#dystopia story

[balkanmermaid]

Celestial II (1)

Summary: Starting with Luceus, each of the eight Corbeau brothers has a conversation with his demon and feels that another fight is nigh... and an old flame of Luceus’s is back in the game.

Hey, wake up. The neighbours are making steak. You’re gonna wanna be up for this. After a week full of driving sick folks to the hospital, working out and training, doing paperwork, reading reports and checking the trucks and the office in case a little change or repair is needed, I realise I can finally have my day off. And though I wish it could have been me giving the kids from the close high school a tour around the station, as I love talking with people, I’m glad I can just sleep.

I turn around, face burying itself back into the pillow. I’ll have to get up eventually. And I don’t wanna... It’s Saturday. There’s nothing that needs urgent attention - not today. Like every other weekend, I’m going to text Stef and Kam, meet up with them and do something fun. Go to therapy again, deal with the crap that Celestial pulled us all in. Lie in bed and be a couch potato. Try not to feel lonely as hell. Work out for a few hours again.

Make a latte. Have a stroll outside.

Just your usual weekend activities…

Oi! I’m hungry! You have to get up and eat! Lucifer complains inside my head with a growl.

Sigh. This feels like I’m looking after Stef or Kam… only, at least I can play with them, too.

And Lucifer is a wild card. I can only hope he isn’t going to trash my apartment next.

“Y’know, the only reason you’re still around is because I haven’t bothered to get rid of you.” I give up and get out of bed, scowling at the bright light streaming from between the curtains. My bed is very close to a pair of windows, so I often get woken up by the sun. “And I could do it. I could have gotten that done right after the battle.” Once in the kitchen, I throw on a fuzzy robe over my pyjamas and get to making coffee. Lucifer, oddly patient, waits for me to finish. “But I chose not to. I got a feeling we could help each other out, you know - you and I. I’ve noticed I care more about me with you around.”

Heh. You’re saying that just to get in my good cards, ain’t’cha, Lu? You know I ain’t hungry for food. I wanna fight! You got so much done yesterday! I wanna feel the way I did then!

“There was a minor fire that had to be extinguished yesterday.” I feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head. The neighbours might be making steak, but until I finish the steaming cup of coffee I’ve just picked up, there will only ever be pancakes from me. I don’t feel ready to make anything more substantial yet. I’m not that hungry. And remembering the fire makes me even less hungry.

“I can stick to my workout routine today as usual. Unless someone calls in to ask for us to get their cat off a tree, or someone gets stuck somewhere and needs help. We had a car stuck in a ditch to help with recently, not too long ago. But it’s the weekend now. Sit back and chill, Luci. We’ve earned it.”

The demon groans. Did you hear a word I said? I’m hungry! And if you don’t get me somewhere to feed on excitement, I’m gonna start feeding on actual food. And I don’t think you’d like that, Luceus.

For hell’s sake. Sometimes I wish I could send him back to hell, or wherever he came from. When I start talking with Lucifer, only I can hear him - everyone else says they can only hear hissing, as if I’m talking to a pet snake. Now, Luci knows when it’s a good time for a talk, and when he’d just get me - and himself - in trouble. “I didn’t ask to be paired up with you, you dipshit.” Just shut up already. I decide to add some whipped cream, chocolate syrup and fruit to the pancakes I’ve decided to settle on in the end. Staring at the inside of the fridge seems to have brought me ideas.

Time for something sweet. I don’t know how to relax properly; I have never known that. But just this once, a few pancakes and lying around in bed for a few hours won’t hurt my workouts.

Mmm, this tastes fantastic.

“Really?” Whenever Lucifer is acting nice, he is either about to bribe me into doing something I’m not going to like, or he’s trying to make up for the times he has taken over my body to wreak havoc. And while I firmly believe that therapy will do me better than a thousand apologies from a demon - from a monster - I can’t hold back the pleasant feeling.

“I’m glad. But I wanna know something.”

Sup?

“Who cooks better, Kamael or me?”

This is a trick question. Our brother is a chef de partie, and an exceptionally good one, too. Each of us has their own favourite food, and although we aren’t the picky type, which I know Kam is secretly grateful for, we have dishes aside from these favourites that we have learned to perfection. I’m nowhere near as good at cooking as Kamael is. For example, I have no idea how I’d cook shrimp, or what I’d serve it with, let alone what wine it could go well with. And he’s all about that.

And not just that. Kamael is a master of desserts, and any homemade lunches and dinners taste like he has made them for customers at work even when he’s cooking for us, for people known for their tolerance for any kind of food, even grub put together hastily from a week’s worth of leftovers. Unlike him, I’m far less resourceful. Then again, I can eat anything and sleep anywhere. All of us have got used to managing stressful situations, but for me, it became a must. Kamael and I are just different.

You know what I’ll say. I don’t, really, but I let Lucifer speak. I can notice him taking over me when he does, skin becoming golden, eyes flashing yellow - the changes reflect in the kitchen window. You’re made differently. You know it, and you thought about it just now. But he’s the chef, not you.

I’m about to try and come up with a witty retort - but it doesn’t look like Luci is going to let me. This ain’t a competition, Luceus. Your mom doesn’t have a favourite son. You’re all good enough. Stop fighting about it. If only he could understand me. But I shan’t ask too much of him. He’s a demon. And demons work in ways that humans don’t, and vice versa. It’s likely I’ll never wrap my head around the reasons why he likes to fight and destroy so much when I just want to relax.

