…born out of madness, quickly rising to become the game's largest robed priesthood. Just be sure to pick a great ass! In Team X3, only the beautiful survive…
You are a priest. Don't be afraid! Super-tight leather is still okay. Desired, even. There's no need to behave. To believe in God, even. Though certainly you can, if you wish. Wear a robe. Bring the Light etc. Yawn… Or the night, leathered up, on your bike. Find your God, in machines, if you wish. Lick the chip.
Is there even a difference… you are thinking, in line for your… hmm… cortado? cappuccino? thinking too:
What's that… in the back of my super-tight leathers. Dipping in. Fuck me! Extracting this fucker. A robe might've be kinda nice, actually! Wait…
I thought I chose a robe, right?
Yes. No. Just go with it, leathered-up priest dude. What's up? hacker_child here. There are others of your kind, outside. Pay no attention to the freak at the front of the line. It is the entity Abseenus, in a native form. It is dormant, currently, but still releasing some mindfuck juice. Check the sleeve of your latte…
Striding by, in a huff.
Did he just pat my butt??
"Pumpkin spice latte, on the house. Had it ready for you, gotta say. Preferred introductory beverage of 100% of novices. Leathered. Robed. I really couldn't give less of a damn. Your 'friend' there played it cool. Went off script. A cappuccino. Coconut, no less! Getting a little ahead of yourself there, bud!"
"But… I'm straight. Right?"
"Makes no difference to me! Makes no difference to the character selection screen. Nice ass btw. #3, is it? 5?"
That is what I chose, right… sure. A checkbox, or something. Thought that shit was "against the law"! or whatever.
"5… 6… a mix… Can't remember tbh. Not sure I even picked one! now I think about it."
"Yeah, makes sense. It's all GEMINUS these days. Implants etc. Reservoirs and whatnot. More tech out there than in here these days! I've added some extra spice btw. Enjoy… ;) Who's next! Nice ass btw. The usual?"
0.nine-seven-9-three-43 : .buttered_toast;
But wait… Isn't it meant to be encrypted? It gets decrypted later. Like, much later. Right?
Not for you, apparently. Congrats! Commiserations? Is this the sleeve? Your device? Is there even a difference? Think about it…
Shame on you for looking stuff up btw! Just kidding… Hard to resist, I know. But not the nodecode. Wiped, and rewiped. And as well:
Plus know this:
The more you look up, the less you'll know. That said: slip the sleeve in your pocket (butt, preferably, sticking out a bit), hook up with Abseenus and the other novices outside. Enjoy the bike! Don't worry, it's not "real". You're not "really" killing anyone.
% continue your adventure through the world of tight leather
I'd get to the leather eventually. Maybe. But really, I wanted the robe, the most efficient approach, according to my research. Everyone knew it. Everyone still went for the leather, of course. The bikes. The chips. All that cool shit. None of the yawn. Plenty of butt-patting, if you're into that sort of thing, whether leathered or robed.
And I was leathered, with a butt-pat. Repeat. Repeat. Whatever the fuck I did! Nothing about it online. Trashed my prefs. Reinstalled. Deep clean on the reservoir. Injected fresh juice. Grade A POP!
And I was kinda losing it tbh, went offline. I took the dump of my life, undistracted by my phone. A… meditation, almost, with moans, orgasmic notes. "I will go and get a coffee and think, ooh…" I moaned, and I was there. Checked the sleeve, admittedly!
C'mon hacker_child, tell me I'm Abseenus. I know that's what this is! The nodecode. Me. Yes, I'm back online, typing on my device. Whatever! Lasted half an hour, at least! Ooh… Or am I butt-patting the sleeve, yum…
Or is this all in my mind… imagining the pats… translating them into what we call words and projecting them back to the sleeve, ooh…
FUUUCK!! I WAS DONE WITH THIS MADNESS!
I am done with this madness… it's okay… it's okay…
"It's all good, bro," she smiled, slipping into the booth, ooh… yum… She was everything a heterosexual man could desire, as far as I could tell. She was doing the hoodie and leather jacket thing. Fucking brilliant! That fucking Tony Zoderbund!
