Been a while since someone's smacked the back of my head. Yanara watched the new considerably small in size room. Two doors to the left. Two to the right.
It's been even more of a while since someone smacked the back of my head and didn’t miss a head after. I've become a better person, it seems. How nice of me. Yanara patted her head smilingly, praising herself, “Good girl, good girl.”
Not only am I a woman, but also a kid. Seventeen? It feels wrong. All feels fucking wrong. She sighed halfheartedly, slumping thereafter as her shoulders dropped. Opposite her, below the hovering cyan hologram that told her of the time, were double doors, likely a lead to the corridor where personnel awaited. Okay, that one’s out. Which one of these four fuckers is a bathroom?
Skittering her head left and right, she scurried her crystal-clear eyes through the hallway. The walls gave a soft feel of cream gloss. Nature paintings overlaid the circular patterns across and along, surreal and expressional.
One step, then two — she stood in front of the door she’d chosen on a whim out of the four.
The room presented itself before her. Smaller than her bedroom yet vaster than the hallway in size, it was abrim with papers scattered throughout.
The smell of perfume immediately assaulted her. Yanara broke into a fit of coughs, scratching her nose.
She clutched onto her chest, yet immediately pushed her hand away in instinctive disgust at the sponginess of it.
She slipped and fell, unaccustomed to her weight distribution. Especially the larger hips.
It hurt. More than it was supposed to. Her skin felt more sensitive. She — felt more sensitive.
Pain. Sorrow. Loneliness. Why was that? That, or she was just imagining things. How could she experience more pain after years of unceasing torture? More sorrow after years of innumerable losses? More loneliness after years of constant solitude?
“Seems I can't walk properly without my third leg. Pfhahaha! A true warrior doesn't need a sword!” Her voice was light, soft, smooth, soothing, sweet, amiable.
Then why was it rough, bleak, bitter, noisy, nasty, and cruel, and distant and cold all the same? Why?
Why did she survive?
“Are these drawings of clothing? Did you want to become a designer?” she asked herself. With the support of her frail hands, Yanara barely managed to stand, to walk forward. Her steps scrubbed over the hard-worked-on notes and sketches, occasionally stumbling upon rough pencils and a cluster of swatches.
More interestingly, on those papers, she spotted integrated holographic tags that exhibited animated motifs and interchanging color palettes, among which what gave an idea of nanotech designs moved past.
To her left sat a cozy, melon sofa against the pink walls. Around the peripherals lazed many modular wardrobes full of wear hanging on anti-gravity hangers — dresses, jackets, jeans— “A fucking tiger bikini? Seriously? Shit’s atrocious. Just wrap yourself in duct tape at this point.”
A giant make-up table thoroughly dominated the far wall. Beneath the grandiosity of the curled golden mirror lay bulbs of many colors and matter. Drawers slid open at her presence, presenting her with an array of brushes and containers alike. “Maybe you wanted to become a model instead. But you don't have a face for it, kid— I don't have the face for it.” Yanara pinched her cheeks, the upper ones. “A useless hobby. You should’ve instead trained this sorry body of yours. Muscles look sexier. Fuck cutesy and shit.”
With that said, she turned and left the room and made another turn to the left. “Surely, it’d only make sense that right beside the changing room, there’d be a bathroom.”
A new room. An art room, which was the largest she’d seen here so far and octagonal in form. “Holy shit—”
Scribblings covered everything. The walls. The floors. The ceiling, too, in some places, even. Though they were predominantly tiled with caricature mosaics. Notably, The walls weren’t spared from the eccentric nature of the owner also, entwined in entwisting flowery vines.
Bizarre portraits stared holes into her. Miniatures floated, spinning and circling — zig-zagging hyperactively.
Just as her eyes adjusted to the kaleidoscope of panchromatic vividness, it distorted once and for all. The starry galaxy rearranged itself into a maze of historical tales in and outward to the very corners of the octagon. Then into the prehistoric records of the once prominent dinosaurs. Then into something entirely else she didn’t know what to make of. Modern art, perhaps.
A few bookshelves lined the small side of the room, their spines layered with dust. The bioluminescent leaves of the potted plants shared their light into the chaos. “Why have so many books when you won’t bother opening them?” Yanara asked herself, closing in on the shelves. “Let’s see,” she said, licking her lips while grabbing the book with the least dust on it. “Why is it wet? It’s kinda clingy. Oh, a graphic novel? I wonder what the girl was into—”
“Tha… That’s enough… I… I… can’t breathe…”
“Hey, you’ve put it to good use already, so let me see you come without touching it…”
“Same goes for you… fool…”
“AHH! I-I’m coming… gh—”
“Of course. It’s men fucking men. What else did I fucking expect?” Yanara shut the book close. “I can bet my balls she’s been learning to draw only for her perverted fantasies to come to fruition. Does this kid have no parental supervision? I remember when I was her age, I would read… Never mind. This one actually isn’t THAT bad for a girl her age, I suppose…”
“This room is both futuristic and somehow ancient at the same time,” Yanara said to herself, swaying her head and glancing at the lone tea table beside the panoramic windows. She walked toward them. “Shelves are modest, wooden. Furniture too. Real good. I like it. All this light show is unnecessary, on the other hand. You won’t get an orgasmic inspiration masturbating to generic gay porn just because you do the deed under the clusterfuck of whatever the fuck is going on on the upside. It looks pretty at first, but I imagine if I had to sit below it for more than half a minute, I’d puke.”
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Beyond the dark windows, very low down below, the city prospered with spires and interconnected structures, rising in scraggy tiers as massive bases anchored each and every structure into the earth, framed by reinforced alloy. “Oh, it seems like earthquakes are a regular thing? As expected, I should say.” This is just the beginning of the end, after all.