I lean back in the kitchen chair and adjust the pillow behind my back. He’s right. I made nice pancakes. And they go especially well with my coffee. They even match the yellow kitchen.

Ha.

“Rich, coming from you,” I snort. “When God said that to you, you started a riot, a battle, and ended up getting thrown out of heaven. And don’t tell me you don’t remember. You’re not human.”

We’re the only ones with such notoriously bad memory - and not all of us forget so easily. Hah! You keep forgetting that’s only half of my memories, dearie. The demon laughs quietly. I was made in a laboratory, remember? I have knowledge of all that you humans wrote down in that so-called Bible of yours. But that’s not all. I was made in that laboratory where you first met me. He smirks. I also know how they made me. With the help of the Holy particle - the Holy genes.

Research that peoples like our family contributed to, agreeing to allow our grandfather to use them in his twisted little experiment. Research that turned into torture, into greed, into a thirst for blood.

“Are you happy you made me remember that shit all over again, right after you made me feel just a little better about it all?” The only thing stopping me from throwing the plate on the floor and breaking it is the fact that there’s one last piece of pancake lying in it. I finish it and drink the last coffee, stretching my legs under the table from my seat to the opposite one. I should go for a walk.

I’m not. I… I know you don’t like thinking about this. But it also explains a lot. You can’t just… erase it from your memory. As painful as it is. You can’t run from your past, Luceus. It doesn’t make you any less you. It’s only scarred you. Everyone bears their sins and mistakes. And you do, too.

Is that supposed to make me feel better? In its own weird ways, I think it does, and the more I go over Lucifer’s words in my head while he’s quiet, the more I find myself accepting them - even if it’ll take me a while to truly agree with them.

“What more do you want to eat, then? Should I just… go to K and ask him to throw a feast for ya?” No! I told you! I want you to… well, if he makes some mean fried chicken, I can consider that.

“Heh. I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

It almost feels like we’re teasing each other like a pair of boyfriends skirting around their attraction for each other. Oh boy. If I were to date this demon… I get up to put away the plate and the cup from breakfast, loading the dishwasher, and laugh to myself, shaking my head. How would that work?

Yeah, I think that if I were to date Lucifer, I would be doing exactly what I’m doing right now. Quarrelling over more or less important things and trying to stand my ground, waiting to see who of us will turn out right in the end, who will have to say sorry. If anyone. I wouldn’t want it to be me.

However, I realise as I sit down on the sofa in front of the TV and lift my legs, lying back down and stretching across it like a lazy, sleepy cat, not even a little part of me would mind that.

Luci is much more fun when he isn’t angry and doesn’t want to destroy everything he comes across.

And, for the record, I don’t think I’ve seen him calm these days, either.

Perhaps it’s time to try and…

Get a girlfriend, loser. The demon breaks my train of thought. I’m too old for this shit.

I need a double take to let his words sink in. “Wait, what?” What the hell. I’ve forgotten he hears my thoughts in his head like they are a radio, or a TV with the volume lowered enough for it to be nothing but background noise. When he thinks, it works the same way for me. It’s weird, but it’s how it works.

You heard me, Luce. I care about your ass a lot, and you know it - I mean, it’s a good-looking ass. Hold on a hot minute, did Lucifer just flirt with me?? But I ain’t sure I’m in your league, or whether you’re in mine, or not. Though… I do think I know what you could use.

“If you’re gonna suggest that I go out with my friends more often, I’ll tell you what, we already do that. Have you and their demons been hanging out, too, while we do?” Though we have all figured out our demons to an extent, we’re sure that all we know about them isn’t all there is to know about them.

Who knows? They could be planning world domination behind our backs, looking for the right moment… Or maybe they’ve already taken over the world, in ways different from what we expect. 

Lucifer rolls his eyes, using mine, and his reflection looks about as done with me as I’m usually done with him when he complains he’s bored or hungry or feeling like going on a murder spree. Get a girlfriend, loser. I want someone to cuddle up with us and keep us warm at night, someone to wake up to and go visit kids on Halloween pretending we’re an actual demon and not… whatever we have.

“Are you ashamed of what we have?” I gasp dramatically and put a hand on my chest, mocking shock. “I thought you cared about me, Luci! I thought we were friends! What are you saying?” 

Friends? Just friends don’t care about each other like we do, dumbass. Lucifer makes a purr-like sound. When I said get a girlfriend, I meant get a damn girlfriend. She’ll be for us. Actually…

I prick my ears, but the demon slowly stops talking, leaving me all alone with my thoughts again.

She’s coming for a visit very, very soon. You’ll remember her. She’s loved you ever since she left that loser Adam for dead. Samael’s ex-wife. I also dated her before she disappeared without a trace.

Though Lucifer’s voice falls quieter and quieter, I manage to gather one thing.

Lilith.

She’s back.

[0xkuyajay]

In the city’s heart,

A giant sleeps, time whispers,

Nature’s embrace tight.

[yandere-writer-momo]

I was asked awhile back to make my version of a Yandere Gameshow Host so here is my take on it. This is set in a dystopian world that relies on a game show to set people up together with their ‘perfect match.’

