The Lambston Environmental Initiative was a somewhat recent project. The old king had problems with pollution in the city, and countless aristocrats and nobles sent countless more complaints about all the trash in the streets and forests. Many had considered it an inevitability, given the population boom after the great war those decades ago, and with the recent conquest of Villas Delta, even more people flooded across the borders--and into the new empire.
Of course, with near-constant warring on Lambston's lesser neighbors, a steady supply of prisoners of war only increased in volume, which itself became a problem. Enslaving them was the tradition and usually the more financially-minded solution, but when the market turned, and the price for slaves dropped, people stopped wanting another mouth to feed.
And so the king sought a solution, brought to him by a political party who called themselves the Technomancers.
They were the ones who dabbled in a brand new form of power that weaved technology and magic into one. The Technomancers promised the king a solution to both issues, and they delivered. Now, some of their greatest achievements lie in the numerous prisons scattered throughout the empire.
Or so the Quick Start Guide read.
I had found myself in a sort of trash can waiting room, just large enough to fit only me. It was stifling, cramped, and surprisingly well lit. White sterile panels covered the entirety of it, so cleanly installed that I no longer knew which part the door was, and which part was the wall.
I was bored. Terribly, horribly bored.
I read through the Quick Start guide several times, plotting out leveling tracks, doing the math out in my head, thinking and conniving and scheming, but I didn’t want to commit to anything until I was certain I knew where I’d be going.
Then I read the part with the AI core. Apparently, if I could get a hold of that thing, I could install it myself to help me on my quest for revenge. I just needed to find it. Or maybe I could just get the recipe.
I scrolled through my recipe list, now grown to some tens of thousands long, and spotted it.
Recipe: AI Core. Requires 500 Fire, Earth, Air, Water Elements.
I got this from that recycler core. Wasting no time, I churned it out.
-500 Earth Element
-500 Water Element
-500 Air Element
-500 Water Element
Hmmmmm-Click.
+1 AI Core.
Following the guide, I started the installation. “Install: AI Core.”
My body vibrated, and I felt my insides twist and turn and lock the machine block into the black. Something thumped against my heart, and I felt a heavy click. “AI Core Installed.”
There was a pause.
“Hello world,” the voice said. It was indistinguishable from the cold feminine voice that announced my level ups or skill point allocation. “Prototype 1A, serial number 551, Class B AI. Please confirm your name.”
“Imsi,” I said.
“Confirmed. If you wish to establish a name for your new AI assistant, please do so now.”
“Cassandra.”
“Confirmed.”
“So now what?”
“…” There was no reply. Only a distant pause.
“Uh, hello?”
“Install complete. I am Cassandra, Level 1 AI. Greetings.”
This was an interesting development. Though I told myself that I could use an AI assistant, what I really wanted was just another something to speak to, or maybe yell at. “Cassandra,” I said, “in what ways can you help me fulfill my objectives?”
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“I can answer questions, store data, manage recycling and crafting, bookkeep spreadsheets, set alarms and timers, and reference miscellaneous material as needed.”
“Where am I?”
“I am unable to answer that question.”
Great. She was already useless. “What time is it?”
“I am unable to answer that question.”
“How the hell can you set an alarm if you don’t know the time?”
“I require at least one glimpse of a reliable time-telling device, or the position of the sun and the date. Until I obtain that data, alarm functionality is limited.”
“Go fuck yourself, Cassandra.”
“Analyzing.”
“Wait, what?”
“Processing.”
“Wait, no. I didn’t actually mean—”
“I currently lack the peripherals necessary to fuck myself, but I instead may help you fuck yourself.”
“Ha. Real cute.”
Something rattled out of me and clinked onto the floor panel. I looked down and saw that it was a silver coin. Instantly, I knew what she was getting at. With a sigh, I slipped out my arm, took the coin, and flicked it into my slot.
I shivered and purred with ecstasy. “Uhn, fuck yeah.” This was, in essence, masturbation, and I wasn’t sure how much I liked masturbating in the vicinity of a female-presenting entity. It did, however, give me something to talk about. “Cassandra,” I said.
Another coin rattled out of me and tapped to the floor. “Yes?” she replied.
“Why is it that recyclers are installed with the… sexual arousal to coins being dropped into them?”
“They aren’t.”
“What?”
