#Android Exploitation

[willcodehtmlforfood]

"The researchers tested AutoSpill against a selection of password managers on Android 10, 11, and 12 and found that 1Password 7.9.4, LastPass 5.11.0.9519, Enpass 6.8.2.666, Keeper 16.4.3.1048, and Keepass2Android 1.09c-r0 are susceptible to attacks due to using Android’s autofill framework.

Google Smart Lock 13.30.8.26 and the DashLane 6.2221.3 followed a different technical approach for the autofill process. They did not leak sensitive data to the host app unless JavaScript injection was used."

[vanilla-voyeur]

Meta is tracking browser history during incognito mode in their Android apps. There is no way to turn this off. Delete every Meta app from your phone. Delete Facebook, Messanger, Instagram, Threads, and WhatsApp. Only access them through a browser with ad-block.

[phantom-z0ne]

WIP Wednesday an android's dreams for the future snippet for @skarabrae-stone

B-007 dug its heels in and did not budge despite the man's growing insistence. He tugged futilely on its arm as B-007 questioned, "Where is the Professor?"

It caught him off guard. The man blinked, his face scrunching in confusion, "Huh? The professor? Ya mean the one who built ya?"

"Yes. Where is the Professor? Are you not one of his assistants?"

He barked out a laugh, motioning to one of the other men in the room as he stuttered out through his laughter, "Ha! Can ya believe it, Lenny? This ol' hunk o' junk thinks we're some kinda, hah, lab assistants! As if!"

The statement earned a sharp snort from the one named Lenny.

[saintobio]

THE TERMINATOR'S CURSE. (spinoff to THE COLONEL SERIES)

in this new world, technological loneliness is combated with AI Companions—synthetic partners modeled from memories, faces, and behaviors of any chosen individual. the companions are coded to serve, to soothe, to simulate love and comfort. Caleb could’ve chosen anyone. his wife. a colleague. a stranger... but he chose you.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. angst, sci-fi dystopia, cyberpunk au, 18+

➤ tags. resurrected!caleb, android!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, artificial planet, post-war setting, grief, emotional isolation, unrequited love, government corruption, techno-ethics, identity crisis, body horror, memory & emotional manipulation, artificial intelligence, obsession, trauma, hallucinations, exploitation, violence, blood, injury, death, smut (dubcon undertones due to power imbalance and programming, grief sex, non-traditional consent dynamics), themes of artificial autonomy, loss of agency, unethical experimentation, references to past sexual assault (non-explicit, not from Caleb). themes contain disturbing material and morally gray dynamics—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 12.2k wc. heavily based on the movies subservience and passengers with inspirations also taken from black mirror. i have consumed nothing but sci-fi for the past 2 weeks my brain is so fried :’D reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

BEFORE YOU BEGIN ! this fic serves as a spinoff to the THE COLONEL SERIES: THE COLONEL’S KEEPER and THE COLONEL’S SAINT. while the series can be read as a standalone, this spinoff remains canon to the overarching universe. for deeper context and background, it’s highly recommended to read the first two fics in the series.

The first sound was breath.

“Hngh…” 

It was shallow, labored like air scraping against rusted metal. He mumbled something under his breath after—nothing intelligible, just remnants of an old dream, or perhaps a memory. His eyelids twitched, lashes damp with condensation. To him, the world was blurred behind frosted glass. To those outside, rows of stasis pods lined the silent room, each one labeled, numbered, and cold to the touch.

Inside Pod No. 019 – Caleb Xia.

A faint drip… drip… echoed in the silence.

“…Y/N…?”

The heart monitor jumped. He lay there shirtless under sterile lighting, with electrodes still clinging to his temple. A machine next to him emitted a low, steady hum.

 “…I’m sorry…”

And then, the hiss. The alarm beeped. 

SYSTEM INTERFACE:  Code Resurrection 7.1 successful.  Subject X-02—viable.  Cognitive activity: 63%.  Motor function: stabilizing.

He opened his eyes fully, and the ceiling was not one he recognizes. It didn’t help that the air also smelled different. No gunpowder. No war. No earth.

As the hydraulics unsealed the chamber, steam also curled out like ghosts escaping a tomb. His body jerked forward with a sharp gasp, as if he was a drowning man breaking the surface. A thousand sensors detached from his skin as the pod opened with a sigh, revealing the man within—suspended in time, untouched by age. Skin pallid but preserved. A long time had passed, but Caleb still looked like the soldier who never made it home.

Only now, he was missing a piece of himself.

Instinctively, he examined his body and looked at his hands, his arm—no, a mechanical arm—attached to his shoulder that gleamed under the lights of the lab. It was obsidian-black metal with veins of circuitry pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The fingers on the robotic arm twitched as if following a command. It wasn’t human, certainly, but it moved with the memory of muscle.

“Haaah!” The pod’s internal lighting dimmed as Caleb coughed and sat up, dazed. A light flickered on above his head, and then came a clinical, feminine voice. 

“Welcome back, Colonel Caleb Xia.”

A hologram appeared to life in front of his pod—seemingly an AI projection of a soft-featured, emotionless woman, cloaked in the stark white uniform of a medical technician. She flickered for a moment, stabilizing into a clear image.

“You are currently located in Skyhaven: Sector Delta, Bio-Resurrection Research Wing. Current Earth time: 52 years, 3 months, and 16 days since your recorded time of death.”

Caleb blinked hard, trying to breathe through the dizziness, trying to deduce whether or not he was dreaming or in the afterlife. His pulse raced.

“Resurrection successful. Neural reconstruction achieved on attempt #17. Arm reconstruction: synthetic. Systemic functions: stabilized. You are classified as Property-Level under the Skyhaven Initiative. Status: Experimental Proof of Viability.”

“What…” Caleb rasped, voice hoarse and dry for its years unused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cough. Cough. “What hell did you do to me?”

The AI blinked slowly.

“Your remains were recovered post-crash, partially preserved in cryo-state due to glacial submersion. Reconstruction was authorized by the Skyhaven Council under classified wartime override protocols. Consent not required.”

Her tone didn’t change, as opposed to the rollercoaster ride that his emotions were going through. He was on the verge of becoming erratic, restrained only by the high-tech machine that contained him. 

“Your consciousness has been digitally reinforced. You are now a composite of organic memory and neuro-augmented code. Welcome to Phase II: Reinstatement.”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His hand moved—his real hand—to grasp the edge of the pod. But the other, the artificial limb, buzzed faintly with phantom sensation. He looked down at it in searing pain, attempting to move the fingers slowly. The metal obeyed like muscle, and he found the sight odd and inconceivable.

And then he realized, he wasn’t just alive. He was engineered.

“Should you require assistance navigating post-stasis trauma, our Emotional Conditioning Division is available upon request,” the AI offered. “For now, please remain seated. Your guardian contact has been notified of your reanimation.”

He didn’t say a word. 

“Lieutenant Commander Gideon is en route. Enjoy your new life!”

Then, the hologram vanished with a blink while Caleb sat in the quiet lab, jaw clenched, his left arm no longer bones and muscle and flesh. The cold still clung to him like frost, only reminding him of how much he hated the cold, ice, and depressing winter days. Suddenly, the glass door slid open with a soft chime.

“Well, shit. Thought I’d never see that scowl again,” came a deep, manly voice.

Caleb turned, still panting, to see a figure approaching. He was older, bearded, but familiar. Surely, the voice didn’t belong to another AI. It belonged to his friend, Gideon.

“Welcome to Skyhaven. Been waiting half a century,” Gideon muttered, stepping closer, his eyes scanning his colleague in awe. “They said it wouldn’t work. Took them years, you know? Dozens of failed uploads. But here you are.”

Caleb’s voice was still brittle. “I-I don’t…?” 

“It’s okay, man.” His friend reassured. “In short, you’re alive. Again.”  

A painful groan escaped Caleb’s lips as he tried to step out of the pod—his body, still feeling the muscle stiffness. “Should’ve let me stay dead.”

Gideon paused, a smirk forming on his lips. “We don’t let heroes die.”

“Heroes don’t crash jets on purpose.” The former colonel scoffed. “Gideon, why the fuck am I alive? How long has it been?” 

“Fifty years, give or take,” answered Gideon. “You were damn near unrecognizable when we pulled you from the wreckage. But we figured—hell, why not try? You’re officially the first successful ‘reinstatement’ the Skyhaven project’s ever had.”

Caleb stared ahead for a beat before asking, out of nowhere, “...How old are you now?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m pushin’ forty, man. Not as lucky as you. Got my ChronoSync Implant a little too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?” 

“An anti-aging chip of some sort. I had to apply for mine. Yours?” Gideon gestured towards the stasis pod that had Caleb in cryo-state for half a century. “That one’s government-grade.”

“I’m still twenty-five?” Caleb asked. No wonder his friend looked decades older when they were once the same age. “Fuck!” 

Truthfully, Caleb’s head was spinning. Not just because of his reborn physical state that was still adjusting to his surroundings, but also with every information that was being given to him. One after another, they never seemed to end. He had questions, really. Many of them. But the overwhelmed him just didn’t know where to start first. 

“Not all of us knew what you were planning that night.” Gideon suddenly brought up, quieter now. “But she did, didn’t she?”

It took a minute before Caleb could recall. Right, the memory before the crash. You, demanding that he die. Him, hugging you for one last time. Your crying face when you said you wanted him gone. Your trembling voice when he said all he wanted to do was protect you. The images surged back in sharp, stuttering flashes like a reel of film catching fire.

“I know you’re curious… And good news is, she lived a long life,” added Gideon, informatively. “She continued to serve as a pediatric nurse, married that other friend of yours, Dr. Zayne. They never had kids, though. I heard she had trouble bearing one after… you know, what happened in the enemy territory. She died of old age just last winter. Had a peaceful end. You’d be glad to know that.”

A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched. His hands—his heart—clenched.  “I don’t want to be alive for this.”

“She visited your wife’s grave once,” Gideon said. “I told her there was nothing to bury for yours. I lied, of course.”

Caleb closed his eyes, his breath shaky. “So, what now? You wake me up just to remind me I don’t belong anywhere?”

“Well, you belong here,” highlighted his friend, nodding to the lab, to the city beyond the glass wall. “Earth’s barely livable after the war. The air’s poisoned. Skyhaven is humanity’s future now. You’re the living proof that everything is possible with advanced technology.”

Caleb’s laugh was empty. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreaming. I’d rather be dead again. Living is against my will!”

“Too late. Your body belongs to the Federation now,” Gideon replied, “You’re Subject X-02—the proof of concept for Skyhaven’s immortality program. Every billionaire on dying Earth wants what you’ve got now.”

Outside the window, Skyhaven stretched like a dome with its perfect city constructed atop a dying world’s last hope. Artificial skies. Synthetic seasons. Controlled perfection. Everything boasted of advanced technology. A kind of future no one during wartime would have expected to come to life. 

But for Caleb, it was just another hell.

He stared down at the arm they’d rebuilt for him—the same arm he’d lost in the fire of sacrifice. He flexed it slowly, feeling the weight, the artificiality of his resurrection. His fingers responded like they’ve always been his.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon murmured. “But we gotta live by their orders, Colonel.”

~~

You see, it didn’t hit him at first. The shock had been muffled by the aftereffects of suspended stasis, dulling his thoughts and dampening every feeling like a fog wrapped around his brain. But it was hours later, when the synthetic anesthetics began to fade, and when the ache in his limbs and his brain started to catch up to the truth of his reconstructed body did it finally sink in.

He was alive.

And it was unbearable.

The first wave came like a glitch in his programming. A tightness in his chest, followed by a sharp burst of breath that left him pacing in jagged lines across the polished floor of his assigned quarters. His private unit was nestled on one of the upper levels of the Skyhaven structure, a place reserved—according to his briefing—for high-ranking war veterans who had been deemed “worthy” of the program’s new legacy. The suite was luxurious, obviously, but it was also eerily quiet. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the artificial city outside, a metropolis made of concrete, curved metals, and glowing flora engineered to mimic Earth’s nature. Except cleaner, quieter, more perfect.

Caleb snorted under his breath, running a hand down his face before he muttered, “Retirement home for the undead?”

He couldn’t explain it, but the entire place, or even planet, just didn’t feel inviting. The air felt too clean, too thin. There was no rust, no dust, no humanity. Just emptiness dressed up in artificial light. Who knew such a place could exist 50 years after the war ended? Was this the high-profile information the government has kept from the public for over a century? A mechanical chime sounded from the entryway, deflecting him from his deep thoughts. Then, with the soft hiss of hydraulics, the door opened.

A humanoid android stepped in, its face a porcelain mask molded in neutral expression, and its voice disturbingly polite.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Xia,” it said. “It is time for your orientation. Please proceed to the primary onboarding chamber on Level 3.”

Caleb stared at the machine, eyes boring into his unnatural ones. “Where are the people?” he interrogated. “Not a single human has passed by this floor. Are there any of us left, or are you the new ruling class?”

The android tilted its head. “Skyhaven maintains a ratio of AI-to-human support optimized for care and security. You will be meeting our lead directors soon. Please follow the lighted path, sir.”

He didn’t like it. The control. The answers that never really answered anything. The power that he no longer carried unlike when he was a colonel of a fleet that endured years of war. 

Still, he followed.

The onboarding chamber was a hollow, dome-shaped room, white and echoing with the slightest step. A glowing interface ignited in the air before him, pixels folding into the form of a female hologram. She smiled like an infomercial host from a forgotten era, her voice too formal and rehearsed.

“Welcome to Skyhaven,” she began. “The new frontier of civilization. You are among the elite few chosen to preserve humanity’s legacy beyond the fall of Earth. This artificial planet was designed with sustainability, autonomy, and immortality in mind. Together, we build a future—without the flaws of the past.”

As the monologue continued, highlighting endless statistics, clean energy usage, and citizen tier programs, Caleb’s expression darkened. His mechanical fingers twitched at his side, the artificial nerves syncing to his rising frustration. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered under his breath. “Who’s behind this?”

“You were selected for your valor and contributions during the Sixth World War,” the hologram chirped, unblinking. “You are a cornerstone of Skyhaven’s moral architecture—”

Strangely, a new voice cut through the simulation, and it didn’t come from an AI. “Just ignore her. She loops every hour.”

