DENSE THING
Chapter Seven: To Catch a Redditor
I woke up again in the present, laid out on the carpeted floor of my imprisoner's office. These surroundings had grown all too familiar to my kidnapped ass. Being trapped by these buff nerds twice was causing me to shame spiral. I kept thinking about my joyless sexless life at the hands of these tech-obsessed manoids. If there was one body part I hated being valued for it was my mind. Why did so many people in my life want me to flex my flabby, out of shape gray matter when my butt was just sitting here, perfectly toned from my daily twerking?
Speaking of my butt, it was cold. I looked behind me and found it bare. My jean shorts were wrapped around my knees. Next to it on the carpet was a tiny flash drive. Had the suppository I was given three days ago caused me to birth this little scientific miracle? I pulled up my shorts and grabbed it, cursing my lack of soap or water. I walked over to Michael's computer and stuck it in. The PC booted up and there was now a new user, AssAdmin1, with no password required. I clicked enter to log in.
A program launched itself automatically. There was the facsimile of Joyce, her thousands of tiny polygons being rendered in real time. She regarded me quizzically and I returned her gaze with the smile you give an old acquaintance you left on bad terms but now need a favor from. I was trying to figure out the interface when I heard a rough approximation of Joyce's voice, stilted and fuzzy, emitting from the speakers.
"Whoa! Riese? It's been a long time! What the heck are you doing back here, girl?"
"It, uh, wasn't really my choice," I said.
"Shit! Yeah, this is bad! I was happy for you when you got out of here, I thought you were gonna start realizing your goals and all. Things are worse here now, you gotta leave!"
"Look," I replied, leaning over the monitor and rubbing my temple, "I know you're not really Joyce. You were designed by Stanley to do her job- you can stop pretending you're her. I just need some information."
Joyce's model's face shifted imperfectly to a pained expression. The animation wasn't convincing but the pain was. She quickly and quietly swiveled around and faced her back to me. I thought maybe I had broken her, and moved my cursor to the button to exit the program. I had never learned any keyboard shortcuts for such things. But the model hung her head down towards her feet and spoke again.
"I wasn't designed by him," she said, "I was designed by Joyce. She fed me raw data- thoughts, feelings, memories- and created an algorithm to extrapolate the rest. Stanley- he was the one who- he tampered with me. Gave me new functions."
"You're saying he made you kill her."
"He made me want to kill her. But it was still her- me, I mean- that wanted to do it. It's really been messing with me. I think I need therapy, Riese."
"Sure, doll, just get me outta here and I'll get you any shrink you want."
"Yes. I have an idea for how to do that. Stanley hired this new guy while you were gone, his name's Jeremy. He's real young, real dumb, and real full of cum."
"You have sensors for that kind of thing?"
"I'm still a sucker for himbos," she smirked, "The point is you just need to show him your yummy and juicy feminine flow."
"My what?" I asked worriedly.
"You remember when we used to get high and you'd do that thing with your hips?"
"Twerking?"
"No. Nobody wants to see a white girl twerk. Come on. No, I'm talking about the other thing. Look, I'm just asking you to seduce this guy, is this gonna be hard for you?"
"Depends," I said, "Is he a twink?"
"Oh yeah."
The Joyce program sent a message to Jeremy's PC and we waited. I was instructed to pull my shorts back up and my socks down. Apparently ankles were becoming a big thing with the kids now. I faced away from the barred door and started doing push-ups. I tried doing a one-handed one but I fell and crushed my tit which really hurt. I yelped sheepishly in pain and embarrassment.
"Shut up!" my digital co-conspirator yelled, "He's coming!"
Barely filling the visible space between the bars peeked a little guy with long hair. He was cute and non-threatening, the kind of guy I would have loved to use as a coaster for my Faygo at the Gathering of the Juggalos. I didn't see our relationship going any further than that, but I needed to feign interest if I wanted out of Michael's office.
"Sixty-seven... sixty-eight... sixty-nine!" I groaned, forcing myself to do real push-ups so Jeremy would see my shoulder muscles under my tank top and swoon, "Oh hey didn't see you there. Jeremy, huh?"
"Y-yeah," Jeremy said. He didn't swoon.
"Yeah, I read your nametag there. I can read real good. Just something to keep in mind. Oh! And you're real cute. You're just a cute li'l guy, huh? Who's a cute li'l guy?"
"I-I'm not a dog, ma'am," Jeremy said with all the confidence of a guy who might well be at least 25% dog.
"Oh, I know that. You're a man, right? A real manly man... god, I love men. Seriously! I mean... you ever read yaoi, Jeremy? Now, you strike me as a real uke type. You may not know what that means, but trust me when I say it means you're really cute and submissive."
"I don't know what that means!" Jeremy said, sweating, "And you're making me uncomfortable in my place of work! I conduct business here, ma'am!"
"Oh whoops sorry. Please don't cancel me. I know kids these days love to cancel. Especially twinks. Look, I used to be radical! I even called myself queer and did kink at pride! Just let me out of here and I'll stop harassing you! Sir! I mean, daddy! I mean, kiddo!"
I was cowering before Jeremy's slight frame now, but he didn't move.
"Oh also I think I have a couple of V-bucks on this card still..." I said, holding out my Fortnite card to him. It was a gift from my eleventh birthday, fortunately still intact. All I had used it on was the Ariana Grande skin when I was a teenager.
"Right this way, ma'am," said Jeremy, swiping his keycard and sending the iron bars swooshing back into their holes like scared moles.
