Inspired by this news story, I typed up a quick and raw short story. Maybe I'll work on continuing it if the inspiration strikes. Tw: coercive control, abuse, dystopia, apocalypse, survival horror
"Will that be all, sir?" I asked in the perkiest voice I could muster, giving out my best smile.
Abigor didn't even look at me, waving me away with one hand while he read the daily news on his tablet.
I let out a sigh of relief, pleased to have escaped… for now.
It was a humid day in the nature biome, the hot fake sun beaming down on the landscape. The surroundings didn't match the weather - verdant green foliage surrounded the sizable clearing. A faux beach with artificial sea lay before them - green from the chlorine they had to use to keep it from stagnating. The distinctive 'swimming pool' smell ruined the immersion of the biome but no one minded - they were too grateful to be critical.
A little reminder of home. The home that no longer existed. Home before.
Not that we'd technically ever left. We were just a few hundred feet underground, away from the relentless beating sun of the surface. The climate change deniers had pushed inaction over global warming until the end of life on earth as we knew it. Small pockets of nature still remain but the poisoned air and water has reduced earth's natural ecosystems and wildlife to struggling oases.
You should be grateful to be here. Never forget that.
My bosses' words echoed in my ear. I'd stopped being able to determine whether it was my own internal voice or the phantom of his but it ultimately didn't matter. I had to remember that or I'd go insane.
As was mandated by my job, I began to travel back to my allocated area. Tronics weren't meant to linger in the luxury areas of the bunker. I passed through a pristine, sprawling communal area - it was full of men joking, drinking and smoking their way through 'office hours'. I made my way through corridors of luxury dwellings, inhabited largely by rich single men or new families. The diamonds in the rough, they coined themselves. The Tronics hated it but what could we do? The odds had always been stacked against us.
The humans earned their freedom. Tronics pay for their life.
The bunker saying rattled around my mind. Of course I hadn't forgotten, they made it impossible to forget.
The bunker had become a 'society' just two short years ago but it felt longer. It was disturbing how quickly the new 'social' order had set it and the individuals within had settled into their new roles. The wealthy from the days of old saw the incoming world disaster and retreated to their pre-paid fallout shelters. Once there, they were greeted with a difficult problem - to maintain the status quo and their lifestyles, they needed staff. Obedient staff. Individuals who would work to maintain their luxury lifestylr and wouldn't turn on them if the option arose.
So it was that the 'deal' was crafted. Gifted, hard-working and model citizens could 'audition' for one of the spots in the workers dwellings and the job that came with it. If they passed, they'd be given the choice to escape the wilds of the surface - and almost certain doom - on one condition.
I turned off from the apartments and through a Tronic door. Immediately, the musty smell of old sweat in the hot, still air made me gag. They hadn't shelled out for ventilation in the worker's dwellings. It was a short-sighted move that had generated the ideal environment for viral sickness and social disorder. Not that anyone worried about that, it was just the way things were now. Who needed the poor workers to live long lives when you have finite space and resources?
Survival of the fittest. Abigor's voice intoned. If we want to thrive as a species, we must elevate the best, even at the expense of the worst.
For the billionth time, I wished I could turn the voice off but that wasn't an option. I'd never be able to seperate my thoughts from his ever again. That was the deal.
You see, rather than creating a socially mobile, extrinsically rewarding environment - like the one the old world pretended to be - they'd opted for the alternative: iron-clad and mandated social rules that enforced obedience and subservience. Rules no one was allowed to break if they wanted to stay alive.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, a wave of nausea nearly knocked my feet out from under me. Despite knowing it wasn't really my fault, I cursed my brain for wandering on to things above their station. Thankfully, it was short lived - but a brief sharp reminder of who was in control. Like a remote-controlled shock collar that could read my thoughts. Except it wasn't an item I could take off, even if I tried.
It was inside my head. Buried beneath a layer of skin and a thick skull.
That's what it means to be an animatronic. You live with a top-of-the-range chip embedded in your brain. It had been technology designed to bring the digital to the physical - the perfectly optimised bridge between augmented and virtual reality. Except their original purpose had long ago been abandoned. The tech designed to create pleasure became the ultimate tool for evil.
This time, the thoughts sent my head spinning. I put a hand on to the grubby wall to steady myself, sucking air in desperately.
You didn't like that one either, huh?
You know I didn't.
An unexpected ripple of pleasure ran down my spine, immediately followed by revulsion. It was a clever little trick of his. He knew how much I hated him and he liked to see me squirm. He knew that turning on the oxytocin in my brain would cause more pain than any other punishment. It was the ultimate manipulation, designed to degrade and embarrass.
It was the curse of being a Bunny. An animatronic without a family of their own. A servant to the desires of men like Abigor. Just like so many of the other women who lived in the mouldy, dimly-lit warren I stood in.
Please, I'm tired. I plead, hoping for mercy.
You'll survive.
I don't want to play this game.
Need I remind you that you don't have a choice? Close all the doors you want, I'm already in your head.
The factual statement stung. He wasn't wrong. As a Tronic, my Controller had access to all of my mind. Every passing thought. Every sight I laid eyes on. Every memory. The moment the chip had been installed, I'd signed away my right to privacy. My right to be my own person, without the will of my manipulator to contend with.
A poisoned chalice of a deal.
But in light of the incoming apocalypse, I had no choice. This was survival. Life wasn't there for me to enjoy. It was just something to endure.
Another surge of pleasure flooded through me. Abigor liked it when I dwelled on the concept of how powerless I was. It made him feel in control. Like the master manipulator he prided himself on being.
I wasn't Abigor's only bunny. He was a director of sorts - his wealth had bought him a seat in the management's inner circle and supervision of a whole section of girls. The management didn't care about how the girls were treated - if they stayed obedient, who were they to question his methods? Especially since he wrapped his actions in ideological doctrine.
Remember this is what you were designed for. Your purpose. You were given your gifts for a reason. There's no shame in enjoying the pleasure of being rewarded. If you give into it - let me control you - it'll all be so much more fun.
Shut up, I thought back before I could stop myself. Nausea and terror immediately gripped me. It was hard to know if it was self-generated or the result of manipulation.
You know how much power I have. I could ruin your reputation. Break your mind. Make you disappear. Be careful what you think. You survive because I allow you to.
I shivered. The nature of my total oppression haunted me. He wasn't wrong. I was his plaything. His toy. He could abuse me and wipe my memory or insert thoughts into my head. He could colour my perception, starving my brain of dopamine and serotonin. If he wanted, he could ruin my name by reporting gossip to the Bunker Gazette, completely nullifying any chance of promotion. He could even kill me… that wasn't a taboo anymore. Even the dead had their uses.
Yes, sir
I responded automatically. Sometimes, the dystopian nature of my existence was too vast to comprehend.
I have no choice. I'm a pawn in a rich man's game, my will be damned. But, whatever it takes, I will do everything I can to change that.
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