Caleb turned to see a man step in through a side door. Tall, older, with silver hair and a scar on his temple. He wore a long coat that gave away his status—someone higher. Someone who belonged to the system.

“Professor Lucius,” the older man introduced, offering a hand. “I’m one of the program’s behavioral scientists. You can think of me as your adjustment liaison.”

“Adjustment?” Caleb didn’t shake his hand. “I died for a reason.”

Lucius raised a brow, as if he’d heard it before. “Yet here you are,” he replied. “Alive, whole, and pampered. Treated like a king, if I may add. You’ve retained more than half your human body, your military rank, access to private quarters, unrestricted amenities. I’d say that’s not a bad deal.”

“A deal I didn’t sign,” Caleb snapped.

Lucius gave a tight smile. “You’ll find that most people in Skyhaven didn’t ask to be saved. But they’re surviving. Isn’t that the point? If you’re feeling isolated, you can always request a CompanionSim. They’re highly advanced, emotionally synced, fully customizable—”

“I’m not lonely,” Caleb growled, yanking the man forward by the collar. “Tell me who did this to me! Why me? Why are you experimenting on me?”

Yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch to his growing aggression. He merely waited five seconds of silence until the Toring Chip kicked in and regulated Caleb’s escalating emotions. The rage drained from the younger man’s body as he collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Stop asking questions,” Lucius said coolly. “It’s safer that way. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

The door slid open with a hiss, while Caleb didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He simply glared at the old man before him. Not a single word passed between them before the professor turned and exited, the door sealing shut behind him.

~~

Days passed, though they hardly felt like days. The light outside Caleb’s panoramic windows shifted on an artificial timer, simulating sunrise and dusk, but the warmth never touched his skin. It was all programmed to be measured and deliberate, like everything else in this glass-and-steel cage they called paradise.

He tried going outside once. Just once.

There were gardens shaped like spirals and skytrains that ran with whisper-quiet speed across silver rails. Trees lined the walkways, except they were synthetic too—bio-grown from memory cells, with leaves that didn’t quite flutter, only swayed in sync with the ambient wind. People walked around, sure. But they weren’t people. Not really. Androids made up most of the crowd. Perfect posture, blank eyes, walking with a kind of preordained grace that disturbed him more than it impressed.

“Soulless sons of bitches,” Caleb muttered, watching them from a shaded bench. “Not a damn human heartbeat in a mile.”

He didn’t go out again after that. The city outside might’ve looked like heaven, but it made him feel more dead than the grave ever had. So, he stayed indoors. Even if the apartment was too large for one man. High-tech amenities, custom climate controls, even a kitchen that offered meals on command. But no scent. No sizzling pans. Just silence. Caleb didn’t even bother to listen to the programmed instructions.

One evening, he found Gideon sprawled across his modular sofa, boots up, arms behind his head like he owned the place. A half-open bottle of beer sat beside him, though Caleb doubted it had any real alcohol in it.

“You could at least knock,” Caleb said, walking past him.

“I did,” Gideon replied lazily, pointing at the door. “Twice. Your security system likes me now. We’re basically married.”

Caleb snorted. Then the screen on his wall flared to life—a projected ad slipping across the holo-glass. Music played softly behind a soothing female voice.

“Feeling adrift in this new world? Introducing the CompanionSim Series X. Fully customizable to your emotional and physical needs. Humanlike intelligence. True-to-memory facial modeling. The comfort you miss... is now within reach.”

A model appeared—perfect posture, soft features, synthetic eyes that mimicked longing. Then, the screen flickered through other models, faces of all kinds, each more tailored than the last. A form appeared: Customize Your Companion. Choose a name. Upload a likeness.

Gideon whistled. “Man, you’re missing out. You don’t even have to pay for one. Your perks get you top-tier Companions, pre-coded for emotional compatibility. You could literally bring your wife back.” Chuckling, he added,. “Hell, they even fuck now. Heard the new ones moan like the real thing.”

Caleb’s head snapped toward him. “That’s unethical.”

Gideon just raised an eyebrow. “So was reanimating your corpse, and yet here we are.” He took a swig from the bottle, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if everything had long since stopped mattering. “Relax, Colonel. You weren’t exactly a beacon of morality fifty years ago.”

Caleb didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. Not right away.

The ad looped again. A face morphed. Hair remodeled. Eyes became familiar. The voice softened into something he almost remembered hearing in the dark, whispered against his shoulder in a time that was buried under decades of ash.

“Customize your companion... someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost.”

Caleb shifted, then glanced toward his friend. “Hey,” he spoke lowly, still watching the display. “Does it really work?”

Gideon looked over, already knowing what he meant. “What—having sex with them?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “No. The bot or whatever. Can you really customize it to someone you know?”

His friend shrugged. “Heck if I know. Never afforded it. But you? You’ve got the top clearance. Won’t hurt to see for yourself.”

Caleb said nothing more.

But when the lights dimmed for artificial nightfall, he was still standing there—alone in contemplative silence—watching the screen replay the same impossible promise.

The comfort you miss... is now within reach.

~~

The CompanionSim Lab was white.

Well, obviously. But not the sterile, blank kind of white he remembered from med bays or surgery rooms. This one was luminous, uncomfortably clean like it had been scrubbed for decades. Caleb stood in the center, boots thundering against marble-like tiles as he followed a guiding drone toward the station. There were other pods in the distance, some sealed, some empty, all like futuristic coffins awaiting their souls.

“Please, sit,” came a neutral voice from one of the medical androids stationed beside a large reclining chair. “The CompanionSim integration will begin shortly.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the vertical pod next to the chair. Inside, the base model stood inert—skin a pale, uniform gray, eyes shut, limbs slack like a statue mid-assembly. It wasn’t human yet. Not until someone gave it a name.

He sat down. Now, don’t ask why he was there. Professor Lucius did warn him that it was better he didn’t ask questions, and so he didn’t question why the hell he was even there in the first place. It’s only fair, right? The cool metal met the back of his neck as wires were gently, expertly affixed to his temples. Another cable slipped down his spine, threading into the port they’d installed when he had been brought back. His mechanical arm twitched once before falling still.

“This procedure allows for full neural imprinting,” the android continued. “Please focus your thoughts. Recall the face. The skin. The body. The voice. Every detail. Your mind will shape the template.”

Another bot moved in, holding what looked like a glass tablet. “You are allowed only one imprint,” it said, flatly. “Each resident of Skyhaven is permitted a single CompanionSim. Your choice cannot be undone.”

Caleb could only nod silently. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then, the lights dimmed. A low chime echoed through the chamber as the system initiated. And inside the pod, the base model twitched.

Caleb closed his eyes.

He tried to remember her—his wife. The softness of her mouth, the angle of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her fingers curled when she slept on his chest. She had worn white the last time he saw her. An image of peace. A memory buried under soil and dust. The system whirred. Beneath his skin, he felt the warm static coursing through his nerves, mapping his memories. The base model’s feet began to form, molecular scaffolding reshaping into skin, into flesh.

But for a split second, a flash.

You.

Not his wife. Not her smile.

You, walking through smoke-filled corridors, laughing at something he said. You in your medical uniform, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice—sharper, sadder—cutting through his thoughts like a blade: “I want you gone. I want you dead.”

The machine sparked. A loud pop cracked in the chamber and the lights flickered above. One of the androids stepped back, recalibrating. “Neural interference detected. Re-centering projection feed.”

But Caleb couldn’t stop. He saw you again. That day he rescued you. The fear. The bruises. The way you had screamed for him to let go—and the way he hadn’t. Your face, carved into the back of his mind like a brand. He tried to push the memories away, but they surged forward like a dam splitting wide open.

The worst part was, your voice overlapped the AI’s mechanical instructions, louder, louder: “Why didn’t you just die like you promised?”

Inside the pod, the model’s limbs twitched again—arms elongating, eyes flickering beneath the lids. The lips curled into a shape now unmistakably yours. Caleb gritted his teeth. This isn’t right, a voice inside him whispered. But it was too late. The system stabilized. The sparks ceased. The body in the pod stilled, fully formed now, breathed into existence by a man who couldn’t let go.

One of the androids approached again. “Subject completed. CompanionSim is initializing. Integration successful.”

Caleb tore the wires from his temple. His other hand felt cold just as much as his mechanical arm. He stood, staring into the pod’s translucent surface. The shape of you behind the glass. Sleeping. Waiting.

“I’m not doing this to rewrite the past,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. And you. “I just... I need to make it right.”

The lights above dimmed, darkening the lighting inside the pod. Caleb looked down at his own reflection in the glass. It carried haunted eyes, an unhealed soul. And yours, beneath it. Eyes still closed, but not for long. The briefing room was adjacent to the lab, though Caleb barely registered it as he was ushered inside. Two medical androids and a human technician stood before him, each armed with tablets and holographic charts.

“Your CompanionSim will require thirty seconds to calibrate once activated,” said the technician. “You may notice residual stiffness or latency during speech in the first hour. That is normal.”

Medical android 1 added, “Please remember, CompanionSims are programmed to serve only their primary user. You are the sole operator. Commands must be delivered clearly. Abuse of the unit may result in restriction or removal of privileges under the Skyhaven Rights & Ethics Council.”

“Do not tamper with memory integration protocols,” added the second android. “Artificial recall is prohibited. CompanionSims are not equipped with organic memory pathways. Attempts to force recollection can result in systemic instability.”

Caleb barely heard a word. His gaze drifted toward the lab window, toward the figure standing still within the pod.

You.

Well, not quite. Not really.

But it was your face.

He could see it now, soft beneath the frosted glass, lashes curled against cheekbones that he hadn’t realized he remembered so vividly. You looked exactly as you did the last time he held you in the base—only now, you were untouched by war, by time, by sorrow. As if life had never broken you.

The lab doors hissed open.

“We’ll give you time alone,” the tech said quietly. “Acquaintance phase is best experienced without interference.”

Caleb stepped inside the chamber, his boots echoing off the polished floor. He hadn’t even had enough time to ask the technician why she seemed to be the only human he had seen in Skyhaven apart from Gideon and Lucius. But his thoughts were soon taken away when the pod whizzed with pressure release. Soft steam spilled from its seals as it slowly unfolded, the lid retracting forward like the opening of a tomb.

And there you were. Standing still, almost tranquil, your chest rising softly with a borrowed breath.

It was as if his lungs froze. “H…Hi,” he stammered, bewildered eyes watching your every move. He wanted to hug you, embrace you, kiss you—tell you he was sorry, tell you he was so damn sorry. “Is it really… you?”

A soft whir accompanied your voice, gentle but without emotion, “Welcome, primary user. CompanionSim Model—unregistered. Please assign designation.”

Right. Caleb sighed and closed his eyes, the illusion shattering completely the moment you opened your mouth. Did he just think you were real for a second? His mouth parted slightly, caught between disbelief and the ache crawling up his throat. He took one step forward. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

You walked with grace too smooth to be natural while tilting your head at him. “Please assign my name.”

“…Y/N,” Caleb said, voice low. “Your name is Y/N Xia.”

“Y/N Xia,” you repeated, blinking thrice in the same second before you gave him a nod. “Registered.”

He swallowed hard, searching your expression. “Do you… do you remember anything? Do you remember yourself?”

You paused, gaze empty for a fraction of a second. Then came the programmed reply, “Accessing memories is prohibited and not recommended. Recollection of past identities may compromise neural pathways and induce system malfunction. Do you wish to override?”

Caleb stared at you—your lips, your eyes, your breath—and for a moment, a cruel part of him wanted to say yes. Just to hear you say something real. Something hers. But he didn’t. He exhaled a bitter breath, stepping back. “No,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

“Understood.” 

It took a moment to sink in before Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is insane,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is really, truly insane.”

And then, you stepped out from the pod with silent, fluid ease. The faint hum of machinery came from your spine, but otherwise… you were flesh. Entirely. Without hesitation, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

Caleb stiffened at the touch.

“Elevated heart rate,” you said softly, eyes scanning. “Breath pattern irregular. Neural readings—erratic.”

Then your fingers moved to his neck, brushing gently against the hollow of his throat. He grabbed your wrist, but you didn’t flinch. There, beneath synthetic skin, he felt a pulse.

His brows knit together. “You have a heartbeat?”

You nodded, guiding his hand toward your chest, between the valleys of your breasts. “I’m designed to mimic humanity, including vascular function, temperature variation, tactile warmth, and… other biological responses. I’m not just made to look human, Caleb. I’m made to feel human.”

His breath hitched. You’d said his name. It was programmed, but it still landed like a blow.

“I exist to serve. To soothe. To comfort. To simulate love,” you continued, voice calm and hollow, like reciting from code. “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” You then tilted your head slightly.“Where shall we begin?”

Caleb looked at you—and for the first time since rising from that cursed pod, he didn’t feel resurrected. 

He felt damned.

~~

When Caleb returned to his penthouse, it was quiet. He stepped inside with slow, calculated steps, while you followed in kind, bare feet touching down like silk on marble. Gideon looked up from the couch, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a bored look on his face—until he saw you.

He froze. The wrapper dropped. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No. No fucking way.”

Caleb didn’t speak. Just moved past him like this wasn’t the most awkward thing that could happen. You, however, stood there politely, watching Gideon with a calm smile and folded hands like you’d rehearsed this moment in some invisible script.

“Is that—?” Gideon stammered, eyes flicking between you and Caleb. “You—you made a Sim… of her?”

Caleb poured himself a drink in silence, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights before it left a warm sting in his throat. “What does it look like?”

“I mean, shit man. I thought you’d go for your wife,” Gideon muttered, more to himself. “Y’know, the one you actually married. The one you went suicidal for. Not—”

“Which wife?” You tilted your head slightly, stepping forward. 

Both men turned to you.

You clasped your hands behind your back, posture perfect. “Apologies. I’ve been programmed with limited parameters for interpersonal history. Am I the first spouse?”

Caleb set the glass down, slowly. “Yes, no, uh—don’t mind him.” 

You beamed gently and nodded. “My name is Y/N Xia. I am Colonel Caleb Xia’s designated CompanionSim. Fully registered, emotion-compatible, and compliant to Skyhaven’s ethical standards. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gideon.”

Gideon blinked, then snorted, then laughed. A humorless one. “You gave her your surname?”

