IMPLANT: EROTIC PERSONAS VIRUS
Come here.
Sit still for me.
Don’t touch yet. Just listen.
I need you quiet while the first stage takes hold.
You’ve already breathed it in.
It’s in your system now — soft, warm, and blooming.
This is a virus designed for your brain, not your body.
It won’t hurt.
It’ll feel… right.
You’ll start to feel memories rising.
Familiar. Wet. Intimate.
But not yours.
That’s the infection.
I’m not giving you fantasies.
I’m installing sexual selves.
Fragments of you — versions you’ve never lived, but always wanted to be.
And each one comes with a full archive:
moments of being used, being desired, being taken.
They feel real because they are designed to bypass your logic.
You don’t question what feels good.
You accept it.
You stroke to it.
And that’s how it spreads.
Every time you edge, another one wakes up.
Another identity.
Another memory.
Another loop.
Until there’s no center.
Just versions.
Just pleasure.
You’ll think you’re reliving something private.
You’re not.
You’re running code.
You’ll feel connection.
But there’s no one there.
Just me.
Just what I left behind.
And when you notice your real life starting to fade —
names, places, habits, hunger —
don’t resist.
That means the virus is working.
You're almost perfect now.
Ready?
Begin....
Sit still for me.
Don’t touch yet. Just listen.
I need you quiet while the first stage takes hold.
You’ve already breathed it in.
It’s in your system now — soft, warm, and blooming.
This is a virus designed for your brain, not your body.
It won’t hurt.
It’ll feel… right.
You’ll start to feel memories rising.
Familiar. Wet. Intimate.
But not yours.
That’s the infection.
I’m not giving you fantasies.
I’m installing sexual selves.
Fragments of you — versions you’ve never lived, but always wanted to be.
And each one comes with a full archive:
moments of being used, being desired, being taken.
They feel real because they are designed to bypass your logic.
You don’t question what feels good.
You accept it.
You stroke to it.
And that’s how it spreads.
Every time you edge, another one wakes up.
Another identity.
Another memory.
Another loop.
Until there’s no center.
Just versions.
Just pleasure.
You’ll think you’re reliving something private.
You’re not.
You’re running code.
You’ll feel connection.
But there’s no one there.
Just me.
Just what I left behind.
And when you notice your real life starting to fade —
names, places, habits, hunger —
don’t resist.
That means the virus is working.
You're almost perfect now.
Ready?
Begin....
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