Hugh J. O'Donnell

“Pride is a sin!” The protester yelled. The demon paused at the entrance of the bar and looked back. They’d been coming there, in one form or another, for centuries.
It had always been a second home, a place of love amongst hate. They’d be damned again before they allowed anyone to destroy it. They examined the protester, secure in his sense of righteousness. But there was no light inside him, no spark of the divine.
They adjusted their ace and agender pride pins and looked him in the eyes.
“It is, sweetie. But not nearly so deadly as envy.”

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When Knighthawk finally captured his criminal nemesis Doctor Anarchy, he was awarded the key to the city by a grateful mayor.
The next day, Doctor Anarchy struck again, even as he sat in his cell. Knighthawk arrested the ‘copycat’ too. But a week later, a third Doctor Anarchy appeared. They kept coming.
Knighthawk missed me in his raid on the villain’s lair. Who was I? I was just a flunky. But the costume is cheap to assemble and easy to ship.
What I wanted him to understand is that anyone can wear a mask. Making a real difference takes effort.

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“We’re close to an agreement,” the alien ambassador said telepathically. “I can almost, oh, what’s that gross thing you humans do?” The aliens were generally friendly, but their communication methods lacked tact, which had caused friction with human explorers since first contact.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” I said icily.
“The thing where you touch things with your slimy face hole.”
I sighed. “Taste,” I said. “The world you’re looking for is ‘taste.'”
“Of course. I can almost taste it.” The ambassador giggled, pleased with themself. I reminded myself that intergalactic peace was on the line and smiled politely.

When the creators announced their technology to record and playback dreams, it was called a hoax, but they proved it worked and went into business.
The recording machine itself was simple, although franchises had a tendency to dress it up with LED lights. It scanned your brain activity and generated a recording in high-definition video.
Hardly anyone noticed the clause at the end of the consent form granting the company commercial rights to all dreams. Most people assumed that it meant reusing the recordings for advertising.
Until they hit their install base target, and the company turned on the paywall.

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When the red rain fell out of a clear sky, accompanied by a foul, burning stench, the village considered it to be the worst kind of omen.
The priest conducted an impromptu service in the church so that he might prepare our souls for what was coming next. He ranted before a packed house, speculating on the sins that had brought this punishment down upon us from Heaven.
I was the only one brave enough to stick out my tongue and taste the falling drops. It was worse than they thought.
The tomato juice factory two towns over had exploded.