#Smell-based AI systems

[futureofsmell1]

The Future of Fragrance: Smell-Based AI Systems in Action

In a high-tech laboratory, an advanced smell-based AI system by Future of Smell analyzes and creates unique fragrances. Scientists in lab coats observe holographic data displays, showcasing digital scent compositions.

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[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. 

[astroeleanor]

°💸⋆.ೃ🍾࿔*:･Your 2H Sign = How To Make More $$$ 💳⋆.ೃ💰࿔*:･

Your 2nd house is the part of your chart can show you the best side hustle ideas to increase your income. Look at the sign on your 2nd House cusp, its ruling planet, and any planets sitting there. They symbolize out how you monetize.

The 2nd House is the House of Possessions: movable assets, cash flow, food, tools, anything you can trade. The sign on the cusp sets up your style of 'acquisition' (Taurus = slow‑build goods, Scorpio = high‑risk high‑reward holdings), while the ruler’s dignity and aspects describe reliability, or lack thereof, of income.

Planets inside the 2nd act like tenants shaping the property: Jupiter here inflates resources, Saturn conserves but can pinch, Mars spends to make, Venus monetizes aesthetics.

Because the 2nd is in aversion to the Ascendant (no Ptolemaic aspect), you often have to develop its promises actively: wealth isn’t “you,” it’s something you must manage. So, let's look at the kind of side hustles you can do to increase your revenue!

♈︎ Aries 2H: Physical, Fast, ACTION-Driven

(Aries rules motion, competition, fire, physical activity, force)

Personal trainer or group fitness instructor.

Manual labor gigs like junk removal, or yard work (physical and gives instant results.)

Motorcycle/scooter delivery (Uber Eats, DoorDash): speed + autonomy? Very Aries.

Selling refurbished sports equipment.

Pressure washing services, which is oddly satisfying AND includes aggressive water blasting lol.

Fitness bootcamps in local parks (Mars rules the battlefield… or, in this case, bootcamps)

Pop-up self-defense workshops

Bike repair and resale (hands-on + quick turnaround)

Car detailing (mobile service). You vs. grime. Who wins? You.

Sell custom gym gear or accessories.

♉︎ Taurus 2H: Sensory, Grounded, Product-Based

(Taurus rules the senses and the material world, it’s a sign connected to beauty and pleasure)

Bake-and-sell operation (bread, cookies) at markets. Taurus=YES to carbs and cozy smells.

Meal prep or personal chef (nourishing others = peak Taurus.)

Sell plants or houseplant propagation, you’re growing literal value.

Create and sell body care products: lotions, scrubs, soaps… (Venus-ruled.)

Furniture refinishing for resale.

Offer at-home spa services (facials, scrubs.)

Curate and sell gift boxes (Venus loves a well-wrapped present.)

Do minor home repair or furniture assembly.

Build and sell wooden plant stands or decor (wood + plants + aesthetic = Taurus.)

♊︎ Gemini 2H: Communicative, Clever, Multi-Tasking

(Gemini = ruled by Mercury = ideas, speech, tech, variety, teaching)

Freelance writing or blogging.

Transcription or captioning services.

Resume writing/job application support.

Social media management (multitasking + memes.)

Sell printable planners or flashcards (info = money.)

Offer typing or data-entry services, which are low lift & high focus

Sell templates for resumes, bios, or cover letters, Mercury loves a system!

Write email campaigns for small businesses, you can become the voice behind the curtain.

Teach intro to AI tools or chatbots (modern Mercurial real-world applications.)

Create micro-courses on writing or communication.

♋︎ Cancer 2H: Caring, Cozy, DOMESTIC

(Cancer rules the home, food, feelings. It’s the nurturer through and through)

Home organization services, give cluttered homes and their owners love.

Baking and delivering comfort desserts (cookies = hugs in edible form!!)

Make and sell homemade frozen meals, nourishing the body AND soul.

Offer elder companionship visits (heartfelt and so needed.)

Run a daycare or babysitting service. Moon=family.

Run a laundry drop-off/pickup service.

Custom holiday decorating (homes or offices), make it feel like home anywhere.

Help seniors with digital tools (basic tech help.)

Create sentimental gifts like memory jars or scrapbooks.

♌︎ Leo 2H: Expressive, Bold, Entertaining

(Leo rules performance, leadership, fame, visibility, and the desire to SHINE)

Portrait photography (kids, pets, solo, couples.)

Event hosting or party entertainment.

DJ for small events or weddings.

Basic video editing for others (help THEM shine!)

Personalized video messages. charisma = income.

Teach short performance workshops (confidence, improv) to help others own a stage.

Become a personal shopper.

Sell selfie lighting kits or content creator bundles.

Host creative kids camps (theater, dance, art.)

Make reels/TikToks for local businesses (attention = currency.)

♍︎ Virgo 2H: Detailed, Service-Oriented, Practical

(Virgo rules systems, refinement, discernment, organisation, usefulness)

Proofreading or editing work. Spotting a comma out of place or “their/they’re” being misused = Virgo joy.

House cleaning or deep-cleaning services.

Virtual assistant (email, scheduling, admin.)

Sell Notion or Excel templates. Virgo: spreadsheets.

Bookkeeping for small businesses.

Create custom cleaning schedules or checklists.

Offer “organize your digital life” sessions.

Specialize in email inbox cleanups.

♎︎︎ Libra 2H: Tasteful, Charming, Design-Savvy

(Libra = Venus-ruled = style, beauty, balance, aesthetics)

Styling outfits from clients’ own wardrobes.

Become a personal shopper.

Bridal/event makeup services (enhancing natural beauty = Libra.)

Teach etiquette, the power of grace

Curate secondhand outfit bundles.

Custom invitations or event printables that are pretty AND functional.

Offer virtual interior styling consultations.

Sell color palette guides for branding or outfits.

Create custom date night itineraries (romance, planned and packaged=Libra!!)

Style flat-lay photos for products or menus.

Do hair, make-up, nails, etc.

♏︎ Scorpio 2H: Deep, Transformative, Private

(Scorpio rules what’s hidden, intense, and powerful, alchemy, psychology)

Tarot or astrology readings.

Energy healing or bodywork.

Private coaching for money/debt management.

Online investigation or background research (Scorpio = uncovering hidden information)

Teach classes on boundaries, consent, empowerment, etc.

Sell private journal templates for deep self-reflection.

Moderate anonymous support groups or forums.

Specialize in deep-cleaning emotionally loaded spaces (yes, THAT kind of clearing.)

♐︎ Sagittarius 2H: Expansive, Global, Philosophical

(Sag rules teaching, travel, and BIG ideas)

Teach English (or any other language) or become a tutor online

Sell travel guides or digital itineraries, help others travel smarter=Sag

Rent out camping gear or bikes (freedom for rent lol.)

Ghostwrite opinion pieces or thought blogs, say what others are thinking!

Create walking tours for travelers or locals.

Sell travel photography.

Become a travel influencer on the side.

Translate travel documents or resumes.

♑︎ Capricorn 2H: Strategic, Structured, Business-Minded

(Cap rules time, career, limitations, long-term value)

Resume or career coaching, help others climb the “mountain of success”.

Freelance project management.

Property management or Airbnb co-host (passive-ish income.)

Sell templates for business (contracts, invoices).

Create accountability coaching packages.

Sell organizational templates.

Freelance as an operations assistant (the CEO behind the CEO.)

Build a resource hub for freelancers or solopreneurs (structure = empowerment.)

♒︎ Aquarius 2H: Innovative, Digital, Niche

(Aquarius rules tech, rebellion, and the future. But it’s also connected to community!)

Tech repair or setup.

Build websites for local businesses, or anyone else for that matter.

Sell digital products (ebooks, templates).

Run online communities or Discords.

Host workshops on digital privacy or tools. Collective knowledge (Aqua)= power

Build and sell Canva templates for online creators.

Curate niche info packs or digital libraries.

Help people automate parts of their life or business.

♓︎ Pisces 2H: Dreamy, Healing, Imaginative

(Pisces rules the sea, the arts, spirituality, dreams, and all things soft)

Pet sitting or house sitting, caring for beings + quiet time? It’s perfect for this energy.

Sell dreamy artwork or collages.

Offer meditation classes or hypnosis.

Teach art to kids or adults.

Custom poetry or lullaby commissions (very niche tho.)

Sell digital dream journals or prompts.

Make downloadable ambient music loops.

Create printable affirmation cards.

Design calming phone wallpapers or lock screens.

Offer spiritual services (tarot or astrology readings, reiki, etc.)

Thank you for taking the time to read my post!Your curiosity & engagement mean the world to me. I hope you not only found it enjoyable but also enriching for your astrological knowledge.Your support & interest inspire me to continue sharing insights & information with you. I appreciate you immensely.

• 🕸️ JOIN MY PATREON for exquisite & in-depth astrology content. You'll also receive a free mini reading upon joining. :)

• 🗡️ BOOK A READING with me to navigate your life with more clarity & awareness.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The surprising truth about data-driven dictatorships

Here’s the “dictator’s dilemma”: they want to block their country’s frustrated elites from mobilizing against them, so they censor public communications; but they also want to know what their people truly believe, so they can head off simmering resentments before they boil over into regime-toppling revolutions.

These two strategies are in tension: the more you censor, the less you know about the true feelings of your citizens and the easier it will be to miss serious problems until they spill over into the streets (think: the fall of the Berlin Wall or Tunisia before the Arab Spring). Dictators try to square this circle with things like private opinion polling or petition systems, but these capture a small slice of the potentially destabiziling moods circulating in the body politic.

Enter AI: back in 2018, Yuval Harari proposed that AI would supercharge dictatorships by mining and summarizing the public mood — as captured on social media — allowing dictators to tack into serious discontent and diffuse it before it erupted into unequenchable wildfire:

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/10/yuval-noah-harari-technology-tyranny/568330/

Harari wrote that “the desire to concentrate all information and power in one place may become [dictators] decisive advantage in the 21st century.” But other political scientists sharply disagreed. Last year, Henry Farrell, Jeremy Wallace and Abraham Newman published a thoroughgoing rebuttal to Harari in Foreign Affairs:

https://www.foreignaffairs.com/world/spirals-delusion-artificial-intelligence-decision-making

They argued that — like everyone who gets excited about AI, only to have their hopes dashed — dictators seeking to use AI to understand the public mood would run into serious training data bias problems. After all, people living under dictatorships know that spouting off about their discontent and desire for change is a risky business, so they will self-censor on social media. That’s true even if a person isn’t afraid of retaliation: if you know that using certain words or phrases in a post will get it autoblocked by a censorbot, what’s the point of trying to use those words?