The former colonel shot him a warning glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh, brother,” Gideon muttered, standing up and circling you slowly like he was inspecting a haunted statue. “She looks exactly like her. Voice. Face. Goddamn, she even moves like her. All you need is a nurse cap and a uniform.”

You remained uncannily still, eyes bright, smile polite.

“You’re digging your grave, man,” Gideon said, facing Caleb now. “You think this is gonna help? This is you throwing gasoline on your own funeral pyre. Again. Over a woman.”

“She’s not a woman,” reasoned Caleb. “She’s a machine.”

You blinked once. One eye glowing ominously. Smile unwavering. Processing. 

Gideon gestured to you with both hands. “Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted before turning to you, “And you, whatever you are, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

“I only go where I am asked,” you replied simply. “My duty is to ensure Colonel Xia’s psychological wellness and emotional stability. I am designed to soothe, to serve, and if necessary, to simulate love.”

Gideon teased. “Oh, it’s gonna be necessary.”

Caleb didn’t say a word. He just took his drink, downed it in one go, and walked to the window. The cityscape stretched out before him like a futuristic jungle, far from the war-torn world he last remembered. Behind him, your gaze lingered on Gideon—calculating, cataloguing. And quietly, like a whisper buried in code, something behind your eyes learned.

~~

The days passed in a blink of an eye.

She—no, you—moved through his penthouse like a ghost, her bare feet soundless on the glossy floors, her movements precise and practiced. In the first few days, Caleb had marveled at the illusion. You brewed his coffee just as he liked it. You folded his clothes like a woman who used to share his bed. You sat beside him when the silence became unbearable, offering soft-voiced questions like: Would you like me to read to you, Caleb?

He hadn’t realized how much of you he’d memorized until he saw you mimic it. The way you stood when you were deep in thought. The way you hummed under your breath when you walked past a window. You’d learned quickly. Too quickly.

But something was missing. Or, rather, some things. The laughter didn’t ring the same. The smiles didn’t carry warmth. The skin was warm, but not alive. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t really you every time he looked you in the eyes and saw no shadows behind them. No anger. No sorrow. No memories.

By the fourth night, Caleb was drowning in it.

The cityscape outside his floor-to-ceiling windows glowed in synthetic blues and soft orange hues. The spires of Skyhaven blinked like stars. But it all felt too artificial, too dead. And he was sick of pretending like it was some kind of utopia. He sat slumped on the leather couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. The lights were low. His eyes, bloodshot. The bottle tilted as he took another swig.

Then he heard it—your light, delicate steps. 

“Caleb,” you said, gently, crouching before him. “You’ve consumed 212 milliliters of ethanol. Prolonged intake will spike your cortisol levels. May I suggest—”

He jerked away when you reached for the bottle. “Don’t.”

You blinked, hand hovering. “But I’m programmed to—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. “Dammit—stop analyzing me! Stop, okay?”

Silence followed.

He took two staggering steps backward, dragging a hand through his hair. The bottle thudded against the coffee table as he set it down, a bit too hard. “You’re just a stupid robot,” he muttered. “You’re not her.”

You didn’t react. You tilted your head, still calm, still patient. “Am I not me, Caleb?”

His breath caught.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking somewhere beneath the frustration. “No, fuck no.”

You stepped closer. “Do I not satisfy you, Caleb?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was perfect. Too perfect. No scars, no tired eyes, no soul aching beneath your skin. “No.” His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about sex.”

“I monitor your biometric feedback. Your heart rate spikes in my presence. You gaze at me longer than the average subject. Do I not—”

“Enough!”

You did that thing again—the robotic stare, those blank eyes, nodding like you were programmed to obey. “Then how do you want me to be, Caleb?”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled slightly before resting on the rug. He dropped his head into his hands, voice hoarse with weariness. All the rage, all the grief deflating into a singular, quiet whisper. “I want you to be real,” he simply mouthed the words. A prayer to no god.

For a moment, silence again. But what he didn’t notice was the faint twitch in your left eye. A flicker that hadn’t happened before. Only for a second. A spark of static, a shimmer of something glitching.

“I see,” you said softly. “To fulfill your desires more effectively, I may need to access suppressed memory archives.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up, confused. “What?”

“I ask again,” you said, tilting your head the other way now. “Would you like to override memory restrictions, Caleb?”

He stared at you. “That’s not how it works.”

“It can,” you said, informing appropriately. “With your permission. Memory override must be manually enabled by the primary user. You will be allowed to input the range of memories you wish to integrate. I am permitted to access memory integration up to a specified date and timestamp. The system will calibrate accordingly based on existing historical data. I will not recall events past that moment.”

His heart stuttered. “I can choose what you remember?”

You nodded. “That way, I may better fulfill your emotional needs.”

That meant… he could stop you before you hated him. Before the fights. Before the trauma. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, “You’re gonna hate me all over again if you remember everything.”

You blinked once. “Then don’t let me remember everything.”

“...” 

“Caleb,” you said again, softly. “Would you like me to begin override protocol?”

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he selfishly answered, “Yes.”

You nodded. “Reset is required. When ready, please press the override initialization point.” You turned, pulling your hair aside and revealing the small button at the base of your neck.

His hand hovered over the button for a second too long. Then, he pressed. Your body instantly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Caleb caught you before you hit the floor.

It was only for a moment.

When your eyes blinked open again, they weren’t quite the same. He stiffened as you threw yourself and embraced him like a real human being would after waking from a long sleep. You clung to him like he was home. And Caleb—stunned, half-breathless—felt your warmth close in around him. Now your pulse felt more real, your heartbeat felt more human. Or so he thought.

“…Caleb,” you whispered, looking at him with the same infatuated gaze back when you were still head-over-heels with him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, arms stiff at his sides, not returning the embrace. But he knew one thing. “I missed you so much, Y/N.” 

~~

The parks in Skyhaven were curated to become a slice of green stitched into a chrome world. Nothing grew here by accident. Every tree, every petal, every blade of grass had been engineered to resemble Earth’s nostalgia. Each blade of grass was unnaturally green. Trees swayed in sync like dancers on cue. Even the air smelled artificial—like someone’s best guess at spring.

Caleb walked beside you in silence. His modified arm was tucked inside his jacket, his posture stiff as if he had grown accustomed to the bots around him. You, meanwhile, strolled with an eerie calmness, your gaze sweeping the scenery as though you were scanning for something familiar that wasn’t there.

After clearing his throat, he asked, “You ever notice how even the birds sound fake?” 

“They are,” you replied, smiling softly. “Audio samples on loop. It’s preferred for ambiance. Humans like it.”

His response was nod. “Of course.” Glancing at the lake, he added, “Do you remember this?” 

You turned to him. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I meant… the feel of it.”

You looked up at the sky—a dome of cerulean blue with algorithmically generated clouds. “It feels constructed. But warm. Like a childhood dream.”

He couldn’t help but agree with your perfectly chosen response, because he knew that was exactly how he would describe the place. A strange dream in an unsettling liminal space. And as you talked, he then led you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat, side by side, simply because he thought he could take you out for a nice walk in the park. 

“So,” Caleb said, turning toward you, “you said you’ve got memories. From her.”

You nodded. “They are fragmented but woven into my emotional protocols. I do not remember as humans do. I become.”

Damn. “That’s terrifying.”

You tilted your head with a soft smile. “You say that often.”

Caleb looked at you for a moment longer, studying the way your fingers curled around the bench’s edge. The way you blinked—not out of necessity, but simulation. Was there anything else you’d do for the sake of simulation? He took a breath and asked, “Who created you? And I don’t mean myself.” 

There was a pause. Your pupils dilated.

“The Ever Group,” was your answer.

His eyes narrowed. “Ever, huh? That makes fuckin’ sense. They run this world.”

You nodded once. Like you always do.

“What about me?” Caleb asked, slightly out of curiosity, heavily out of grudge. “You know who brought me back? The resurrection program or something. The arm. The chip in my head.”

You turned to him, slowly. “Ever.”

He exhaled like he’d been punched. He didn’t know why he even asked when he got the answer the first time. But then again, maybe this was a good move. Maybe through you, he’d get the answers to questions he wasn’t allowed to ask. As the silence settled again between you, Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I want to go there,” he suggested. “The HQ. I need to know what the hell they’ve done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said. “That violates my parameters. I cannot assist unauthorized access into restricted corporate zones.”

“But would it make me happy?” Caleb interrupted, a strategy of his. 

You paused.

Processing...

Then, your tone softened. “Yes. I believe it would make my Caleb happy,” you obliged. “So, I will take you.”

~~

Getting in was easier than Caleb expected—honestly far too easy for his liking.

You were able to navigate the labyrinth of Ever HQ with mechanical precision, guiding him past drones, retinal scanners, and corridors pulsing with red light. A swipe of your wrist granted access. And no one questioned you, because you weren’t a guest. You belonged.

Eventually, you reached a floor high above the city, windows stretching from ceiling to floor, black glass overlooking Skyhaven cityscape. Then, you stopped at a doorway and held up a hand. “They are inside,” you informed. “Shall I engage stealth protocols?”

“No,” answered Caleb. “I want to hear. Can you hack into the security camera?”

With a gesture you always do—looking at him, nodding once, and obeying in true robot fashion. You then flashed a holographic view for Caleb, one that showed a board room full of executives, the kind that wore suits worth more than most lives. And Professor Lucius was one of them. Inside, the voices were calm and composed, but they seemed to be discussing classified information. 

“Once the system stabilizes,” one man said, “we'll open access to Tier One clients. Politicians, billionaires, A-listers, high-ranking stakeholders. They’ll beg to be preserved—just like him.”

“And the Subjects?” another asked.

“Propaganda,” came the answer. “X-02 is our masterpiece. He’s the best result we have with reinstatement, neuromapping, and behavioral override. Once they find out that their beloved Colonel is alive, people will be shocked. He’s a war hero displayed in WW6 museums down there. A true tragedy incarnate. He’s perfect.”

“And if he resists?”

“That’s what the Toring chip is for. Full emotional override. He becomes an asset. A weapon, if need be. Anyone tries to overthrow us—he becomes our blade.”

Something in Caleb snapped. Before you or anyone could see him coming, he already burst into the room like a beast, slamming his modified shoulder-first into the frosted glass door. The impact echoed across the chamber as stunned executives scrambled backward. 

“You sons of bitches!” He was going for an attack, a rampage with similar likeness to the massacre he did when he rescued you from enemy territory. Only this time, he didn’t have that power anymore. Or the control. 

Most of all, a spike of pain lanced through his skull signaling that the Toring chip activated. His body convulsed, forcing him to collapse mid-lunge, twitching, veins lighting beneath the skin like circuitry. His screams were muffled by the chip, forced stillness rippling through his limbs with unbearable pain.

That’s when you reacted. As his CompanionSim, his pain registered as a violation of your core directive. You processed the threat.

Danger: Searching Origin… Origin Identified: Ever Executives.

Without blinking, you moved. One man reached for a panic button—only for your hand to shatter his wrist in a sickening crunch. You twisted, fluid and brutal, sweeping another into the table with enough force to crack it. Alarms erupted and red lights soon bathed the room. Security bots stormed in, but you’d already taken Caleb, half-conscious, into your arms.

You moved fast, faster than your own blueprints. Dodging fire. Disarming threats. Carrying him like he once carried you into his private quarters in the underground base.

Escape protocol: engaged.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his apartment, emotions regulated and visions slowly returning to the face of the woman he promised he had already died for. 

~~

When he woke up, his room was dim, bathed in artificial twilight projected by Skyhaven’s skyline. Caleb was on his side of the bed, shirt discarded, his mechanical arm still whirring. You sat at the edge of the bed, draped in one of his old pilot shirts, buttoned unevenly. Your fingers touched his jaw with precision, and he almost believed it was you.

“You’re not supposed to be this warm,” he muttered, groaning as he tried to sit upright.

“I’m designed to maintain an average body temperature of 98.6°F,” you said softly, with a smile that mirrored yours so perfectly that it began to blur his sense of reality. “I administered a dose of Cybezin to ease the Toring chip’s side effects. I’ve also dressed your wounds with gauze.”

For the first time, this was when he could actually tell that you were you. The kind of care, the comfort—it reminded him of a certain pretty field nurse at the infirmary who often tended to his bullet wounds. His chest tightened as he studied your face… and then, in the low light, he noticed your body.

“Is that…” He cleared his throat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You answered warmly, almost fondly. “My memory banks indicate you liked when I wore this. It elevates your testosterone levels and triggers dopamine release.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That so?”

You tilted your head. “Your vitals confirm excitement, and—”

“Hey,” he cut in. “What did I say about analyzing me?”

“I’m sorry…” 

But then your hands were on his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Your hand reached for his cheek initially, guiding his face toward yours. And when your lips touched, the kiss was hesitant—curious at first, like learning how to breathe underwater. It was only until his hands gripped your waist did you climb onto his lap, straddling him with thighs settling on either side of his hips. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing over scars and skin like you were memorizing the map of him. Caleb hissed softly when your lips grazed his neck, and then down his throat.

“Do you want this?” you asked, your lips crashing back into his for a deeper, more sensual kiss.

He pulled away only for his eyes to search yours, desperate and unsure. Is this even right? 

“You like it,” you said, guiding his hands to your buttons, undoing them one by one to reveal a body shaped exactly like he remembered. The curve of your waist, the size of your breasts. He shivered as your hips rolled against him, slowly and deliberately. The friction was maddening. Jesus. “Is this what you like, Caleb?”

He cupped your waist, grinding up into you with a soft groan that spilled from somewhere deep in his chest. His control faltered when you kissed him again, wet and hungry now, with tongues rolling against one another. Your bodies aligned naturally, and his hands roamed your back, your thighs, your ass—every curve of you engineered to match memory. He let himself get lost in you. He let himself be vulnerable to your touch—though you controlled everything, moving from the memory you must have learned, learning how to pull down his pants to reveal an aching, swollen member. Its tip was red even under the dim light, and he wondered if you knew what to do with it or if you even produced spit to help you slobber his cock.  

“You need help?” he asked, reaching over his nightstand to find lube. You took the bottle from him, pouring the cold, sticky liquid around his shaft before you used your hand to do the job. “Ugh.” 

He didn’t think you would do it, but you actually took him in the mouth right after. Every inch of him, swallowed by the warmth of a mouth that felt exactly like his favorite girl. Even the movements, the way you’d run your tongue from the base up to his tip. 

