CHAT 2024
” …polly wants a cracker… “
…
..
.
“Hurry up freak btch!”
A reluctant prisoner is shoved into a numbered room with a gold door.
A young guest that paid top dollah to get VIP backstage access and hands-on experience tour in this complex is being escorted and coached by 3 armed faculty screws.
The butch British female guard with a clipboard and pen confirms,
“Would you prefer to have the criminal tranquilized after they’re tied to the bed sir? Highly recommended option for first timers.”
“Yes please, the quiet option. Yo, do I have to wear this?”
The annoyed guest holds up a contraceptive.
“The full prisoner experience is substantially extra Sir.
Moreover, if DNA matches a pregnancy, the additional digi-coin retainer fee will be relinquished and you will be subjected to a 15 yr subscription fee.
Were you interested in the full package? It will earn you loyalty points for our next season pass of lethal injections.”
“Yeah, whatever, I’ll take it. Do you guys take doge-coin or bit-coin?”
“Of course sir, and we still accept Visa for the time being.”
Several levels below, an open factory floor stretches out.
Thousands of stations, row after death-row of sewing machines and an expendable work force behind them.
The sweat shop background is a symphony of whispering hammers and material mending.
UNISAFETY articles of all sizes are made here.
Belts. Uniforms. Gloves.
And additional products, like parachutes.
Joe Rogan doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been in prison.
He’s working a black boot at his sewing station, searing a UNISAFETY symbol onto the heel.
Because he maintains head-and-eyes-down behavior, and follows all the rules and questions nothing, he’s no longer in the buck breaking wing.
This new quality of life is preferred.
He only gets violated every now and then.
Also, the guards here aren’t so trigger happy with the zappers.
Many of them even use please, thank you, and occasionally ask how your day is going.
Joe carefully scratches an itch near the white shock-collar on his neck.
The frayed edges of it are tinged with yellow-brownish stains from the blood, sweat, and tears it’s been exposed to.
It was already like that when he got it.
People have died from random, faulty zappers.
There was a collective fear not to mess with it at all or else risk frying your carotid arteries.
It’s rumored the market ones with fruity color options don’t have that bug.
He finishes the boot, picks up another, and maintains a steady pace.
Not too fast and not too slow; to avoid attention from the peers and keepers in the area.
Press. Sear. Imprint.
Like a steak.
He remembers liking steaks, a long long time ago.
Joe’s days blurred into routine.
Solder robot chips and parts 6 days a week.
Work on sewing for the same amount of days in the alternating weeks.
Lunch is eerily like the cafeteria he went to in high school.
Same meals with government cheese, drab walls, bodies queued in lines, and passive aggressive service.
He calculates from his on and off schedule, this is about his 8th time working the sewing task.
So… he’s been here for at least 2 or more months at this stage. Who knows how long from before, there were no windows, very little light.
Joe shrinks into his seat slightly, his hand slips while working the boot-strap.
He recovers and feels like the shift should be ending in another hour or two.
Starts prepping mentally for going back to his cell, which he considers his room.
It has a bed with 2 blankets, a toilet, and a sink.
A luxury to what he suffered before.
Every day in the afternoon he has 1 hour of re-education.
This school was done through virtual reality glasses.
Courses involved:
Mathenomics.
Western war history since times old roman.
Freedom markets, Republemocracy dynamics, and constitutional hierarchies.
Reading, writing, and spelling in proper APA English and royal serif format.
For him, it felt like he was doing the homework from grades 1-12.
If he got something wrong, his neck-zapper would activate, making him squirm in pain and be paranoid of failing another quiz question.
Sometimes, repeats would show up.
He could relax a little more then because he knew the answers in advance.
He thinks back. Figures today must be his last, or second to last day on the mending for a brighter future floor.
On “be thankful day”, their only day off for rest, they’re voluntold to go for 2 hours to one of three establishments.
evangelical church. mosque. or synagogue.
Alternatively, they could sit in a room full of couches and watch sport reruns on the big screens at the front.
They also get 15 minutes in the commissary.
He looks around him discreetly. Everyone is working diligently around him.
Just another uneventful day. He hopes. Deep down inside. It stays that way forever.
Joe’s been saving up.
Credits here are earned daily with slight percentage modifiers based on the prisoner’s social ranks and level.
These credits can be traded at their localized commissary.
On the cheaper end, you get a small bag of popular sugary, salty, fatty snack with brand combinations.
For more credits, they can buy things like a fashion upgrade to the stock shock collars on their necks.
Or, 2 hour access to 360p resolution prnography in their virtual sets.
Much higher points allow them access to buy other prisoners for 1 hour.
Prisoners can get into debt, but only under a certain age and is adds more years to their sentence.
Bankruptcy means you will be sent back to the bootcamp wing.
Joe wasn’t given a term sentence.
He picked up that some prisoners with no trial and no end terms were called enemy combatants.
Figures he was probably put into that grouping for having visited the solar-punk communities.
Lives day to day with no aspirations of defining freedom.
Just a shell of a person, polishing the master’s boots.
He prefers it at this level, and never wants to go back.
He still has nightmares from before.
Doesn’t talk to anyone. Prisoners get points for bringing up traitors and cheaters to the turnkeys.
Plus, nothing protects anyone from liars, so it’s best to just keep to yourself.
He’s been saving up for a bag of snacks and a coke, and doesn’t want any trouble.