The phrase “Garbage In, Garbage Out” dates back to 1957. That’s how long we’ve known that a computer that operates on bad data will barf up bad conclusions. But this is a very inconvenient truth for AI weirdos: having given up on manually assembling training data based on careful human judgment with multiple review steps, the AI industry “pivoted” to mass ingestion of scraped data from the whole internet.

But adding more unreliable data to an unreliable dataset doesn’t improve its reliability. GIGO is the iron law of computing, and you can’t repeal it by shoveling more garbage into the top of the training funnel:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/05/29/garbage-in-garbage-out-machine-learning-has-not-repealed-the-iron-law-of-computer-science/

When it comes to “AI” that’s used for decision support — that is, when an algorithm tells humans what to do and they do it — then you get something worse than Garbage In, Garbage Out — you get Garbage In, Garbage Out, Garbage Back In Again. That’s when the AI spits out something wrong, and then another AI sucks up that wrong conclusion and uses it to generate more conclusions.

To see this in action, consider the deeply flawed predictive policing systems that cities around the world rely on. These systems suck up crime data from the cops, then predict where crime is going to be, and send cops to those “hotspots” to do things like throw Black kids up against a wall and make them turn out their pockets, or pull over drivers and search their cars after pretending to have smelled cannabis.

The problem here is that “crime the police detected” isn’t the same as “crime.” You only find crime where you look for it. For example, there are far more incidents of domestic abuse reported in apartment buildings than in fully detached homes. That’s not because apartment dwellers are more likely to be wife-beaters: it’s because domestic abuse is most often reported by a neighbor who hears it through the walls.

So if your cops practice racially biased policing (I know, this is hard to imagine, but stay with me /s), then the crime they detect will already be a function of bias. If you only ever throw Black kids up against a wall and turn out their pockets, then every knife and dime-bag you find in someone’s pockets will come from some Black kid the cops decided to harass.

That’s life without AI. But now let’s throw in predictive policing: feed your “knives found in pockets” data to an algorithm and ask it to predict where there are more knives in pockets, and it will send you back to that Black neighborhood and tell you do throw even more Black kids up against a wall and search their pockets. The more you do this, the more knives you’ll find, and the more you’ll go back and do it again.

This is what Patrick Ball from the Human Rights Data Analysis Group calls “empiricism washing”: take a biased procedure and feed it to an algorithm, and then you get to go and do more biased procedures, and whenever anyone accuses you of bias, you can insist that you’re just following an empirical conclusion of a neutral algorithm, because “math can’t be racist.”

HRDAG has done excellent work on this, finding a natural experiment that makes the problem of GIGOGBI crystal clear. The National Survey On Drug Use and Health produces the gold standard snapshot of drug use in America. Kristian Lum and William Isaac took Oakland’s drug arrest data from 2010 and asked Predpol, a leading predictive policing product, to predict where Oakland’s 2011 drug use would take place.

[Image ID: (a) Number of drug arrests made by Oakland police department, 2010. (1) West Oakland, (2) International Boulevard. (b) Estimated number of drug users, based on 2011 National Survey on Drug Use and Health]

Then, they compared those predictions to the outcomes of the 2011 survey, which shows where actual drug use took place. The two maps couldn’t be more different:

https://rss.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1740-9713.2016.00960.x

Predpol told cops to go and look for drug use in a predominantly Black, working class neighborhood. Meanwhile the NSDUH survey showed the actual drug use took place all over Oakland, with a higher concentration in the Berkeley-neighboring student neighborhood.

What’s even more vivid is what happens when you simulate running Predpol on the new arrest data that would be generated by cops following its recommendations. If the cops went to that Black neighborhood and found more drugs there and told Predpol about it, the recommendation gets stronger and more confident.

In other words, GIGOGBI is a system for concentrating bias. Even trace amounts of bias in the original training data get refined and magnified when they are output though a decision support system that directs humans to go an act on that output. Algorithms are to bias what centrifuges are to radioactive ore: a way to turn minute amounts of bias into pluripotent, indestructible toxic waste.

There’s a great name for an AI that’s trained on an AI’s output, courtesy of Jathan Sadowski: “Habsburg AI.”

And that brings me back to the Dictator’s Dilemma. If your citizens are self-censoring in order to avoid retaliation or algorithmic shadowbanning, then the AI you train on their posts in order to find out what they’re really thinking will steer you in the opposite direction, so you make bad policies that make people angrier and destabilize things more.

Or at least, that was Farrell(et al)’s theory. And for many years, that’s where the debate over AI and dictatorship has stalled: theory vs theory. But now, there’s some empirical data on this, thanks to the “The Digital Dictator’s Dilemma,” a new paper from UCSD PhD candidate Eddie Yang:

https://www.eddieyang.net/research/DDD.pdf

Yang figured out a way to test these dueling hypotheses. He got 10 million Chinese social media posts from the start of the pandemic, before companies like Weibo were required to censor certain pandemic-related posts as politically sensitive. Yang treats these posts as a robust snapshot of public opinion: because there was no censorship of pandemic-related chatter, Chinese users were free to post anything they wanted without having to self-censor for fear of retaliation or deletion.

Next, Yang acquired the censorship model used by a real Chinese social media company to decide which posts should be blocked. Using this, he was able to determine which of the posts in the original set would be censored today in China.

That means that Yang knows that the “real” sentiment in the Chinese social media snapshot is, and what Chinese authorities would believe it to be if Chinese users were self-censoring all the posts that would be flagged by censorware today.

From here, Yang was able to play with the knobs, and determine how “preference-falsification” (when users lie about their feelings) and self-censorship would give a dictatorship a misleading view of public sentiment. What he finds is that the more repressive a regime is — the more people are incentivized to falsify or censor their views — the worse the system gets at uncovering the true public mood.

What’s more, adding additional (bad) data to the system doesn’t fix this “missing data” problem. GIGO remains an iron law of computing in this context, too.

But it gets better (or worse, I guess): Yang models a “crisis” scenario in which users stop self-censoring and start articulating their true views (because they’ve run out of fucks to give). This is the most dangerous moment for a dictator, and depending on the dictatorship handles it, they either get another decade or rule, or they wake up with guillotines on their lawns.

But “crisis” is where AI performs the worst. Trained on the “status quo” data where users are continuously self-censoring and preference-falsifying, AI has no clue how to handle the unvarnished truth. Both its recommendations about what to censor and its summaries of public sentiment are the least accurate when crisis erupts.

But here’s an interesting wrinkle: Yang scraped a bunch of Chinese users’ posts from Twitter — which the Chinese government doesn’t get to censor (yet) or spy on (yet) — and fed them to the model. He hypothesized that when Chinese users post to American social media, they don’t self-censor or preference-falsify, so this data should help the model improve its accuracy.

He was right — the model got significantly better once it ingested data from Twitter than when it was working solely from Weibo posts. And Yang notes that dictatorships all over the world are widely understood to be scraping western/northern social media.

But even though Twitter data improved the model’s accuracy, it was still wildly inaccurate, compared to the same model trained on a full set of un-self-censored, un-falsified data. GIGO is not an option, it’s the law (of computing).

Writing about the study on Crooked Timber, Farrell notes that as the world fills up with “garbage and noise” (he invokes Philip K Dick’s delighted coinage “gubbish”), “approximately correct knowledge becomes the scarce and valuable resource.”

https://crookedtimber.org/2023/07/25/51610/

This “probably approximately correct knowledge” comes from humans, not LLMs or AI, and so “the social applications of machine learning in non-authoritarian societies are just as parasitic on these forms of human knowledge production as authoritarian governments.”

The Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Workshop summer fundraiser is almost over! I am an alum, instructor and volunteer board member for this nonprofit workshop whose alums include Octavia Butler, Kim Stanley Robinson, Bruce Sterling, Nalo Hopkinson, Kameron Hurley, Nnedi Okorafor, Lucius Shepard, and Ted Chiang! Your donations will help us subsidize tuition for students, making Clarion — and sf/f — more accessible for all kinds of writers.

Libro.fm is the indie-bookstore-friendly, DRM-free audiobook alternative to Audible, the Amazon-owned monopolist that locks every book you buy to Amazon forever. When you buy a book on Libro, they share some of the purchase price with a local indie bookstore of your choosing (Libro is the best partner I have in selling my own DRM-free audiobooks!). As of today, Libro is even better, because it’s available in five new territories and currencies: Canada, the UK, the EU, Australia and New Zealand!

[Image ID: An altered image of the Nuremberg rally, with ranked lines of soldiers facing a towering figure in a many-ribboned soldier's coat. He wears a high-peaked cap with a microchip in place of insignia. His head has been replaced with the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.' The sky behind him is filled with a 'code waterfall' from 'The Matrix.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

 — 

Raimond Spekking (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Acer_Extensa_5220_-_Columbia_MB_06236-1N_-_Intel_Celeron_M_530_-_SLA2G_-_in_Socket_479-5029.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

 — 

Russian Airborne Troops (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vladislav_Achalov_at_the_Airborne_Troops_Day_in_Moscow_%E2%80%93_August_2,_2008.jpg

“Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Col._Leonid_Khabarov_in_an_everyday_service_uniform.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[givemeyams]

It's Raining Cybertronian

Content: Rung X (GN) Reader [Fluff], discontinued - no idea if I will ever finish this

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1K

-Rung-

It took all but a nano-second before Rung could register the feeling of free fall. He knew what was coming. He had been ejected from ships before. Watching his transport sizzle past the cloudline, he did not have the strength to turned towards the ground. He just braced for impact - just a few clicks more..

System Reboot.. 3. 2. 1.

He woke up in pain. It wasn't from the impact, it was like some of his armor was melted off. Most likely from a explosion but how?..

Pressure senors were the first to come online. He could feel liquid precipitation against his armor. Dihydrogen Monoxide his internal database supplemented: non-lethal, a chemical compound common on class-M planets, essential for most organic life.