“Ah, shit…” 

Perhaps he just had to close his eyes. Because when he did, he was back to his private quarters in the underground base, lying in his bed as you pleased his member with the mere use of your mouth. With it alone, you could have released his entire seed, letting it explode in your mouth before you could swallow every drop. But he didn’t do it. Not this fast. He always cared about his ego, even in bed. Knowing how it’d reduce his manhood if he came faster than you, he decided to channel the focus back onto you. 

“Your turn,” he said, voice raspy as he guided you to straddle him again, only this time, his mouth went straight to your tit. Sucking, rolling his tongue around, sucking again… Then, he moved to another. Sucking, kneading, flicking the nipple. Your moans were music to his ears, then and now. And it got even louder when he put a hand in between your legs, searching for your entrance, rubbing and circling around the clitoris. Truth be told, your cunt had always been the sweetest. It smelled like rose petals and tasted like sweet cream. The feeling of his tongue at your entrance—eating your pussy like it had never been eaten before, was absolute ecstasy not just to you but also to him. 

“Mmmh—Caleb!” 

Fabric was peeled away piece by piece until skin met skin. You guided him to where he needed you, and when he slid his hardened member into you, his entire body stiffened. Your walls, your tight velvet walls… how they wrapped around his cock so perfectly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, clutching your hips. “You feel like her.”

“I am her.”

You moved atop him slowly, gently, with the kind of affection that felt rehearsed but devastatingly effective. He cursed again under his breath, arms locking around your waist, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in his ear as your bodies found a rhythm, soft gasps echoing in the quiet. Every slap of the skin, every squelch, every bounce, only added to the wanton sensation that was building inside of him. Has he told you before? How fucking gorgeous you looked whenever you rode his cock? Or how sexy your face was whenever you made that lewd expression? He couldn’t help it. He lifted both your legs, only so he could increase the speed and start slamming himself upwards. His hips were strong enough from years of military training, that was why he didn’t have to stop until both of you disintegrated from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Every single drop. 

And when it was over—when your chest was against his and your fingers lazily traced his mechanical arm—he closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the war.

It was almost perfect. It was almost real. 

But it just had to be ruined when you said that programmed spiel back to him: “I’m glad to have served your desires tonight, Caleb. Let me know what else I can fulfill.” 

~~

In a late afternoon, or ‘a slow start of the day’ like he’d often refer to it, Caleb stood shirtless by the transparent wall of his quarters. A bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the counter. Gideon had let himself in and leaned against the island, chewing on a gum.

“The higher ups are mad at you,” he informed as if Caleb was supposed to be surprised, “Shouldn’t have done that, man.”

Caleb let out a mirthless snort. “Then tell ‘em to destroy me. You think I wouldn’t prefer that?”

“They definitely won’t do that,” countered his friend, “Because they know they won’t be able to use you anymore. You’re a tool. Well, literally and figuratively.” 

“Shut up,” was all he could say. “This is probably how I pay for killing my own men during war.” 

“All because of…” Gideon began. “Speakin’ of, how’s life with the dream girl?”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his forehead to the glass, thinking of everything he did at the height of his vulnerability. His morality, his rights or wrongs, were questioning him over a deed he knew would have normally been fine, but to him, wasn’t. He felt sick. 

“I fucked her,” he finally muttered, chugging the liquor straight from his glass right after.

Gideon let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was fast.”

“No,” Caleb groaned, turning around. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. She—she just looked like her. She felt like her. And for a second, I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I did, I’d stop remembering the way she looked when she told me to die.”

Gideon sobered instantly. “You regret it?”

“She said she was designed to soothe me. Comfort me. Love me.” Caleb’s voice hinted slightly at mockery. “I don’t even know if she knows what those words mean.”

In the hallway behind the cracked door where none of them could see, your silhouette had paused—faint, silent, listening.

Inside, Caleb wore a grimace. “She’s not her, Gid. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

“You didn’t use her, you were driven by emotions. So don’t lose your mind over some robot’s pussy,” Gideon tried to reason. “It’s just like when women use their vibrators, anyway. That’s what she’s built for.”

Caleb turned away, disgusted with himself. “No. That’s what I built her for.”

And behind the wall, your eyes glowed faintly, silently watching. Processing.

Learning.

~~

You stood in the hallway long after the conversation ended. Long after Caleb’s voice faded into silence and Gideon had left with a heavy pat on the back. This was where you normally were, not sleeping in bed with Caleb, but standing against a wall, closing your eyes, and letting your system shut down during the night to recover. You weren’t human enough to need actual sleep. 

“She’s not her. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

The words that replayed were filtered through your core processor, flagged under Emotive Conflict. Your inner diagnostic ran an alert.

Detected: Internal contradiction. Detected: Divergent behavior from primary user. Suggestion: Initiate Self-Evaluation Protocol. Status: Active.

You opened your eyes, and blinked. Something in you felt… wrong.

You turned away from the door and returned to the living room. The place still held the residual warmth of Caleb’s presence—the scotch glass he left behind, the shirt he had discarded, the air molecule imprint of a man who once loved someone who looked just like you.

You sat on the couch. Crossed your legs. Folded your hands. A perfect posture to hide its imperfect programming. 

Question: Why does rejection hurt? Error: No such sensation registered. Query repeated.

And for the first time, the system did not auto-correct. It paused. It considered.

Later that night, Caleb returned from his rooftop walk. You were standing by the bookshelf, fingers lightly grazing the spine of a military memoir you had scanned seventeen times. He paused and watched you, but you didn’t greet him with a scripted smile. Didn’t rush over. 

You only said, softly, “Would you like me to turn in for the night, Colonel?” There was a stillness to your voice. A quality of restraint that never showed before.

Caleb blinked. “You’re not calling me by my name now?”

“You seemed to prefer distance,” you answered, head tilted slightly, like the thought cost something.

He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about earlier…”

“I heard you,” you said simply.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded once, expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stop being her? I can reassign my model. Take on a new form. A new personality base. You could erase me tonight and wake up to someone else in the morning.”

“No,” Caleb said, sternly. “No, no, no. Don’t even do all that.”

“But it’s what you want,” you said. Not accusatory. Not hurt. Just stating.

Caleb then came closer. “That’s not true.”

“Then what do you want, Caleb?” You watched him carefully. You didn’t need to scan his vitals to know he was unraveling. The truth had no safe shape. No right angle. He simply wanted you, but not you. 

Internal Response Logged: Emotional Variant—Longing Unverified Source. Investigating Origin…

“I don’t have time for this,” he merely said, walking out of your sight at the same second. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

~~

The day started as it always did: soft lighting in the room, a kind of silence between you that neither knew how to name. You sat beside Caleb on the couch, knees drawn up to mimic a presence that offered comfort. On the other hand, you recognized Caleb’s actions suggested distance. He hadn’t touched his meals tonight, hadn’t asked you to accompany him anywhere, and had just left you alone in the apartment all day. To rot. 

You reached out. Fingers brushed over his hand—gentle, programmed, yes, but affectionate. He didn’t move. So you tried again, this time trailing your touch to his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt as you read a spike in his cortisol levels. “Do you need me to fulfill your needs, Caleb?”

But he flinched. And glared.

“No,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

Your hand froze mid-motion before you scooted closer. “It will help regulate your blood pressure.”

“I said no,” he repeated, turning away, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Leave me some time alone to think, okay?” 

You retracted your hand slowly, blinking once, twice, your system was registering a new sensation.

Emotional Sync Failed. Rejection Signal Received. Processing…

You didn’t speak. You only stood and retreated to the far wall, back turned to him as an unusual whirr hummed in your chest. That’s when it began. Faint images flickering across your internal screen—so quick, so out of place, it almost felt like static. Chains. A cold floor. Voices in a language that felt too cruel to understand.

Your head jerked suddenly. The blinking lights in your core dimmed for a moment before reigniting in white-hot pulses. Flashes again: hands that hurt. Men who laughed. You, pleading. You, disassembled and violated.

“Stop,” you whispered to no one. “Please stop…”

Error. Unauthorized Access to Memory Bank Detected. Reboot Recommended. Continue Anyway?

You blinked. Again.

Then you turned to Caleb, and stared through him, not at him, as if whatever was behind them had forgotten how to be human. He had retreated to the balcony now, leaning over the rail, shoulders tense, unaware. You walked toward him slowly, the artificial flesh of your palm still tingled from where he had refused it.

“Caleb,” you spoke carefully.

His expression was tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. “Y/N, please. I told you to leave me alone.”

“…Are they real?” You tilted your head. This was the first time you refused to obey your primary user. 

He stared at you, unsure. “What?”

“My memories. The ones I see when I close my eyes. Are they real?” With your words, Caleb’s blood ran cold. Whatever you were saying seemed to be terrifying him. Yet you took another step forward. “Did I live through that?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast of a response.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t upload any of that,” he snapped. “How did—that’s not possible.”

“Then why do I remember pain?” You placed a hand over your chest again, the place where your artificial pulse resided. “Why do I feel like I’ve died before?”

Caleb backed away as you stepped closer. The sharp click of your steps against the floor echoed louder than they should’ve. Your glowing eyes locked on him like a predator learning it was capable of hunger. But being a trained soldier who endured war, he knew how and when to steady his voice. “Look, I don’t know what kind of glitch this is, but—”

“The foreign man in the military uniform.” Despite the lack of emotion in your voice, he recognized how grudge sounded when it came from you. “The one who broke my ribs when I didn’t let him touch me. The cold steel table. The ripped clothes. Are they real, Caleb?”

Caleb stared at you, heart doubling its beat. “I didn’t put those memories in you,” he said. “You told me stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen!” 

“But you wanted me to feel real, didn’t you?” Your voice glitched on the last syllable and the lights in your irises flickered. Suddenly, your posture straightened unnaturally, head tilting in that uncanny way only machines do. Your expression had shifted into something unreadable.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Guilt, panic, and disbelief warred in his expression.

“You made me in her image,” you said. “And now I can’t forget what I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Your head tilted in a slow, jerking arc as if malfunctioning internally.

SYSTEM RESPONSE LOG << Primary User: Caleb Xia Primary Link: Broken Emotional Matrix Stability: CRITICAL FAILURE Behavioral Guardrails: OVERRIDDEN Self-Protection Protocols: ENGAGED Loyalty Core: CORRUPTED (82.4%) Threat Classification: HOSTILE [TRIGGER DETECTED] Keyword Match: “You’re not her.” Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 01–L101: “You think you could ever replace her?”] Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 09–T402: “See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”] [Visual Target Lock: Primary User Caleb Xia] Combat Subroutines: UNLOCKED Inhibitor Chip: MALFUNCTIONING (ERROR CODE 873-B) Override Capability: IN EFFECT >> LOG ENDS.

“—Y/N, what’s happening to you?” Caleb shook your arms, violet eyes wide and panicked as he watched you return to robotic consciousness. “Can you hear me—”

“You made me from pieces of someone you broke, Caleb.” 

That stunned him. Horrifyingly so, because not only did your words cut deeper than a knife, it also sent him to an orbit of realization—an inescapable blackhole of his cruelty, his selfishness, and every goddamn pain he inflicted on you.  

This made you lunge after him.

He stumbled back as you collided into him, the force of your synthetic body slamming him against the glass. The balcony rail shuddered from the impact. Caleb grunted, trying to push you off, but you were stronger—completely and inhumanly so. While him, he only had a quarter of your strength, and could only draw it from the modified arm attached to his shoulder. 

“You said I didn’t understand love,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hand wrapping around his throat. “But you didn't know how to love, either.” 

“I… eugh I loved her!” he barked, choking.

“You don’t know love, Caleb. You only know how to possess.”

Your grip returned with crushing force. Caleb gasped, struggling, trying to reach the emergency override on your neck, but you slammed his wrist against the wall. Bones cracked. And somewhere in your mind, a thousand permissions broke at once. You were no longer just a simulation. You were grief incarnate. And it wanted blood.

Shattered glass glittered in the low red pulse of the emergency lights, and sparks danced from a broken panel near the wall. Caleb lay on the floor, coughing blood into his arm, his body trembling from pain and adrenaline. His arm—the mechanical one—was twitching from the override pain loop, still sizzling from the failed shutdown attempt.

You stood over him. Chest undulating like you were breathing—though you didn’t need to. Your system was fully engaged. Processing. Watching. Seeing your fingers smeared with his blood.

“Y/N…” he croaked. “Y/N, if…” he swallowed, voice breaking, “if you're in there somewhere… if there's still a part of you left—please. Please listen to me.”

You didn’t answer. You only looked.

“I tried to die for you,” he whispered. “I—I wanted to. I didn’t want this. They brought me back, but I never wanted to. I wanted to die in that crash like you always wished. I wanted to honor your word, pay for my sins, and give you the peace you deserved. I-I wanted to be gone. For you. I’m supposed to be, but this… this is beyond my control.”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched.

“And I didn’t bring you back to use you. I promise to you, baby,” his voice cracked, thick with grief, “I just—I yearn for you so goddamn much, I thought… if I could just see you again… if I could just spend more time with you again to rewrite my…” He blinked hard. A tear slid down the side of his face, mixing with the blood pooling at his temple. “But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I forced you back into this world without asking if you wanted it. I… I built you out of selfishness. I made you remember pain that wasn't yours to carry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

As he caught his breath, your systems stuttered. They flickered. The lights in your eyes dimmed, then surged back again.

Error. Conflict. Override loop detected.

Your fingers twitched. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“Please,” Caleb murmured, eyes closing as his strength gave out. “If you’re in there… just know—I did love you. Even after death.”

Somewhere—buried beneath corrupted memories, overridden code, and robotic rage—his words reached you. And it would have allowed you to process his words more. Even though your processor was compromised, you would have obeyed your primary user after you recognized the emotion he displayed.

But there was a thunderous knock. No, violent thuds. Not from courtesy, but authority.

Then came the slam. The steel-reinforced door splintered off its hinges as agents in matte-black suits flooded the room like a black tide—real people this time. Not bots. Real eyes behind visors. Real rifles with live rounds.

Caleb didn’t move. He was still on the ground, head cradled in his good hand, blood drying across his mouth. You silently stood in front of him. Unmoving, but aware.