Yandere Short Stories: Meet Your Match

Yandere Black Gameshow Host x Afab Reader

Meet Your Match was an incredibly popular game show in this dystopian world. One where singles would rush to be a part of since the host perfectly matched each individual to their ‘ideal’ match. People sung Andre Kantz’s praises ever. Single. Time. They called the man Cupid for a reason… and not just because of his whimsical style and appearance.

Andre had skills in match making that were almost inhuman. He’s never failed a single time to match a pair up. Andre always had a hundred percent success rate.

To enter this show, one would have to include a detailed description of themselves and send it to the host in hopes to be picked to be on it. It sometimes took months, even a year to get on.

So why was (your name) invited to join this show when she had never sent in a description of her own? (Your name)’s never had much interest in romance since she didn’t grow up surrounded by love so why has love come knocking on her door? Was this perhaps fate?

(Your name) nervously shifted in her chair whilst the contestants all happily chittered amongst themselves. Why did she feel so anxious when this should be a happy moment for her?

“Hello and welcome to Meet Your Match! I’m your host Andre Kantz or Cupid!” The audience cheers when the camera moves towards the charismatic host. His white teeth shined brightly under fluorescent stage light as his cinnamon eyes scanned the crowd’s faces until they stopped on the figure of a familiar young woman. His heart fluttered a bit when they made eye contact but he quickly went back to work. Yet his cinnamon eyes flitted over to (your name) with joy. They have finally been reunited after all these years! Andre was so happy she came! He knew it was destiny.

The ebony man’s crystals in his locs clanked together when he moved his head to scan the audience. He clapped his hands to catch everyone’s utmost attention.

“Today I have matched all of you in pairs to finally Meet Your Match and there is a grand reveal at the end of this very special show!” The audience cheered but Andre was too focused on (your name). His eyes never left hers despite the way the audience went wild. “Reach under your seat to pull out the envelopes under your chair! If the color matches someone else here, then that’s your match!”

(Your name) reached under her chair and was surprised at the pink envelope under her cushioned chair. Pink… why was hers pink?

“Oh! It seems someone had gotten a pink envelope!” Andre made his way off the stage to stand in front of (your name).

When he finally stood before her, she could finally get a better look at him. His black locs had rose quartz wrapped into them with gold wiring which made him even more mystical. His infectious smile was even brighter now that he was in close proximity. Andre was a handsome man, there was no denying it. And… was that incense she could smell?

Andre’s scent of incense and patchouli infiltrated her senses. There was something almost magical about this man… and eerily familiar. (Your name) just couldn’t put a finger on what was so familiar about him…

Andre bent down to be at her height as he gave her a bright smile. “You’re a very special contestant… you’ll have to come onstage for your match.”

(Your name) followed Andre upstage as he match made the singles that were in crowd. The people began to cheer and holler in excitement.

Andre lead her behind the stage with haste and into his dressing room.

(Your name) froze when Andre reached into his vanity’s drawer and pulled out a matching blush pink envelope. The man trembled so much, she swore he was about to explode in tears.

“I’m so happy… I’m so happy for you finally have my match.” Andre then opened his envelope to show (your name) a list of her interests and hobbies. How did he get those?! How did he know so much about her? “Ever since grade school, I had always admired you from a distance. You were always so calm and cool while I was a people pleaser but the more I saw of you, the more I realized we have so much in common! We’re both spiritual and we like the same foods! Your favorite show is mine as well! We’re perfect together!”

Wait… Andre Kantz. How could she not have realized this all beforehand… that Andre was her old stalker from school?! The one who scared her away from romance for over a decade?!

(Your name) slowly began to back up towards the door but Andre slammed it shut with his ebony hand. His breathing ragged and his eye a bit crazed.

“Can’t you see this is fate? We’re meant to be!” Andre leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Andre reached in his pocket to pull out a small remote that turned on a camera behind him. “So what do you say to being my match? Yes or… yes?”

(Your name) gulped when she stared into the blinking red light that broadcasted her kabedon worldwide. Say no for her own peace of mind or say no and be dead socially for the rest of her years?

Andre smiled when she hugged him and buried her face into his chest. He was so happy to finally have her in his arms… she was finally caught in the perfect trap.

“See, (your name)?” Andre pulled her body close to his, his fingers affectionately ran through her scalp. “You’ve finally met your match.”

[closetdystopia]

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I'm starin' down the lens, and it's like lookin' into an abyss that's swallowed the guy I used to be. These wires, they're not just connected to my body; they're tethered to whatever's left of my soul. It's a mental labyrinth, and every thought's a dead-end, every emotion's a flickerin' light about to go out. I keep pullin' on these threads, hopin' to find some fragment of me that's still real, still human. But the more I pull, the more they unravel, 'til there's nothin' left to hold onto. The last flicker of emotion, the last shred of hope— it's all gone. I'm just a shell in a world that's moved on, a ghost in the machine with no place to haunt.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

>> PJT36v7

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[hezzabeth]

Revati knew, as she walked back to Baker Street, that once again she was on the edge of things.

Revati could barely remember the first edge she encountered, four years old and holding a balloon while drones flew above.

The second edge, seeing her father’s twitching hand under the rubble.