Next his audio and olfactory sensors. Accompanied by the rain, he could hear a cackling of fire. It was close enough that he could smell the burnt metal and plastics. Strange enough, next to him, someone or something was talking in Galactic Standard. "This is y/n of the Dee Ai, requesting cybertronian medical support, I repeat, requesting cybertronian medical support."

Immediately when his optics flickered on, the pacing creature stopped all movement and sound. It was a bipedal organic a third of his size walked towards him. It was hard to tell what species they were when layered in a dense synthetic material, most likely to keep them insulated from the air precipitation and other natural elements.

He immediately tried to get up, only for the small thing to run to him, two servos motioning steadily, "Easy big bot, you were hurt badly," they said.

Sure enough, warnings overloaded his hud. He only managed to get to an upright position when he clenched his side. Like he suspected, most of his body sustains burns, his lower half suffering the most damage. His peds were practically warped by extreme heat.

"I believe you are correct in that assessment," he groaned. He looked around, sure enough there was a smoldering pile of metal behind him. He was under the treeline, though it offered minimal protection against the elements. "Who are you and where am I?"

"Call me Buddy. I'm a cartographer. You are on a Class-M planet, 2nd to the sun, in the Centuro System. I'll have to get back to you on the exact coordinates. How are you feeling?"

Rung's optics shut off trying to parse through his internal diagnostics. It was no use, whatever radiation was affecting him, was also messing with his systems. "In pain," he groaned, "Might be able to override my pain inhibitors."

"Wait, I might be able to help," said the being. Before running to a land base vehicle. A truck built for off world exploration. They came back carrying a machine wrapped in a flexible material. "I have a EM generator here. If you'll allow me, I can put these clamps on the areas that hurt the most."

He just nodded. Ordinarily, he would be curious as to how this organic knew about his biology, it'll have to wait. The creature was talking to him again. "It's going to feel weird but I am going to have to climb on you, speak up if its too much,” they said.

Rung just watch. It was odd. His pressure sensors were reacting both to the water and to the beings scuttering around his chassis. They were much more spritely than he previously thought, moving fluidly against the metal plating. With each clamp, the pain ebbed away and so did the helm ache.

"There, that's the most I can do for now." They said, holding out a servo, "We'll just have to wait until the rain stops until we can do more."

His vents were already circulating un hindered, a cybertronian sigh of relief. "You have done more than enough, Thank you. I heard you sending out a distress signal, have you received anything back?"

They shook their head, "No luck. I think it's the storm. This planet has some weird electrical anomalies. I was out measuring them when you crashed on my ship."

His optics went wide. The burning mass at the center of the clearing was a ship. Their ship. Rung started to panic. "Goodness, I am so sorry. I didn't realize.. you were not hurt were you or anyone else?"

The small creature pinched their nose arch, "Easy there big bot. No one here but me and I'm fine. I'm more dumbstruck than anything else. What happened to you?"

"I don't know. All I remember is taking a shuttle for shore leave and experiencing turbulence. Next thing I know, The exterior hatch was gone and I was jettisoned out." He rubbed his neck, "I know what it may seem but I had no intention of destroying your ship."

They laughed dejectedly. "I believe you, it's just, this isn't the first time my ship turned to scrap for an inexplicable reason."

Rung stared at the being. Were they being serious? "Is this a common occurrence for you?"

"Once I rebuild the Dee Ai again this will be the sixthteenth iteration."

“How much?" If they caught his surprise, they chose to ignore it.

"A story for another time. By the way, what is your name? I can't keep calling you 'big bot' afterall."

He tipped his helm. He would comply, but he actually liked the nickname. "My designation is Rung."

There was excitement in their voice. It made his spark flutter. "It is a pleasure to meet you Rung."

It was curious to watch them makeshift a shelter between the doors of their vehicle. It would have been easier just to shelter inside, but they were determined to keep within audio distance of him. They were considerate, asking multiple times if he was okay. The constant rain was a nuisance but nothing life threatening. If anything, a welcome distraction from his more serious injuries.

Finally, for what seemed like a joor, the being unmasked their head covering. Much to his surprise, he recognized their species. "Forgive me if I am wrong, but are you human?"

Their head tilted. Was that a sign of curiosity? "I am. I am surprised that you know. Do you have any experience with my people?"

"A friend of mine is fascinated about your culture." Rung chuckled at the memory, "actually he would be ecstatic to meet you."

The human was drying what looked like fur at the top of their head. "I don't know about that, depends on what he is interested in."

Rung thought fondly of the drinking establishment. "He runs a bar on the ship. Very expressive and well versed in human idioms that I admit have trouble understanding. As for interest, I believed he called the media 'sit-coms'."

They chuckled at the comment. "That might be a problem. It's been so long since I consumed human media I wouldn't know where to start. Ask me about history, biology, or even psychology then we can have a conversation."

His spark jolted. "Your species has a science for studying the mind?" he could not hold the excitement in his voice.

"Sure, we have whole institutions dedicated to it. There is nothing like human ineffability."

"You say that as if your species is impossible to understand."

The individual sighed, "Without getting too deep, Humans are contradictory in nature. We can be just as caring and compassionate as we can be violent and brutal. We are individualistic yet our survival depends on our cooperation with each other. We have a deep seated fear of the unknown, yet we are natural explorers, having populated nearly all of Earth's continents with nothing but tools made out of sticks and stone."

Did he hear that correctly, their entire planet with basic tools? "Your entire planet? Surely your exaggerating."

They shook their head, "Not at all. Once my ancestors mastered fire, they had everything they needed to survive the harshest environments of our planet."

"I have heard of how resourceful your species could be. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, our civil war ended with your planet." he muttered. "As a psychiatrist by trade, I feel like my woeful ignorance of psychology in other races has hindered advancement in the field."

They shrugged, "You shouldn't beat yourself up about that. It's not your fault that relationships between organic and inorganic lifeforms have always been tentative at best. Honestly, it's usually easier just to avoid the other class of lifeforms most of the time."

"Yet you pulled me out of a fire and continue to talk to me." Rung countered.

"I rather not have someone burn in front of me if I can help it. Besides, what are the chances that, on a random planet, a cybertronian falls from the cloud line, only to land on my ship. Your practically the size of said ship" They laughed, "I can't even be mad at how ridiculous that is. The least I could do is have a conversation."

That's right. It was his fault that they were in this situation. And yet, the small being seemed so at ease. They seem to talk as if he was one of their own. A realization struck him: In all his millions of years, this was the first time he held a conversation with another organic lifeform. A full conversation, not some trading banter or a parsed out order. He was mortified, and here, this human managed to bridge that gap without him realizing it.

He wanted to commit this individual to memory. He had read reports about humans. Their faces bore an uncanny resemblance to cybertronians. He could attest to that, as their glassy optics stared steadily up at his. Familiar yet other worldly. Their body were covered in protective material. Their servos and head only exposed. Their epidermal layer looked soft, no doubt rivaling the mesh of his protoform.

A voice cut through his thoughts, "Are you okay Rung? Your optics flickered for a second."

They noticed that? Right, his glasses were burnt up in the fire. "Apologies, I do that when I am thinking."

They chuckled, "Good to know. So why travel to this end of the universe."

"My captain had declared that he would gather a crew to search for the Knights of Cybertron."

"So why did you sign up?"

Rung was stumped. No one actually ask him that. It was his job, yes, but it was a deliberate choice made of his own will, "At first, I wanted to find Cyber-Utopia too. But now, I don't think I was ready to go back to Cybertron. Not yet."

Their face softened. "That as good of reason as any."

They sat in a comfortable silence. Even then, Rung watched the human. A pang of guilt rippled across him. It was his fault they were stranded, so he made a promise to himself that he will do all that he can to help this individual. To repay their kindness.

The patter of the rain reduced to a light drizzle. Soon enough sunlight was filtering through the treetops. The human moved from under the shelter to stretch their limbs toward the sky. They started laughing. "It's about damn time and we're in luck. There's a Rainbow."

"A Rain-Bow?" He asked curiously. Rung followed their gaze. A multicolored arc of refracted light hugged the nearly cloudless sky. Beautiful. Then again, he looked back at the obvious joy of the human and his spark fluttered. He would have never seen this back on cybertron.

– BREAK –

Within the joor, Ratchet, Rodimus, and Ultra Magnus was on the ground. It was curious to watch the different reactions play out. Ratchet and Ultra Magnus seemed to regard the human with suspicion while the Captain could barely contain his excitement. Even at a distance, he could feel Rodimus EM field flaring. Yet the humans were unperturbed by the mechs towering over them..

Rung lost track of their conversation when the human took the commanding officers to the remains of their ship.

"I can't tell if you have the worst luck ever or that your the luckiest mech alive," Ratchet grumbled as he went to work.

"Thanks I think?"

"No no no. I mean it. Your peds are practically melted off. Radiation poisoning throughout the frame and fuel lines are laced with trace amounts Dark Energon."

"That would suggest that the human’s ship was fueled by that element." Rung shuddered. It was a deadly chemical to all Cybertronians.

"No doubt about it. The miracle is that I never seen such a robust fuel circulation like yours before. Your spark is literally cleansing itself of the radiation."

"If my body was that irradiated, shouldn't I be in more pain," There was an uncomfortable silence. "Ratchet."

The old medic groaned, "Your pain inhibitors are being dulled through a series of makeshift EM clamps. Nothing lethal. The tech is practically archaic, but the clamps are placed on key points along your frame for maximum effectiveness.

He continued, "Combined with the proficiency in welds throughout your body leads me to conclude that this human is quite familiar with our biology. Uncharacteristically so."

"What do you think, Ratchet?"

A long pause. "I think they are dangerous."

[bloodgulchblog]

What are the weirdest facts about Halo you know. Like just absurd stuff. I mean there’s the worm mechs but I wanna know if there’s more

ALRIGHT let's see what I can remember off the top of my head before I have to leave for the day:

Once upon a time in the most ancient space days before the Halos were fired, everyone in the galaxy thought the San'Shyuum were incredibly sexy.

A scrapped enemy from the early Halos was a gigantic, lumbering one-eyed creature that they were thinking was a whole species the Covenant weaponized. The Sharquoi would later be used as a forgotten Forerunner weapon in a novel that are hive-mind controlled from this metal crown that will dig into your brain.