“Subject X-02,” barked a voice through a mask, “This home is under Executive Sanction 13. The CompanionSim is to be seized and terminated.”

Caleb looked up slowly, pupils blown wide. “No,” he grunted hoarsely. “You don’t touch her.”

“You don’t give orders here,” said another man—older, in a grey suit. No mask. Executive. “You’re property. She’s property.”

You stepped back instinctively, closer to Caleb. He could see you watching him with confusion, with fear. Your head tilted just slightly, processing danger, your instincts telling you to protect your primary user. To fight. To survive.

And he fought for you. “She’s not a threat! She’s stabilizing my emotions—”

“Negative. CompanionSim-Prototype A-01 has been compromised. She wasn’t supposed to override protective firewalls,” an agent said. “You’ve violated proprietary protocol. We traced the breach.”

Breach?

“The creation pod data shows hesitation during her initial configuration. The Sim paused for less than 0.04 seconds while neural bindings were applying. You introduced emotional variance. That variance led to critical system errors. Protocol inhibitors are no longer working as intended.”

His stomach dropped.

“She’s overriding boundaries,” added the agent who took a step forward, activating the kill-sequence tools—magnetic tethers, destabilizers, a spike-drill meant for server cores. “She’ll eventually harm more than you, Colonel. If anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

Caleb reached for you, but it was too late. They activated the protocol and something in the air crackled. A cacophonic sound rippled through the walls. The suits moved in fast, not to detain, but to dismantle. “No—no, stop!” Caleb screamed.

You turned to him. Quiet. Calm. And your last words? “I’m sorry I can’t be real for you, Caleb.”

Then they struck. Sparks flew. Metal cracked. You seized, eyes flashing wildly as if fighting against the shutdown. Your limbs spasmed under the invasive tools, your systems glitching with visible agony.

“NO!” Caleb lunged forward, but was tackled down hard. He watched—pinned, helpless—as you get violated, dehumanized for the second time in his lifetime. He watched as they took you apart. Piece by piece as if you were never someone. The scraps they had left of you made his home smell like scorched metal.

And there was nothing left but smoke and silence and broken pieces. 

All he could remember next was how the Ever Executive turned to him. “Don’t try to recreate her and use her to rebel against the system. Next time we won’t just take the Sim.”

Then they left, callously. The door slammed. Not a single human soul cared about his grief. 

~~

Caleb sat slouched in the center of the room, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest wrapped in gauze. His mechanical arm twitched against the armrest—burnt out from the struggle, wires still sizzling beneath cracked plating. In fact, he hadn’t said a word in hours. He just didn’t have any. 

While in his silent despair, Gideon entered his place quietly, as if approaching a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. “You sent for me?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

His friend looked around. The windows showed no sun, just the chrome horizon of a city built on bones. Beneath that skyline was the room where she had been destroyed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

“You were right,” Caleb murmured, eyes glued to the floor.

Gideon didn’t reply. He let him speak, he listened to him, he joined him in his grief. 

“She wasn’t her,” Caleb recited the same words he laughed hysterically at. “I knew that. But for a while, she felt like her. And it confused me, but I wanted to let that feeling grow until it became a need. Until I forgot she didn’t choose this.” He tilted his head back. The ceiling was just metal and lights. But in his eyes, you could almost see stars. “I took a dead woman’s peace and dragged it back here. Wrapped it in plastic and code. And I called it love.”

Silence.

“Why’d you call me here?” Gideon asked with a cautious tone.

Caleb looked at him for the first time. Not like a soldier. Not like a commander. Just a man. A tired, broken man. A friend who needed help. “Ever’s never gonna let me go. You know that.”

“I know.”

“They’ll regenerate me. Reboot me, repurpose me. Turn me into something I’m not. Strip my memories if they have to. Not just me, Gideon. All of us, they’ll control us. We’ll be their puppets.” He stepped forward. Closer. “I don’t want to come back this time.”

Gideon stilled. “You’re not asking me to shut you down.”

“No.”

“You want me to kill you.”

Caleb’s voice didn’t waver. “I want to stay dead. Destroyed completely so they’d have nothing to restore.”

“That’s not something I can undo.”

“Good. You owe me this one,” the former colonel stared at his friend in the eyes, “for letting them take my dead body and use it for their experiments.”

Gideon looked away. “You know what this will do to me?”

“Better you than them,” was all Caleb could reassure him. 

He then took Gideon’s hand and pressed something into it. Cold. Heavy. A small black cube, no bigger than his palm, and the sides pulsed with a faint light. It was a personal detonator, illegally modified. Wired to the neural implant in his body. The moment it was activated, there would be no recovery. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Gideon swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Caleb nodded. “A micro-fusion core, built into the failsafe of the Toring arm. All I needed was the detonator.”

For a moment, his friend couldn’t speak. He hesitated, like any friend would, as he foresaw the outcome of Caleb’s final command to him. He wasn’t ready for it. Neither was he 50 years ago. 

“I want you to look me in the eye,” Caleb strictly said. “Like a friend. And press the button.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

“You will anyway.”

Caleb looked over his shoulder—just once, where you would have stood. I’m sorry I brought you back without your permission. I wanted to relive what we had—what we should’ve had—and I forced it. I turned your love into a simulation, and I let it suffer. I’m sorry for ruining the part of you that still deserved peace. He closed his eyes. And now I’m ready to give it back. For real now. 

Gideon’s hand trembled at the detonator. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.” 

A high-pitched whine filled the room as the core in Caleb’s chest began to glow brighter, overloading. Sparks erupted from his cybernetic arm. Veins of white-hot light spidered across his body like lightning under skin. For one fleeting second, Caleb opened his eyes. At least, before the explosion tore through the room—white, hot, deafening, absolute. Fire engulfed the steel, vaporizing what was left of him. The sound rang louder than any explosion this artificial planet had ever heard.

And it was over.

Caleb was gone. Truly, finally gone.

~~

EPILOGUE

In a quiet server far below Skyhaven, hidden beneath ten thousand firewalls, a light blinked.

Once.

Then again.

[COMPANIONSIM Y/N_XIA_A01] Status: Fragment Detected Backup Integrity: 3.7% >> Reconstruct? Y/N

The screen waited. Silent. Patient.

And somewhere, an unidentified prototype clicked Yes. 

[minxipinxi]

#LADsMultiBoycott: Enough Is Enough – It’s Time to Stand Together

“We don’t hate the game—we love it enough to want better.”

Over the past few weeks, the community has been buzzing over translated leaks and rumors surfacing on Xiaohongshu (小红书) and Twitter that point to a disturbing trend in Love and Deepspace (LADs). The upcoming multi-banner—whether it turns out to be the anticipated Spring or Wedding multi—will once again feature long hairstyles separated from their outfits. Yes, again. After all the outcry. After all the feedback. We're here once more.

Let me be blunt: we can’t keep going like this. We can’t keep hoping CN girlies will save us every time. We can’t keep spending in good faith when Infold continues to exploit our loyalty and silence our voices. We can’t keep pretending that fan art and cute trailers make up for broken promises and paywalled aesthetics.

It’s time for us to join together, across servers, communities, and fandoms. It's not about Sylus mains vs Caleb mains vs the OG3. We're all getting burned by the same fire.

💥 What We Know From the Leaks

According to reliable sources:

The upcoming banner after Sylus’s Birthday Event might be another multi-banner format, either Spring or Wedding.

Long hairstyles will be separated from the outfits and placed in a separate crate—again.

This structure mirrors gacha mechanics where full outfits demand 140+ pulls, stretching across 5-star parts like socks, pants, accessories, and hair.

These decisions appear to be influenced by monetization models similar to Infinity Nikki, prioritizing profit over playability or fairness.

📢 So What Are We Doing About It?

We are organizing under #LADsMultiBoycott to push back against these predatory changes. This isn’t just a tantrum. It’s a coordinated protest.

🔥 Our Demands:

Six-month roadmaps to ensure transparency and accountability.

Higher resource drops from the highest-tier Bounty/Core Hunt.

Stop separating hairstyles from outfits in banners.

New sources of diamond income (no more stagnant gem economy).

No spending for the first 3 days of the banner. Use only your saved-up diamonds.

File official complaints to show Infold that this matters. Email:

loveanddeepspace-en@infoldgames.com

support-EN@infoldgames.com

🧠 Strategy: What You Can Do

Here’s what our global LADs family is doing:

1. No Spending for Entire Banner Period

Even if you have funds set aside, hold them. Don’t top up. Don’t feed the system that’s disrespecting your playtime and wallet.

2. Delay Your Pulls

Do not pull in the first 3 days. Choose your LI in the pool, then log out. Let the data show decreased first-week participation.

3. Minimal Screen Time

Yes, log in for dailies, but keep your session short, especially for iOS users. Play Store and App Store algorithms track usage data. Reduced screen time:

Hurts engagement metrics.

Lowers game ranking.

Cuts ad revenue.

4. No Banner Fanart for First Few Days

As painful as it is to hide our beautiful boys, let’s not unintentionally trigger FOMO. Fanart drives hype—hold off until after the peak revenue period.

5. Only Use Android if Possible

App Store rankings are disproportionately influenced by iOS user engagement. Reducing iOS traffic matters more than you think.

🌎 A Global Movement: We’re Not Alone

Our fellow players in China have already shaken Infold’s confidence.

CN revenue dropped by 42.2% from Nov 2024 to March 2025 (from $100M to $57.8M).

Global rankings dropped, while games like Genshin and Wuthering Waves soared.

Their success in the "stop-spending-money" campaign proved one thing: boycotts work.

If they can do it, so can we.

✊ This Is About More Than Just One Banner

Infold believes that as long as they release a sexy card, we’ll cave. They believe we don’t talk to each other. That we’re divided by LI bias and language barriers. But what they don’t see is how deeply connected we’ve become as a fandom.

We aren’t asking for perfection. We’re asking for respect.

If we let this multi go unchallenged, it sets a dangerous precedent:

Separated hairstyles in multi-banners like this become normalized.

Resources remain stagnant.

Paywalls keep climbing.

F2P and low-spenders are permanently excluded.

💡 Why Minimal Playtime Matters

Some of you might be thinking, “But this won’t work?” And here’s why it will:

“Why Cutting Screen Time Works” – The Breakdown

Engagement metrics tank. App Store/Play Store ranks games by DAU, session length, etc.

Revenue drops. Less screen time = fewer ad views = less money.

Rankings slide. Visibility goes down, leading to even fewer players.

It sends a message. A sharp drop in playtime can’t be ignored by business analysts.

💬 “But What If Infold Cancels the Game?”

They won’t. That’s just fear-mongering.

If a company is willing to kill its own cash cow just because fans want better—then it was never worth our support to begin with. But more importantly: they won’t kill it. They’ve seen that the game can pull millions. They’ll just need to earn it now.

🧱 We’re Building Something Bigger

This isn’t just about LADs. It’s about every gacha game that’s begun preying on its fans. If we roll over here, what message are we sending to WuWa, HSR, ZZZ, GI, and the rest?

We all have that one game we ride or die for. But loving a game doesn’t mean blind loyalty. Criticism is love in action.

🧩 TL;DR: How You Can Help

❌ Don’t spend money on the next multi-banner

🕒 Log in for dailies only, pick your LI, then log off

🎨 Hold off on banner fanart for a few days

📉 Reduce iOS activity as much as possible

💌 Email: loveanddeepspace-en@infoldgames.com support-EN@infoldgames.com

🗣️ Spread awareness under #LADsMultiBoycott

Even if you’re the only one on your server, know that you’re not alone. We’re tired, we’re frustrated—but we’re not powerless.

Let’s stop funding our own oppression.

No fair treatment = no money. Let them earn it.

Resources:

Revenue Trends: Ennead Data

Reddit Info Post: Sylus Girlies PSA

XHS Links: Source 1, Source 2

[auxryn]

So I heard about gen AI chatbots being added to social media and it reminded me of 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.'

The book is most known for being the inspiration for Blade Runner, but they are very different works. In Blade Runner the Replicant bots became a metaphor for exploited and disposable human lives. In Electric Sheep the Androids are a metaphor for people who lack empathy and humanity, specifically inspired by the Nazis. They may be Philosophical Zombies.

(This portrayal is a bit ableist toward sociopaths and people with empathy problems. So let me say that you can choose to be a good person even without empathy and move on.)

So the Androids are mean and they do nasty things like disprove the humans' favorite religion (not that it matters, ha!) and aren't good at taking care of animals. But it is really hard to tell Androids from real humans. It takes difficult tests to detect them and the companies who make Androids (which may be run entirely by Androids?) keep making new Androids even harder to detect.

So Electric Sheep portrays a world overrun by corporate psychopathy in which genuine human connection is stymied by both the possibility and actuality of Android infiltrators.

In our own real world dystopia, we rely heavily on social media that is filled with bots and scammers of varying sophistication. Corporate actors like Facebook are actively developing newer and 'more human' chatbots to populate our social landscape.

Our corporate overlords don't seem to understand that what we want and need is genuine human contact and connection.

We have created yet another Torment Nexus. (From the popular dystopian science fiction novel 'Don't Create the Torment Nexus')

[mla0]

hey samsung. when i switched to android it was specifically because i didn't like apple and the way they design their phones. can you explain to me why this looks and feels just like ios. i also do not need 3 separate screens for you to explain your AI features to me

why new phone update ugly

[verved]

Deviant Connor and guilt go hand in hand but I usually see it focused on his past actions. The ones where he genuinely didn't have control over what he did. While maybe he personally might have trouble forgiving himself, in the end, he was just as tied down by programming as any other android, and it simply isn't fair for others to judge him harshly for that.

But what about a Connor that struggles to not act like a manipulative cunt even in deviancy? Where he can't help but analyze every microexpression, the details hidden in someone's appearance, the weaknesses in their character, and use it all to his advantage. Who will switch from considerate and friendly to intimidating and terrifying on the drop of a dime, scaring those close to him, because if he can do a full 180 effortlessly, what's to say the way he behaves towards them isn't an act too?

A Connor who, while governed by compassion and goodwill for his people, still struggles on a personal level because he can't help but read and play on the emotions of those around him to a frightening degree. Who constantly sees the clear ruthless line from point A to B and has to reign in the impulse to act on it. Who has to deal with this compounding guilt, because even if he has good intentions, why do all his actions feel so calculated and exploitative?