They don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Magic? What a joke. What they’re cultivating is merely one of the twelve anchors to cultivate, Wish Anchor, belonging to The Fish Constellation Pisces. Yanara laughed emptily, her mood sour at the thought of Pisces.
Outside, snow underwrote everything, constantly downpouring from the dark clouds above, passing through the holographic basks of monolithic advertisements on and atop the buildings.
Drones zip-zapped through the ice-cold air, crisscrossing through and between the many towers. Each drone projected various ads in a holographic form too.
“Some cocaine-induced beverages, promises of augmented virtualities more promising than life itself, and… is that a fucking multifunctional android catgirl?! For how much?! Wait a fucking second— I’m a noble! Living atop the highest fucking building at that! I win! Glory to Daddy Emperor! All hail the dictatorship, bitch!”
Drones drifted from one address to the other, guided by AI. Advertisement served as a backdrop, as the primary role of those drones was transportation. Their undersides carried crates of goods wrapped in polymer, the items held in place by magnetic fields not visible to the eye. “If I’m ever in need of money, though, there’s always a side hustle of shooting those loot boxes down.”
From the height she observed the grounds, people seemed like ants. Despite this, activity thrived regardless of the time of day.
How many years? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? This whole place will be raised to the ground by the coming of the second phase of the integration. Yanara turned back, heading out of the room to the door opposite her. When the other constellations get involved — that’s when the shitshow will truly begin.
The third room contrasted with the second. Its walls were white, without any decor, while a creamy carpet overlaid the floor. Yanara could barely hear the chirps of birds and the white noises of a waterfall. “A meditation room, yes?” she asked herself, yet no response came.
At the center, a capsule sat, egg-shaped. Basks of light emanated from its minimally ajar hatch. “No, a masturbation room, definitely. I’m not falling for the same shit twice. Not even gonna check.”
Finally, lumping, she left and entered the final, fourth room.
Lights. Warm, golden lights embraced her.
The smell of perfume, once again, stormed into her nostrils. “This is some good shit, unlike that disgusting smell. Jasmine, no? Who knows. Who cares.”
She stepped onto the black marble, passing beside the crystalline soaking tub on a pedestal in the center. At the left stretched a vanity with a holographic display on its surface.
“So even toilets aren’t spared from the modernization,” she said, looking at the marvel of design and technology. Even above the said toilet, an interface sparked. Temperature control, water pressure— “Aromatherapy? The fuck’s that? Fuck this. I’ll bother with this shit when I’m about to take a shit, not now.”
Yanara took a step inside the shower as the transparent panels shut close behind her. Mist carried a funny scent. The floor warmed her bare feet. A forestry appeared.
“The technology has gotten so far in such short duration. To be honest, I didn’t even believe they’d get flying cars even due now.”
“What? That’s how it’s always been. Humanity’s greatest enemy are themselves. They hinder their progress for momentary pleasures and don’t shy away from bringing any prospects down to their level.”
“To think they’d cooperate to such an extent. I suspect it’s not the work of a group but a single entity. Some genius of sorts.”
Trees swayed.
“I’m looking forward to it! Meeting interesting people. Rising to power again. This is so much fun, no? Dare I say, beating the shit out of buncha kids in the camp will relieve some pent-up emotions.”
“Living as a girl will be a fun, new experience. This time, cultivating the Wish Anchor. What does that make me? Magical Girl Yanara? Heavenly Demoness Yanara?”
“You know, I can just forget about the past. Live these few years in bliss. Those above are on another level. They’re pragmatic, sacrificing everything to achieve their goals. Why would I bother?”
“I can try drawing a comic book of my own. Maybe open up a cat cafe too. Maybe draw a comic book about opening up a cat cafe. This would be the most pleasant way to spend my last days~”
…
“Then, then maybe I can even learn cooking properly too. I was never good at it. But good food is something I love. Even better if it’s a good food that I’ve made personally. That’s double fucking great.”
“Not that my skills are bad, just a few improvements here and there, especially with the help of new tech, and I’ll become a master chef!”
…
“So much hair. I should cut it all down. The shampoo isn’t washing away. Hmm… probably not. I’m now a woman — I should get used to living the life of a woman. Just accept it and become more feminine. Life will get easier. I may want to rip my skin now, but it’ll soon go away.”
“Honestly, healthcare should be pretty fucking advanced by now too, considering everything. Can’t they just turn me back into a man?”
…
…
“I’m so glad. I don’t have to cultivate the Control Anchor anymore… It was such a pain in the ass. But at least it didn’t require much intelligence. Wish Anchor, on the other hand… is both unreliable and unpredictable. It’s the opposite of Control, where one relies on intelligence and luck.”
“Hah, why am I even contemplating? Why bother with cultivation? I won’t bother with attaining strength; I just want to live an everyday life. Right?”
…
…
“Ha… I should’ve known, yes? I can’t ask the fallen for forgiveness. I can only continue, no? No… I cannot… I cannot continue anymore… not anymore… I am sick of everything. I just want to rest like they did. Why can I not?”
…
…
…
Warm, fell water in weird, synchronistic patterns, on and on. Steam rose and rose.
…
Yanara fell. Her knees hit the floor. Her back slumped as her shoulders tumbled forward.
…
Hair fell over her face. Dissatisfaction. Discomfort. Doubt. She’d thought she’d finally be free. She’d thought she’d finally rest. She’d thought she’d finally be freed from her punishment.
…
Mouth fell open. A silent scream. A loud plea. No words came. She started hyperventilating.
…
“I— I— I… Pfhahahaha!”
“I? Is there I? I…”
“I—”
Silence. For a very long time, what could be heard were only the drips and drops surrounding, isolating her.
“You can’t die, Yanara,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion, her eyes blank.
“You’ve promised. Remember!”
“You’ve promised!”