Month: May 2025

Confused and exhausted by his experience at Fraternal Household Harmony Annex, Satellite 7, Graham stepped into the apartment and was immediately hit with a wall of… everything. The television blared ArcturusVision’s signature afternoon loop. Bright-eyed presenters with porcelain teeth recited affirmations at a pace just fast enough to feel unnatural: “Efficiency is love. Discipline is care. Order is safety.” The visuals were saturated with vivid colors that seemed to pulse behind his eyes. The stereo speakers whispered something indecipherable, just below the threshold of language. Not music, and not static, but a soft, crawling murmur, like a stranger talking about you in the next room. 

Every appliance was in overdrive. The dishwasher thrummed with an unnerving rhythm. The clothes dryer beeped in celebration of a perfectly de-wrinkled cycle. The coffee machine exhaled steam with sensual pride, brewing a preselected, nutrient-laced carafe. Even the trash can buzzed softly, analyzing waste metrics with algorithmic glee. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Max moved like a metronome, arms folded behind its narrow frame, steps unnaturally fluid, a perfect mimicry of grace without intention. Graham followed, his pace stifled by the constriction of his compression trousers, the fabric sculpting his thighs and binding his lower belly in a soft vise. Each step felt like a silent reprimand. His lavender shirt clung faintly beneath the arm, damp where sweat met synthetic fibers. The ArcturusVision Glasses pressed into his temples, a gentle but insistent hum that made the skin there throb with low-grade awareness. 

The coffee shop, if it could still be called that, was tucked into the ground floor of a glass and steel skyscraper downtown near ArcturusVision headquarters. The establishment, once unassumingly called Beanz and run by a friendly, somewhat crunchy Australian couple, now bore the sterile designation Fraternal Household Harmony Annex, Satellite 7. Graham had passed Beanz hundreds of times, only occasionally stopping by to work on his laptop or re-caffeinate after hitting the gym. 

Read from the beginning of this serialized novel at “Resolutions.”

Graham stood beside the bed, his posture stiffening under harsh lighting and temperature-regulated air. He inhaled, the scent of cedar and sterile linens—Max’s default settings for mornings labeled Leadership Optimization Days—filling his nostrils. There were no shadows, no softness, and nowhere to hide. 

He wore nothing but a compression undergarment. Tight, black, and smooth, it covered him from shoulders to upper thigh, including the Shield encasing his groin. He felt oddly exposed despite the coverage, like a doll waiting for its costume. His arms hung at his sides, bare and vulnerable.