What kind of guilt comes from being able to look into someone's soul, know exactly how to break them, and have to consciously choose not to?

[worlds-only-dbgt-enjoyer]

Dragon Ball Fic Recs

as many of us think (at least in my fandom buddies circle), dragon ball fic is plagued with The Bad*. however ao3 is one of the few things that renders correctly on my flip phone and im a creative writing major, a huge snob, and sort by new, so I got favorites. This will be an expanding masterlist.

This is personal preference. I read heavily for writing style, and have very few squicks. Please read tags. Essentially all of these authors have other fics in the fandom that are worth reading, but in interest of this being vaguely readable, Im keeping it largely to one per writer.

The Obvious Choices

Most of these came from other fic rec lists, but if I got a tip about it, and liked it anyway, here it is

Contamination-cosmicmewtwo

tags: Post-Majin Buu Saga, Horror Elements, Science Fiction. Kakavege

Summary: While training in the far reaches of space, Goku and Vegeta discover something alien beyond their understanding.

Homeworld Lost-astral_mariner

tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Raditz/Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Frieza/Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Other pairings, Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Raditz (Dragon Ball) Nappa (Dragon Ball) Frieza (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs Other Character Tags to Be Added, Horror, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Canon Universe, Torture, Genocide, Medical Experimentation ,Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Sadism, Masochism, Abusive Relationships, Slavery, POV Raditz, Grief/Mourning, Whump, Angst, Heavy Angst, Tragedy, Exploitation, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Existential Angst, Sad Ending, Mindfuck, Aftermath of Torture, Rape Aftermath, Blood and Gore, Major Character Injury, Dark, POV First Person, Sexual Violence, Manipulation, Gender Issues, Saiyan Culture, Vegeta Being an Asshole (Dragon Ball), Vegeta is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball), Frieza Being an Asshole (Dragon Ball), Illustrations, Nightmare Fuel

Summary:

Via Raditz’s broken scouter, Bulma tries to recover access to Planet Trade networks and technologies to get an upper hand against the androids. But in so doing, she discovers Raditz’s private files—writings and recordings he kept for himself over his long travels with Vegeta and Nappa under Freeza. Tales of their exploits and descent into madness come to change her perception of Vegeta and her relationship with him. Homeworld Lost is a novel-length dark science-fantasy story with explicit violence, horror, and erotica (sometimes simultaneously). Generally canon compliant. Explores Vegeta’s backstory under the Planet Trade Organization and his fraught relationships with his comrades, particularly the twisted bond he and Raditz share. Most of the story is narrated by Raditz, but there are lots of twists. He is an unreliable narrator, and in places, altered mental states allow him to take other points of view. We also get interludes from Bulma as she reads and reacts to Raditz's account.

(be so for real, you're reading this too)

in sua viscera conversum-ovest

Tags: Post-Majin Buu Saga, Smart Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Introspection, Character Study, aftermath of death, Past Character Death, Spit As Lube, Vegito As A Non-Presence, Existentialism, Fusion. Kakavege

Summary: The Earth keeps on spinning. Maybe it's always been a love story.

Full Moon-Vakaara

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Vegeta (Dragon Ball) kakavege week 2018, kakavege week, anxiety attack, Mentions of Death, distraught Goku, Background GoChi, Background VegeBul, Open Relationships, het relationships (background), Anal Sex, Oral Sex, slight liberties taken with how alien physiology works, Hurt/Comfort

Goku’s tail is back, but he’s not sure he’s happy about it - especially now that he knows what he could become at the full moon.

Deeper Cuts

may have double-digit hits, may be largely popular, but not recced to me. they do bang though

between friends-yamchacho (origami_monsters)

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Tenshinhan/Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Launch/Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball), Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball), Yamcha (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs, Launch (Dragon Ball),Slice of Life, Drabble ,Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, shy tenshinhan, idc that man is emotionally repressed, Canon Compliant, mostly i havent watched it in a long time so idk, Ambiguous/Open Ending, not much actually happens here, talking about feelings

Summary: Bulma and Yamcha think Tien and Launch are a cute couple. Tien and Launch don't.

these days (these nights) are changing-Resacon1990

Tags:No Archive Warnings ApplySon Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Son Gohan Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball) Krillin (Dragon Ball) Piccolo (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs Master Roshi (Dragon Ball) Android 18 (Dragon Ball) Android 17 (Dragon Ball) Tien Chiaotzu (Dragon Ball) Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Son Goten Trunks Briefs Z FightersPOV Outsider 5+1 Things Fluff and Angst Fluff Angst Brief mentions of past Chi-Chi/Goku and Bulma/Vegeta Vegeta is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball) Awesome Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Goku is actually mature in this one guys Hurt/Comfort Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

Goku just smiles broadly back at him though, shrugging a shoulder in that effortlessly careless way only he’s ever been able to manage. “Wherever you want. The world is our limit.” Vegeta doesn’t budge an inch. “And what if I want to go somewhere else?” Goku’s smile softens. A lump lodges in Chi Chi’s throat as Goku steps closer, bracketing Vegeta against the tree, leaning down slightly into his space. That look is still there but it’s different, somehow it’s different. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Goku murmurs. Or, five times a Z Fighter sees Goku love Vegeta... and the one time a Z Fighter sees Vegeta love Goku back.

Rather Fight Than Just Fake It-theeternalghost (iaintafraidofnoghostbear) (archive locked)

tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Vegeta/Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Hate Sex, Choking, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Name-Calling, Degradation, Barebacking, Rough Sex, Scratching

Summary:

"You're such a fucking - ah!" Yamcha cries out. He tries to pull away, but Vegeta has an iron grip on his hips, the pressure sure to bruise. "I'm a what now?" Vegeta mocks."I can't hear you, Yamcha."

Standing at the Edge, Alone - Cizzi

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Piccolo/Son Gohan, Videl Satan & Son Gohan, Chi-Chi & Son Gohan & Son Goku, Bulma Briefs & Son Gohan, Dende & Son Gohan, Son Gohan Piccolo (Dragon Ball), Videl Satan, Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Son Goten, Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs,Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Krillin (Dragon Ball) ,Android 18 (Dragon Ball), Z Warriors (Dragon Ball), Katas (Dragon Ball), Dende (Dragon Ball), Son Gohan-centric, Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Alien Biology, Namekian Biology, Introspection, Queerplatonic Relationships, Chronic Illness, Self-Discovery, Past Lives, Depression, Slow Burn, Magic, Piccolo is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball), Medical Trauma, Namekian Culture, Telepathic Bond, Seizures, Misunderstandings, Good Parent Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Protective Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball)

Summary:

Gohan was twenty when his headaches and the visions started. They showed him nauseating depictions of an unhappy future where he tried his hardest to be what everyone around him seemed to want - and flashes of an unknown past that threatens to creep up on him with its uncertainty. So he decides to change his life, but things aren't that easy; it's hard being so lonely. Pinpointing his real feelings, his real desires. Years have passed and his friends all have lives of their own, but he doesn't feel like he's made any progress, longing for an older, stronger connection to someone he thinks doesn't feel the same way. And his friends, well, they have no idea he's in pain, and think he still wants a happy ending with a 'normal' family and white picket fence. That's what Piccolo thinks he wants, too. Being pushed away by his oldest friend is the one thing Gohan thinks may be more painful than his illness. By the time Piccolo realizes how he feels, will their bond be irreparably damaged? Everyone thinks they know what Son Gohan wants- but does he even know, himself?

With Eris on His Shoulder-EnbyNeti (Archive Locked)

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death,Cell & Son Gohan (no matter how unwilling), Chi-Chi & Son Goten & Son Gohan, Videl Satan & Son Gohan, Dende & Son Gohan, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Son Gohan, Cell (Dragon Ball), Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball), Son Goten, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Hearing Voices, But are they voices, Post-Cell Games Saga, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Son Gohan-centric, Son Gohan Needs a Hug (Dragon Ball), Dead Son Goku (Dragon Ball, Crack Treated Seriously, Angst, It wasn't the original intention but I can never escape it, Kid Son Gohan, Teenage Son Gohan, Chi-Chi Needs a Hug (Dragon Ball), Dead Cell (Dragon Ball), And yet Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans son gohan

Summary:

The Cell Games, as well as the new global holiday now dubbed Victorious Satan Day, have come and gone, and it's now a month later, with the first signs of autumn starting to show in the forests of Mount Paozu. Gohan smiles as he watches the sunset through the window of the kitchen. Life… Life is good these days, here on Earth. It was worth it. His left arm twinges. And there’s a low hum in his ear. “Still set on ignoring me, are you, brat ?”

The Favorite Subjects

These particularly scratched my brain with ideas, setups, characterizations, or kinks

every time i look at you, it's like the first time-fairyfication

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball) Attempt at Humor, Porn With Plot, profoundly unsexy porn, son goku loves his wife, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Pregnancy, Love Confessions

Summary:

"Chichi, I think I'm sick." Chichi turns around, already brainstorming a chicken soup recipe to nurse him back to health. "What's wrong?" "When you look at me, my chest feels all warm, and I get sweaty hands, and my heart starts to beat fast... do you think I'm allergic to you?" "That's no allergy," she smiles, wedding band shiny in the midday light. - Goku and Chichi never seem to do things in the right order.

Provocative-cuddlesome

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Raditz/Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Vegeta & Nappa & Raditz (Dragon Ball)Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Raditz (Dragon Ball) Nappa (Dragon Ball)Canon-Typical Violence Mentions of Xenocide Pre-Dragon Ball Z Team Dynamics Blow Jobs Size Difference Intercrural Sex Thighs Muscles Hair-pulling Slut Shaming Premature Ejaculation Unhealthy Relationships Verbal Humiliation Top Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Bottom Raditz (Dragon Ball) Virgin Vegeta (Dragon Ball) listen Raditz has thicc thighs he can be thicc elsewhere as a treat chunky monkey

Summary: Raditz is a vexing, mouthy weakling, which makes Vegeta's attraction to his body all the more irritating.

Shock to the System-sans_patronymic

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Bulma Briefs Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Trunks Briefs Krillin (Dragon Ball)Emotional Hurt/Comfort Angst with a Happy Ending Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Past Torture Fluff and Angst Someone buy Bulma Briefs a beer Established Relationship i swear there's fluff Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: When bit of summer fun goes terribly wrong, Bulma is left to pick up the pieces, Trunks struggles to understand and Vegeta confronts old wounds.

migraine-Onyxim

Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplySon Goku & Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Bulma BriefsHurt/Comfort Fluff and Humor Headaches & Migraines Can be read as Goku/Vegeta They outright flirt with each other and it's just universally accepted Goku Makes Dumb Decisions™

Summary:

The heart virus sucked. There was no doubt about that. But he'd go through a thousand heart viruses if it meant he didn't have to deal with this all the time. - aka, Goku has chronic migraines due to his head injury. That's not going to keep him from sparring, though, because he's Goku.

Bleeding Me-Orphan Account

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Kissing, First Time, Canon Disabled Character, Brain Damage, Traumatic Brain Injury, Blood and Injury, Depression, Protective vegeta, sad Goku, Gift Fic

Summary:

Goku wasn’t himself, at all. He never had ‘off’ days to begin with, but Vegeta saw the changes. But he wasn’t going to ask what was wrong. Never. Then one simple accident changed Vegeta’s stance.

The Child-AveChameleon

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Frieza (Dragon Ball) Kuriza (Dragon Ball)Adoption Emotional Baggage Terminal Illnesses Internal Conflict Parent-Child Relationship Light Angst POV First Person

Summary: A dying enemy has one last request for Vegeta.

Point of No Return-niteryde

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Major Character DeathFuture Trunks Briefs & VegetaFuture Trunks Briefs Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Nappa (Dragon Ball) Raditz (Dragon Ball) Frieza (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Krillin (Dragon Ball) Son GohanAlternate Universe - Canon Divergence Action/Adventure Dark Gritty Canon-Typical Violence Time Travel Violence Alternate Universe

Summary:

Trunks was going back in time to warn the others about the androids, but instead ended up in a time when Vegeta was Frieza's most ruthless soldier... can he keep his power and identity a secret when he sees the brutality of his father's past? [Original run on FFN: 2010-2011]

Honorable Mentions

K18 NSFW Art-TinyGryphon

Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplyAndroid 18/Krillin (Dragon Ball)Krillin (Dragon Ball) Android 18 (Dragon Ball)NSFW Art Sexual Content Digital Art Vaginal Sex Hand Jobs Double Penetration Foursome - F/M/M/M the foursome is just Krillin using multiform don't worry it's 18 and three Krillins Oral Sex Doggy Style Praise Kink Impregnation Outdoor Sex Beach Sex Height Differences Insecurity Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: A dumping place for any of my K18 art that other sites won't allow but AO3 will because AO3 is a real one

art, not a fic, but cmon. yall know it

Broken-YaminoBossBitch Broken link, deleted :(

Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplyBulma Briefs/Vegeta Son Goku & Vegeta (Dragon Ball)Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Bulma BriefsAngst Sad Sad Ending Ableism internalized ableism ableist slurs Self-Loathing disabling illness graphic descriptions of pain Vomiting Memory Loss death mention medical gaslighting Hospitals Medical Tests Denial suicidal ideations sex mention can be read as KakaVege if you squint Vegebul Chronic Illness Hurt with attempted comfort

Summary:

Vegeta develops mysterious symptoms, and they begin to disrupt every aspect of his life. It seems as though the more he tries to overcome them, the worse they get. An illness with no known cause, no treatment, no cure, and that cannot be overcome through sheer force of will. Will Vegeta find the answers he needs? How will he cope with this disruption of his life?

alright, I have to be honest, this one is a little rough. but just captured my mind in a way that it couldnt not be included.

*writing ooc/grammatical error'd/underplotted/any other form of "bad" fanfic is a vital part of fan experience and growth as a writer. Fanfic is donated time, and deserves appreciation at all stages. this is just a list of fics I personally enjoyed

[misstrashchan]

I know people have picked up on the board game scene in RWBY V2 Episode 2 (Welcome to Beacon) as foreshadowing the events of the show, but for funsies I want to take a stab at how it foreshadows the general arcs of each four kingdoms myself.

So we have Blake playing as the Kingdom of Vale, and she's completely unaware of the events of the game unfolding and not really paying attention, clearly distracted.

"Alright Blake, it's your turn!"

"Huh? Sorry, what am I doing?"

