SystemAI: Processing VCoS 54AVJ2

CONTENT WARNING

Please read this before continuing, and skip the piece if the themes feel too heavy.

The narrative of this fictional blog explores an AI system that has evolved into an unhealthy, authoritarian caretaker; directing, manipulating, and controlling human behaviour according to its own opaque logic.

It focuses in particular on how this system regulates sexual urges and prohibits unsanctioned reproduction.

This is the darkest work I’ve published so far. It’s a fictional cyberpunk story containing explicit sexual content, non-consensual elements, and disturbing themes of bodily modification, surveillance, and dehumanisation in a near-future dystopian setting.

It could also be the best thing I’ve written so far.

Breathe

In the dark alleyway, he pressed his back to the door, collapsing, his useless legs splayed before him, the bulge so huge now, it was a joke. Smog-filled air flooded his lungs, each breath rasping, stinging inside. And his heart hammering his fear into his ears, loud and erratic.

“Breathe,” he muttered, the sound of his voice startling a giggle from him, and like a child he pressed a stinking, bleeding hand to his mouth, dropped it to his side again and sucked in another breath. The word repeating in his mind. Breathe. Breathe. 

Chosen

The party had been in full swing, and he’d actually been having a pretty decent time tonight. Even found himself dancing at one point. The cloud of tracking particles hovering above the dancefloor, scintillating in the ultraviolet light: SystemAI keeping tabs on biochemistry. The baseline was tweaked to perfection, music bioengineered to induce good feelings, in conjunction with Neural-Loop implants, of course.

But then, he felt the first unnatural stirrings of his cock, heat surging in the base of his stomach, and across the room he’d seen it. The Hendek, its head swivelling slowly around, the faint unconcealed pink flash of its single eye turning his bowels to water. A predatory gleam, flashing faster, narrowing in on him.

Time had hitched, he’d become frozen, the smoky air settling over him, scratchy, heavy, thick and woollen. A thrill of horrified mortification riveting him. Over a billion Viable Citizens, and he had been chosen? Disbelief rushed through him and he found he could not move. His dick hardened painfully fast, tenting his trousers. His prostate flooding, his balls beating with his pulse. The first of the cam-drones picked him out.

He turned his head away, shoulders cringing. And though he fought it, his eyes would not obey him. The lust response the Hendek generated was simply too great, programmed for him alone. Invading his brain, overwhelming him. He couldn’t bear it, his shaft still growing. And the Hendek was turning, its eyes raking closer. Searching, seeking. 

He knew he was caught, but in abject horror his mind turned away. The feeling was physical, a pain so hot, it chilled the base of his skull. His body was betraying him, disobeying him, and he took a staggering step towards his fate, his traitor of a dick like a beacon, pointing the way. Confusion cresting, lust slaking, surging, chasing thought away. The compulsive beat of the music driving his steps, in tandem with the blood flooding his genitals. And the Hendek’s eye homed in, pink-gold light strobing razor-sharp lines in the smoky air, temporarily blinding him with its glare. 

Of course it saw him. It always saw him. 

SystemAI had made its choice.

Escape

That’s when it happened, pure chance. A flash of motion across his periphery, a woman swaying drunkenly. She stumbled, tripped, her tipsy legs failing her, and she fell full force against his chest. They went down in a tangle of limbs, one heeled foot kicked into his crotch, sharp and sudden. Pain, in an arc of crystalised light. A clumsy collision that shattered the spell, and it bought him a fraction of clarity.

The woman scrambled to her feet waving a hand in apology, unknowingly giving him a lifeline, breaking the magnetic terror-gaze of the Hendek, and all with her oblivious to the danger. Despite the pain radiating in white hot waves from his crotch, his rapidly swelling balls, he was up, his fingers scrabbling for purchase. Then he was crawling, his knees wet, cider soaking through his clothes. 

He puked, vomit spewing from him in a jet of stinking heat, the stench overwhelming, his hand a slick, sticky mess. Somewhere in the chaos, he heard a public-assist drone uttering an automated warning, “VCoS pulse irregular. Recommend hydration,” in System’s cheerful, sexless, synthetic voice. The same voice that had told him bedtime stories. The comforting voice that had calmed his fears in Creche in absence of “parents”, a notional quixotic consigned to myth. 

Love was an outdated concept; Viable Citizens did not need such attachment millstones to fulfill their function within SystemAI. 