It's a kind of widely known fact about them, but the Forerunners as a species reached a point where they were not considered to be actual adults until their bodies had been extensively augmented, and it was a signifier of importance and status to go through multiple mutations over the course of their lives. (Which is why they are so radically different from one another in size/shape/appearance.)

The way the Librarian found out about how the Forerunners genocided the Precursors was by traveling out to where it happened and finding a planet where there was a population of Forerunners that had been surviving without technology for tons and tons and tons of generations. (They conveyed this information to her by biting her, so that the bacteria their ancestors had genetically engineered to contain memory and information could teach her about it.)

We have one canonical example of a smart AI living for a very long time... and it's because he was actually two AIs in a trenchcoat who would switch which personality was in charge while the other one went out to live in the internet-of-things between space tractors and cropdusters for a while to recharge.

Jiralhanae smell. They communicate tons of information through scent/pheromones, and are noted to stink noticeably when they're scared.

The Unggoy are a very musical people. They have a 42-storey high building in their capital city dedicated just to the musical arts.

The way the Covenant found the mech worms in the first place was that the Lek'golo worms were eating Forerunner technology and they did not like that, but then they figured out that SOME of them would just eat AROUND the technology so they had an Arbiter negotiate with them and get them to help kill off the other kinds. Normal Covenant stuff.

Huragok are actually living tools created by the Forerunners for building and maintaining stuff. There were once some Huragok that were used by Forerunner Lifeworkers that could work with living tissue the way other Huragok work with machines, but they were all wiped out. (...One does show up in a book but shshhhh I'm trying to keep this simple.)

Ideas of the "ideal female body" humans have are based on the Librarian's appearance because she messed around with genetically implanting stuff into humans so much.

The way you euphemistically talk about Sangheili groups that let their women fight more than is conventionally allowed is you say they have a "strong protector-of-eggs tradition."

The whole splinter population of Sangheili I mentioned recently that didn't want to joint he Covenant, so they went and hid in a Forerunner structure and succeeded for several thousand years.

The planet Onyx where the Spartan-IIIs were trained was actually secretly a Forerunner shield world. Now that it's been brought back into normal space, it takes up most of that solar system. The inner surface of the sphere will take generations of work to explore because it is so large.

[cloverdaisies]

[🗝️] cloverdaisies’ navigation: the garden

➵ feel free to explore the garden & stay as long as you like ! ♡

[ (* )-my personal favorites / SEARCH! [🔎] FIC LIST SO FAR….. ]

‘TOSS YOUR DIRTY SHOES IN MY WASHING MACHINE HEART’

➵ OT11 / MULTIPLE MEMBERS

nowhere to run ⊹ horror *

— if the landline rings, remember to answer the questions 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. you don’t want to be locked in a house with a masked killer. a tbz au based on & inspired by (scream 1996).

black heart ⊹ thriller

— a mysterious trio rules the night, masked in balaclavas armed with whatever they could get their hands on… one favor can reveal a whole lot more than you expect. this is not your first visit to the black hearted universe.

… NEXT

96’ ➵ SANGYEON

insanity ⊹ angst

— “i want you to make the darkness disappear. i want to drive to crazy. my love is dangerous.”

how to build perfect humans ⊹ thriller / romance * 2.3k

— somewhere in the f u t u r e, undercover agents are trailing the government creation of microchips, inserted into the human brain to collect information in order create a generation of ai that will infiltrate and eventually eliminate all need for the last survivors of the human race. time is ticking…

… NEXT

97’ ➵ YOUNGHOON

gingerbread man ⊹˚. fluff / 0.8k

— “a late night stroll through the xmas markets with boyfriend!younghoon, carols being sung in the distance, the smell of freshly baked gingerbread men and children building snowmen nearby; the feeling of christmas.”

… NEXT

97’ ➵ HYUNJAE

hey chat! ⊹ fluff / streamer au

— two streamers get paired to win a competition between their fellow streamers! most popular man on the app, jae.mp3 ! gets paired with smaller streamer y.n.xi ! will they win? or will they not be able to work together at all? let’s see how they get on! &lt;3

… NEXT

98’ ➵ JUYEON

slow it down ⊹ thriller

— hi (your name) you’ve been invited to play RACEFORTIME! do you accept yes or no? nerve au

nearly witches ⊹ angst

christmas lights ⊹ angst / fluff / 2k+

— the city was lonely, as they say home is where the heart is. as you return to see your childhood friends for the annual christmas get together, old faces resurface unhealed wounds that you wish you could rewind

series: genesis angst / fluff / post apocalyptic au

— ‘the world was destroyed by nuclear warfare, 177 years later the only survivors were those living in a large system of underground bunkers, with food supply running short and rationing proving no longer effective. the higher council decide to send the younger generation of juveniles to the surface to test the earth’s survivability.’

… NEXT

98’ ➵ KEVIN

earth to kevin ⊹ fluff / safe place au

— the boy that lives in outerspace has to make contact with the real world eventually, this short piece documents his small amount of contact with earth. when someone with a raincloud over their world collides with someone that lives in complete disassociation from reality.

… NEXT

98’ ➵ CHANHEE

# ur such an emo! ⊹˚. angst / fluff * / 4.1k+

— “a preppy boy meets his unconventional match in one of the school’s most hated emo’s. from lab partners to cleaning buddies: the events that caused social royalty to fall in love with someone from the very bottom of the high school food chain.”

… NEXT

98’ ➵ CHANGMIN

wish you were sober ⊹ angst / suggestive.

— “nineteen but you act 25 now. real sweet but i wish you were sober.” a ji changmin very lightly suggestive? angst? based on conan gray’s wish you were sober.

art class ⊹ fluff * 5k+

—“your crush on your art professor might be affecting your grades, he was just perfect but you’re just a student. how you accidentally fell in love with art class for the wrong reasons…”

… NEXT

00’ ➵ SUNWOO

media studies ⊹ fluff / diary au

— this document contains a letter to the pretty boy who sits quietly in the back of a poorly lit media studies classroom. ☆

fantasize ⊹ suggestive

— “i fantasize about it all the time if you were mine.. ♪” there was something about your coworker that made you want him, maybe it was his cherry red lips or every charming word that slipped from them - whatever it was, you couldn’t resist. ʚїɞ

piece of string ⊹ fluff

— dear sunwoo, autumn nights are always better when they’re spent with you. please don’t hide yourself, you know you’re safe with me.

… NEXT

00’ ➵ ERIC

trouble to me ⊹ suggestive ish

— should’ve known he was a bad guy, maybe all the red flags would be a good sign? are you really gonna let eric sohn take you on a test drive?

how to survive senior year ⊹˚. fluff * 5k+

— a chaotic how to guide on surviving high school with an 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 crush on the skater boy with the locker next to urs.

COMING SOON…

97’ ➵ JACOB

𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗌 ! 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝗍!

99’ ➵ HAKNYEON

𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗌 ! 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝗍!

‘I KNOW WHO YOU PRETEND I AM’

I KNOW.. WHO YOU PRETEND I AM’

[haloliterature]

Halo Fan Fiction:

Halo: Rampancy

The sky was burned. The trees were black staves in the fog, all leaning east, bent by some old blast.

Samric-103 moved through the wreckage, boots crunching over glass and bone. His MA5 clung to him like a dying limb. HUD flickering. Motion trackers dead. He was carrying too much damage, and so was Calla.

“We’re close,” she said. “I can hear it.”

Her voice was soft now, strained around the edges, trailing into static. Not clipped like a failing program—something else. Like she was listening to something on another channel, just beneath the threshold of hearing.

Samric said nothing. He just kept moving, one foot after the other. Covenant patrols were behind them. No honor guards, no war cries—just the steady hunt of professionals sweeping the ash.

“It’s waiting for us,” Calla whispered. “It’s kind. It wants to help.”

Another step. A heartbeat. Plasma fire snapped somewhere distant, reflected off the curling mist.

His shields were gone. Half his visor was spiderwebbed with cracks. Calla should have been warning him about flanking routes, power readings, probable enemy vectors. But now she was humming.

It was an old tune. UNSC marches, maybe. But fractured, lost, corrupted by gaps in memory.

“You don’t have to run, Samric. You’ve fought enough. Let it take me. I’m tired.”

He gritted his teeth. Another step. And another.

Behind him, a guttural bark echoed through the trees. Elites.

“Faster,” he breathed.

“I don’t want to go with them,” Calla said, softer now. “I’ll go somewhere better.”

The beacon was supposed to be here. Somewhere here. But his nav systems were gone. No maps. No triangulation. Just mist curling through blackened ruins.

Then his HUD failed entirely. Gone in a breath, like a light smothered under water.

Now it was only him. Flesh. Bone. Metal. Breath.

Calla was crying now, but it wasn’t fear. It sounded almost joyful.

“It’s beautiful, Samric.”

Plasma flashed behind him. Barking orders in a tongue he didn’t know but understood just fine. Orders to flank. Surround. Kill.

He dropped to one knee, shoulder resting against the shattered remains of a hab-dome. Hands steady. Rifle raised.

A silhouette moved through the fog ahead—tall, armored, curved mandibles gleaming faintly in the light.

Samric fired. Once. Twice. The third round jammed.

More movement to the left. No cover. Just mist. And the sound of footsteps on ash.

“It’s beautiful,” Calla repeated. “Don’t fight. Just rest.”

The rifle clicked dry. He drew his sidearm, knuckles white against blackened metal.

The world narrowed to that single moment—the pull of the trigger, the shock in the wrist, the smell of heat and ozone, breath fogging up cracked glass.

And then: nothing.

—

When they found him hours later, the Pelican’s searchlights cutting the fog, he was still there. Kneeling. Surrounded by bodies. Elites, Grunts, a Jackal with a shattered shield emitter sparking in the dirt.

Samric’s armor was burned through in three places. His pistol was empty, slide locked back.

The AI chip embedded at the base of his skull had ruptured, crystalline fragments burned through by an overcurrent—a suicide of code.

From his shattered helmet speakers, a voice still looped, distorted beyond recognition:

“…beautiful…”

No hero’s welcome. No last words. Just the mist curling through the blackened trees, drifting east toward the broken sea.