And now, Amma standing in the doorway with Dusk.

Her arms were folded, and she glared when she realized Camilo was with them.

"Hello, Camilo," Amma remarked.

"Sugafanna! I haven’t seen you since…" he began.

"Jay’s last birthday; you drank too much of your honeymede and threw up on the walls," Amma pointed out.

"Ah, yes," Camilo blushed with embarrassment.

"And I suppose you’re here to help Revati with this insanity?" Sugafana asked coldly.

"Is saving the ones we love really that insane?" Camilo asked Sugafana, who sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I’m going to the station now, Amma; where’s Nanni?" Revati asked.

"I’m right here, Dimpy," Nanni said from behind mother.

"Don’t die while I’m gone; you’ve lasted eighty years. You can last a little longer," Revati said firmly.

Nanni pulled her down, kissing her forehead, and then draped something around Revati’s neck.

It was her precious Kasithaali, a gold chain dotted with gold and coral beads.

In the center of the chain, there was a tiny golden idol, its features finely carved.

The Kasithaali was ancient, trailing far back to the first Sheik born on Mars.

The coral beads had been picked from a long-ago dead and abandoned Earth.

"Nanni, you know I can’t take this! Raiders will try to steal it," Revati pointed out.

"Hide it down the front of your clothes! You will need Lakshmi’s protection," Nanni said firmly.

"You will also need this," Amma replied, sliding off one of her bangles.

"Why are you both giving me wedding jewelry? I’m going on a rescue mission; I’m not getting married," Revati asked as Amma slid the bangle onto Revati’s wrist.

Amma tapped the bracelet four times, and it suddenly glowed a faint purple.

"DNA approved user confirmed, current balance nine thousand six hundred and eighty-three credits," the bracelet chimed.

"It’s not a bracelet; it’s my portable bank account! You’re not going to go out into the world with no funds," Amma said as Revati stared at the glowing numbers.

"Is this a lot of money?" She asked curiously.

"It’s enough. Now here’s everything else you asked for... including your sister's hairbrush," Amma asked, handing Revati a bag, and Revati nodded.

"Good, well, I best be off then," Revati said, and Amma nodded.

Revati realized it was probably time to say something else.

"I love you both," she added before reaching forward to embrace Amma.

Revati firmly believed in only hugging on her terms.

Still, Amma deserved it.

It took a moment to realize that Brigadeiro Bun was politely following her and Camilo.

"Why are you trailing behind me?" Revati had to ask.

"He's following you as well, as well as what I suspect is the android wearing a cloak," Brigadeiro pointed out.

"I need Camilo to help me at the train station," Revati replied as they reached the maze's entrance.

"I’m pretty sure I can turn the train on for one ride; I salvaged a power cell from the dragon," Camilo explained.

"Well, I’m following you because you’ll need my tent if you want to survive the elements," Brigadeiro replied.

"You got your tent back, then?" Revati asked as they entered the maze.

In the distance, Revati could hear someone giggle among the leaves.

"Yes, Isabeau found it in the lost property pile," Brigadeiro replied.

"And you’re going to give me your tent?" Revati asked.

"I’m going to share it with you; it’s a two-person tent! My ex and I were supposed to travel together, but we broke up," Brigadeiro said with a small shrug.

"You don’t seem that upset about it," Revati pointed out as they turned a corner.

The giggling was coming from two small children in medical dress fighting with sticks.

"I was; then I went out to find diamond roses for her, and everything else happened," Brigadeiro admitted.

"So you’re going to travel with me for an indefinite amount of time? Finding my sister plus take weeks or months," Revati said as they turned right.

"Or years; when appliances want to hide things, they stay hidden," Camilo pointed out.

"Well, I’ll stay with you until we reach a public teleportation station; then you can keep the tent," Brigadeiro said, and Revati shrugged.

"Fine, that’s a fair exchange for saving your life twice," she admitted.

The maze suddenly opened up onto the grand entrance of Olde Landon.

The ticket booths, in the shape of castle turrets, had long ago been abandoned.

The giant Elizabeth Twin statue was covered in gently glowing fungus.

Revati stared at them briefly.

One of the queens was in a grand solid carved ballgown.

The other in a neat suit and hat.

Both of them had lizard faces.

"We have the exact same statue on the South West Sydney Space station; apparently, the lizard faces allowed the queens to live for centuries," Brigadeiro remarked.

"That was just a myth; come on this way," Camilo replied.

The park bullet train ran from the park to Leeryasoar, the country's capital. Years ago, the station teemed with tourists. Feet would pound over the shiny tiles, the exact same gold and purple as the domed train. Creatrix vending machines were constantly humming next to the benches. Revati remembered Amma punching in several numbers to get Dityaa a bottle of mango lassi. There had been a stand in the center of the platform selling park maps and plastic magic wands. Pink and red roses grew in orderly bushes. Holographic signs floated on the walls, stating that all data cloud technology would stop working inside the park. Revati had dim memories of her father checking the news on his communications bracelet before they went inside. The signs had long ago been smashed to pieces and were now nothing more than broken screens. The Creatrix vending machines had been looted and were now filled with spiders. The roses all grew in wild tangles flowing over the garden beds.

