Harem Trash
Page 6
"This one, eh?" A scraggly old man stared down at me with his hands on his hips. He seemed annoyed to even be in my presence.
"Yeah," said his partner. It was an acne-faced younger guy with fucked up teeth, and by fucked up, I mean three. He had three teeth. "Just sorta rolled through and ended up here. Defective me thinks."
"Aye. Defective," nodded the older one.
"Whaddo we do?"
The old man shrugged. "Could take it back to its owner, but it ain’t got no marking."
"That asplains it," said the young toothy one. "Probably gone rogue has it? I hear some do."
"Rogue? Like wit the daggers an all?"
"Nay. Somethin' fucks wit their heads I think. Somethin' 'bout needed goods but not knowin' where to get 'em."
The old one sighed. "Don't belong to the city, not our problem, innit?"
Shithead McThreeTeeth shrugged. "Aye. S'pose yer right. Leave it."
The two disgusting city employees had just started off when they were halted by a commanding voice. "Hey!" It was the young officer. He sported the usual officer's uniform, painted gold and red with dangly medals glistening and rattling in the sun. "What was the deal with the recycler?" Half of his hair was slicked back in true fancy-boy fashion, which he double checked at the end of every other sentence by slicking it back further.
"D-Dunno," said the old one. "Doesn't belong to anybody. Figure we could jest leave it be."
"It doesn't belong to anyone?" asked the officer. He stomped closer, and looked around my edges, studying me. His eyes bore into me, fixating on my red rim. After a moment, he nodded to himself. "It has an owner."
"Oh, my apologies," said the old man with a slight bow. "If ye know, we'll take it presently to its owner, we will. Eh, who exactly?"
"The Queen."
If I had blood, it would've been ice. I was far from ready to face her now. It wasn't part of the plan. I still needed to gain strength, to gain power, to gain a form in which I could best her in combat. If I were taken back to her now, I'd be mocked for eternity.
I refused to be humiliated.
Hmmmm-click.
+1 Hand Grenade.
"All property," the officer explained, "that isn't privately owned belongs to the queen."
"Ah, of course. And, uh, where shall we take it?"
The officer had turned to his little notepad, jotting down something in a rush. "Bring it to Prison 1B. The Technomancers have a department there that will know how to handle this."
"Oh, yeah," said Toothy. "Tha's where they turn the crim'nals into the rubbish bins, innit? Prolly what this lil feller here is, yeah?"
"Yes." The officer stared into me. "Yes, it is."
19: Transit
I was loaded aboard a wagon, the reins snapped, and the horses trotted away. The wagon rattled over the cobblestone roads, and I shook and bumped against a handful of other recyclers who had been taken along.
They stared at me just as I did to them. Voiceless questions asked, silent answers given. None among us knew why we were being taken, but they seemed to know where we were going.
Though I could not see the streets or the sidewalks or the people passing by, the tops of buildings and homes and shops slide across my view. They grew in height as we passed the merchant quarter, then shrunk down to normal size as we entered a nameless suburb. The further we strayed from the city's center, the smaller and dirtier the houses became.
When I could no longer see the roofs pass by, I knew that in their place there were countless tents filled with the homeless and destitute suffering around on sidewalks and benches. I had been here before.
This was the place where drugs were abused, where thieves were born, where the black market reigned. A long time ago my Main Quest had taken me through here to an awful little tavern to speak to some equally awful little man. The memory was so distant that the only thing I could recall was having to fetch some priceless artifact. Turns out it was just a 10 gold book dug out of a trash dump.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, a group of clean, well-groomed faces emerged. They almost seemed like clones of each other. Close cut black hair, thick-rimmed glasses, white lab coats. Their eyes skimmed across us, but they all fell on me, the recycler with the red rim.
Passing whispers, uncertain nods.
They handed us each a large pamphlet which was carefully dropped into our mouths.