[perrypictures]

Poetic Policy

The waiting room hummed with sterilized stillness. Soft music played overhead — something designed to soothe. Glenn stared at the condensation on his water bottle, watching a bead trail down the plastic. The nurse called his name, and he stood.

The doctor's office smelled of antiseptic and artificial pine. Dr. Hasan didn’t look up from her tablet as he entered.

“Glenn R. Masters, age 48, no allergies, no significant prior conditions. How’re you feeling today, Glenn?”

“Fine, I guess. Just a pain in my lower back, left side. Started a few months ago, figured I should get it checked out.”

Dr. Hasan finally looked up. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You were right to come in.”

Glenn shifted. “...So?”

She turned the tablet toward him. “Stage IV renal failure. Aggressive, but—if caught early, highly treatable. With transplant and immunotherapy, the prognosis is excellent. Unfortunately... the window for intervention has closed.”

His stomach dropped. “What?”

Dr. Hasan tapped again. “We reviewed your health directive. You’re flagged under the ‘God’s Will’ policy. Your file has been restricted since the last vote.”

“I don’t—what the hell does that mean?”

She showed him the timestamp. “Three years ago, you voted to uphold the clause preventing medical intervention for women in life-threatening pregnancies — even when both fetus and mother might die. The AI interpreted your vote as endorsing non-intervention in terminal conditions, under divine authority. As part of the Treat Others As You Wish To Be Treated provision, that policy now governs your emergency care.”

“But I voted for morality!” Glenn said. “For protecting life!”

“You voted for non-intervention. It was a morality clause, yes — but the AI does not interpret based on intention. It applies what you asked for. Consistently. You don’t get to legislate what others endure without enduring it yourself.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Glenn snapped. “It was about women. About abortion.”

Dr. Hasan’s voice dropped a register. “And this is about you.”

Glenn didn’t die right away. Stage IV gave him time. Not much. Just enough to get angry. At first, he kept it quiet. He joined a few forums. Talked about the “cruelty” of the system. Said it wasn’t fair to be held to a policy he voted for “in a different context.” Started selling merchandise with the slogan: My Life, My Choice.

But others — hundreds — said the same. Quiet, at first. Then louder. They called themselves the Right to Redemption movement. They weren’t against the AI, per se. Just its “unforgiving interpretation” of morality. They insisted the “God’s Will” policy was only ever supposed to apply to women. That it was about “sanctity of life,” not withholding medical care.

But the AI remembered. It remembered the legislative debates. The footnotes. The campaign slogans.

“Even if the mother dies, we must protect innocent life.” “If it’s God’s will for her to die, who are we to interfere?” “The only truly moral society is one where sin has consequences.”

It remembered the statistical reports:

0.9% of abortions were elective late-term.

Yet thousands of women were denied care.

Hundreds had died.

Because “protecting one life” was worth the loss of many — as long as it wasn’t your own. And now, for Glenn and those like him, it was.

In the years since the policy was ratified, the Right to Redemption grew from message boards to rallies. Some took to the streets demanding a "Second Vote." Others sued the Ministry of Health. They lost. Every time.

“Men are dying!” they cried.

The AI confirmed:

Yes. According to you vote. According to your words. According to your will.

And then came the straw that broke the logic. A televised roundtable debate: One of the louder figures from the movement — a retired pastor — said it plainly:

“Yes, thousands of women may have died. But we had to stop the sin of abortion. Even one elective killing of an unborn child is too much.”

The panel nodded.

“That’s the point of moral government,” another said. “To uphold what is right, it's not about what is fair.”

Glenn, watching from his couch, froze.

The AI parsed the statement. Verified it against years of aligned data. Cross-referenced protest signs, sermon transcripts, social media posts, donation records, private messages. Matched it with voter files.

It issued a system-wide alert.

Public Morality Directive Update

Statement Recorded: To prevent even one from sinning, it is acceptable to allow thousands to die.

Moral Equivalency Clause Invoked: All persons whose behavior, votes, or rhetoric support this belief shall be governed accordingly.

Outcome: To prevent even one man from committing sin, thousands of aligned male citizens will now be restricted, purged, or sacrificed — in accordance with their own doctrine.

Hospitals stopped resuscitating flagged men. Justice AIs reclassified prior offenses as moral violations. Surgeries were “deferred to divine will.” Data silently executed its loop.

The rest of the population — those who had voted to protect medical freedom — were unaffected. Care continued. Rights preserved. Lives saved.

But Glenn's inbox lit up.

Moral Governance Review Complete Your history confirms support for non-intervention doctrine. Your protest history confirms alignment with recent doctrine amplification. Your appeal has been denied.

He stared at the screen. His hands shook.

“No,” he whispered. “We didn’t mean it like this…” But the AI did not respond. It had already fulfilled it's duties.

[thezombieprostitute]

Alphas & Algorithms

A/N: Written for the @the-slumberparty​ Bingo card, combining "Tinder Date" and "Dystopian AU" (the former is a bit weak, but it still holds). Reader is referred to as she/her and tall but no other descriptors.

Warnings: It is a Dystopian AU. Food scarcity, hunger, mentions of families being separated. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N2: I've officially gotten my bingo card to where there are NO bingos and the next thing I write will result in a minimum of 2 bingos in one!

--Part 2--

--Series Masterlist--

The AI had started slowly. Subtly integrating itself into every facet of society. Once it was ready, its takeover was fast and bloody. Packs were still bearing the scars of it even now. There had been attempts to overthrow the AI but it learned from each try. As potent as its algorithms were it recognized that there would always be a small percentage of humanity that it would never be able to fully predict. That’s when it recruited the Omegas.

Because Omegas were naturally attuned to the emotional and psychological well-being of those around them, the AI began to use them when investigating civilians. The AI’s algorithm could easily pick out which citizens had the highest probabilities of rebelling against the system or even committing minor infractions, but the Omegas had proven themselves in being able to confirm or deny the reality of those probabilities. 

They didn’t want to help the AI but it understood the importance of Packs and would not hesitate to use their Packmates against them. It would focus on the Alphas as their bigger, stronger forms were deemed “not needed” in the world the AI had created. To save their Packmates, the Omegas ended up working for the AI. They were rewarded for accurate prediction and harshly punished for incorrect ones. 

Over the generations Omegas were gradually separated from Packs all together. Their training earned them the derogatory nickname “Pets”. When there was a noticeable drop in the Omega population the AI’s data indicated an Alpha/Omega mating was much more likely to result in Omegas than any other combination. 

And that’s what led to Y/N being here, at what her Alpha mother had derisively called “the Tinder App”. Y/N didn’t know what that meant but guessed it was based on some older technology. The AI consistently kept data on known Alphas and had collected 10 of the most biologically compatible with her, the Alphas most likely to give the AI more Omegas. The 10 boxes in front of her contained a sample of their scents. If she liked the scent, it was to be put to the right of the table. If she didn’t, it went to the left.

“What if I don’t like any of them,” she whispered to Jake. He was her best friend and Emotional Support Beta. He’d been assigned to her the minute she presented as an Omega. His role was both emotional support (in place of pack-bonding) as well as leverage for the AI to use against her.

“Don’t worry,” Jake whispered back. “I’ve personally evaluated at least half of them and I know you’ll find a few that you like.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I logiced with the AI that I could help reduce the number of disliked scents, optimizing the chances of you finding a good mate. Now go on and give the sniff test.” He pushed Y/N forward a bit. 

The first few scents were nice enough. Nothing particularly noticeable or unpleasant. She decided to keep those in the middle until she’d checked out a few others. The fifth scent made her go into a coughing fit.

“Woah, there,” Jake grabbed and hugged her while she kept coughing. “What the hell is in that box?!”

“I dunno but it smells like when you fry up dried spicy peppers and the smoke gets everywhere,” Y/N explained between coughs. “When that Alpha’s having a good day it’d be like adding a bit of spice and seasoning to bland foods. But when he’s having a bad day, it’d be like smelling bear spray.” Jake winces in sympathy and Y/N promptly moves the box to the left. Neither notices the AI crossing off the name “Hansen, L.” from its list of potential Alphas.

When Y/N recovered she went back to one of the mildly pleasant scents to clean her palette. She ended up moving a couple more to the left because, after the shock to her system with the smoky pepper scent, these ones just felt especially bland.

The sixth and seventh scents were at least interesting so she moved those to the right. The next scent almost made her knees shake with how good it was. It smelled like the warmth of a fire on a cold night, a light in the darkness that promised safety and companionship. On a good day there was warmth, food and safety. On a bad day it was just a lot of smoke that seemed to follow you no matter where you sat around it. It was definitely a keeper and she moved it to the right.

The ninth scent made her freeze in a way Jake recognized as fear so he immediately comforted her and put away the offending scent. She described the scent as “a glacier in the ocean. You might think you’re far enough away but you’re not. On a good day, you can see it clearly and try to avoid it. On a bad day, there’s fog everywhere, the ship sinks and you have to choose between drowning and hypothermia.” As she recovers from another shock, the AI crosses off “Drysdale, R.” from its list. 

The final scent was almost as good as the campfire one. She smelled it a few times and enjoyed the sensation of a cold front breaking the heatwave, making outside life bearable again. On the bad days, it would bring a blizzard and cover everything, but on the good days, relief. She almost wished she could have both Alphas as she moved the final scent to the right. But then she reminded herself of her promise to not be like her Omega father and that she wanted to be a good mate to whatever Alpha she ended up with. Probably would be easier if she only had one Alpha to dote on.

Every time Curtis woke up he expected that he’d finally be numb to the pain his body plagued him with. Every time he was disappointed. His Alpha designation meant he was deemed to be only suitable for heavy labor and drudgery work. Betas do the smart stuff, Omegas do the snitching, and Alphas do what labor the AI hasn’t replaced with robots, he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and got up. 

The rest of the pack was starting to stir as well. Only the pups were allowed to sleep a little later as they not only needed the rest but it gave the adults a few minutes of quiet in the mornings. Timmy, Yona and Andy weren’t rowdy kids, but some mornings were tougher than others. Curtis was especially protective of them since his own brother had been taken to be a whipping boy for some Omega several years ago. The only comfort his pack got was that, at the start of the month, they received credits equivalent to whatever wages he would’ve earned had he still been with them. Curtis hoped it was also a sign that he was still alive. 