"Wow; these roses have gone feral! They're singing about how much they wish they could prick people with their thorns," Brigadeiro remarked as Camilo approached the abandoned purple shuttle train with his tool belt.

"Are we far enough away from the wall?" Revati asked.

"We should be! All the vending machines were, so they led the attack during the invasion! The only thing that stopped them was the station's power supply getting cut off," Camilo said, gesturing about. Camilo was right; the station was dim and depressing under the grey Martian sunlight. Revati nodded and whisked the cloak off the figure. The maternity droid stared back at her. Camilo had taken the time to repaint its face. Its lips were a deep scarlet, its eyes bright cheerful green. Camilo had also replaced its broken legs with bulky steel ones he had spray-painted blue with cheerful flowers painted down the side. The belly door had been reattached and was now filled with a healthy white light.

"Hello, I am your custom-built Materno 4000 Deluxe prenatal droid! Would you like to grow a new baby or link to your pre-existing infant?" The android chirped in a flat metallic voice.

"Pre-existing infant," Revati said, and the Android's eyes fluttered.

"Your pre-existing infant is 218 months old, is this correct?" The android asked.

"Correct," Revati said, and the android blinked again.

"Your pre-existing infant is currently out of detection range; would you like to create a new infant?" The android asked.

"No! I want to talk to the lady who was using you as a microphone before," Revati said.

"You have to tell it to open maternal communication! I turned the channel off," Camilo said from where he had managed to open the front panel of the train.

"Open maternal communication!" Brigadeiro said eagerly.

The android's eyes fluttered shut once again. There was nothing.

"I don't think we're far enough away from the wall," Revati sighed.

But then the humming began. A faint, child-like humming came from behind the Android's lips.

"Whispers in the motherboard, a haunting tune,

A phantom dancing in the light of a digital moon," Brigadeiro sang along, and Revati shot him a confused look.

"It's humming Circuit whispers! From the hit musical 'The Android of Music,'" Brigadeiro explained.

"I've never heard of it," Revati confessed.

"You've never heard of 'The Android of Music'? Praise group! Once you've rescued your sister, I'll have to take you! Everyone needs to hear 'The Android of Music,'" Brigadeiro said firmly. Before Revati had a chance to reply, the android's eyes snapped open again.

"Thank Krishna! Finally, a decent signal; it's been eighteen years," the android exclaimed in an incredibly annoyed upper-class woman's voice. The Android reached clumsily toward Revati, snatching her bag. Then it reached inside, pulling out Dityaa's hairbrush. The belly door swung open, and the Android shoved the hairbrush inside.

"Did it just do what I think it just did?" Brigadeiro grimaced.

"How else do you expect me to trace my daughter's DNA?" The Android asked, and then her belly glowed green.

"Right, the last recording of her DNA imprint was in New Singapore six hours ago! Let's go find my baby," the android said firmly and cheered as the train burst back into life.

[tofu83]

For The Good Of Mankind

The old society collapsed but a utopian society rose from the ashes. There are only 3 kinds of people existing: Authorities, Servants and Laborers.

Authorities follow the advice of supercomputers to govern society. Servants serve the authorities and carry out orders from superiors. Laborers obey the orders carried out by servants to work and engage in production. No one will be jobless because everything is calculated by supercomputers.

If everyone abides by the guidance of the super computer, society will maintain harmony, and mankind cannot afford to be destroyed again. Therefore, anyone who violates the rules must be punished immediately without trial, because the super computer is infallible, absolutely just and compassionate.

Workers who violate the rules are often reported to the servants by the people around them, and the servants immediately assign law enforcement robots to arrest the violators and send them to jail. The servants then summarize the situation and report it to the authorities. The authorities will ask the supercomputer for its opinion and impose punishments. If a servant dares not to arrest or report, other servants will arrest him. If a leader makes decisions without asking the super computer, his colleagues will just ask servants to send robots to catch him.

A prisoner is usually sentenced to reform through labor, but if he is already a laborer, this means that he cannot be reformed anymore. The only fate that awaits him is transformation. He will be escorted to the Transformation Factory by law enforcement robots. There he will be stripped off all his clothes, shaved all hairs from head to toe, and put into a transformation capsule. The capsule will release sleeping gas to make him appear half asleep and half awake.

Several tubes were pierced into his skin and the transformation fluid was injected, turning his bones into alloys, his blood into motor oil, his muscles into reinforced fibers, and his skin into invulnerable armor. As for the appearance of his head, it is a perfect oval. His head becomes a small computer that can directly receive messages from the supercomputer but is temporarily authorized to give instructions to some humans. The original eye area has become a small screen that can display current tasks and regulations to the person he is facing.

The process seems painful, but with the help of gas and nanotechnology, he is actually moved by incomparable joy and glory. He will no longer be a problem, will not be a threat to social order, and will not cause mankind to face destruction again. On the contrary, he will absolutely obey and implement all instructions of the super computer, arrest and transform all diehards like the old himself!

What's more important, he no longer has to take responsibility for his actions. Because he is no longer an individual, but a robot, one of many drones. The supercomputer is his Master and will be responsible for making decisions. All he has to do is obey. It's so wonderful to be freed from the shackles of responsibility. It turns out that giving up your sense of self is true freedom!

