Someone said, long ago, that war is hell. No one remembers who said it anymore; probably a president, back when that was a thing. No, the most common saying about war now is the bad thing about war is that it ends. If that was true for old societies who only had to deal with regular soldiers coming back home, it’s doubly true now that there is no such thing as a “regular soldier.” Soldiers are not just trained: they are bred, designed, created with a concrete purpose; they excel at the three Fs: fighting, feeding, fucking. They are the epitome of the male form and the bastion on which our society is built. They keep us safe and have expanded our territory from one end of the Milky Way to the other. Victory is absolute. The cybernetic menace, the so-called “Evolutionary Cell” is defeated. There are no more wars to fight.

    Not everyone is grateful, however. While most females know that being bedded by a soldier is the highest of honors, some of them somehow manage to ignore this basic fact. I know, it baffles me too, just as it irritates me that they went to records of the old world to find a name for themselves. They call themselves feminists. What use our new world would have for such a backwards ideology is beyond me; besides, my role is not to understand them. My role is to crush them. I might not be a soldier, but I do my part. It’s the purpose of this recording to exemplify the effectiveness of our answer to the feminist threat: the Venus Program. What follows, derived from private journals, mind-scans and public records of Subject G will, I hope, illustrate the need for an expansion and globalization of the program.

    Subject G, born Galena Hoffmann, was at one point among the leaders of the nascent feminist movement. She wrote persuasive texts and organized disruptive protests, and so she was acquired in the dead of night for our pilot project. I shall try to reflect her state of mind at the time accurately, and I apologize in advance for the drivel the reader will be exposed to. I shall clarify in brackets when needed.

    Galena was screaming. Part of it was terror, but it was mostly anger. She was convinced somewhere along the way the world had become cruel, twisted, indifferent to the harm it caused. She remembered sisters and friends, taken by soldiers. She remembered her frustration when even they couldn’t see how horrible the situation was. They wore their own abuse like a badge of honor! It was her duty, she realized, to open the eyes of fellow women: to make them see they had the same rights as any man and yes, even any soldier. To make them acknowledge their humanity and fight for it. To return to the long-dormant dream of equality. That wars and catastrophes had been used as an excuse to erase such a beautiful concept was an aberration to her, an insult to all that had come before her and a threat to everyone that would come after. She had to do something, even if it meant risking her life. It was only when she found herself not in a jail or a secret prison but in a lab that she knew the meaning of true horror. Soldiers were made in facilities such as this. What would they do to her?

    They strapped her to a huge device [The Mk.1 Remaker was indeed bulky. Subsequent iterations have made it portable]. She wasn’t surprised by the doctor’s cold, clinical behavior: they were trained not to be cruel or mean, but to command instant compliance with their tone of voice and posture. What truly shocked her was that half the doctors were women. How could they be so blind? How couldn’t they see that they were complicit in their own oppression? 

    One such woman seemed to be the lead researcher at the facility, or at least the one tasked with explaining the procedure to her. She didn’t bother with putting it in terms a layperson might understand, instead waxing poetic about the power of genes, the chemistry of the brain, the fundamental illusion of the idea of self. All humans were, she explained, nothing more than living interactions between hormones and neurotransmitters, desires and fears coded in simple molecular constructs. [Subject G refers here to Dr. Heinlein]. The one word she repeated, the one word Galena feared, was remade.

    Galena couldn’t be sure when she was awake. The drugs pumped into her system kept her docile, sleepy, always in that liminal space between states of being. She noticed a few things, but whether they were real or dreams was impossible to know. Her body was numb, and she figured whatever they were doing required heavy, heavy painkillers. She should have been scared, but she couldn’t… feel it. It was just a rational idea with no emotional resonance. Time lost all meaning. At some point she realized, or dreamed, that the lead scientist was more than just filled with professional enthusiasm. She was enjoying this, in a deep, primal level. There was sadistic pleasure in her eyes, along with undisguised lust. She toyed with Galena’s pussy and mocked her for how wet she got. The scientist wasn’t wrong. Her body was numb and yet the pleasure broke through. It could not be denied, and it demanded more and more. Maybe Galena begged. She couldn’t be sure. [Holographic records show Subject G did, in fact, beg for stimulation]. When next she woke up… was it the next time? When was she awake and when asleep? [Records show two weeks elapsed between the recorded thought patterns]. She didn’t know. But she did manage to look down and see her breasts. They were large. Much larger than they used to be. She hated them. She hated how good they looked on her. She hated how sensitive they were, how amazing they felt. She hated how the doctor played with them and how she couldn’t help but moaning. She hated the doctor. She wanted to kiss her. [Subject G had kissed Dr. Heinlein twice already before this thought was recorded].