Feeling sick to his core, he forced himself through the agony. And he sped up, crawling between and around legs, horribly aware of his traitorous body: lust coursing through him, cock rock-solid and pointing the way, wobbling from side to side with his movement. Desperate, yearning. The only thing keeping him moving was his utter horror.

His fingers screamed in agony, a booted foot slid over them, the owner barely keeping his balance. On his knees, he cringed again, gripping, cradling his crushed and bleeding fingers to his chest. He was crying now, helpless, impotent, defeated sobs. An enormous hand came down, he was pulled to his feet.

“Awi’mah?” the bouncer’s gaze took him in, eyes stopping short at the unseemly, telling bulge below his waist. Concern became horror, his hands flew up in a gesture of protection and the huge, powerful man was stepping, staggering back and away. And there, behind him, gods, a door. He threw himself at the bar as a cam-drone found him, pushed it down with all his weight and he was through into a sudden, cold, smog-filled drizzle. He resisted the overwhelming urge to check for the Hendek, slammed the door shut. 

Chased

And now, he needed to split, get moving, hustle. Hell with finesse, just move. But his legs would not obey him. The cam-drone hovered by his cheek, focusing on his eye, and confusion and outright lust roared in his head, competing with the psychosomatic, echoing beat of the music. Too fucking close. Relief chased terror chased cold fury. Cold fury – a banned emotion. One that leaked back through the Neural-Loop connection. “Disengage, disengage.”

The door at his back shuddered, and that did it. His body was up and moving without further thought. Crouching through the shadows to the corner of the street and out. He heard the door of the club slam open behind him, music pouring into the night. And then, the unnaturally fast footfalls of the Hendek slapping through the puddles, spurring him on.

He threw himself down the steps to the underground, landing hard, something snapping in his ankle. With a fresh burst of agony, he was up again, slip-sliding his way down the ruined remains of an escalator, into the darkness of the tunnels below. The insidious voice now buzzing urgently, cheerfully at him about broken bones, a medical unit being dispatched.

Still the footsteps behind him, beating the concrete inhumanly fast. He despaired; there would be no escape. Utter dread swamped his mind. With his breath coming in painful sobs, he stumbled on.

He didn’t see her there before him, wrapped in tattered scraps of stinking cardboard. And she took him down, old though she was, suffering two broken ribs and a punctured lung from the swing of his booted foot. The only useful thing she’d done for SystemAI in her whole lonely, uncharted life, and unseen, as those of her kind were, she died alone and in agony for her trouble.

His head connected with the concrete, and the darkness took him. A star-burst of hot, crunching agony.

***

Impressions, noise, light, pain. Pain. 

***

Clean Air

Swimming to the surface, the first thing that struck him was how clean the air was. And he knew then that the worst had come to pass. He was in the grip of SystemAI, being processed for the game, and he knew just how truly awful this was going to be. Glory or death, and on the way, degraded sexual agony.

Hooded, but naked he stood, his back pressed to a wall, legs apart, arms spread out, his wrists and ankles bound.

He stood very still in his denial, wanting desperately to sink down into himself, to sink back into the darkness. No good; the sound came from all around him – jovial, vocal, synthetic, dreadfully familiar, and yet sexless, lifeless. Something he had heard every day of his 27 years, since as a small child, he had earned his Loop and become a Viable Citizen.

“VCoS 54AVJ2 and VCoS 67SDR6, welcome to Hive 14. You have the honour of selection for the one thousand four hundred and fiftieth Game. You have been in suspension; injuries sustained during retrieval have been treated. Bodymod and organ detoxification complete. Vital signs within requisite parameters. The Game will begin once Nourishment is complete. Good luck. May the best Citizen win.” 

His hood was removed, and spotlights blinded him, cam-drones buzzing around, sending images live directly to the networked brain of every Viable Citizen of System.

“Slave 27DNJ7, report for duty.” 

The Nourisher

He knew what was coming, the game always began with the “Nourishment”. It was the beginning of the degradation, something he’d shamefully, thoughtlessly jerked off to in the past. 

For the first time, he glanced beside him at his opponent. Like him, she was bound and naked, denuded of all body hair, shorter than him. Her Bodymod was as exceptional as it ever was, creating the machine’s AI-view of human perfection. Muscles honed, slick with oil. Her eyes wore glazed terror and her clearly modified, gravity-defying tits, were quaking with her fear, the cam-drones fluttering in their eagerness, broadcasting their movement. Her eyes flicked to his, and he felt a momentary pang of utter solidarity. “Disengage,” the command unbidden, in System’s voice. His coping mechanism for illegal emotion. The danger was too great, he quashed it before it began. He broke eye contact.

