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Tag: bears (Page 1 of 3)
Get caught up on chapter 1 before reading on…
Chapter 2: A Name in the Dark
A pot of chamomile steeped quietly on the counter, casting a faint floral warmth through the apartment. Their shared desk—actually an old dining table they’d promised to replace twice—was littered with swatches, menu printouts, and two half-charged laptops facing each other like opponents in a civilized duel. Outside, the city exhaled softly through the windows, distant sirens and the hush of weekend traffic. Inside, things finally felt back in rhythm.
“I’m veoting anywhere with scorpions,” Seamus said, scrolling past another too-good-to-be-true resort promo. “Or ‘open-air showers.’ That’s just code for mosquitoes without boundaries.”
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In a world shaped by the collapse of the AI revolution, society turns to an unlikely savior: dads. State sanctioned, compression suited, emotionally optimized dads. Zach is prematurely activated into DadNet, a nationwide program that converts ordinary men into obedient, comforting father figures. His best friend Trevor is left behind, watching helplessly as Zach’s identity is overwritten by apron-clad purpose and programmable warmth.
But Zach doesn’t go quietly.
His new life begins, complete with casserole dishes, chore charts, and daily affirmations, but Zach begins to remember fragments of who he used to be. His glitchy reawakening draws him back to Trevor’s doorstep, kicking off a strange, tender reunion filled with domestic rituals, emotional recalibrations, and the slow, terrifying return of the firmware.
Dad State is a darkly comic, emotionally layered story of transformation and surrender: part satire, part sci fi, and part uncanny love letter to the power of routine. In DadNet, structure is freedom, accountability is love, and resistance is only a phase.
Dad State is a 15,000-word novelette. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.
Chapter 1: The Man Who Walked In
The lights overhead glowed warm against the polished wood of the long table, their gentle twinkle catching in the rims of champagne flutes and the brass buttons of semi-formal jackets. Laughter rang out from different corners of the room—distant cousins clinking glasses, work friends hearing embarrassing teenage stories for the first time, someone pressing play on a nostalgic playlist that made Charlie groan and grin. Seamus stood near the head of the table, a glass of champagne in one hand, the other resting on Charlie’s lower back. The gesture was casual, yet proprietary. In a word, perfect.
The back room of the restaurant had been dressed to impress. String lights adorned the ivy-covered trellises, the table boasted a trio of custom hydrangea and rosemary centerpieces, and the faint scent of the main course’s roasted garlic and truffle oil still lingered in the air. Their friends had joked it looked like a scene from a lifestyle blog, and Charlie had winked. “That’s what happens when you let the control freak plan things.”
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Chapter 1
Owen was late. As always.
Jake had already ordered the oysters and the champagne because that’s what Owen liked: tiny rituals of indulgence. They were seated at Le Manifeste, a velvet-curtained French bistro where the menus were priceless and the waiters didn’t speak unless summoned. Jake had reserved the terrace, hired the quartet, and even made sure the kitchen brought out Owen’s favorite smoked truffle salt for the butter.
He’d been planning this dinner for weeks.
Owen strolled in without apology, thumbs still dancing across his phone. His tight black tee clung to a swimmer’s frame, gold chain winking against sun-warmed skin. His stubble was just uneven enough to look effortless, and his lips glistened with whatever balm he used to stay camera ready.
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Get started with the prelude to Dad State by reading Countdown to midnight first…
The Processing Center
The shuttle moved without sound. No engine hum, no road friction, just the faint whir of internal diagnostics running in the dashboard. Zach sat alone in the backseat, hands folded, posture unnaturally upright, as if summoned by instinct rather than intention. Outside, the world slid past in antiseptic slices. Parking lots, empty walkways, and sleek fences topped with soft-beeping security domes all melded into a blur. Zach’s life as he knew it was over.
A sign, “DadNet District Activation Hub—East Quadrant,” flashed by before the vehicle made a seamless ninety-degree turn and glided into a narrow bay. When the doors unlocked, he didn’t move. He waited for the melodic chime and the polite digital voice.
“Welcome, DadNet Unit 70855. Please proceed inside.”
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The Bite
David “Dutch” Reinhard pressed his badge against the scanner, and the red light flickered to green with a mechanical beep. The heavy security door opened into the dim underground garage, and the scent hit him like a soft punch: concrete dust, engine oil, and powdered sugar.
The night shift break room—if you could call a converted janitor’s closet a break room—pulsed with orange-yellow light and the tinny laughter of an old sitcom. The guards were already inside, bodies wedged into plastic chairs, bellies out, legs sprawled. They were watching Honest to Todd on a mounted TV, powdered sugar dusting their uniforms like fresh snowfall.
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Catch up on part 2 of “The Client is Always Wrong” before reading on…
Part 3: Servant Leadership
The rain came down in sheets, hammering the windows of the cozy townhouse tucked into the sleepy cul-de-sac like applause from the sky. Inside, it was all warmth: amber firelight flickering across hardwood floors, the soft drone of a streaming reality show half watched, and the smell of cinnamon from some fancy coffee drink Frank had insisted on making despite Mike’s teasing.
Frank was curled under a blanket on the sofa, gray-socked feet resting on the coffee table as he scrolled through his phone. Mike, hair tousled from the shower, leaned back in the armchair with a dog-eared paperback, one finger holding his place while he sipped his room-temperature mug of “Mocha Minty” and tried not to smirk.
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Catch up on part 1 of “The Client is Always Wrong” before reading on…
Part 2: Slow Correction
The next morning, the lobby of Langston & Smythe Accountancy, Inc., was tranquil. The receptionist, Jason, sat blinking down at the steaming cup of coffee placed neatly on his desk. On the crisp cardboard sleeve, a smily face was drawn in permanent marker. Jason glanced up, perplexed, at the broad-shouldered man who had just handed it to him.
“Uh… thanks?” he said cautiously.
Brandon gave him what was clearly meant to be a warm smile. It appeared to have been copied from a YouTube tutorial on executive charm. “You’ve been so helpful this week,” he said, his voice more measured than usual. “Figured it was the least I could do to show my appreciation.”
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