I needed a dose of reality, whatever that meant in those days. I scrubbed away the static and made my way up, climbed each step with a body that remembered more than my mind did. The home felt unfamiliar under my feet, even though it was mine. I’d be
the behavioural architect (5)
When the urge to disappear, truly disappear, overtook me, I’d lock myself away in my pod at the bottom of the bunker. Virtual world, blink of an eye, I was somewhere else entirely. There, I could run the old rituals, tap in to a synthetic version of
One moment I was filled with rage and confusion about my life, the next thing I know I'm playing cards, drinking whiskey, chuckling at their jokes (which Satan had an abundance of), and feeling like nothing else mattered.
Had they put something in my
“The postmodern societal structure was a goddamn trap, you know? Insidious didn’t even cover it. It was built to coil around people and squeeze, keeping them locked in this endless loop of servitude and desperation. That’s the real trick of it—the wa
I was mid-flow, mid-thought, and keyboard-crushing pound when I thought I heard someone whisper. I stopped typing. Fingers frozen like spiders mid-air.
Silence.
The air felt like ice.
Maybe it was just the voices in my head painting another fiction.