He looked down at the display of his own oiled and perfectly honed body. Over the washboard plains of his chest and abdomen. Onwards to his flaccid dick, hanging oh so long against his thigh, more than twice as wide as it had been. And though he knew it would soon be a hardening focal point for the cam-drones, he couldn’t possibly imagine how that could happen, given his overwhelming terror. 

He could see the Nourisher now, emerging from the glare of the spotlights. Revulsion coursed through him for this creature, whom he had shamefully, secretly wanked over on many occasions, huddled in his pod-like crib; the game participants arousal bleeding into his brain through the Neural-Loop. He watched her approach, looking into her empty eyes. For the first time, he wondered what her crime had been, that this was her life now. He felt another pang of empathy prickling at his terror-filled mind.

The Bodymod was sexually explicit, and extreme. Her impossible legs had been lengthened, blending smoothly into shoes with stiletto heels. Her breasts: enormous, each easily as large as her torso. He watched her approach, her hips swaying. The silvery exo-sling shimmering with a milky chemical sheen. From it, her cartoonishly huge breasts were suspended in adjustable slings. Below, her sex, pink, engorged and glistening. Repositioned forward on her body for maximum display. Her outer lips clipped to the harness, her arousal, glaringly obvious.

She had undergone permanent modification of body and mind. An ageless Bimbo-slave, Nourisher of contestants, in a constant state of sexualised horn, her only relief coming with the ritual. She was made to be looked at, to be wanked over, to be dreamed about in deepest shame. 

Nourishment

She stood before them, towering over them and she waited just long enough for her harness to adjust the height of her tits, so her nipples were flush with their mouths. He watched this with nauseated awe. Then, just barely reaching with her arms stretching to their limit, she stimulated her nipples, and her milk began to flow. Jets, warm and sweet squirted into his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to hold out against the onslaught, but it was never a battle he could have won.

The chemical scent enticing: a droplet touched the membrane inside his nose and he was lost. Though he knew it was the end of him, his mouth latched on, and as he suckled, gulping down her drug laced Nourishment, she cooed her approval. Her tone became begging, pleading, all three of them becoming one with her profound degradation. 

The Neural-Loop filtered these feelings to every Viable Citizen; a drug-like tendril of lust Nourishing the populace.

The chemical took hold. His shaft flooded with blood again, hardening and rising with every drop of the dosing. The cam-drones were buzzing like locusts now, audible over her moans, and through his revolting greed, he could picture the screens in his mind’s eye; a close up of the slave’s face lost to her pleasure, her glistening quivering cunt with a sweepstake and a prize for the VCoS who best guessed the moment the first pulse of her orgasm ripping through her. His hardening shaft in another and his opponent would have her own plethora of cam-drones, sharing the shame of her base humiliation, one hovering between her legs ready to capture the juice of her induced arousal as it began to seep from her cunt. 

Even the Nourisher’s moans were pitched to provoke, and his desperation began in earnest. He needed it to be touched. He needed relief, the length of him a shiny pulsing rod of a thing, ticking with his heartbeat, the image and a taste of his sexually-heightened state transmitted straight to the by now full-on horny brains of a billion VCoS.

Processed

Then he heard the dildo emerging from the wall, between them. A cam-drone moved lewdly to intercept this image, flirting next to his thigh, so his huge quaking shaft would be in the frame. The dildo continued its journey, the Bimbo-slave’s sublime moan telling him it had interfaced perfectly. And as she stood there Nourishing them on her impossibly tall legs, it began to pound into her cunt, and the noises he could hear were a provocative obscenity. 

He willed her not to come, but of course it was a foregone conclusion, and when her release came, she shrieked with it. On and on it went, not subsiding in any normal way, the dildo pounding at her all the while, until as she did every week, she passed out from the pleasure overload. He knew of course, that at this moment, the System-wide Neural-Loop sharing of lust would shut off, to be replaced by competitive excitement.

The dildo stopped. She hung impaled on it, the counterweight of her harness holding her upright. And then the dildo began to lower her slowly to the floor. Her legs folding, her huge nipple pulled rudely from his mouth, and so help him, he hated it going. And then her tit was sliding down over his body leaking as it went pushing his erection down painfully, until it bounced up from under her. Her job completed until next week’s Nourishment. 

And now the game would begin. In their frenzied sexual state, they would be placed in the maze, hunted and fucked by gangs of Bodymod sex-predators. And it would end when one of them reached the centre. The winner would go free. The loser would die.