    They were bigger than her head. Her tits were bigger than her head. She didn’t even look human anymore. She looked like… like a perverted parody of womanhood. Why had they put that mirror in front of her? So she could see her new lips, swollen and wet? Her huge tits? Her diminutive waist? Her enormous ass? Would she even be able to walk again? She looked like her spine might crack under the weight of her own tits! [Internal organs were replaced by augments and her bones reinforced. The genetic therapy also increased her muscular strength. Subject G’s concerns are misguided]. She looked so… ridiculous. So… so fucking hot. No that wasn’t her. It was… it was her pussy talking. She was strong. She didn’t need to be hot, or fuckable, or slutty to be of value…

    They left the mirror up whenever the lead scientist wasn’t at work. More and more, Alice felt despair at the perverted fantasy she had become, at how it would be impossible for anyone to see her as anything other than a complete slut, at how wet she got looking at herself. It was making it hard to focus, but she held on to her core, to her real self. She was Galena. She was a feminist. Nothing could change that. Nothing could… 

    “The body leads. The mind follows”, said the scientist. Galena just listened. The doctor’s lips were so distracting, so tempting… and her undone top button gave her a hint of the wonderful breasts beneath the fabric. Nowhere near as big as her own, but they pulled her in… Besides, it was all bullshit. Just because she had the body of a complete whore it didn’t mean she would think or act like one! Even if her ass was huge and her tits massive and her lips puckered and felt ready to wrap themselves around a yummy cock… Damn it. The thoughts kept creeping up on her, but she was strong. She. Was. Strong. She would never submit, she thought before dozing off again.

    How long was she out? It felt like weeks [our records show it was thirty minutes]. She found she was no longer restrained. Before her stood the mirror and… sets of clothes? What kind of sick test was this? She looked at her naked body. At least it felt… hers. She couldn’t fully recognize herself in the mirror yet, but somehow she was slowly coming to terms with looking like a living doll. It didn’t change who she was inside. And to be able to put on some clothes was welcome, even if she was wary of her captors’ true intentions. There had to be a trick, but anything was better than parading naked through the white, sterile room. To her surprise the first set of clothes laid out for her was… nice. It was modest, and somehow managed to cover up her unreal breasts. It made her look almost… normal. Busty, sure, but respectable. She could imagine herself walking the streets in them, even meeting her feminists sisters and discussing further steps. It was a good outfit. Then again…

No harm in trying out the other ones, right? Just… just to check. 

    God, they were so hideous. Well. not hideous. Slutty, sure. But… kinda cute. The last one barely covered her huge, firm ass… and it left abundant underboob to give everyone quite the show should she ever walk the street in it… Fuck why did that idea feel so good? To have everyone gawking at her, lusting after her, getting hard at the mere sight of her… She absentmindedly let her hand slide the daisy dukes to the side and rub her soaked pussy. She looked like such a fucking worhtless whore… like such a fucktoy… No one would take her seriously… no one should…

    She froze as the door slid open. The hot scientist girl had ditched her half-sadistic, half-dispassionate demeanor for behaving like a giddy schoolgirl. Galena could swear she was watching her IQ drop in real time as she ushered the Soldiers in. Oh no. This would be it. They were going to torture her. They were going to hurt her. They were… fuck, they were hot. Broad shoulders, square jaws, all muscle… No. This wasn’t the time to be distracted! They were there to harm her, to… to… Do nothing? 

