GlobalWRITERS

It took the three of us two years, six months and fourteen days to make our astonishing discovery, and now I am going to step off a diving board of the campus indoor pool with two forty-pound weights tied around my neck. I leave only these brief words of explanation as a solemn warning to anyone foolish enough to emulate our quest. We found the cryptic stone buried in the sands of a desert which I will not identify--an oblong globe of curiously polished sardonyx, with precisely sixty-seven characters carved across its surface; characters not quite Runic nor cuneiform, nor exactly hieroglyphic or Hebrew or Arabic, but with a sinister suggestion of Sanskrit and a dash of Chinese...but there was a definite pattern which shewed these markings to be a written message of some import. Ambrose was confident that the three of us could decipher the characters, so he and Dr. Trevalyon and I managed to smuggle the strange stone back to Arkham and the library at Miskatonic University

The city exhaled a plume of frosty breath, the late hour thinning the traffic to a sporadic trickle of headlights bleeding across wet asphalt. In the heart of this concrete jungle is a park, almost devoid of people, its bare trees clawing at the dark sky. Footfalls, crisp and measured, crunched on a gravel path, the sound swallowed by the immense quiet of the night. "I still can't believe you talked me into this," Miya said, her voice a low murmur. She pulled her long button-up coat tighter, the wool scarf wrapped around her neck a meager defense against the biting wind. Her long black hair, tied in a high ponytail, swayed with an insistent rhythm. "A horror movie, then a late dinner, now a club? Vanessa, my social battery was already at ten percent this morning." Vanessa, a vibrant splash of color in the gloom, just laughed. Her blonde hair seemed to catch the faint city glow, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her slim-fit green puffer

The stale air of Roderick Kingsley’s penthouse office still smelled of expensive cologne and faint, lingering cigar smoke. It was the scent of untouchable wealth, but all that money had failed to protect its owner. Kingsley was in custody, a gift-wrapped present from Spider-Man to the NYPD, but Mary Jane Watson wasn’t convinced it was enough. Kingsley was a powerful man in the center of a vast, web of corruption and connections, and she was here to find it. Using a keycard she’d… acquired… from a less-than-vigilant evidence clerk, a favor cashed in from her time as an investigative reporter, she let herself in. The moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows painted the opulent room in strokes of silver and deep blue. It was a space designed for a king, all mahogany and leather, with a desk that could seat a board meeting. Mary Jane ran a hand over the polished surface, her mind a whirlwind of justifications. Peter would be furious if he knew. Stay out of it, MJ. It’s

The scent of pine needles, roasted ham, and cinnamon drifted through Blake's single-story house, a comforting blanket on the crisp Christmas Eve air. Laughter, a rich, rolling sound, erupted from the living room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses. His mom, a whirlwind of festive cheer in a sequined sweater, just managed to corral his boisterous Uncle David into a game of charades, much to the amusement of his Aunt Carol, who sat perched on the edge of the living room couch, a knowing smile playing on her lips. His dad, a steady presence, nursed a mug of eggnog, his eyes twinkling as he watched the unfolding chaos. A few of Blake's friends, John and Mark, huddled by the fireplace, their voices a low murmur as they discussed plans after the holidays. The scene was everything Christmas should be – warm, bright and inviting. However, after a few drinks of eggnog Blake felt the urgent need to use the restroom. He excused himself from the lively chatter, navigating around the bodies and

The Kanto sun beat down, a bright, unforgiving disc in the blue sky. Dawn, her blue eyes scanning the bustling street, adjusted the white beanie with its familiar pink Poké Ball print. Propelled herself forward, each step a declaration of intent. The city hummed with anticipation, the air thick with whispers of the upcoming Pokémon Contest. This was her chance, her stage. As she was making her way to where the contest is being held. She notices a flash of movement at the edge of her vision. It was quick but the young coordinator was sure she saw a figure, draped in a trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring their features, melt into the shadows of an upcoming alleyway. Dawn quickly dismissed it thinking it was nothing; her focus fixed back on the glittering promise of the Contest Hall. As she got closer to the alley, a gloved hand suddenly shot out and clamped itself over her mouth, its smooth leather silencing her surprised gasp. Her arms were then pinned against her sides by the