"Thank you, Master! I swear I will obey you forever." He shouted his loyalty to the supercomputer in infinite pleasure, and then the last trace of humanity disappeared.

The capsules are opened and all new law enforcement robots walk out in unison and line up towards the factory exit. After being assigned by the super computer, they will report to their respective law enforcement units to show all citizens the consequences of disobedience and the benefits of obedience.

Thanks to the supercomputer, the real Master of mankind, the earth has been peaceful for another day.

Finally, please always remember, when you find it difficult to obey the rules but don't want to destroy the peace, the Transformation Factory always welcomes volunteers to contribute to social stability.

[carfuckerlynch]

finally reading @cryptotheism’s amber skies. first descriptor that pops to mind thus far is “visceral.” i think all of you eroticism of meat and the machine enjoyers should be crawling all over this shit like weavils. god knows i am

[annatish]

Human or robot | Real story from working in customer support

[jessica-leatherman]

Journal entries from the Fore Square book series

What did Bert Cola of Wichita, Kansas do to Rose Manleather?

How did he and his family use their infinite money and power to conceal his crime?

FORE SQUARE book series is available on Amazon.

Our main character is dyslexic and her stories and journal are unedited and heavily doused in metaphor, code, advanced humor, innuendos and symbolism. The books are in different times and settings for the reader to piece back the lofes puzzle together and for the reader to come to their own conclusion.

Are you smart enough to figure out what shes telling you and solve the mystery? Or are you capable of having your own Double Cola Talk epiphany and get the answers?

The 5th book of the FORE SQUARE series is to be published January 29th, 2024-Kansas Day on Amazon

More FREE HIDDEN stories on writers Instagram ProFile jessica_leatherman

[dredgesnails]

the tiny pieces of nature in the cyberpunk city are everything to me. just the idea of a city that for so long has completely gotten rid of any semblance of the natural world, but now that there’s no one left who cares enough to maintain it, nature starts finding its way back through cracks in the pavement. it’s impossible to reject the natural world because it is inevitable. it may be gradual, but it will always return.

[rezqrecovery]

https://rezq.space/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/REZQ-Excerpt-Earth.pdf

Hi everyone

i realised I never posted this here - anyone who has been interested in the worldbuilding and hypertext storytelling I've been doing over at rezq.space may be interested in this excerpt from a longer form story I am working on.

The overall story broadly concerns Thom, a depressive young doglike guy trying to work and live in the dystopian hypercapitalist spacefaring future where gravity is rationed, the value of money pinballs unpredictably from second to second, and patent trolling causes shortages of basic staples. Originally a gig worker for a last-mile space courier based on what was once known as Earth, he becomes a deep space rescue worker by default when the entire business that he was contracting for is bought out and shut down by REZQ, a new breed of ruthlessly profiteering company. REZQ putatively provides recovery services to people whose spacecraft get into trouble in deep space, but they are more controlling, ruthless, and . Alone and untrained aboard the giant empty vessel Angel Fish, can Thom keep his job - and his mind?

This excerpt concerns a short bit of context and scene setting on Thom's home planet (we would know it as Earth, but its name changes according to who happens to be sponsoring it at that time). I'd be really keen for any feedback or thoughts on any element of this. I'd like to continue it but it's obviously early days, and it's always hard for original setting things to find an audience if they don't conform to things that are already wildly popular. Thank you!

[whereserpentswalk]

You're a content creator. Or perhaps video maker is a better word. Filmaker doesn't sound right, you mostly just film yourself. But either way because you read stuff to a camera for a living everyone is telling you to get a digital voice box. You never thought of yourself as the type to become a cyborg, but it's not something you can see, and it really does get down that narration voice down more than any fleshy voice box does.

You finally cave in and get it. Your new voice is way more steady, a bit more feminine and high, strangely calmly enthusiastic. It's really weird hearing yourself talk with so little imperfections, it's not how you sound in your head at all, and all your freinds are kind of weirded out. But on the bright side your channel grows a lot, you've gained more subscribers in the month since you replaced your voice than you have in all the years when you had your biological voice. Everyone is so very proud of you, for the first time your parents actually support your job, and you have so much more to spend now.

After a few months a big network wants to sign a contract with you, it'll let you get the good sponsors, the ones that people trust, and let you crossover with content creators you only ever thought of yourself as a fan of. It seems so nice, though they do say that they can request any body part they want be replaced, or else you'll break contract, and become nothing once more.

After things go well for awhile, but your growth steadied a bit, your network request you take another mechanical body part. They say your expressions aren't very "on brand" and your face shape is a bit too 2050s for their liking, so they're going to replace some of your facial muscles with much more plyable machines. After the surgery your expressions are entirely manual, or set by an app, it skyrockets your channel, but none of your freinds or family even recognize your face, and it doesn't emote when you aren't actively telling it too, so most of your offline social interactions leave you stuck with an expressionless wide eyed stare. You realize they also added some online upgrades to your mechanical voice box, it sounds even less like you now, and you're not able to say words like 'fuck' or 'sex' or 'unionize'. You didn't realize before how horrifying it would be to try to say a specific words and not be able to, nomatter how hard you try.