    The men leered at her as the scientist went to a corner of the room. They just… looked at Galena like she was a piece of meat… and she couldn’t blame them, knowing how she came off. She was all tits and ass and long legs and a tight, wet pussy… Stop it. Stop it. You are a person, Galena. You are strong. You are a feminist. You are horny as hell. But… but that doesn’t mean you should look at their pants, imagine the men’s huge, genetically perfect cocks… Fuck. Focus. Focus. Focus. She needed to find a way out, needed to… needed to… needed to do her part. No! Where had that come from! That was Government propaganda! It wasn’t like her purpose, her duty was to drain those amazing balls by any means necessary…

She didn’t notice she was walking towards them, swaying her hips as if advertising herself. They smelled so manly, so aggressive, so… Her newly enhanced body was reacting, and Galena was barely a passenger in it. The body leads. The mind follows. She had the body of a fuckdoll. Her mind was certainly following, images of cum and muscular men using her eager holes dancing in her head. What remained of her screamed somewhere far away, buried under layers of her new self. She was horrified by the way she went to her knees. She was sick by the way her mouth was watering in anticipation. She shut up as soon as the Soldiers revealed their cocks. Galena smiled. This was it. This was all that mattered.

She was a pleasure doll, and she was ready to do her part.

Commissioned by @shameful-sideblog!!

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A Scifi and Fantasy Idea

Far in the future, to avoid Entropy and Heat-Death, Humanity has uploaded themselves onto the fabric of space-time itself; “beneath” the quantum field. Effectively gods, so ancient that many of them have lived more in millenia than the universe in modern times have existed in seconds, creating matter and energy through manipulating the quantum layer.

There is only one question left that science has been unable to answer: What will the next universe be like? It has already been confirmed that they will survive a big bang going off, and will survive no matter what alternate physics will be in play, but how it will turn out is completely unable to be predicted.

After aeons of waiting, when the universe has been dead many millions of times longer than it was ever alive in the first place the time finally comes, and a new Big Bang occurs. Humanity collectively watch in anticipation, and then:

They get a front-row seat to an Overgod creating a High-Fantasy D&D-esque cosmology multiverse, complete with Gods, Magic, Elemental, Astral Planes and Far Realms. And they have no idea how any of it works. But Humanity knows one thing. THEY WANT TO KNOW ALL THE THINGS!

How does a ludicrously advanced sci-fi human civilization of might-as-well-be Space!gods and a D&D-like High Fantasy cosmology react to each other?

Title: Best Served Cold

Author:@kishafisha

Artist: @panoramicambitions

Rating: E

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Tags: Slight crossover with Detroit: Become Human, A/B/O Dynamics, Alternate Universe: Androids, Sci-Fi, Cryogenics, Unethical medical procedures, Canon typical violence, Canon typical gore, Violence and prejudice against androids, Mentions of assisted suicide (side character)

Posting date: 05FEB

Summary: Hannibal Lecter, founder and visionary behind Lecter Ltd, wakes up twenty years in the future after the betrayal of his business partners. Where artificial intelligence had been a fledgling technology in his own time, the world is fully inundated with it now, to include the full integration of artificial humans, or Artifices, within society. As he navigates this new world with a stranger that seems to know him better than he knows himself, Hannibal is plagued by one driving thought. To seek revenge against those who stole his life.

Preview:

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a man out of time.

Not in the sense that the hourglass of his life had prematurely been emptied of its granules, but rather that it had been placed upon its side. Paused, in effect, until it could be picked up again. The last memories of his life had been so painfully ordinary, by his standards, until they abruptly weren’t; devolving swiftly into betrayal and an unfamiliar helplessness that had burned bright up until the moment his world went dark.

As the founder and lead architect of Lecter Ltd, he had spent nearly every waking moment of the eight years prior to that moment dedicated to the fulmination of the ANA Project. Artificial Neural Assistants, known as ANAs in the common vernacular, had built upon the fledgling principles of true artificial intelligence to revolutionize the synergy between man and machine. Through the use of a neural net laid out over the delicate whorls of the brain, a synthetic mind was partnered to a living one, creating a symbiotic relationship between man and machine. In a world of ever evolving technology, Lecter Ltd provided a way to give fallible human minds a digital advantage in a way the changing world had never known.

Or so he had led them all to believe.

Link to Fic

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