The arid wind of Hero's Pass howled a gritty symphony against the metallic clang of distant gunfire. Raven, her blue catsuit a vibrant streak against the muted browns, greys, and glow of the lava of the landscape, moved with practiced efficiency. Her S&S machine gun chattered, spitting a stream of lead that tore through a charging loader bot. Another fell, its circuits sparking. The air thrummed with the familiar chaos of battle, the shouts of her fellow Vault Hunters echoing across the rocky terrain. Axton's turrets laid down covering fire, Maya's phaselock held a trio of Hyperion soldiers suspended, Salvador's dual guns roared, Zer0's new blade flashed, Gaige's Deathtrap vaporized enemies with its lazer, and Krieg's axe sang a bloody tune. They pushed forward, a relentless tide against Handsome Jack's endless army, the promise of Lilith's rescue a burning beacon. Then, a sudden, searing heat washed over her. A wall of fire, impossibly tall and wide, erupted from the very ground, a

The morning sun, still a pale suggestion against the horizon, filtered through the blinds of Blake's living room, painting stripes of weak light across the carpet. He hummed a tuneless melody, stretching his arms above his head, the familiar creak of his spine a comforting sound in the quiet house. A new day, a new jog, the usual routine. He shuffled towards the kitchen, the intention to make his morning protein shake. He wasn't much of a gym bro, but he knew how important it was to keep his runners build. As he reached for the fridge, a sudden, firm gloved hand clamped over his mouth, fingers pressing against his lips, silencing the hum, cutting off his breath. A jolt of pure adrenaline shot through him, his body tensing, every muscle coiled for a fight. He twisted, a guttural sound trapped in his throat and met a pair of piercing yellow eyes. They gleamed from the sleek, black fur of a panther mask, an impossible, lifelike visage that covered the entire head of the person holding

In the floating city of Sanctuary, the seven Vault Hunters walk into Mad Moxxi's bar with the intent to celebrate another successful mission: disrupting one of Handsome Jack's largest mining operations. Word of their success must've spread because when they entered the bar, they noticed it was empty of people save for Moxxi herself. She figured they would want the place to themselves, so they didn't have to worry about the citizens. They thanked her and began the celebration. Drinks and pizza were served, and the Vault Hunters helped themselves. The seven warriors recounted their recent mission, mostly focusing on their impressive feats. For instance, Axton managed to blow up three cranes with one rocket, and Maya lobbed the foreman toward Krieg, who then sliced him to ribbons with his buzzaxe. Raven listened to her fellow Vault Hunters' tales with an amused grin. After a few hours, each of the Vault Hunters started to leave for their homes so they could be ready to take on another

A young woman with long black hair tied in a high ponytail walks through a park late on a cold night. She wears a long button-up coat, a scarf snugly wrapped around her neck, black leather gloves, boots, and a purse slung over her shoulder. The woman lets out a tired sigh, "Finally! I thought I would never get the chance to leave!" She had just come from a family gathering at her parents' home in the more rural area outside the city. Miya, the name of the woman, reached into her coat pocket to grab her smartphone and glanced at the time displayed on the screen. Her expression fell as she realized it was late, and all her favorite shops would be closed for the night. With a resigned sigh, she told herself that she would visit the stores in the morning. Suddenly, a few feet behind Miya, off to the side of the concrete path, a thicket of bushes rustled ever so slightly. The sound caught her attention, prompting the black-haired woman to halt her steps and turn to see where the noise

"Sal?" Raven called as she surveyed her surroundings. "Are you sure you entered the right coordinates?" The Gunzerker reached for his ECHO device, held it up to his face, and checked the coordinates on the screen. They were indeed the same ones he had downloaded from the bounty board in Sanctuary. "Yeah, this is the place," he replied. Raven took another look at the area. The dead, gnarled trees scattered around were not unusual for Pandora. The planet has a peculiar relationship with plant life, seemingly allowing only certain areas of the surface to support any kind of flora; even grass is hard to come by. However, something about these trees felt off to the young Vault Hunter, almost as if they were part of a larger theme. This unsettling feeling extended to the sky as well. When Raven and Salvador left the floating city, it was early morning. The sun was already up, bathing the planet in its warm, scorching rays. But upon arriving here, it was suddenly nighttime, and a chill hung