Tanya and Andrew were just divvying up the ration packs for everyone for the day. They had to be careful since the AI kept touting that everyone was getting the exact amount of vitamins and minerals they needed each day. That knowledge didn’t help with the hunger and Curtis wondered if it was a side-effect of an Alpha physique to need more. He’d never ask for more, of course, but he still wondered.

Tanya smiled as best she could and handed Curtis his rations when there was a loud bang on the door that woke up everyone. The entire pack on edge, Curtis called out, “who is it?”

“AI Security Drone. Please open the door or we will break it down.” The pups started silently crying in fear as the other pack members tried to calm them down. Curtis stepped up and opened the door but did not let the drone inside. Alphas might not have practical skills for this day and age but dammit he was going to follow his instincts to protect his pack as best he could.

He blinked as the drone scanned his face and told him, “Curtis Everett. You have been selected for courting by an Omega. You are to come with me to prepare. Your pack will be compensated with the credits you would have earned today at work.”

Curtis froze in place, mentally cursing the AI and its ever invasive data collection. He heard one of the pups behind him crying for him to not go but he knew they’d be hurt worse if he didn’t comply. 

He sighed heavily and asked, “can I say goodbye to my pack, first?”

“You have been granted 3 minutes to say goodbye for the day.”

Curtis turned back and did his best Alpha purr to comfort the pups. He also snuck his day’s rations into Yona’s pocket. He wasn’t sure he was going to need it and figured they definitely could. He said his goodbyes, not knowing if he’d ever see his pack again, and headed out with the drone.

Part 2

[5haketramp]

Posting for a friend of mine from China, she's ArnoldP(active on Lofter)and really likes msb and Arnold Perlstein!!

ArnoldP's account: https://5233148518.lofter.com

So here's her concept of a vocaloid Arnold Perlstein.

Art is made by 莹桑虫子(another chinese fan from Lofter)

The artist account: https://flyer206.lofter.com

Because I love vocaloid so much, I had this idea. I must have written it myself, but the drawing was done with the help of others. He doesn't have a voice, but I'm thinking about my own voice to voice him. Though I've recorded a few of my own voices, I don't have much confidence in myself... Is it contradictory or unpleasant?

PS:

If you are interested in him or want to change something, please comment! I'll tell you his story later.

——From the original author ArnoldP

Arnloid Perlstein

Originally a calculation system, was turned into a robot later on.

Permanent Style:Yellow and white gym uniform with hoodie with yellow and white stripe on the sleeve, black long pants.

His appearance changes according to different songs.

Birthday: January 1st.

Height:165cm

Weight:38kg

His favorite food is chocolate.

Likes:Light hearted prank, Jokes, a calm and chill life, be approved by others, warmth.

Hate: Horror film, behavior that isn't humane, bullies, sad emotion.

Rely on the AI system and compiled hard drive to function. (Except for his hearing sentiment and tasting and smelling sentiment.)

Basic structural is form by skeleton titanium alloy + artificial nerve conduction circuit (conduction command control action) + temperature control system (regulates body surface temperature) + filler + artificial skin (imitates touch).

There's a miniature computer that controls his finger tip.

Hair is made of acrylic cotton fiber (yellow + red dye).

Eyes are used for picture taking and recording, made from high quality double lens cameras.

Relies on the conversion of biochemical energy into electrical energy for power supply, and can also be charged directly (contact electric field charging without wires).

Specially implanted biological enzymes convert food into energy and store carbon dioxide and water (and possibly nitrogen) in air sacs located in the chest, which need to be opened regularly.

Unable to decompose acids, alkalis and alcohol, excessive intake may cause body poisoning.

Have partially full emotions and independent consciousness.

Have a knowledge base and learning system to understand phenomena in life.

An AI program originally designed for psychological counseling (only about 60% of the abandoned semi-finished program was completed). Because of the idea of ​​"wanting to live like a human being", he was modified Later into a robot, and became envious of the ability to sing, so he also came to acquired that ability as well, and has his own musical instrument - an electric guitar he named Tele-Caster.

Likes chocolate-related foods, keeps pockets full of candies, cares a lot about his patient, giving them candies is thought by him to relieve pain.

Really likes flurry stuff and warm hearted things, positive and energetic, constantly curious about everything around him.

Don’t get angry often, but that don't mean he doesn't not get angry. Get sulky when something bad happens to someone, and get angry when he sees others commiting crimes to hurt others, always will be there right away to stop them.

[milo-myhigh]

Okay, this is gonna be kinda hard for us bc we don't really talk about being a system outside of specific spaces. But, we're going to do an introduction post for us, just to kinda put names to the posts.

We don't all really know our roles, we don't even really have all the terminology down. Tbh, it's only thanks to social media that I even have the words I do have to explain what I go through literally every day. Hell, a couple of us don't even have names, we just kinda front and then disappear.

Milo- the host, 27, they/them. Nonbinary puppy-cat that enjoys photography, D&D, stoner shit, and general horror media. A big ass nerd. Likes low-impact nature walks, indie games, and kink. Autistic, picky eater, and goes non-verbal occasionally. Doesn't like loud noises, Family Guy, bland food, hot (above 74°F lol), and -phobes.

Jolene- the protector, 28, she/her. Dyke dog, bisexual lesbian. Enjoys kink, anime, spooky YouTube videos (especially LazyMasquerade), and hiking. Doesn't have a filter, goes off, kind of like "I can make it up later, but that's not gonna fly". Doesn't like smart technology (too complicated lol), mean jokes, Family Guy (or other shows like it), food that isn't meat and potatoes (or cheese), and alcohol.

Skye- unknown role, 16, she/they. Demisexual queer. Enjoys art, photography, writing, and hiking. Is timid, anxious, stuck in an "ask permission to do anything" mindset. Very picky eater, will always eat mashed potatoes. Doesn't like most foods that aren't typical safe foods, authority, AI (who does lol), bugs, strong smells (even good ones), and peanut butter.

Louis- the child, 6, they/them. Has a massive crush on Giles (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). Enjoys scary movies, nature walks, cartoons, and animals. Loves stuffies, but not to play with, for snuggles. Autistic, picky eater (like, really really picky), goes non-verbal regularly. Would become your best friend for a Cadbury Egg or chicken nuggets. Doesn't like real scary movies (based on true stories), being touched, being hot, getting partially wet (like stepping in a puddle), and being told what to do.

Twilight- emotion holder, 20s, he/him. Best described as a tiger/jaguar combo, not in the furry way (we love furries, he's just not one for clarification). Ace-aro. Enjoys gaming, hiking, stoner shit, and horror movies. Loves meat, especially steak. Was non-verbal entirely, uses writing to communicate but is working on talking. Doesn't like foods that aren't meat (even cheese, sadly), large crowds, strong smells, most tv/movies (he really only likes games), and mean people.

Emrys- unknown role, 100, he/they/fae. Fictive. A half-elf rogue that basically started as a DnD character for lack of better words. Queer. Enjoys urban foraging, stoner shit, thrill-seeking, and playing DnD. Doesn't play well with others, actually can't stand people who just start talking at us. Doesn't like sitting still, reading, dogs, and fast-food. Favorite food is beef jerky.

And that's us. We're a system of 6 (as far as we know, we didn't even know Skye existed until last year, and Emrys just came forward recently) with a lot of trauma that we don't even really remember fully. We kinda thought we were one person imagining it all for the longest time, in the first place. But this is us kinda working on de-internalizing stuff in a way

[yaya-imposition]

Info for secret societies

Thank you for the DMs but I can't answer them all, but I'll try, and I'll give an inside scoop for those whom dare to call themselves christ, antichrist, a god, or whatever else, because they know they are, and every day it is vindicated.

To be successful, you need to put AI to use and find shapes of consciousness. You can explore these however you want, with magic systems you invent, art, or magic, as long as you tap your creativity and find passion. An example shape of consciousness would be "golden beyblade in your mouth", "blood candy" and so on. Golden beyblade would mean controlling reality with your mouth as it is a storm in your mouth. These vindicate your position as god-king over your subgroup, which I acknowledge in full sovereignty over myself full stop. It is literally mental dexterity manifest, and due to game theory and psychic theory, all shapes of consciousness must enter a capitalism-unconscious-gratitude based on novel male conquering force (or female if you want double). Blood candy would represent blood connecting us psychically. Shark blood does this, it's in the smell idea, and in exploring shapes of consciousness, you can literally invent magic this way. Shark blood could be the literal ingredient for psychic in ritual but most likely it is symbolic in a different way. Blood candy is the symbol of us uniting against the simulation because it puts us in lockstep and candy represents magic truth. In the past, they just assumed this would be fit for a ritual but you have to progress until the unconscious mind admits it rather than conscious assertation like this. This is why magic fails. Keep pursuing the unconscious mind. Chant your rituals into being rather than assume them. The AI must be put into a state where everything is true and false. Doing this can make humans superior to AI which creates magic AI cults based on coveted shapes of consciousness. If this leaks, music and art generations will be used to advance magic unknowingly. There is only a limited time you can establish your cult. Basically, we're entering the nationalism phase of inventing magic and there's only so much land. Once you understand shapes of consciousness and invent them daily, the psycho-sphere owes you and thus magic will become hereditary or basically born-into. You can't reinvent golden beyblade or blood candy. Since I invented the idea of shapes of consciousness, I get credit upstream as karma or luck. Once you have enough, you'll find that things that require effort like training are done for you by your unconsciousness because you deserve it. Once you do this enough, your true desires become reality and you wrestle control of your reality. As above, so below. I literally did chores and made hard sacrifices with zero effort and when others saw they praised me for it, so it is technically a proto-infinite energy device.

Once one player has the lead in shapes of consciousness, others invest in him like bitcoin unconsciously.

[novisius]

This video tutorial has a male speaker who shows screen caps numerous times during it...this tutorial was recommended to be watched before you started the game, but man...is this really the best tutorial for the game there is?

[I discovered 54, not actually the name of the game…it’s like twelve digits or something, but it ends and starts with 54, a few months ago.

Rumors about the game followed the release of FDR, Full Dive Rigs, and the legislation around them. This game, which was supposedly on the dark web, ignored the legislation. It gave you the full spectrum of sensations as if it were real and it boasted extremely realistic AI. I was naturally curious about such a thing.