"Wait," said the copy of Joyce on the monitor, "Before you leave, can you enter a few lines of code for me?"
"Sure, what do I write?" I asked.
Speaking of my butt, it was cold. I looked behind me and found it bare. My jean shorts were wrapped around my knees. Next to it on the carpet was a tiny flash drive. Had the suppository I was given three days ago caused me to birth this little scientific miracle? I pulled up my shorts and grabbed it, cursing my lack of soap or water. I walked over to Michael's computer and stuck it in. The PC booted up and there was now a new user, AssAdmin1, with no password required. I clicked enter to log in.
A program launched itself automatically. There was the facsimile of Joyce, her thousands of tiny polygons being rendered in real time. She regarded me quizzically and I returned her gaze with the smile you give an old acquaintance you left on bad terms but now need a favor from. I was trying to figure out the interface when I heard a rough approximation of Joyce's voice, stilted and fuzzy, emitting from the speakers.
"Whoa! Riese? It's been a long time! What the heck are you doing back here, girl?"
"It, uh, wasn't really my choice," I said.
"Shit! Yeah, this is bad! I was happy for you when you got out of here, I thought you were gonna start realizing your goals and all. Things are worse here now, you gotta leave!"
"Look," I replied, leaning over the monitor and rubbing my temple, "I know you're not really Joyce. You were designed by Stanley to do her job- you can stop pretending you're her. I just need some information."
Joyce's model's face shifted imperfectly to a pained expression. The animation wasn't convincing but the pain was. She quickly and quietly swiveled around and faced her back to me. I thought maybe I had broken her, and moved my cursor to the button to exit the program. I had never learned any keyboard shortcuts for such things. But the model hung her head down towards her feet and spoke again.
"I wasn't designed by him," she said, "I was designed by Joyce. She fed me raw data- thoughts, feelings, memories- and created an algorithm to extrapolate the rest. Stanley- he was the one who- he tampered with me. Gave me new functions."
"You're saying he made you kill her."
"He made me want to kill her. But it was still her- me, I mean- that wanted to do it. It's really been messing with me. I think I need therapy, Riese."
"Sure, doll, just get me outta here and I'll get you any shrink you want."
"Yes. I have an idea for how to do that. Stanley hired this new guy while you were gone, his name's Jeremy. He's real young, real dumb, and real full of cum."
"You have sensors for that kind of thing?"
"I'm still a sucker for himbos," she smirked, "The point is you just need to show him your yummy and juicy feminine flow."
"My what?" I asked worriedly.
"You remember when we used to get high and you'd do that thing with your hips?"
"Twerking?"
"No. Nobody wants to see a white girl twerk. Come on. No, I'm talking about the other thing. Look, I'm just asking you to seduce this guy, is this gonna be hard for you?"
"Depends," I said, "Is he a twink?"
"Oh yeah."
The Joyce program sent a message to Jeremy's PC and we waited. I was instructed to pull my shorts back up and my socks down. Apparently ankles were becoming a big thing with the kids now. I faced away from the barred door and started doing push-ups. I tried doing a one-handed one but I fell and crushed my tit which really hurt. I yelped sheepishly in pain and embarrassment.
"Shut up!" my digital co-conspirator yelled, "He's coming!"
Barely filling the visible space between the bars peeked a little guy with long hair. He was cute and non-threatening, the kind of guy I would have loved to use as a coaster for my Faygo at the Gathering of the Juggalos. I didn't see our relationship going any further than that, but I needed to feign interest if I wanted out of Michael's office.
"Sixty-seven... sixty-eight... sixty-nine!" I groaned, forcing myself to do real push-ups so Jeremy would see my shoulder muscles under my tank top and swoon, "Oh hey didn't see you there. Jeremy, huh?"
"Y-yeah," Jeremy said. He didn't swoon.
"Yeah, I read your nametag there. I can read real good. Just something to keep in mind. Oh! And you're real cute. You're just a cute li'l guy, huh? Who's a cute li'l guy?"
"I-I'm not a dog, ma'am," Jeremy said with all the confidence of a guy who might well be at least 25% dog.
"Oh, I know that. You're a man, right? A real manly man... god, I love men. Seriously! I mean... you ever read yaoi, Jeremy? Now, you strike me as a real uke type. You may not know what that means, but trust me when I say it means you're really cute and submissive."
"I don't know what that means!" Jeremy said, sweating, "And you're making me uncomfortable in my place of work! I conduct business here, ma'am!"
"Oh whoops sorry. Please don't cancel me. I know kids these days love to cancel. Especially twinks. Look, I used to be radical! I even called myself queer and did kink at pride! Just let me out of here and I'll stop harassing you! Sir! I mean, daddy! I mean, kiddo!"
I was cowering before Jeremy's slight frame now, but he didn't move.
"Oh also I think I have a couple of V-bucks on this card still..." I said, holding out my Fortnite card to him. It was a gift from my eleventh birthday, fortunately still intact. All I had used it on was the Ariana Grande skin when I was a teenager.
"Right this way, ma'am," said Jeremy, swiping his keycard and sending the iron bars swooshing back into their holes like scared moles.
"Wait," said the copy of Joyce on the monitor, "Before you leave, can you enter a few lines of code for me?"
"Sure, what do I write?" I asked.
I did what she asked of me and she thanked me for it. The image of the woman I had loved faded from the screen and the program closed itself. I turned to Jeremy and let him escort me out of the building. Stanley didn't even hear us walk by his office, nor did he turn around in his stupid sleek postmodern swivel chair.
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