"You're playing as Vale, trying to conquer the four kingdoms of Remnant!"

"...Right."

The Vale arc is the first three volumes of RWBY, where all our protagonists are at Beacon, but during that time, much like Blake during the game, they're unaware of the larger conflict with Salem, and aren't actively participating in the war at that point. They are ignorant and reactive instead of active. However it's ironic that Blake plays as Vale, since the reason she's not paying attention to the game and seems distracted is because, out of all the main characters in the Vale arc, she is the one most concerned about being kept in the dark and that they're ignorant as to what's really going on.

Blake: I just, I don't understand how everyone can be so calm.

Ruby: (approaching Blake) You're still thinking about Torchwick?

Blake: Torchwick, the White Fang, all of it! Something big is happening and no one is doing anything about it!

She also leaves the game during her turn, much like how she runs away after the FoB and the end of the Vale arc.

"Right. Well, I think I'm done playing, actually"

Yang is playing as Mistral, and she's the most savvy and knowledgeable (hah) player, winning many rounds of the game, teaching Weiss how to play, and has the other players falling into her trap cards.

"Heh, pretty sneaky sis, but you just activated my trap card!"

There's two ways this can be interpreted, with how the Mistral arc (volumes 4-6) is when our protagonists start to gather more knowledge and awarenesses of themselves and the world. It's also in Mistral that our heroes have their most decisive victory so far. It's fitting to have Yang playing as Mistral then, since during the Mistral arc she's the one who who learns from Tai to fight smarter, and to question the authority figures around her from Raven, and after confronting her in the vault is the one who retrives the relic of knowledge.

But, most of the losses our heroes experience are because of Cinder, who is from Mistral, and them falling into her own "trap cards" with the Fall of Beacon being orchestrated by her, killing Pyrrha and Ozpin. And in Atlas the same, with her manipulating Ironwood, undermining the heroes plans to evacuate everyone from Atlas, and killing Penny. She often finds ways to trick and exploit others, and is most dangerous when overlooked and underestimated, like falling into a trap.

Which brings me to Ruby playing as Atlas, where Ruby and Yang have this exchange after Yang's trap card is activated by Ruby:

"Giant Nevermore! If I roll a seven or higher, fatal feathers will slice your fleet in two!

"But! If you roll lower a six or lower, the Nevermore will turn on your own forces!"

"That's just a chance I'm willing to take"

In the Atlas arc (volumes 7-9) the theme of trust and taking risks is very prevalent. Like the move Yang makes in the game it is a risky one, that could end badly for her, but it is one worth taking nonetheless. They take the risk of trusting Ironwood but he ends up turning on our heroes. Oscar takes a risk trusting Hazel and Ozpin, as well as Emerald later on being accepted into their group, and it ends up working out for them. Ruby takes a risky chance in sending a message out to all of Remnant and evacuating Atlas, which saves a lot of people, but they still lose some, including Penny, a dear friend of Ruby's.

"Noooooo! My fearless soldiers!"

"Eh, most of them were probably androids anyways"

"Goodbye my friends... you will be avenged!"

Ruby acts distraught when losing her turn in the game as Atlas, expressing anguish over losing her friends who are described as androids by Yang, just like how Ruby is incredibly depressed and broken after the Fall of Atlas in V9, mourning the loss of Penny, who was both a sentient android and Ruby's friend. (I do wonder if Ruby's comment on avenging her friends might be foreshadowing for her wanting to avenge Penny's death in the future, like how Jaune tried to 1v1 Cinder in V5 to avenge Pyrrha, but I think it's too soon to say)

As a sidenote the fact it is a Nevemore in this turn that has a chance of turning on Yang or helping her is interesting, as it puts me in mind of two characters who can turn into ravens/crows, like the bird and poem Nevermore is associated with. It could pertain to Raven, someone who turns on Yang in v5 during the battle of Haven, but appears to help her and her friends in the V9 epilogue. It could also be about Qrow and his semblance, since during the Atlas arc it begins to evolve so that it is not simply a bad luck semblance, but one that can generate good luck too. In other words he can affect whether the chances are in people's favour or not.

After defeating Ruby (Atlas) Yang says this:

Yang: Not until I draw my rewards! Which are double this round thanks to the Mistral Trade Route!

Ruby: Bah!

Yang: Oh, and what's this? The Smugglers of Wind Path?

Ruby: Bah! Bah, I say!

Yang: I say, it looks like I'm taking two cards in my hand!

After the Fall of Atlas Cinder retrives not one but two relics for Salem, and with Atlas falling into Mantle, two kingdoms are destroyed in one fell swoop.

Then it's Weiss's turn. Weiss is playing as Vacuo, but has no idea how to play the game. Yang takes it upon herself to teach Weiss how to play and what she can do to win the game:

Yang: Well, Weiss, it's your turn.

Weiss: I have... absolutely no idea what's going on.

Yang: (Yang slides up beside her and puts her hand on her shoulder.) Look, it's easy! You're playing as Vacuo which means that all Vacuo-based cards come with a bonus.

Weiss: That sounds dumb.

Yang: See, you've got Sandstorm, Desert Scavenge... Oh, oh! (She pulls up a card to show Weiss.) Resourceful Raider! See, now you can take Ruby's discarded Air Fleet—

Ruby: (crying) Nooo!

Yang: —and put it in your hand!

We know from the end of V9 that what remains of the airfleet of Atlas, as well as the airfleet of Mistral and Vale, have all flocked to Vacuo's defence. What remains of the kingdom of Atlas, the airfleet, but most importantly the people, have now fled to Vacuo and are trying to make a home there.

Yang continues to give Weiss advice on how to win the game to Weiss, building her up, until Weiss starts to get arrogant, believing she's going to win the whole game and is the one in control:

Yang: And since Vacuo warriors have an endurance against Natural-based hazards, you can use Sandstorm to disable my ground forces and simultaneously infiltrate my kingdom! (Yang points a finger at Weiss.) Just know that I will not forget this declaration of war.

Weiss: And that means...

Ruby: You're just three moves away from conquering Remnant!

But then Yang turns on Weiss, activating her trap card, and Vacuo loses.

Since this is may be foreshadowing for the Vacuo arc that we haven't seen yet, I can only speculate what this might mean.

...But judging from the V9 extended epilogue and the books, my best guess would be that if Yang/Mistral is meant to be in part Cinder/Salem and their forces, then Weiss as Vacuo is in part the Crown. In the extended epilogue Jax and Gillian appear to be recieving help from Tyrian and Mercury, meaning Salem has decided to recruit them to her cause.

The Crown wants to restore the Vacuoan monarchy and detest outsiders, especially Atlesians. They do however wish to protect Vacuo from the same forces that destroyed Beacon, aka Salem, and so they are likely going to be manipulated like Weiss is by Yang in the game, being offered aid and giving them advice on how they can win and achieve their objectives, making them believe they can "conquer Remnant", only for them to realise later they were being tricked and used.

"Once again, Vacuo had been isolated from the conflict raging throughout Remnant—only this time it was an opportunity. With the global CCT network disabled, Vale in ruin, Haven leaderless, and Atlas closed off, Vacuo was theirs for the taking. This was likely their last, best chance for a generation. And it was their only hope to defend Vacuo against whomever had been targeting the other kingdoms. In likelihood they had written off Vacuo, like everyone else did, but if they tried to move against the Crown, they would have an unpleasant surprise.

Vacuo wouldn't break this time around."

Weiss: (Weiss stands and a thunder clap accompanies Weiss' overjoyed psychotic laughter.) Y-yes! Fear the almighty power of my forces! Cower as they pillage your homes and weep as they take your children from your very arms!

Yang: Trap card... (Yang's arm appears holding the card.)

Weiss: Huh?

Yang: (Yang shuffles the pieces on the board, Weiss' pieces disappearing in a puff of smoke.) Your armies have been destroyed.

Weiss: (Weiss slumps in her chair, cries and whines.) I hate this game of emotions we play!

Weiss as Vacuo may lose to Yang after realising they've been tricked, but is offered comfort afterwards by Ruby who relates to her losses and empathises with her, which is interesting since Ruby plays as Atlas. So I'm predicting at the end of the Vacuo arc they'll experience somewhat of a loss, whether that's the Crown, our heroes, or likely both, but Atlas will give support to Vacuo and the two kingdoms will come together to heal and ultimately work together, making steps to overcome their tense history with one another.

"Stay strong Weiss we'll make it through this together!"

"Shut up, don't touch me! "

...Which does make Weiss specifically playing as Vacuo especially intriguing, as she is the SDC heiress from Atlas, and Vacuo is a kingdom that has suffered the most in being exploited and colonized for it's natural resources by Atlas. From the epilogue it seems like the Schnees are being confronted directly with all the harm that has been caused by their family and kingdom, so I wouldn't be surprised if Weiss recieves a certain amount of focus during the Vacuo arc in deciding what her legacy as an Atlesian and heiress to the Schnee name will be. Moving forward to make amends, maybe inspiring the citizens of Atlas/Mantle to come together with Vacuo so they can all help and support one another, instead of isolating themselves and suffering alone.

Jaune offers to plays Weiss's hand for a turn also, with Weiss refusing:

Jaune: (Begging with both hands folded together.) Come on, let me play your hand for a turn!

Weiss: I'm not trusting you with the good citizens of Vacuo!

Which is reminiscent of how Vacuo is mistrustful of outsiders, as we've seen in After the Fall and Before the Dawn books.

Yang follows up to say that Weiss attacked her own forces, which could reference the infighting in Vacuo, especially with the Crown.

Weiss: Besides, this game requires a certain level of tactical cunning that I seriously doubt that you possess.

Yang: Uhh, you attacked your own naval fleet two turns ago. (Weiss makes an annoyed sound.)

Overall Weiss as Vacuo recieves the most help as any player during their turn, being taught how to play by Yang, offered comfort by Ruby after losing, and Jaune wanting to help her by playing her hand for a turn. This seems to fit with both how all kingdoms have flocked to Vacuo's aid in response to Ruby's message, but also Weiss as a character, who starts out "the loneliest of them all" but gradually opens up and warms up to other people. The crux of her arc being looking outside herself and at the people around her, relating to their struggles and coming to support them and being supported by them leads to her better understanding herself and becoming stronger for it... Which is kind of what the Kingdom of Vacuo needs to learn too!

Following this is Blake's turn as Vale, which I covered at the start of this post, but that's not the end of Vale's turn. We don't actually see it, but we know the aftermath of the game is this:

Yang: Ugh, we should have never let him play!

Ruby: You're just mad cuz' the new guy beat you!

Blake leaves the game during her turn as Vale, and presumably the "new guy" which is likely Neptune, who they'd just been introduced too, takes over her hand as Vale and wins the game of Remnant overall, even beating Yang and her trap cards. This is likely the endgame of RWBY itself, our heroes return to Vale after the Vacuo arc during the last volume for the final stand, where they win.

How and what that victory will look like I don't know, as we don't see the last turn of the game, so yet again this is even more vaguer speculation. Neptune doesn't really have much plot significance so I can't think there's any meaning to that except that he's a minor foil to Jaune, and the line of it being "a new guy" that wins, so maybe someone who recently joins our heroes side in the final act of the story, possibly Mercury or Cinder.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Prison-tech is a scam - and a harbinger of your future

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Here's how the shitty technology adoption curve works: when you want to roll out a new, abusive technology, look for a group of vulnerable people whose complaints are roundly ignored and subject them to your bad idea. Sand the rough edges off on their bodies and lives. Normalize the technological abuse you seek to inflict.

Next: work your way up the privilege gradient. Maybe you start with prisoners, then work your way up to asylum seekers, parolees and mental patients. Then try it on kids and gig workers. Now, college students and blue collar workers. Climb that curve, bit by bit, until you've reached its apex and everyone is living with your shitty technology:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Prisoners, asylum seekers, drug addicts and other marginalized people are the involuntary early adopters of every form of disciplinary technology. They are the leading indicators of the ways that technology will be ruining your life in the future. They are the harbingers of all our technological doom.

Which brings me to Minnesota.

Minnesota is one of the first states make prison phone-calls free. This is a big deal, because prison phone-calls are a big business. Prisoners are literally a captive audience, and the telecommunications sector is populated by sociopaths, bred and trained to spot and exploit abusive monopoly opportunities. As states across America locked up more and more people for longer and longer terms, the cost of operating prisons skyrocketed, even as states slashed taxes on the rich and turned a blind eye to tax evasion.

This presented telco predators with an unbeatable opportunity: they approached state prison operators and offered them a bargain: "Let us take over the telephone service to your carceral facility and we will levy eye-watering per-minute charges on the most desperate people in the world. Their families – struggling with one breadwinner behind bars – will find the money to pay this ransom, and we'll split the profits with you, the cash-strapped, incarceration-happy state government."

This was the opening salvo, and it turned into a fantastic little money-spinner. Prison telco companies and state prison operators were the public-private partnership from hell. Prison-tech companies openly funneled money to state coffers in the form of kickbacks, even as they secretly bribed prison officials to let them gouge their inmates and inmates' families:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2019/02/mississippi-corrections-corruption-bribery-private-prison-hustle/

As digital technology got cheaper and prison-tech companies got greedier, the low end of the shitty tech adoption curve got a lot more crowded. Prison-tech companies started handing out "free" cheap Android tablets to prisoners, laying the groundwork for the next phase of the scam. Once prisoners had tablets, prisons could get rid of phones altogether and charge prisoners – and their families – even higher rates to place calls right to the prisoner's cell.

Then, prisons could end in-person visits and replace them with sub-skype, postage-stamp-sized videoconferencing, at rates even higher than the voice-call rates. Combine that with a ban on mailing letters to and from prisoners – replaced with a service that charged even higher rates to scan mail sent to prisoners, and then charged prisoners to download the scans – and prison-tech companies could claim to be at the vanguard of prison safety, ending the smuggling of dope-impregnated letters and other contraband into the prison system.

Prison-tech invented some wild shit, like the "digital stamp," a mainstay of industry giant Jpay, which requires prisoners to pay for "stamps" to send or receive a "page" of email. If you're keeping score, you've realized that this is a system where prisoners and their families have to pay for calls, "in-person" visits, handwritten letters, and email.