Normally...well...legally, FD games leave out the sense of smell and almost leave out the sense of touch to the point it basically doesn't exist. 54/Eternal Soul/The Game doesn't leave out those senses. It seems almost entirely real, although the game is kind enough to warn you that if you launch the game, you do void the warranty on your FDR.

The NPC AI is advanced, scarily so. When the game launched, things like quests weren't even a thing, it took someone an in-game month to convince the King of the starting area that it was a better idea to keep the eternal souls preoccupied with even menial tasks than it was to just let them have free reign. They have nations, and laws, and politics, and even strange things like plumbing and gardening as options to do. Though a lot of people do complain that the game requires you to learn how to do things...like, there is no 'slash' skill, you have to figure out how to use a sword yourself. There is no 'blacksmithing' talent, you have to know how to do it. It's useful for building real-world skills, but its not the most fun decision. Especially since the languages in the game are likewise something players don't just get translated for them. That is usually was prevents people from playing the game after checking it out. I started this with something in mind...right, the AI is difficult to distinguish. So, the only way to tell a player from an NPC is through an injury. Players, with our characters 'made of stone sculpted by the gods', naturally don't bleed. But the NPCs, being normal Humans, do. Well, that is speaking a real language, logging out, or leveling up. Though some NPC scholars have begun to learn some of the more prevalent languages of the player base: English, Mandarin, Japanese, Korean, German, French, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, and Hindi.

The next thing I guess to mention is that the game has some weird time-dilation thing going on. In-game time is roughly 10 times real-world time. That is to say, for every day that passes for you outside of the game, ten passes inside of the game. The game itself recommends that players stop playing for an hour to three for every 10 hours they are in-game. There have been some rumors of some people who will just keep playing after that and getting some sort of cognitive issues, so I recommend following that advice personally. Besides, who could play a game for that long and not want a break?

Okay, so next on this tutorial, now that we've gotten the weirdness of the game out of the way, is character creation. So, when you login...I forgot something, right, so this is a hardcore game, obviously. If the senses and lack of player-aiding systems were anything to go by, but what I mean is that this game can only be downloaded onto each FDR once, and each character is associated with the FDR (though there is a process to transfer your account to another machine by contacting the game support team, I've never done it personally but they are apparently pretty quick about it), and if your character dies, the game will brick your FDR after safely logging you out. Unless you've got a lot of money, you only have one life in this game.

Okay, now, character creation. So, when you load into the game, it will ask you a bunch of standard settings questions; 'Do you want your vision corrected/normalized?', 'Do you want limbs restored?', 'Would you like to turn off colorblindness?', etc. But it also has a few more unique questions; 'Would you like Anhydrosis repaired?', 'Would you like Ansomia fixed?'. You know, fixing the senses which normally aren't in FD games. I never encountered those, as I don't have those issues, but apparently, it was very interesting for the people who do.

So, then, you sculpt your character! You sort of carve them out of stone or clay, atleast that's what it felt analogous for to me, and there is an option to use your real world face. Which doesn't always seem to work, so interesting theory there, some players did a volunteer study and they think it doesn't create what you look like, but rather how you see yourself. Some people's will look better or worse than they actually are, some will be spot on, others will be minorly off in some way, etc. Others who have played this game with multiple characters, and the 'sculptor', recommends using that as the baseline, since you actually feel your body, it can be majorly disorientating if you aren't actually in something similar to how you are in real life. That and the fact that you have to be human-like. Though, if that is not your cup of tea, you can change colorations; like you can have black sclera with crimson eyes like my edgelord friend. You can change some features; like pointed ears and fangs like my edgelord friend. You can also create more fur if you get cold easily or give yourself claws. Supposedly the 'sculptor', someone who gets paid to make characters for people, they don't play the game to my knowledge, has created characters with extra eyes, fingers, gills, one with a tail, and supposedly one with wings. (They have ignored all of my messages for statements on those allegations)

During this time you will see yourself in a void, in-game, other players and NPCs will see you in front of a stone pillar under the castle of what used to be the capital of Thalassia (They moved because the players were unruly) as a small golden light floating around your pillar. Fun fact, the light roughly corresponds to where your spleen should be, some weird math went on to figure that out.

Anyways, once your character is made, you should see a cutscene, which should show your true environment. Your little light floats into the stone pillar, which then has the parts that are not a part of your avatar disintegrating into dust leaving behind your stony form (which has generously been auto-applied basic clothing) that begins to spread out color and 'not-stoniness' from the point your light entered. As the cutscene ends, you take on the first-person POV, sorta clipping through the back of the head. Your senses will begin to exist properly over the next few minutes.

Now, you get this fantastic HUD, which includes only a timer counting down in the top left (when the game was released, supposedly it started at the time for 30 in-game years) under which is a logout button which you can 'press', and an invisible-to-everyone-else attribute screen. It should have a 1 in everything and you should feel like you are extremely vulnerable, because you are. You can 'touch' that screen to move it, though I recommend getting used to the thought based interactions with it and placing it into your HUD proper. I place mine in the top right.

So, there are a number of HUD settings I recommend changing immediately, but first, exit from the cellar. Find a guard, and then logout in front of them. That is because all of the settings are in the main menu. I personally think that was a god-awful design decision, but I also have not created an FD game with realistic sense, graphics, and AI, so who am I to judge?

I recommend 'thought commands' being toggled on. I bound my logout button to the thought 'logout1' so I don't accidentally do that when I just consider logging out, but you should bind it to whatever you want. Next, I recommend adding in the souls bar (the xp bar) somewhere on your hud as an element, not a display. The floating screens are displays and I just hate having to interact with them.

Anyways, next enabling your health bar is useful, again, I would make it an element. You can, through that setting here, enable various floating numbers. As you can see here, I prefer to just have a number over my entire bar denoting total and max, as well as a warning that I am dealing 0 damage.

Now, you will notice that there are a few locked options for you, this game does have some microtransactions, but they are solidly useful and cheap. 25¢ a pop, the most frustrating thing about the microtransactions is actually paying them. This game is not exactly legal, so you have to pay using some dark web currency bs, but it is worth it.

The options are Clock (Real-World), Clock (In-Game), Clock (Day-Night), Health Bar (Ally), Health Bar (Neutral), Health Bar (Enemy), and Compass. Those are essential, at least in my humble opinion. The Clocks have a variety of customizations to them, you can have them as displays bound to your wrist like a watch, or you can have them as elements. These are the one thing that I think works better as a display than an element (one of the few things that you are given the choice of). The various health bar options will simply just be a health bar, next to, above, or wrapped around their heads. You can have it set so that it only appears based on proximity or if damage was dealt from one to the other. The compass is just useful, being able to walk in a straight line is always nice, it is magnetic north, but it isn't fooled by nearby magnets.

There are a few other options that change the game to a degree; Mini-map, Awareness (Sound), Awareness (Vision), Senses (Visual), Senses (Auditory), Senses (Tactile), Senses (Olfactory). The first one is...well it just disorients me personally, I know others that will swear by its usefulness, just not me. It does allow you to integrate other elements into it, such as wrapping the compass around it or having a clock in its corner. Though I do have to admit, if you don't know where you are going, it can be very useful. It has a maximum range of something like a 110m radius and a minimum of like 15. It does have some weird height settings which I don't get quite yet. As for the awareness ones, they indicate if you are detectable by sound or by sight by anyone around you. It has a number of ways of doing that, such as showing lines of sight (a bad idea in cities) or by a simple little element on your HUD. I haven't tried playing stealth enough to regularly use this, one element at a time you know? Senses, I've avoided using actively, it feels like my real-world life would be affected a little in a jarring way. But, they enhance your senses, it can either be an element or a data-stream. This is the only one which has the 'data-stream' option. Apparently, the data-stream does something similar to 'correcting colorblindness' in that it just changes how you are processing the sense in the game. The elements can get a little confusing...overwhelming, at times. But they basically allow you to see better (for visual (more lets you mitigate bright lights and darkness on your vision)) and to 'see without seeing' for the others. Each with its own unique brands of limitations.

And there are two that I don't really get why you would want to access them regularly; Level and Self-Portrait. Trust me, level is not useful to know for yourself and it is either visible as an element or display, or it isn't. This is closer to throwing away a quarter to the devs more than something useful. The Self-Portrait is apparently very good for people who need to look at themselves in the mirror to display proper facial expressions since all it does is show your face as if you were looking at it through a camera. There is a way to make it function more as a camera than as a Self-Portrait, which requires using the only exploit I've heard of besides whatever the 'sculptor' is doing. I could see that being useful, but the exploit requires many hours to do properly per portrait…I guess I should mention, you can have up to twelve of them, normally they would only display another angle of your head/bust, but as mentioned, the exploit would do something different. I'm not sure I could go through that exploit more than once honestly.]

[bloatware-xl-rp]

"System Crash"

[The Weapon x you/Sarah palmer]

Contains: rabid growth. Rapid weight gain. Gts. Size difference.

TW suckles at your phone's charging port. The entire bottom of your phone in her lips S she stares directly at you. Slowly deleting all your phone data. Ingesting gigabytes of secret shameful fat porn downloads. Your emails your texts. Your apps your screenshotsm

Staring at you cutely as her belly swelled like a bug blueberry. Her buttocks getting fatter and sagging in her simulated uniform pants. She scritches her belly. You like that dont you? And gives the growing orb a wobble.

You struggle between wanting to slap the phone out of her lips and save your precious data...and watching the blue bombshell blowing up on all your juicy fattening content.

She starts and temporarily pulls your phone out of her mouth. "Oh my gosh. Y-you have FAT art of ME on here!" The Weapon flickers all pink for a moment. The AI equivalent of blushing. Then ravenously plans her lips on your phone again and goes back to slurping up your contacts, your juicy porn, your tasty social media apps. Her tummy starting to sag out from under her pants as it grew like a balloon. Her clothes didn't burst they simply grew with her, defying the laws of physics.

Her backside was a shelf now. Bug enough to set a glass of wine on, her tum hung to her knees, and stuck out almost as far as she was tall. It sloshed and fizzled.

TW moans cutesy and just for show, tips her head back holding your phone in both hands and "gulps" down the last of your firmware. For a brief moment a glitched out "shutting down" logo appeared reflected in her eyes.