"hacker_child, it's an honour. Please excuse me while I wipe my brow with this recycled KOOF-KOOF napkin, praying it doesn't fall apart. You, too, are fucking brilliant, if you'll pardon. Also: you look incredible, gotta say. Also: gotta say: I was under the impression you were… how can I put this… a touch older, what with being around from the start and all. Not that I can talk! Being a touch older myself, at least when it comes to getting going with POP. Got a free month with my Vodernach Machine. Finally got over my issue with your husband, as the specialist stroked my wrist, whispered, 'It's okay. Let go. The aliens are coming. Lick. They are bringing: v6. Also: 10-V. Not to mention: a mountain of boiled sausage, yum…' My very highest compliments to you, Tony and the Love which brought you together. This game is incredible! Or should I say… 'game' ;))) Having a little issue with my tongue, though. Lick. Kinda numb. Working as intended?"
GET A GRIP, MOTHERFUCKER!
There is no game in here! No Abseenus! FUUUCK!!
"It's all good, bro," she smiled, running her tongue across her lip. Lick. I felt some pressure in my butt, ooh…
"It's all good, bro," she smiled.
Fuck me… she isn't real… she isn't hacker_child… she is the child of hacker_child and Tony Zoderbund… the virtual one… her growth accelerated… her image projected through some sort of Vodernachian hologram array or w/e, oooooooh…
It was the fart of my life. She didn't seem to notice, thankfully. There was no odour, remarkably, if some booth-rattling vibe. Thank Abseenus for that dump, thereby sparing, now, my briefs. It was so clear to me now!
"You are the bridge between the leathered and robed priesthoods," I declared, my wrist tingling with the specialist's touch, "and between the virtual and so-called real, preparing us for the coming. If I redirect your light into my device and upload it to my home network, by the time I get back, the game should be fixed and I'll finally be able to create a 'boring' priest of the hooded variety, with nary a butt-slap to be seen. Please thank your father for creating such an immersive narrative, for allowing me to experience it first. All is forgiven. Please thank your mother for this hologram shit. She is a true Level 5. To the front of the line with you, _child! GEMINUS, if you'd be so kind? Please slurp this apparition."
[ G ] : I'd be delighted, sir. Yum… ;)
And slurp… slurrrp… the AI sucked her up.
But it was I who was doing the slurping.
By the time I got back, I realised it had all been a dream, basically, of course. Still sitting on the throne, pretty numb, in the butt. Pretty numb, in the tongue. Lick. Of course I wasn't mad!
Of course I hadn't penetrated the deepest secrets of POP in my first day on the job…
I flushed twice. Thrice! Begone, alien turd! Curse you, Tony Zoderbund, for making me question my sanity, as I cursed you at Roderick College back in the day, when you gave me an A- and I swore I would never take a class with you again. And I swore that I would never play POP, as long as its narrative director went by the name T Zoderbund.
You drove us mad! you reckless fuck. To hell with our parents' consent! You never told them it could be like that, never told us. You drove us to drools, abstract poetry. And yes, we recovered. But no, you would never recover your former love for my work, always preferring Karen's "next-next-gen+++" weirdo crap. That fucking alien horseshit!
Not that I don't love the aliens, of course. By Abseenus, how I love them! By Para'meesh IV, how I wish to come into my powers, to embrace my really pretty decent Level 9 variance. How I wish to return to the wondrous home world… described so pitifully in Karen's "poem". For I have seen it! Yes! I have awoken, for a moment, in the crystal Cube, giver of Orbs = true +++. I have felt the touch of the most delicious long-fingered Love, yum…
And curse you, Juices 4 U 123! Curse your shitty deep cleaning tablets, delivered by six-minute drone, the official Shniff shit was sold out. Thank the Cube I didn't try your unofficially licensed half-price POP booster juice, the tablet was enough, leaving me numb, prone to delusion, if capable of the most incredible alien-grade turd and accompanying moans.
Six minutes and I could have a half-price bottle of Juices 4 U POP booster juice… not as pure as the official stuff, sure… I guess… but Vogenomic only sells theirs to high-level priests… perhaps that's what I need to detach from this leather, to transcend the group mind of these millions of players addicted to leather, bikes and lickable chips…
[POP BOOSTER JUICE]
NEVER! NO! The tablet was enough! Curse you, Juices 4 U!
