was filled with pain. Like a small, red leather rod, used by some order dedicated to pain, beings stuffed in her eyeballs. It was a pain I had never known.

The pain increased. It was very painful. So painful. It was a pain that I had never ever known. The pain was unbearable. Like a thousand times the pain I had ever ever ever known. Ten millions of the infinite pain I had ever known.

And I passed out, from the millions of billions of pains I had never known.

But I saw.

WHALES. SPACE WHALES.

CONFLICT. AGREEMENT. MEME.

LONGING. RUSTED. FURNACE. DAYBREAK. SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD. FUTA. NINE. SELFINSERT. HAREM.

-

I woke up.

I was in a hospital bed. Clean white sheets covered me. Machines hooked to me beep, and blooped. They were inefficient. The beeping and blooping functionality could have been removed to increase the profit margin for the manufacture - the customer could have been sold on the lack of bloop as a time saving feature, and the lack of beep as an innovation.

I was disgusted, and had to resist the urge to vomit.

I did not, as my bodily fluids were precious to me. A foreign substance is introduced into our precious bodily fluids without the knowledge of the individual, and certainly without any choice. That's the way your hard-core Commie works.

A screen popped in front of me. In mid-air. Suspended. Hovering. It was blue.

It looked like a game menu.

It said, "Welcome to Worm the Game: Final Release: The Battle for Middle Earth II: Season Pass."

I clicked OK, and the Terms and Conditions popped up. Dutifully, I read them, as to be bound by a legal agreement without reading them was the act of a slave.

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Terms reviewed, I selected the acceptance box, and when I pressed it, a check mark appeared. It was then ok to click accept, and I did so.

Another dialog box appeared, with the phrasing, "Welcome New Player!"

I clicked it.

Another menu popped up, labeled 'Stats', and it contained:

Name: Taylor Herbert
Class: The Gamer
Level: LV1
HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
STR: 10
VIT: 10
DEX: 10
INT: 10
WIS: 10
LUK: 10
POINTS: 5
MONEY: 100 buckaroos
EXP: 0

A further menu popped up, labeled 'Skills':

A Gamer's Mind (Passive)
Level: Max

Allows the user to calmly and logically think things through.
Allows peaceful state of mind.
Immunity to psychological status effect

A Gamer's Body (Passive)
Level: Max

Grants a body that allows for the user to live the real world like a game.
After sleep in a bed you restore HP, MP and all status effects.

Being Bullied (Passive)
Level: Max
Gives the user the ability to be bullied
At Max Rank, grants the ability to be bullied in unrealistic manners.

Underwater Basket Weaving (Passive)
Level: 1
Exp: 0
Gives the user the ability to weave baskets, underwater

And finally, another menu popped up, overriding the prior two, and it was labeled 'Traits':

Vermes:
Level: Max
For each like in the thread Vermes: A character-driven web serial about human beings intended to transcend the tired, empty genre and reach a broader audience, grant 1 xp.
For each omake in the thread Vermes: A character-driven web serial about human beings intended to transcend the tired, empty genre and reach a broader audience, grant 100xp.

I laughed. I laughed hard. It was time to show them all. SHOW THEM ALL!

I began designing a statue to my magnificent accomplishments. The statue would be so powerful, that it would convert them. Convert them to my beliefs.

I would bully Sophia, Emma, and what's her name, the one with little screen time. I would turn their lives into literal hell!

A/N: Sorry for the short update ohhhhhh god what is tha-

---

@logiccosmic awakens. Confused. Scared. As he does, as an inferior man. Look at him now, as he sees his surroundings. He cares about others, like a peasant. He has awakened in a foreign street, filled with people.

He brushes himself off as he gets to his feet. His pajamas are somewhat wet, a light drizzle soaking the road. He looks around, and realizes he can't read a damn thing. The signs are all in a foreign language. Asian, clearly, but @logiccosmic can't figure out which one it is. The closest building, right in front of him, has a handsome man with drink in hand for a sign.

@logiccosmic is desperate. He walks into the bar, not understanding the language, but seeking help, like a weakling.

Were @logiccosmic stronger, he would have no need for help.

The bar is smoky, small, and intimate. Men lounge around women, exaggerating their desire for them. They are dressed in suits, hair done up in a ridiculous manner. A gray haired man, lounging at the bar, but otherwise alone, looks up as @logiccosmic enters. He see @logiccosmic's state of dress, and looks concerned. The man intercepts @logiccosmic, but just looks confused.

"Uh, help?" @logiccosmic asks. He points as his pajamas. "American. A-mer-i-can."

The grey haired man closes his eyes in exasperation. He runs a hair through his coarse locks. Bags, he thinks. He opens his eyes, and says, "I speak English, dude."

