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254 lines
16 KiB
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... The Happy Machine
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by Obscure Images
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>>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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______________________________________________________________________________
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The icicles danced on the frame of the door as I walked out. Naturally I
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ripped them from their place of security and threw them on the ground beneath
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my feet. My name is Karl, I hate. The brittle morning air ripped at my
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enveloped body like the claws of a polar bear. This could only serve to get me
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even more pissed off than I already was. The world is a box of shit and I've
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been buried in the middle of it with no arms or legs. I want to destroy but
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all I can do is pretend.
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My looks are hardly imposing, as I look like I'm in my early teens, you
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know, the lanky dork look. Yeah, God is a fucker and I'll kill him if I ever
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find out a way to do it. People around me think I'm funny looking, or to the
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women, "cute," but that is not what I fucking want. My girlfriend tossed me
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out on my ass because she couldn't deal with the "guilt" she felt for fucking
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someone that looked like her kid brother. Fuck man, I wanted to kill that
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bitch really bad, but the best I could muster was a repressed sob and a
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clenched fist.
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When I received that bit of information from my girlfriend, I couldn't
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leave my apartment for several days. I wanted to kill myself, but I wanted to
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kill her even more. I was getting myself psyched for the act when I was
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interrupted by a phone call from a friend of mine that heard the news
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already. He calmed me down to the point where I only dreamed that she'd
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die, and forgot all about killing her. The funny part of the story, as far as
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I'm concerned anyway, is that they found her dead as a doornail naked in an
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alley right outside of her house. She had apparently had a real slow and
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painful death, laying in an alley after being fucked with a baseball bat. I
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had to laugh hard, that bitch had it coming.
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Life continued onward in its tedious and pathetic way. I eventually
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snagged a new girlfriend. She was a strange woman, one of those s&m perverts.
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I was insulted for a while to be considered by her a replacement for her
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younger brother, but it quickly faded... she was very hot and very kinky. I
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like that in a woman... excuse me if I get a bit dreamy during this part of
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the story, those were good days for me, days I wish I could repeat. Of course
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there is never any going back, but a guy can wish, can't he?
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That small period of happiness ended in nothing but sorrow and fear. I
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shit my pants the night that I killed her. I didn't mean to do it, I really
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loved her. You see, she had me tie her to a crucifix that we had built in her
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apartment. The cool part about this was that the bottom half of the cross
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split into two sections, so I could spread her legs apart if I wanted to. The
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cross was the source of many hours of pleasure for the both of us. Tonight she
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wanted to try something different. She was a very smart girl, at least as far
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as the acquisition of pleasure and pain were concerned. She had read about a
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device in some creepy magazine about a little machine that connected to your
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body by electrodes that pulsed very low amperage current through your nervous
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system. What happens next is that the current gets your nervous system,
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including your brain, resonating at the frequency that the machine is putting
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out. This resonance, according to the article in the magazine, causes the
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brain to go into various states of operation; alpha, beta, theta, and delta.
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The states depended on the frequency of the waves. When set at 7.43Hz, the
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brain goes into an alpha state, releasing endorphins into the brain, causing
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intense euphoria.
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The problem with the machine, as far as she was concerned was that it cost
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$500 and would only operate on one frequency. She called up a friend of hers
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and read the article to him over the phone. He said that it was a fairly
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simple device that he could make from parts he had laying around the house in a
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couple of days. She told him to make sure that the machine could be adjusted.
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In the next few days she became more and more excited about the prospects of
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actually trying the machine. As for me, well, I didn't know if I should trust
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something like that to mess with my bioelectric field, but it'd be interesting
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to see if it really worked.
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The day that he finished, she came over to my place and we set up the
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machinery, not that there was much to do, other than placing the electrodes on
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our ankles. We set the dial to 7.43 Hertz, since we knew what to expect from
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that frequency. To be frank, the article was not full of shit. I'm not really
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sure about her, but I was so happy that I was bouncing off of the walls. She
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just laid on the couch moaning. After the initial surprise was completed, we
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had sex. It wasn't the usual s&m sort of thing at all. We seemed to be
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sharing, and entwining, our souls merging as one. Later I read that the same
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effect seemed to happen when people took LSD, but at this time I thought I was
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God or something. When we were tired we turned the machine off and relaxed in
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its fading ecstasy for a few minutes before we fell asleep.