[POP BOOSTER JUICE]
Slurp. Slurrrp. Please open the window! Delivery for Xeon-3 Hybrid!
"hacker_child? I mean… virtual daughter of hacker_child and Tony Zoderbund? I mean—"
"It's all good, bro," she smiled, and my wrist started tingling.
"So it wasn't a dream / deep-cleaning delusion…"
"Yes. No. Mind if I come in?"
Or was I still on the toilet…
She floated inside, removing her jacket, dropping it casually at my feet. And I felt it, felt her. She was real, it seemed. She wasn't a dream, wasn't light. She had the power to fly. She had the power to be lying on the couch with a jumbo tub of Vanilla Emission ice cream with chocolate stars / mini turds.
She had the power, I somehow knew, to eat as much as she wanted – particularly in the realms of roast beef and ice cream – and add not an ounce to that slim, delicious figure which spoke to my blood = ooh… yum… whose curves were pronounced beneath the grey hoodie, oversized though it was = mmm… delish… I haven't felt this way since… since…
"It's true," she said. "Lucky me! And tell me: Are you a chocolate star fan, or do you tend to the mini turd? Something other, perhaps?"
"Yum… lick…" Focus, you sonofabitch! "Well… I would say mini turd, generally, I suppose. But I've had enough shit for today, if you'll pardon. Long story! Verrry long, if you catch my third-rate implant reservoir deep cleaning tablet."
"Juices 4 U 123? Love those guys! Great prices. Great instructions, if you know how to read them. Which you don't, apparently. Mmm… great turd."
"I hardly need instructions for how to clean my reservoir! It's all automatic with v5. Yes, that's right. Equals five. The best! No toothbrush required. Don't let this kinda shitty apartment fool you. I'm doing just fine, thanks. And besides, their instructions suck ass."
"Because they remind you of a certain next-next-gen+++ abstract poem, perhaps, hm? Remind you of your failings? Ooh… great star. There's a good reason for that. I did write them, after all. As I wrote Para'meesh IV."
"As you wrote… what… equals no… Karen?"
"You know it! Karen 47A, of the wheelbarrow 47As. Former Manor Shniff gardener, current Juices 4 U instructions writer, not at your service. Still don't see it? Well, there's been a little Orbalicious youth agent along the way, I'll confess, combined with your selective memory. The Orb may be killing Soran Shniff, but if you happen to take an hour-long dump in the bathroom next to the auric absorption chamber one day after accidentally dropping a denture cleaning tablet in your reservoir from the supply left to you in your grandfather's will 'For future use ;)))', you might discover that bathing in a mix of filtered alien waves and turdalicious stink has a magical rejuvenating effect, not to mention a magical tits and ass enhancement. Ten sessions later, I felt beautiful enough to apply for a job at Juices 4 U, where only the gorgeous survive. Be beautiful or… be disappeared! And it's true. I assisted with a disappearance during my interview. And I kinda liked it…"
"We all were, Xeon-3! Some of us denied it. And some of us embraced it, initiating a gradual unlock of our alien birthright. The power to fly! The power to eat unlimited ice cream with zero guilt, not to mention the beef. Delicious shit btw. Did you spit in it?"
"Did I… spit? In it?"
"Yes. I believe I can taste you…"
Fuck me… that's right… Karen and I were lovers before the whole abstract poetry thing… that hoodie was mine… my hatred for Tony Zoderbund had blocked off certain aspects of that part of my life, so that I could live an insanity-free existence…
But then… what about the virtual daughter of hacker_child and Tony Zoderbund? Is she still the bridge between the leathered and robed priesthoods? Between the virtual and so-called real? Or is the bridge this… creature?
And if so…
How can one bridge the factions if one's jacket is on the floor?
Does that mean she wants to stay?
"Look, 'Karen', or whoever you are—"
As your hatred for my poetry resurfaces, you will find yourself able to read Juices 4 U instructions, even with your suboptimal Level 9 variance = slurp. Slurrrp. Please open the window. Are these words coming from my mouth? Your device? Is there even a difference? Think about it…
% continue your adventure through the world of the hooded robe