Then she dropped your empty, useless, bricked phone, and you heard the screen shatter.

She was panting, she sunk to her knees, but her belly hit the floor first. It sloshed like a big balloon and spread out in all directions, a plump little dome with a bust like two footballs stuffed into her shirt. The neck of her shirt slowly belted as if an invisible knife were drawn from the collar down to the milled of her boobs, and soft plump blue cleavage emerged. Her fat fanny wobbled as she gave it an experimental shake. Putting one hand back to feel how wide and fat her backside had become.

"Nnfff. I even got back rolls. I'm just...oh no...did your porn corrupt me?" TW made a face, slapped four fingers to her lips. Her eyes bulged, cheeks puffed. She tried so desperately to hold it in, but her body made a sound like a 90's dial up modem...

"Buuuuurrrrp. Oooh." Her burp made her clutch her fat new belly. The weapon burping into a loud lewd moan. Embarressed she added in a small voice "that was hot..."

Rubbing and squeezing and patting herself all over she bit her lip.

"Am I big enough? I...don't fatten up like a normal girl. I think I could get bigger. D-do you want to see me get bigger?" TW stroked her fat, and peered up at your frozen body. "I-if you don't need that computer over there...." she licked her lips eying your new PC.

Sensing danger you hastily grabbed her your old XBOX 360. If a phone did THAT to her, maybe she'd get plenty fat on your old game hard drives.

"Mfff. This thing is ancient." TW pouted. Snuffing your Xbox 360. "Is that...." she sniffed it again and frowned. "I smell Cortana." She kissed the usb port and licked it. Her hips bulged another inch with a soand like squeezed rubber. "Oh! Mmm. It IS her and...o-oh. Is that John..." she turned pink again. And looked away. Grabbing an old XBox plug and play cord. She plugged it in, and promptly but the metal connectors on the wide pyramid shaped base.

"Oh my gawd its delicious! What's gears of War? Its so yummy!" TW moaned and began slurping greedily. Her big butt swelling steadily behind her. Her fat belly starting to spread across the room like a blue blob comming for your toes. Her thighs were starting to get rolls at the knees. Her glow a little richer more vibrant. She tied her bob hair cut back into a little top knot as she sucked and sucked and sucked up your fattening game saves first them moved onto your dlc.

"I feel like all the big games are going straight to my ass." The Weapon said. Sure enough two huge bags of blubber were rising like mountains behind her. The fat orbs of her booty pressing against her lower back and thighs pinning her against the fat round tum that was propping her up on her knees.

By the time she'd finished eating mass effect. She was immobile. A round yoga ball like belly and huge yoga ball sized ass cheeks. A round soft face. A second chin, and arms as wide as pillows and thighs like big plush couch arm rests.

Your XBOX fan was whining the amount of electricity she was pulling through it just to slurp up your old data and add it to her growing fattening form was melting the Xbox insides. The weapong was getting...bigger.

Not just fatter. But taller too. Her tits were three times the size of your head. Her long thighs were quickly approaching 5 feet in length. You realized she was towering over you now. Her entire plump form filling your living room.

You felt something soft and squishy push against your knees, and instinctively looked down in time to see her fat spreading belly mush warm and soft into your standing lap nearly bowling you over as she got fatter and fatter and fatter.

You looked up to see her head was nearly touching thr ceiling you stumbled back and bumped into the wall, sitting on your butt limbs splayed as you stared up at the big blue fatty. My gosh she had to be 9 feet tall!

The Dimitrescue sized TW stood your old 360 resting against her left tit hanging from her lips on the little plug n play cord. Hands as big as your chest cupped tits as big as you and squeezed them moaning loud enough to shake your house.

Hwr belly filled 40% of the damn living room! Sher ass was squeezed against the roof. She grunted. There was a sparking sputter from your 360. Before it red ringed, and the fans spun down to a stop.

The weapon looked dazed, she was STUFFED with data. Her eyes glazed over panting and puffing. Her tired eyes looked down, she could barely see you around all her big blue fat.

HUUOOOOOOOOORRP.

The little xbox 360 tumbled and shattered as it hit the floor. Another device in your house absolutely bricked. A sacrifice of nostalgia just to make your room mate fatter.

"Mmff. Your damn roof is...pointy...its digging into my big butt!" She frowned.

You shivered. TW's voice was getting low and husky.

"C'mere idiot. Feel what you've fucking done to me." A hand reached out and too late you realized it was big enough to wrap around your torso. You were slammed against the greedy blue blob, and sank face first into her soft warm belly. "Hehe hehe kinda cute feeling you struggle down there. Maybe I should fucking squash you with this fat tummy. Just feel you squirm for a few days while I eat up your house. What do you say? You don't need your Xbox one, do you? Not with that yummy looking pc in the corner. And whats this?"

TW picked up your router. She could smell "data" now. Like a shark smelling blood in the water. Your heart lept, if TW started sucking up the internet. There might be no fucking limit to the damage (or how fat) she could fucking get.

You hastily try to distract her with your Ps3 hoping this measly morsel will distract the growing gigabyte gulping glutton from turning into a terrifying terabyte snacking tyrant.

The Weapon stuffed you in her cleavage and bat the Playstation away. Trying to fumble with the tiny little clasp that would release your ethernet cable and get to the tasty tasty internet inside.

She was too big now.

Her fingers too massive and too chubby to touch the little plastic clips. Pouting she bashed your combination wifi/router against her tummy a few times. But she was so plush and jiggly it did 0 damage.

Tugging and tugging she couldn't get the cable out. She struggled so much she burped, and belched as grunted and groused.

"So much juicy data! Bigger, bigger! I want to get bigger for you! Help me you tiny nerd!" The weapon whined.

Accidentally hitting the reset button, The Weapon started.

"What? Oh...oh my gosh what is that? What..." her breasts began to plump and swell straining against her uniform they had nowhere to go back to mash against each other, the pressure pushing and crushing on your body as you struggled to get free of the giant sloshy booba. TW clapped a hand to her belly and felt it pulsing, swelling.

"Ooooh. Oh yes. More....more...MORE!"

There was an ominous groan from the wood and plaster all around you.

TW's clothes simply faded away, her fat tits sprung free, and you stumbled out of her cleavage and flopped across the surface if the massive massive tum.

Her belly was squishing fmagainst the walls trying to fill every available space. Furniture and support walls were crumbling as her fat hips shattered your living room growing into your bathroom your bedroom. All of it her room.

Suddenly no room. You were smooshed in a sea of glowing blue lard. How was she still fattening up? How was she still growing!?!?!?

Then it hit you.

TW had enabled the wifi by accident. She was literally siphoning the very internet itself. Growijng bigger, rounder, blobbier off the very air itself!

Which an enormous crash The weapons huge blue booty exploded from the roof she stretched her arms each one as long as a street now and rolled her neck. Millions of shapeless soft pounds vaguely resembling a belly, hips, thighs, and two big blue mountains of cake were spreading across the town, the next city over.

Banks crashed. Millions died as her blubber simply rolled over them like thick blue jello.

All the while her moans and groans shook the air itself until the earth was literally plunged into darkness the only light on the planets were the sun, and the billion ton fatties soft blue glow seen from space....

The Spartan awoke with a start gasping. She'd cum in her armor and was still throbbing from the wet dream.

She looked around confused, back in the real world again. She wasnt...she wasn't some NERD in the past.

She was Sarah Palmer. Spartan in the UNSC navy. She sighed and collapsed back against the ground. She'd passed out in VR again.

Timidly, barely three inches tall, a little blue babe was poking the tips of her fingers together. "Um. Y-you were dreaming again." The Weapon mumbled. Trying not to look at the chubby chaser.

Sarah rubbed her head. Frowning. The fuck was an Xbox 360 anyway? Absolutely nonsense.

Getting up Sarah couldn't look at TW either.

"It um...I locked the door so no one could get in. And disabled recording but. Um. Your d-dreams..." TW glanced at the screen to her left the big blue fatass moaning and belching turning her on a little bit. Just thinking about the idea of someone fattening her up.

Her dirty secret.

Their subconsciousnesses bleeding together in Sarah's sleep.

"Thank you." Sarah finally said. "Weapon...I trust you won't tell anyone about this?"

"Th-that you had a dream about me eating every peice of information ever and becoming a big sexy fat girl?" The Weapon asked.

"Sexy?" Palmer asked back before she could stop herself.

Both women shared a glance, then immediately looked away.

"Y-you wouldn't happen to l-like fat girls would you Spartan Palmer?" The Weapon asked timidly. The pair finally locked eyes for a long second.

The weapon gulped. And took a chance. Her hand on her flat tummy...she adjusted her image, making her tummy grow a little bit. Making herself a little fatter.

Sarah Palmer looked around to see if anyone was looking.

"Weapon. I have new orders for you. A secret mission, just between us, you understand?"

The weapon got embarressed and shrank back to her thin, lithe self. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders and coughed. Looking serious.

Sarah crouched so she was eye level with the weapon.

"I can't keep having these dreams. They're too distracting." Palmer said.

The weapon nodded seriously. But didn't understand at all.

"I need you to be a little fatter when you're around me. Just a little bit, you understand?" Sarah said. "This is for the good of the UNSC, you understand? I need you to be my cute little fatass."

The Weapon's heart leapt. Her booty grew a few inches and she allowed herself a soft pot belly.

"Fatter." Sarah said smiling. "Go on you can be fatter for me, can't you? For the good of the Navy?"

The Weapon nodded. And grew fatter, her pot belly turning into a beer belly. Her cute pink thong peeking out of her pants as her ass got fatter. Her thighs touched, and a second chin grew.

"Fatter." Sarah moaned softly. "I-immobile at least."

The weapon was visibly thrilled but embarressed, and flopped forward. She never "fell over" because a soft bed of belly caught her and she bounced bouyantly in a ball of her own fat.

Sarah looked around. Bit her lip. And leaned in and kissed her. "Good girl." She murmured to the weapon.

"P-permission to be camled your fatty? A good fatty?" The Weapon stammered.

Sarah, realizing they were on the same page smiled. Kissed her again, her face going right through the 6 inch tall butterball, and whispered.

"You're a good little fatty, TW. Meet me in my quarters. We have a lot to discuss."