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From that time on, we began to experiment with the settings on the dial,
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only one person at a time being plugged in. We kept a notebook with all of our
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results written in it. Our findings were actually quite amazing. It seemed
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that if you used the right frequencies at the right times, you could just about
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control a person just like a puppet. Unfortunately for her, it was her turn to
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wear the 'trodes the night that we discovered the frequency that stopped her
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heart. I tried to revive her, but it was just no good.
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I panicked when I realized that her limp body hanging from the cross was
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never going to breathe again. I remembered the gruesome death of my former
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girlfriend, and realized that the police might want to arrest me for
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killing the both of them. I decided, possibly foolishly, that running was my
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only choice. I took her body down from the cross, and put her in bed under the
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covers. After that I grabbed our equipment, and the notebook and went to my
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place where I packed up the belongings that I might need, packed them into my
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car and left for good, hoping that nobody would notice that I was gone until I
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was safely hidden in some other state.
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*--*
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My name is Karl. I still hate, but not for the reasons that I used
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to. I'm no longer of the lanky dork type, since I started working out and
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changing my image when I moved to California. I still curse God for creating
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me, and everyone else, but now I don't need to let my soul waste away in the
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quixotic quest for vengeance. Other than the sustaining hate that keeps me
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alive, I am relatively happy.
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When I got out to California, I changed my last name and got a small
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apartment in one of the wino sections of L.A. I wasn't there for more than a
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few months, mostly because I got the idea of selling time on the machine to
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junkies who couldn't afford smack. Within a few months of selling time on my
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machine I had accumulated enough money to get the hell out of there into a
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better part of town. Don't think that I sat around and did nothing but help
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junkies get their kicks, because I didn't. While I was there I studied how the
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machine worked, even convincing a few smart kids from the Valley to help me
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redesign it more compactly, with more features. Added to all of this I began
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to exercise and take martial arts, at first it was to keep myself protected
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against the fucking junkies, but later I felt good enough from doing it to do
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it to keep fit.
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At the end of the first year in California, I was very streetwise, after
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living through a year in Last Ass, you either get tough, or you get killed. By
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this time the boys from the Valley had come up with some interesting new
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variations on the old basic machine. Most of the new innovations were based
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upon my findings in the notebooks, which I had been keeping even after Kari's
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death. (I just realized that I had only just mentioned her name, I don't like
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to say her name, since it brings back some bad memories.) I had been trying
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out new settings on stupid near-death brain burned junkies who the cops
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wouldn't even bother with an investigation when their bodies showed up. The
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rest of the innovation was done by the clever boys in the Valley, who, in
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partnership with me, started a company called Cerebratron.
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As a side note, I really had no reason to run the way I did. The police
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eventually found her body, and were concerned when I had disappeared, but
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the coroner's report turned up no signs of foul play, so my disappearance
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was noted, but considered unimportant. Either way I was glad that I had run
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away. It turned me from something I despised to the person I always dreamt of
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being. I was rich and powerful, and smart as well. I played my cards right
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when the Japs became interested in my small company and our research. The fact
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is: I'm now a top executive in a large Japanese zaibatsu, and rich beyond even
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my wildest dreams. I'm 120 years old right now, as I tell this story, and I
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still feel as healthy as I did when I started the company. To continue with
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the story, however, is to explain why I can still hate.
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After the acquisition, the boys from the Valley and I were required to
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disclose all of our research, which we did willingly as we were being made
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filthy rich. I was still in control of the Cerebratron division of the
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company, and I still had a hand in the events to follow. Our research branched
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out into other forms of mind control. Remember what I said previously about
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controlling someone like a puppet? That is what we were working on from that
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moment on, at least we did secretly. On the surface we came out with small
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credit card sized devices that we sold for less than 5 dollars in stores, they
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were simple happy machines. The top of the line models for consumer use had
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fine-tuning and tailor made feeling generators. All of these were a smash -
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who wouldn't want a little slice of happiness in their miserable lives? Of
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course they might have been a little distraught if they were to find out what
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was happening in the research labs. We were taking advertising to an all time
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high, we were making people buy things.