“Recyclers are not installed with that feature.”
I went cold. “Then why am I so turned on by it?”
“Processing.” There was a pause between us. “It appears that you have inadvertently awakened a fetish within you. It has nothing to do with the body that you inhabit.”
Impossible. Don’t get me wrong, I had definitely experienced all sorts of weird fetishes throughout my time, but this was something new altogether. Beyond that, it made no sense. I picked up the coin again, and it stared back at me with its chiseled edges and sharp, supple ridges and its lion face that stared at me with hungry eyes and my heart pounded and my body ached for it now, right now I needed this goddamn sexy coin inside me.
I growled as it entered me and dropped inside to rattle amongst my pile of other coins. I could’ve done it all day, and the thought of that unnerved me. Maybe she was right. Maybe this was a weird new fetish for me. I knew to be open-minded to sexual pleasure, and I needed to find out more. “Cassandra, if I change bodies or if I were polymorphed into something else, would I still enjoy this?”
“Yes.”
I needed to know what part of a human body was closest to a coin slot. My heart was racing at the thought of bathing naked in coins, feeling their rock-hard surfaces slide against my skin and face and throbbing— “What part of me?” I said breathlessly. “What part of me would be the coin slot?”
“The sphincter.”
The fire within me extinguished, and I was left cold and defeated.
“The anus. The butthole.”
“Oh no,” I uttered.
“Yes,” she said, almost with an edge to drive the urgency home. “You will enjoy having coins slipped into your butthole until the end of days. This is your curse, your cure, your heaven, your hell, your dark fetish.”
“My butthole,” I echoed. “But why?”
I was answered by yet another coin tapping against the floor. I picked it up and stared into it helplessly. This was my prison. My sexual prison, and there was none who could save me from my terrible dark secret.
Muffled voices broke the silence. I jolted in surprise and tucked the coin away into my vending slot for a later treat.
"We have a surplus today," a male's voice said on the other side of the wall. He had the proper sort of tone I would've expected from an engineer.
He was answered by another man, with a deeper and almost ominous voice. "Oh? I thought we were at a loss with the recent purges."
"Of the most recent purge, we were only able to preserve the underage specimens."
"The rebel group?" asked the husky man.
"The rebel group," said the professional. "Mostly teenagers."
The husky man gave off a deep, satisfied chuckle. "Excellent. Have them labeled type A-4. It isn't every day we can experiment on those who haven't yet fully matured."
"Yes, sir, but there is one thing."
"Go on."
The professional cleared his throat. "One of the nobles–"
"Don't tell me its Duke Crocand, again."
"It is." There was a pause between them. "He requested a specific prisoner." Papers shuffled. "Prisoner 299105, Jenna."
"Age?" the husky man demanded.
"Fifteen."
"Disgusting."
"Well?" asked the professional. His voice had raised in pitch, almost nervously.
"It's a shame to lose such important research, but it can't be helped. Ship her out tomorrow as the Duke requires."
"Understood, sir."
"Oh--and go ahead with project Draconus. Use three. One younger, two older."
"Yes, sir."
Footsteps echoed away.
This was bad. I was in the one facility that I didn't need to be in. I assumed this was the place where they stuck the minds of prisoners into recyclers such as myself, but by their conversation, they were likely up to all sorts of weird dystopic shit.
It would explain why the scientists and engineers here were so elated to have seen me without an identifier. I was an unknown variable to them, another mystery that was just waiting to be unraveled.
Regardless, I needed to escape. When I arrived here, they had fed me a stack of papers that detailed their objectives--a mission statement bundled with a recycler instruction manual. There was still so much progression left for me to do, and so much power for me to obtain. I had to go.
Yet something tugged at me. That overbearing sense of curiosity for that young girl. I flicked out my mechanical hand and gripped it into a fist. It yearned for her, to give her headpats and draw her pictures and tell her stories of times and places far from here.
It was ridiculous.
At the very least, she seemed to be getting married off to some noble so her life might be cozy after all, or–
Silence.
It was silent now. No more thumping of footsteps down mysterious sections of the building, no more muffled talking, no more anything. Just pure silence.
Now was my time.
The workday was over, and I was sure that I was alone again. I formed my fist into a knife and cut through the thin plastic panel.
It clapped onto the floor--
And a man with glasses and a lab coat stared back.