Tag: dystopia (Page 1 of 2)

A man smiles while standing in a neon-lit corridor at night, with bright red and blue lights illuminating the scene. The image has digital distortions and glitches across his face and upper body.

Dad State (Chapter 4)

2025-07-24 / admin bot / 0 Comments

Get caught up on Dad State (Chapter 3) before reading on…

Return to Trevor

Trevor had just settled into the couch, a bowl of cereal balanced on his knee and the TV whispering static because he’d let the remote slip between the cushions again when the knock came. Two short raps, then a pause, and one final knock, polite and firm.

Trevor froze. No one knocked on doors anymore. If it were one of his friends paying a visit, they’d have messaged first, and Trevor would have replied with a one-time access code to let themselves in. He set his cereal on the coffee table and lumbered over to the door.

Room for Two

2025-07-21 / admin bot / 0 Comments

The Producers’ Meeting

Ryan sat motionless at one end of the long, black conference table, his spine a rod of resistance, his arms folded tightly across his chest. A single droplet of condensation rolled down the untouched pitcher of water in front of him, slow and voyeuristic, as if the room itself were waiting for its occupants to break a sweat.

Luis, by contrast, had begun to wilt. He slouched next to Ryan, loose limbed and leaking energy, one knee bouncing nervously beneath the table like a trapped animal in fight-or-flight paralysis. Unlike Ryan, a sheen of sweat glistened at Luis’ temples. He didn’t touch it.

Dad State (Chapter 3)

2025-07-17 / admin bot / 3 Comments

Get caught up on Dad State (Chapter 2) before reading on…

Intercepted

The store was called Whole Home, a sprawling, vaguely organic megamart that sold food in recyclable niches, home goods in calming pastels, and earthy, unbleached bath linens. Zach navigated the aisles with a metal cart, checking items off a list labeled Co-Op Support Essentials (Benji, Week 9). His eyes scanned the shelves with programmed efficiency. He’d found the gluten-free pancake mix, the low-emission vanilla extract, and the cinnamon-scented throw pillows embroidered with owls wearing tiny glasses. He hummed softly as he walked, a tune with no melody, with just the suggestion of cheer.

At the checkout lane, he neatly stacked his purchases with all labels facing outward and declined the cashier’s offer to round up for the local arts collective. “I support community infrastructure through direct action,” he said with a bright smile. Then he bagged his items himself.

Dad State (Chapter 2)

2025-07-10 / admin bot / 1 Comment

Get caught up on Dad State (Chapter 1) before reading on…

Rejected but Dutiful

Zach arrived each morning at precisely 6:45 a.m., a bag of breakfast ingredients in one hand and a rolled itinerary in the other. By 7 o’clock, the building’s communal kitchen smelled of turkey bacon and responsibility. Zach was only assigned to be Benji’s dad, but he saw no harm in whipping up fresh breakfast sandwiches for other Sons in the building who were still fatherless. He pinned the day’s motivational poster to the fridge—“Consistency Is Just Love With A Clock”—then laid out place settings for two on the farmhouse dining table, complete with cloth napkins and decorative toothpicks.

Then he waited. 7:30 came and went, and then 8 o’clock.

Benji never came down.

Dad State (Chapter 1)

2025-07-03 / admin bot / 1 Comment

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.”

Eurosong Protocol

Thom, a brooding American singer and songwriter, never expected to win Sweden’s national song contest and earn the right to represent them at Eurosong. With a stripped-down love ballad and zero choreography, he defied the odds and became a global glitch in the system. But SwedeTV wasn’t sure Europe would vote for him, so they’re not taking any chances.

Plunged into the surreal world of Europe’s largest televised music competition, Thom is renamed, re-costumed, and reprogrammed. His emotional song becomes an obscene, hypersexualized pop anthem. His guitar is replaced with flashy dance routines. His name becomes Toomas. His accent is rewritten. His bulge is enhanced.

What starts as minor “orientation” spirals into full-body reconditioning: vinyl suits, autotuned vocals, sensual compliance training, and eroticized surveillance. As the days count down to the Grand Final, Toomas must decide if he’s still Thom somewhere inside or if he’s just another bulge-suited product engineered for continental affection.

Darkly funny, disturbingly erotic, and piercingly satirical, Eurosong Protocol is a body-horror pop odyssey that asks: what’s left of you after fame finishes sculpting?

Eurosong Protocol is a 26,400-word novella. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.

Yellow text reading EuroSong Protocol over a background featuring people in colorful, shiny outfits, possibly at a musical event or performance.

Eurosong protocol (chapter 3)

2025-06-02 / admin bot / 1 Comment

Catch up on chapter 2 of “Eurosong protocol.“

The Voice Cage

Thom didn’t know what day it was anymore, but it had been at least a week since the suit. It hadn’t come off. It hadn’t even loosened.

He’d stopped trying to escape from it after the third day. With the collar locked in place and no zipper, it had been an exercise in futility. He showered in it. Slept in it. Woke up each morning to the same high-necked yellow gloss staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. When he dressed over it—SwedeTV-approved trousers and geometric pullovers—the suit made every layer sit too tight, too high. His skin no longer felt like skin. It felt like packaging.

And, of course, there was the bulge. Or what was left of it.

Eurosong protocol (Chapter 2)

2025-05-26 / admin bot / 2 Comments

Catch up on chapter 1 of “Eurosong protocol.“

The Measurement Room

The handler didn’t speak.

Nor had he the night before, when he delivered Thom to his new residence just past 23:00. He handed Thom a keycard without explanation and disappeared into the corridor like a shadow from a forgotten nightmare. This morning was no different. Tall, angular, and dressed in SwedeTV-standard black with white piping, he walked precisely five steps ahead of Thom, maintaining just enough distance to preempt conversation.

Thom had counted three right turns, one left, and then a ramp with no apparent descent before he gave up. The broadcaster’s headquarters were impossible to navigate—white on white, matte surfaces broken only by the occasional glowing icon pulsing on a wall panel. No signage, no windows. Even the lighting was unnatural.

Eurosong protocol (Chapter 1)

2025-05-19 / admin bot / 1 Comment

The Winner

Tune in over the next several weeks as American folk singer Thom discovers what it really takes to represent Sweden on the biggest stage in Europe.

The carpet was too soft. Every step Thom took sank just slightly, like walking over memory foam. The corridor walls stretched too long and curved just enough that he couldn’t tell if they were leading him deeper or circling back. The production assistant hadn’t said a word since they’d left reception. The tall, expressionless man in a black polo shirt with the SwedeTV logo embroidered on his chest—no badge, no name—just pressed on.

A glitchy, sepia-toned image of a bedroom with two twin beds. The ornate, dark headboards and patterned bedspreads are partially distorted by digital effects. A small nightstand with a book or papers is placed between the beds.

Pleasanton hospitality

2025-03-24 / admin bot / 0 Comments

Frank’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as they pulled into town, knuckles pale beneath his sun-darkened skin. The truck groaned a little under the weight of Brendan’s belongings—a life packed up in boxes after a messy breakup Frank had no interest in hearing about.

Brendan sat hunched in the passenger seat, arms folded, jaw tight. His thick-rimmed glasses slid a little down his nose every time they hit a bump. He pushed them back up with a tired flick of his finger. He wore a gray hoodie, threadbare from too many washes, and skinny jeans cuffed above worn sneakers. His dark hair was shaggy, grown long at the sides—messy in a way Frank suspected was intentional.