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Subliminal messages in movies and commercials date back to the 1950's, but
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the methods were not really very effective. Essentially they only worked on
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very stupid people, and people who were fucked up on something. We were to use
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something quite different, but far more effective. The exact method that was
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used cannot be described here, since a variant is still used, and I would be
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assassinated within an hour if I were to mention it. Needless to say that the
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early commercials that used our U-Buy technology were infinitely successful, we
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could make or break companies using these commercials. The people would do
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what you would tell them to do, at least to a certain extent. They wouldn't do
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anything that would consciously harm themselves, but it was good enough. About
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10 years later, there was a gigantic revolt to the use of mind control over
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unwitting subjects. The use of U-Buy was leaked by a former employee, and the
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shit really hit the fan. Of course the asshole who leaked the information was
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found the next day disemboweled in his living room.
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A joint counsel of the Zaibatsus was held in Tokyo, and it was decided
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that the working classes would be rounded up, in a more sublime way for sure,
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and would have chips implanted in their brains to help them do the right thing.
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Of course this could be done through the corporation, who could force anybody
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to do what they wanted if they wanted to. The chip was complex, I supervised
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its creation. The technical details are far above my understanding, but the
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uses are not. What the chip does is leave most of the person's brain alone,
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except that it causes an intense family-like loyalty to their company, it could
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also be used to take over the person's brain temporarily if they began to get
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out of hand. Repeat offenders of certain laws, corporate laws (governments are
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only for show these days), could be terminated at command. We licensed this
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technology to the rest of the companies for a reasonable price, for the good of
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the structure. Either way the chip made my zaibatsu a gigantic amount of
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money, and I was promoted yet again. From that point on I became an executive
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vice-president of the entire zaibatsu, having about 25 divisions beneath me.
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The system worked great, at least in the sense that there was very little crime
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and real unhappiness anymore. The problems that I have are failings of the
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soul. I've begun recently to feel guilty about taking part in the enslavement
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of most of the world. I know that it isn't technically slavery, but it still
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sure as hell feels like it.
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Before continuing to the end of the story, it is important to describe the
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president of the zaibatsu. The president isn't actually a single person, but
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rather a group mind, of sorts, made up of the electronically encoded "souls" of
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former leaders of the company. The actual location of the mammoth computer
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that houses the souls of the corporate heads is unknown to anyone other than
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the president. The presidents are guaranteed an eternal existence in a land of
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their own devising, left to come and go and make decisions as they please. In
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other words, they've become gods. I was quite shocked the day that I came into
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my office and found that I had been promoted to president. My mind was encoded
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into the presidential computer complex, and that is where I live to this date.
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*--*
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My name is Karl. I hate. I love. I feel everything that I want to feel,
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I do what I want to do. I've been inside the computer for a long time now. By
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my own time I am 120 years old, but it could be a lot longer on the outside.
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There is a structure in here, I've come to learn. Every now and again I am
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needed inside the management-frame with several other of the presidents, to
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spend some time ruling the company. Other than that I spend most of my time
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with a construct I've made up for myself. She has no name, but she is an
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amalgam of the favorite qualities of all the women I had in my life on the
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outside. She'll be my companion on my eternal quest for something to do. I
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can almost picture the day when I've done it all and finally set my program to
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erase, and experience the same unknown that Kari embraced when I was nothing
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more than a little boy.
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_ _ ____________________________________________________________________
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/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Grassroots..............new # soon|
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[ x x ] |NIHILISM.............513/767-7892|Paisley Pasture.......916/673-8412|
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\ / |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Works.............617/861-8976|
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(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|Ripco II..............312/528-5020|
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(U) |====================================================================|
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.ooM |Copr. 1991 cDc communications by Obscure Images. 02/17/91-#156|
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\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away. |
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