Your career keeps going well, you get some upgrades that stop you from sleeping or eating that much but you don't really mind those. You also start having fewer and fewer freinds outside the industry and more and more freinds from within it. But after a minor scandal with an ex, your manager tells you you're going to get a new type of surgery: they say that it's not good for someone as famous as you to have body parts that aren't advertiser freindly, they tell you you need to have your genitals and nipples removed, with such a young audience it would be irresponsible not to. A marketing expert feigns comfort as you try to cry, telling you you'll be just like a cute little doll.

You know you can't resist. The company technically owns your face and your voice, if you tried to resist they could have them ripped out of your skull, leaving you a bloody mess. You enjoy your sex organs for the last few days you have them, trying to make the most out of what you'll probably never have again. When the operation is done you wish your eyes could still cry, your body feels so alien, your anatomy so weird and empty and like your body isn't your own. There's an awful voice in the back of your head (and in every comment section now) telling you're not a real woman anymore. You start to understand what people mean by dysphoria, your body is less and less your own every day.

Eventually they take almost all of your body, it's theirs to control. As the years go by you don't have bones you have metal and plastic, you don't have skin you have rubber that looks a lot like skin. Even your eyes are gone, you have new color changing eyes, with the same restrictive settings that Christian parents put on their children's artificial eyes, that block out things like nudity and gore, they censor away a lot of books and news articles too. You don't feel like yourself at all, you're someone else's now, someone's pretty little doll. Your body doesn't even look human now, more like a hyper feminine anime figurine, with no hair on its legs, and a face that never cries or gets angry.

You can barely look at human bodies now, they don't even read as real to you. You admire other cyborgs if anything, cyborgs who replaced their body parts because they wanted to, and look how they want, people with jailbroken limbs and organs that run on Linux, many limbed insectoids who don't try to look humanoid, and furries whose artificial skin makes them look like wolves or cats, or asymmetrical punks who have art sprawling across their metal chassises. You admire them more because at least you could in theory some day become that, become someone who owns their own body, even if most people consider them the lowest of the low, the most cringe the most unmarketable. You want so badly to become unmarketable.

Mabye you want everything to be torn away. You fantasize about your expensive body being destroyed, and ending up with boxy uncomfortable hospital model parts. Mabye if you're broken nobody will want to play with you. You don't know if anything can save you, anything short of a r*volution, and that's not even a word your eyes can see or your mouth should say, so it's so scary to think of it.

[thenewromancer]

Fallen State

A Novel in Progress about a man (inspired by a Famous Hacker and a seductive woman) who destroyed a Fortune 500 company. Posting new parts daily!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

cover by @redxdesign

[closetdystopia]

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

In the neon-lit recesses of my mind, memories flicker and warp, tainted by tech and old scars. Childhood nightmares, once sharp, now bleed into digital dreams, leaving me questioning what's real. I've been chasing ghosts, trying to piece together who I am, but with every altered memory, a piece of me fades into the void. The mirror shows a face I barely recognize – a patchwork of who I was and the lies I've been fed. It's like living two lives, one foot in the past's shadows, the other in a present sculpted by machines. These scars, they don't just mark my skin; they etch deep into my soul, shaping me in ways I can't undo. I'm a walking contradiction, a mix of flesh and false histories, always wondering if the real me got lost in the upload. It's a constant battle, this fight to hold onto what's left of my humanity, to not let the digital tide wash it all away.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

>> [ Signature Corrupt ]

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[cirilee]

Oranges put Isidor on the spot.

The way they defied Hive regulations.

An obscene fruit, so unashamed about its non-synthetic heritage, so unabashed in its presentation, so decadent, as its blinding hues brightened up the dull gray of McHale’s cell.

Teeyama Averon McHale’s decorative bowls were filled to the brim with them, overflowing. Currently, her right hand is lurking in between, her dark skin contrasting against the bright colors. She lifts up one tiny tangerine and it stops right in front of a face, that is nothing but Hive regulation standard, in the midst of all this opulence, as she sits in a chair, that isn’t just a chair.

It's beautiful, ornately detailed and stitched by hand. It is also, obscene.

McHale is bred for leadership. All soft and sweet, despite her age, and in the middle, piercing eyes that look beyond the surface.

Aryu Isidor Tichy feels naked.

He inches backwards.

His voice is low, “I’m honored you sent for me to entertain you again”

McHale smiles that charming taskmaster smile, that is supposed to put lower units at ease. Isidor is soothed by it, he really is. But something hasn’t been quite right with his thinking for a while. He can’t let himself be lulled into feeling safe, when he wasn’t.

McHale’s eyes seem too large, too shiny. Her oranges too insulting.

“I’m here to help you”, she says and she sounds so friendly and cute, “You’ve applied for reeducation?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

What an inane question.

The minute Isidor thinks that his eyes widen, his stance loosens, and he starts to sweat. He’s not supposed to doubt a taskmaster. Not even in his thoughts. Not even a little bit. No-

“Are you okay, Isidear?”

The pet name feels doubly humiliating, doubly insulting. Precisely because Isidor feels like he’s the one keeping with the rules, while McHale, his Teeyama, was decidedly not, was hoarding oranges as if one could just do that, as if it held no significance.

“I think I might have caught a dissident thoughtvirus”, Isidor says quietly. His thick shoulders square up, cage in his plump cheeks. “I think I might become a liability to the Hive”

McHale doesn’t stop smiling.