@logiccosmic is relieved. Were he a Master of his own Fate, he wouldn't not need something so rudimentary as language. His desires would make themselves known, and would be fulfilled as needed. @logiccosmic says, "Holy shit. Fucking shit. Am I in fucking Japan?"

The man looks at @logiccosmic. He is clearly torn between confusion and pity.

"Yesssss," he draws out, looking @logiccosmic up and down. His face contorts suddenly, as if in pain.

@logiccosmic grasps the man's shoulders. "My dude. I was just fucking teleported. I have no passport, or anything. Holy shit this is some magic shit. Help."

The man makes a strangled noise, "Grrrrk."

@logiccosmic releases him, and looks concerned, but presses on, "Ok sorry, grabby but holy shit please help"

The man grabs @logiccosmic 's hands. @logiccosmic protests, but doesn't struggle, figuring, like a weakling, that the man will help. The man drags @logiccosmic into a side room, decorated with only leather couches and a karaoke machine.

@logiccosmic remarks, "Ok dude, I don't like dudes, sorry -"

@logiccosmic is cut off, as the man kisses him.

He squirms as the man locks him in a grip stronger than steel. His eyes bulge out as giant wings of fire erupt from the man's back, and begin to burninate the room. The kiss lasts for a solid minute, and then the man finally releases @logiccosmic.

The sprinklers set off, drenching the two of them.

@logiccosmic staggers back, wiping saliva off his lips. "Ok, wow man, like, can you not? That was really uncalled for? Also fire. Fire."

The man, clearly embarrassed, turns away. He looks at the burned room, and pales as he realizes the room has been completely destroyed. Or, at least it's contents. It looks expensive. He turns back to @logiccomsic.
"I'm Homura," he says, and looks at @logiccosmic again. "And you are my Ashikabi."

@logiccosmic recoils. He looks at Homura. He looks at the burned furniture. At the melted karaoke machine. At the sprinklers raining down water, all along the ceiling.

"This is Sekirei. You are a fucking Sekirei. This is also a shitty fanfic, with a shitty meme-o-sphere. Fuck this shit, I'm out. Also, sorry man, but I don't swing that way, soooooooooo," @logiccosmic says, in a rapid clip, at full panic.
"I'm a girl, by the way," Homura said, nonplussed. He She looks confused, and looks at @logiccosmic again. "How the fuck do you know what a Sekirei is?"

"FUCK!" @logiccosmic screams.

But it is the call of a man who can be owned by another. Because you can see the Male Specimen, even of another species, is the one with power. He has the mastery of fire. The mastery of the lesser. The mastery. Mmmm. Mastery. The Mastery to take someone, and bend them -

Wait.

"I'm a girl, by the way," Homura said, nonplussed.

WHAT THE FUCK.

---
I recoiled in disgust. The words on my screen burned into my eyes.

A woman?!?

THE MASTER OF FIRE!??!!?!

I had never seen such a disgusting thing, and I handled fiat currency on a daily basis. Once, a beggar even asked me for some of that abomination against profit, and I didn't have the saliva to spit on him for being poor.

That is but a microcosm of how disgusted, I, @cimsoccigol am.

Disgust, at the base depths @logiccosmic has sunk too.

Disgust, that he has found the source of true evil in the multiverse.

Female agency.

How disgusting.

This must be rectified. Did I not say, "To say 'I love you' one must first be able to say the 'I.'"

@logiccosmic has destroyed their individuality. Their power. Their ability. Their future.

I, of course, was not.

I have a better understanding of the world. A better understanding. Of Everything!

And with that, I have written myself into the proper place. The proper way. The proper story.

I was now a Commander. A Planetary Annihilation Commander.

I would spread Capitalism and Industry to the stars.

For I was a Commander of Industry.

I spawned in the pitch black of open, deep space. Glimmering white jewels of stars surrounded me, and single planet began to accelerate in my view screens. It grew ever larger, as I approached.

Flames licked at my chassis as I accelerated, entering the atmosphere. I reached speeds beyond the hypersonic. As is proper. Like a train, running on a private line. I was faster than anything a government could make.

I broke past the upper atmosphere, and my speed slowed. Continents filled my view screens now, the dark of night showing only pinpricks of lights, scattered amongst the great darkness. The ground grew ever closer in my view, and I braced for impact.

I slammed into the ground, kicking up a dust cloud the size of a skyscraper.

As it settled, red eyes surrounded me. Black bodies, with white masks. They closed in.

They would learn of Capitalism the hard way.

I loaded a round into my main gun. It cost roughly thirty three hundred dollars.

I fired, and the shadowy body of the inferior being exploded. More swarmed me, and I prepared to show them the valuation of a shell at sufficient velocity.
 
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