+1 Recycler Quick Start Guide
I first thought it was like an end-journey snack, but seeing the title as it was, instead of just "pamphlet," I instantly knew the reason.
Perhaps all us aboard were failed garbage cans that needed re-indoctrination into how things were supposed to be. How we were supposed to behave, what our objectives were, what our purpose was.
In my mind's eye, I cracked open the pages, and my attention fell on the one thing I was dying to see. The expanded skill tree.
20: Recycler Quick Start User Guide
Congratulations! You have been selected to partake in the POWE initiative, and with your new body, you may simultaneously contribute to our society while serving your court-mandated time of imprisonment.
May you prosper and become reborn again into a law-abiding citizen.
-Terry Morkan, Head Technocrat.
Part 1, The Progression System.
The progression system requires the use of experience points, or XP, just as any profession or discipline. This is obtained by recycling the material that is deposited into the receptacle.
Each recycler should expect to receive 5XP for every gram of material recycled, which can be improved upon by investing in the Efficiency skill tree.
The newly acquired raw material will then be stored in the advanced storage container. This container may be increased or decreased as needed. The efficiency of storage may be increased by investing further into the Efficiency tree. Raw materials may then be retrieved by its handler, which will provide another 5XP per gram harvested.
A recycler may also unlock the ability to vend items, depending on the quality and material used. The recycler must use sound judgement to decide which products to offer to maximize its potential throughput.
When a recycler has accumulated enough XP, it will be granted an additional level and skill point. This can be used to unlock upgrades in efficiency, utility, or vending items. Please see table 1-2 for more information.
Those recyclers which have been provided an AI core may use it to aid in its objectives. For more information regarding the activation, usage, and maintenance of the AI core, please see Part 6.
Table 1-2, Skill Tree Summary
Table 1-2
Sensory
Sight
Sight+
Unlocks Farsight and Microsight.
Requires Sensory+
Hearing
Hearing+
Unlocks Full Spectrum and Echolocation.
Requires Sensory+
Smell
Smell+
Enhances olfactory receptors to canine-levels.
Requires Sensory+
Touch
Touch+
Unlocks MicroFeel.
Requires Sensory+
Taste
Taste+
Enables advances flavor discernment.
Requires Sensory+
Manipulation
Enables use of (1) manipulator arm.
Manip 2
Increases total arms to (2).
Manip 3
Increases total arms to (4).
Manip 4
Increases total arms to (5).
Manip 5
Increases total arms to (10).
Manip+
Unlocks Emergency Strength
Requires Mobility+
Movement
Installs gyroscopic-based limited movement.
Move 2
Installs a larger gyroscope, enabling greater control.
Move+
Unlocks Flashstep
Requires Mobilit
y+
Sensory+
Unlocks advanced sensory skills.
Mobility+
Unlocks advanced mobility skills.
Efficiency
Efficiency 1
+50% raw materials when recycling.
Efficiency 2
+60%
Efficiency 3
+70%
Efficiency 4
+80%
Efficiency 5
+90%
Transmutation
May change alchemical elements from one type to another.
Operates at current recycling efficiency – 50%.
Utility
Vend: Paper
Enables the ability to craft and sell paper products
Unlocks beginner recipes.
Vend: Metal
Enables the ability to craft and sell metal-based products.
Unlocks beginner recipes.
Vend: Alchemy
Enables the ability to craft and sell alchemical-based products.
Unlocks beginner recipes.
Vend: Complex
Enables the ability to craft and sell complex items, such as small machines.
Unlocks beginner recipes.
Vend: ALL
Limitations on crafting and vending are lifted.
21: The Facility
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 the 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.
This was likely unlocked when I ate 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 activated the install. “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. “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?”
“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 sexual arousal to coins being dropped into them?”
“They aren’t.”
“What?”
“Recyclers are not installed with that feature.”
I went cold. “Then why do I feel 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 demanded 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-2. 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–"