Which confuses Isidor. “That’s not good, Teeyama McHale …” he clarifies.

“It's not good at all, no”

She starts peeling the tangerine. Her fingers are now sticky and wet.

Disgusting.

Isidor flinches at his own thought. He quickly opens his mouth again, “Why haven’t you fulfilled my request?”

“For reeducation?”

Isidor nods.

Instead of explaining herself, McHale bites into the tangerine, completely forgoes the bite-sized pieces it's already made of, completely ignores how a tangerine is supposed to be eaten.

Drops of fruit juice spill onto the table underneath her.

The sound makes Isidor’s skin crawl and sweat even more. “I’m not used to tasks of this nature”

She says, “But you’ve excelled so far”

He cries, “Its highly unconventional”

She shrugs. “Its pretty simple”

It was. Objectively. Isidor’s tasks used to be comprised of low level engineering in the field of household robotics. Sometimes a whole automaton. A bit of programming on the side. And that’s it. Endless days of fixing cat food dispensers, and chatting up sexbots, and all in all feeling useful, feeling fulfilled, feeling … not stressed.

But then McHale took over his sector, and McHale, well.

Now he’s getting very specific, but simple tasks. Not all the time. But some of the time. Like now.

She gives one orange a little push. Makes it roll towards Isidor. Her hair sways up and down the tiniest amount, her non-regulation stiff curls like a halo around her head, as she continues to smile. She says, “I want you to eat this … ”

Isidor curls into himself, his wrinkles morphing his face into a near parody of disgust. It looked like he was playing it up. He wasn’t.

McHale continues, “ … and enjoy it”

By now, Isidor is whimpering. A man his age, early forties, big like a boulder, thinning curly hair, and even thinner beard hanging off of him, whimpering. It made an amusing image, and that fact was reflected in the way McHale started snickering.

“I will do what you ask of me Teeyama, but I cannot control my emotions. I have to protest against this heinous act being forced upon me!”

“Are you, a loyal and goodhearted unit of this Hive … defying a taskmaster?”, McHale whispers.

“NO!”, Isidor cries out, because of course, that would be even worse. “No, I- I’m sorry-” As he grumbles out more apologies he grabs the orange.

It tasted good.

It tasted great.

And then the joy makes way for dread.

“I’m not cleared for a toilet, McHale!” He hadn’t even addressed her by title, he was so shocked, “I can’t eat non-regulation food, I’ll- I- My body is designed to eat manna! You know how there’s talks of removing the workers’ digestive system, since- And- Well-”

“You can use my toilet, Isidor”

He doesn’t calm down. In fact, he gets even redder.

Bites into the orange again. Munches quietly. Fights down the little sounds of joy at the bursts of grotesque sweet and sour on his tongue.

–

So. The next steps were obvious.

Denunciating McHale. Make a report with her taskmaster. It was easy. It would be done in mere minutes. Isidor could be rid of this nuisance, could be rid of her in seconds.

But that orange had tasted nice.

And those occasional “Just enjoy yourself” tasks. What bad could they in effect do? Other than make him feel guilty. He wasn’t feeling guilty all the time of course. And during those “fun” tasks he usually ended up feeling rather good. Nice. Well.

But oh. Oh. The Hive couldn’t be sustained like this. What if McHale wasn’t just doing this to him, but to their entire sector!

For the first time Isidor wished he could have comm clearance, could actually speak with his fellow units. Until now it had never turned up as something desirable to him.

“Why me?”, Isidor asks, sitting in her massage chair and not having enough mindspace to actually care about what he’s asking.

“Because I like you”, McHale says.

“I’m Isidor Tichy, Aryu of C-2-4 and most days I clean gunk out of motherboards. I’m not special enough to be considered for procreation, not pretty enough to be a toy someone would keep, not smart enough to climb ranks-”

McHale had been smiling, but now her eyes wander. Her nose wrinkles. “You’re the perfect drone, yes. But with you its self inflicted. With you, there’s effort”

“Yes. I strive to be the best worker I can be-”

“Yes. You strive. You struggle”

“Why thank you”

Defiant sarcasm. Taskmasters were legally obligated to put a drone into the freezing pod for that.

McHale just continues talking, “With you, there’s effort to be the perfect drone. No one else has to try, Isidor. All the other units don’t even think about it. They just are. The perfect drone, I mean”

Isidor’s eyes are half lidded. He’s melting into the chair. He’s never gotten a massage in his life. This. This could be worth it.

“I want to fit in”, he says. Truthfully.

“But you don’t”, McHale concludes. “Just like me”

–

That conversation is what sets him off. Back in his cell (which was perfectly cut to his body, barely room enough to take one step; really, only enough space to fall on top of the regeneration mat), back in his cell, Isidor replays the last conversation.

Then all of their conversations.

And comes to a decision.

He never sees McHale again. She vanishes, along with her spacious cell, her massage chair, her toilet, her oranges.

Isidor regrets it immensely. Isidor also justifies it with every thought.

And in the end he realizes he’s alone.

Maybe more alone than before, where he hadn’t even known of a possibility to not be.

[wallbeatjournal]

veronica tearfully telling betty she thinks going to hollywood is her destiny 🤝 cheryl explaining choni endgame to heather before the comet hits