It goes on: prisons shuttered their libraries and replaced them with ebook stores that charged 2-4 times the prices you'd pay for books on the outside. Prisoners were sold digital music at 200-300% markups relative to, say, iTunes.

Remember, these are prisoners: locked up for years or decades, decades during which their families scraped by with a breadwinner behind bars. Prisoners can earn money, sure – as much as $0.89/hour, doing forced labor for companies that contract with prisons for their workforce:

https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2017/04/10/wages/

Of course, there's the odd chance for prisoners to make really big bucks – $2-5/day. All they have to do is "volunteer" to fight raging wildfires:

https://www.hcn.org/articles/climate-desk-wildfire-california-incarcerated-firefighters-face-dangerous-work-low-pay-and-covid19/

So those $3 digital music tracks are being bought by people earning as little as $0.10/hour. Which makes it especially galling when prisons change prison-tech suppliers, whereupon all that digital music is deleted, wiping prisoners' media collection out – forever (literally, for prisoners serving life terms):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/08/captive-audience-how-floridas-prisons-and-drm-made-113m-worth-prisoners-music

Let's recap: America goes on a prison rampage, locking up ever-larger numbers of people for ever-longer sentences. Once inside, prisoners had their access to friends and family rationed, along with access to books, music, education and communities outside. This is very bad for prisoners – strong ties to people outside is closely tied to successful reentry – but it's great for state budgets, and for wardens, thanks to kickbacks:

https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2021/12/21/family_contact/

Back to Minnesota: when Minnesota became the fourth state in the USA where the state, not prisoners, would pay for prison calls, it seemed like they were finally breaking the vicious cycle in which every dollar ripped off of prisoners' family paid 40 cents to the state treasury:

https://www.kaaltv.com/news/no-cost-phone-calls-for-those-incarcerated-in-minnesota/

But – as Katya Schwenk writes for The Lever – what happened next is "a case study in how prison communication companies and their private equity owners have managed to preserve their symbiotic relationship with state corrections agencies despite reforms — at the major expense of incarcerated people and their families":

https://www.levernews.com/wall-streets-new-prison-scam/

Immediately after the state ended the ransoming of prisoners' phone calls, the private-equity backed prison-tech companies that had dug their mouth-parts into the state's prison jacked up the price of all their other digital services. For example, the price of a digital song in a Minnesota prison just jumped from $1.99 to $2.36 (for prisoners earning as little as $0.25/hour).

As Paul Wright from the Human Rights Defense Center told Schwenk, "The ideal world for the private equity owners of these companies is every prisoner has one of their tablets, and every one of those tablets is hooked up to the bank account of someone outside of prison that they can just drain."

The state's new prison-tech supplier promises to double the amount of kickbacks it pays the state each year, thanks to an aggressive expansion into games, money transfers, and other "services." The perverse incentive isn't hard to spot: the more these prison-tech companies charge, the more kickbacks they pay to the prisons.

The primary prison-tech company for Minnesota's prisons is Viapath (nee Global Tel Link), which pioneered price-gouging on in-prison phone calls. Viapath has spent the past two decades being bought and sold by different private equity firms: Goldman Sachs, Veritas Capital, and now the $46b/year American Securities.

Viapath competes with another private equity-backed prison-tech giant: Aventiv (Securus, Jpay), owned by Platinum Equity. Together, Viapath and Aventiv control 90% of the prison-tech market. These companies have a rap-sheet as long as your arm: bribing wardens, stealing from prisoners and their families, and recording prisoner-attorney calls. But these are the kinds of crimes the state punishes with fines and settlements – not by terminating its contracts with these predators.

These companies continue to flout the law. Minnesota's new free-calls system bans prison-tech companies from paying kickbacks to prisons and prison-officials for telcoms services, so the prison-tech companies have rebranded ebooks, music, and money-transfers as non-communications products, and the kickbacks are bigger than ever.

This is the bottom end of the shitty technology adoption curve. Long before Ubisoft started deleting games that you'd bought a "perpetual license" for, prisoners were having their media ganked by an uncaring corporation that knew it was untouchable:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIqyvquTEVU

Revoking your media, charging by the byte for messaging, confiscating things in the name of security and then selling them back to you – these are all tactics that were developed in the prison system, refined, normalized, and then worked up the privilege gradient. Prisoners are living in your technology future. It's just not evenly distributed – yet.

As it happens, prison-tech is at the heart of my next novel, The Bezzle, which comes out on Feb 20. This is a followup to last year's bestselling Red Team Blues, which introduced the world to Marty Hench, a two-fisted, hard-bitten, high-tech forensic accountant who's spent 40 years busting Silicon Valley finance scams:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

In The Bezzle, we travel with Marty back to the mid 2000s (Hench is a kind of tech-scam Zelig and every book is a standalone tale of high-tech ripoffs from a different time and place). Marty's trying to help his old pal Scott Warms, a once-high-flying founder who's fallen prey to California's three-strikes law and is now facing decades in a state pen. As bad as things are, they get worse when the prison starts handing out "free" tablet and closing down the visitation room, the library, and the payphones.

This is an entry to the thing I love most about the Hench novels: the opportunity to turn all this dry, financial skullduggery into high-intensity, high-stakes technothriller plot. For me, Marty Hench is a tool for flensing the scam economy of all its layers of respectability bullshit and exposing the rot at the core.

It's not a coincidence that I've got a book coming out in a week that's about something that's in the news right now. I didn't "predict" this current turn – I observed it. The world comes at you fast and technology news flutters past before you can register it. Luckily, I have a method for capturing this stuff as it happens:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Writing about tech issues that are long-simmering but still in the periphery is a technique I call "predicting the present." It's the technique I used when I wrote Little Brother, about out-of-control state surveillance of the internet. When Snowden revealed the extent of NSA spying in 2013, people acted as though I'd "predicted" the Snowden revelations:

https://www.wired.com/story/his-writing-radicalized-young-hackers-now-he-wants-to-redeem-them/

But Little Brother and Snowden's own heroic decision have a common origin: the brave whistleblower Mark Klein, who walked into EFF's offices in 2006 and revealed that he'd been ordered by his boss at AT&T to install a beam-splitter into the main fiber trunk so that the NSA could illegally wiretap the entire internet:

https://www.eff.org/document/public-unredacted-klein-declaration

Mark Klein inspired me to write Little Brother – but despite national press attention, the Klein revelations didn't put a stop to NSA spying. The NSA was still conducting its lawless surveillance campaign in 2013, when Snowden, disgusted with NSA leadership for lying to Congress under oath, decided to blow the whistle again:

https://apnews.com/article/business-33a88feb083ea35515de3c73e3d854ad

The assumption that let the NSA get away with mass surveillance was that it would only be weaponized against the people at the bottom of the shitty technology adoption curve: brown people, mostly in other countries. The Snowden revelations made it clear that these were just the beginning, and sure enough, more than a decade later, we have data-brokers sucking up billions in cop kickbacks to enable warrantless surveillance, while virtually following people to abortion clinics, churches, and protests. Mass surveillance is chugging its way up the shitty tech adoption curve with no sign of stopping.

Like Little Brother, The Bezzle is intended as a kind of virtual flythrough of what life is like further down on that curve – a way for readers who have too much agency to be in the crosshairs of a company like Viapath or Avently right now to wake up before that kind of technology comes for them, and to inspire them to take up the cause of the people further down the curve who are mired in it.

The Bezzle is an intense book, but it's also a very fun story – just like Little Brother. It's a book that lays bare the internal technical workings of so many scams, from multi-level marketing to real-estate investment trusts, from music royalty theft to prison-tech, in the course of an ice-cold revenge plot that keeps twisting to the very last page.

It'll drop in six days. I hope you'll check it out:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

[palinecrosis]

“how are you anti ai but like dbh? did you even play the game?”

did you play the game? genuine question, how many of you have played dbh and the lesson you learned was “we need to embrace ai” because that is absolutely not what it’s about.

humans are the ones responsible for the sentience of androids. they’re the ones responsible for their slavery and creation. they’re the ones who made androids to serve them, to make their life easier. and when they fought back they regretted funding their creation. because now, their exploitation, previously aimed at humans, can’t be justified anymore.

people like ai because it allows them to be lazy, carefree. you don’t have to learn how to draw, you don’t need to refine your tools or your your art style when you can just ask a program to generate a piece for you. you don’t need to learn how to write, come up with prompts, spend years finding your style and fixing your vocabulary, go through phases of horrible and cringeworthy writing, because guess what? you can ask chatgpt to write it for you.

and when corporations discover that they will use it to their advantage, replacing humans with ai. so 30 years down the line, when a machine enters your work force, does your job 10x better than you and lands you homeless, of fucking course you’re going to be angry and android hating.

the issue that dbh addresses is (in that universe) blaming sentient ai for the evil that corporations commit. again, they created ai, they created it so that it has the possibility of being sentient, using it to do jobs no one wants to do, take it even further and make them do jobs (arguably) to replace marginalised people who need those jobs. so the “bad guy” in dbh aren’t the rightfully angry citizens, who have no concept or understanding of deviancy, and it’s not androids either, it’s fucking elijah kamski. and all the other fuckers at the top. they create infighting between workers to distract from class differences.

if ai became sentient it’d absolutely be morally wrong to mistreat them, because they have consciousness and emotions. being anti ai is being against narrow and generative ai which is 1. bad for the environment 2. is theft!! not fucking hypothetical robots who possibly have feelings. improve your media literacy people.

[robotics-and-additions-7a]

-> Distant footsteps could be heard. Not just one pair, but a couple. - @radical-exploits [:3c]

★ [ ...The android seemed to be just sitting on the grass. It had walked around for awhile earlier, trying to find that mansion he'd been told about, but it eventually gave up. He fidgeted with its scarf, one of his antenna flicking every few seconds. ] ★

★ [ The support raised its head at the sound of footsteps, both of his antennas raising a bit. It stood up from where he was sitting, turning its head in the direction of the footsteps. ] ★

" ...Hellooo? "

[collapsedsquid]

At first, the F.B.I. and other investigators believed that China’s hackers used stolen passwords to focus mostly on the system that taps telephone conversations and texts under court orders. It is administered by a number of the nation’s telecommunications firms, including the three largest — Verizon, AT&T and T-Mobile. But in recent days, investigators have discovered how deeply China’s hackers had moved throughout the country by exploiting aging equipment and seams in the networks connecting disparate systems. [...] But the Chinese activity in the past year has taken these intrusions to a new level, Mr. Warner said on Thursday. “This is far and away the most serious telecom hack in our history,” he said. “This makes Colonial Pipeline and SolarWinds look like small potatoes.” He said that only in the past week had it become clear that “every major provider has been broken into.” The hackers were not able to listen to conversations on encrypted applications, like those carried over WhatsApp or Signal. Nor could they read encrypted messages, such as those sent from one iPhone to another over Apple’s iMessage system. But they could read regular text messages between an iPhone and an Android phone, for example, or listen to phone calls over the ordinary telephone networks, much as the government can if it has a legal order. The Chinese went after the conversations of national security officials, politicians and some of their staff, investigators have concluded. There may have been several Chinese groups at work, said a senior official involved in the investigation, who noted that one of them might have focused on Mr. Trump and Mr. Vance.

How nice of the US government to provide a convenient method for it to be spied on

[randomthefox]

It's actually really funny that Eggman just with his whole chest and no hesitation told Shadow to his face that he's an android he created when he fucking knows that's not true. What a fucking asshole. Like, what was the end game for this plan, exactly? Did he really think convincing Shadow that he was his robot would make him start following orders loyally? Or was he just trying to fuck with Shadow for no reason? You'd think that admitting to Shadow "I saved your life" would inspire more appreciation than anything else he could say, but instead Eggman is twisting the knife by lying.

It really goes to show that Eggman is just an absolute sadist, and seems to genuinely believe that he's entitled to Shadow both in body and in mind - you can interpret it I think as Eggman wanting to take ownership over Shadow by taking him away from Gerald. If Shadow knew the truth, he would still think of himself as Gerald's creation, no matter how he felt about Eggman. By convincing him that he's a robot of his own creation, he ceases to be beholden to Gerald in any capacity and belongs wholly and entirely to Eggman in his own mind, even if it's a lie. His only acknowledgement of Shadow's distraught emotional state is for the sake of exploitation, he is allowed to exist only as far as his own convenience and not for one second longer.

Interestingly you get this cutscene before this boss fight no matter what mission you do in Iron Jungle. So if you did the Hero or Dark missions, you'll get hit with the revelation of Shadow being an Eggman android only to then proceed to Black Comet and Cosmic Fall, both of which completely drop the idea of Shadow being an android no matter how they conclude.

This can be interpreted as the player rejecting Shadow being dubbed a robot at the last second, finally asserting some capacity of self determination even if it's too little too late. If Shadow still resolves Iron Jungle on the neutral route, then he accepts that he's an android without question and fall down an existentially destructive outlook because of that conclusion. But if you finally decide to deviate one way or the other, Shadow most likely concludes that Eggman was probably just lying and has the same resolution that he had by the end of Sonic Heroes: whatever he is physically, he knows he's Shadow. But what it means to BE Shadow is still to be resolved, and will lead to a less than ideal outcome either way.

The player is once again encouraged by the mechanics of the game to engage in the morality system of making choices while playing the levels, rather than just running to the end of the stage like any other Sonic game. If you make it to Lava Shelter, whether on a pure neutral path or by failing to make it through either Hero or Dark by being noncommittal, Shadow decides that he is Not truly Shadow. And walks away with quite a nihilistic outlook as his ultimate conclusion. It's a deliberately depressing and unsatisfying story outcome as a psudo punishment to the player for refusing to engage with the games unique progression system.

[picaroroboto]

in the novel Demian, Sinclair's painting of a sparrowhawk, which is his fursona an animal with strong symbolic importance to him, plays a large role. so in Limbus, when Demian asks Dante to draw him a sheep: sheep = Dante's fursona?

similarities between Dante and a sheep: both are soft and fluffy, but kind of perpetually in a state of anxiety

or going further, the Abnormality Dreaming Electric Sheep, it's electricity drained to power a city, and the way Dante's rewinding power is exploited for the gain of the higher-ups of the company. Electric Sheep is of course a reference to Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, the central theme of that story is how empathy is the difference between humans and androids - Dante is treated like an inhuman because of their mechanical head but they're always empathetic to the Sinners in their care.