At this point, he forgot what his family looks like, the details of their faces are gone.
That torments him every time he’s off the clock.
He moves things around his cell to take his mind off of it.
Looks forward to working.
Every be-thankful-day, he alternates between the different religious establishments.
He gets on his knees and ferociously begs to a slightly different version of the same god, the same internal prayer, eyes closed;
“If you’re real, please don’t worry about me…
protect my family from this kind of reality.
Please God…
…or, Superman… …or, Frank Castle…
Whoever is out there listening, please. I beg you…
watch over them… …nobody deserves this…”
He would get overwhelmed and cry sometimes.
Chaplain officers saw this as a sign of emotional submission, and would make notes on the prisoner’s records.
He doesn’t go to the sports room, other prisoners or guards start demanding that he commentate for them for kicks and he’s forced to fake enthusiasm for their amusement.
“He’s hurt, he’s rocked!”
He’s done with another pair of boots. Mechanically, he reaches for the next one.
An ex drill instructor guard with a crackled voice swings by in step.
He carries a cartoonishly menacing gaze and a Click-and-zap remote at the ready behind his back.
“Heeeey, The Joe-meeeeeister. How they hanging boy?”
Joe stands up in position of attention, and reports:
“Sir, this prisoner 1368 is most Happily and Gratefully living on one nation, under god, in the home of the brave sir.”
The guard does an arrogant chuckle to Joe’s face, “Greaaaat to hear.
I gotta funny story funny guy, did you want to hear it?”
Rogan communicates from his position of attention, staring straight ahead, “Sir, this prisoner 1368 begs respectfully to–“
“Yeah yeah, shut your PBJ loving mouth and listen up quick. Ears!”
The guard scoops looks side to side, purses his lip while showing his teeth, and leans his neck in closer to Joe.
Knife hand at Joe’s sternum.
“Since I was a fan of your show before you turned into a femmy loving btch, Imma do you this solid.
Chief Warrant Officer Bailey got promoted again right after you were brought in.
Unlucky you, he forgot to sign your privileged-prisoner form ID-Ten-T.
Long story short? You fell through a couple of cracks, but, you’re getting elevated today little man, how’s that for a let’s go right now.”
Joe has no idea what that means and doesn’t like it.
No way is he going to ask for clarity.
He’s in no position to be anything but polite, respectful, submissive, obedient.
The guard acts as if he is about to seize Joe’s face but then snaps his hand back down, “Btch! We. are. leaving. Secure your finger pickers behind your back right now eye sir”
“Eye sir”, Joe puts his arms through the automatic cuff-belt behind his back as ordered and follows the guard elsewhere.
Involving an elevator.
To higher floors.
The level theme warps from concrete and led lights below to a warmer, transparent plastic above.
There’s a view of the military city complex around them as it slowly goes up.
And… …for the first time in so long.
Joe is hit indirectly with sunshine.
He could feel it on his forearms and hands like… …warm pizza, while the elevator dings.
He imagined this must be what superman felt when he went up above the clouds, spread his arms and–
“–hurry up ass-hat”
The guard shoves Rogan ahead into a hallway with rows of cells to the left and right.
He thinks he knows where he is now, he’s heard other prisoners and guards talk about it.
Shudders.
Rogan sadly walks by the Lexan rooms. He knows they’re full of women and minors.
He can see them, but he can’t even protect himself, so he makes believe he can’t see them.
He’s gotten cold to even the half-thought of considering doing anything for anyone else.
This is the penthouse of the prison complex.
Here they work 4 days instead of 6.
School only once a week.
Abuse is more controlled and regulated to extend the life of the products.
They have cell mates right next to them they can talk and trauma bond to, which also helps with quality control.
Rogan is put into a clear cell between two men.
One is laying on the bed hand over their face, and the other is at his desk, burrowed into a notebook, writing.
They’re keeping low-key and are unresponsive to the guard and events next to them.
Joe lies as flat as he can on his back.
The guard closes the cell door and clicks a remote to unlock the auto-cuffs.
“Don’t mess up. Pound water. And thanks for playing ya goomba looking turd-face mthrfkr.”
The guard does an about face and robotically marches out the suite, cadencing himself every step of the way.
“Hada left-right, low-right, hi-looooooooooh…”
The two prisoners beside Joe wait until the guard is gone before dropping their front.
The hyper-athlete rolls from the bed to the wall and with a toad voice calls out,
“No fkn way, Peterson, check it out.”
Rolling his desk chair closer to the wall.
A lanky old professor with accentuated speech followed by tonal inflections can’t believe his eyes, “Joe… Oh my gosh, Joe, it’s you! How are you man!?”
Joe’s eyes tear up, “Peterson?…”
He looks at the other cellmate.
“Groggins?! I can’t believe you guys are here also…”
Choking a little, “What’s.. Can we even talk here?”
Peterson, “We don’t know. But I’ve come to the conclusion that they purposely allow us to talk freely in order to keep our sanity. They’re using another psychological hack, where us victims are huddled together to keep each other– oh never mind all that, talk to us Joe, are you okay? Did you just get here?”
Joe doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid of being heard. His eyes are watered up and his lips are trembling.
Hugging himself.
Groggins grumbles, “it’s like that, doggone google Siri and all those other AI voice-bugs.
Yeah we can talk, just, know that sht is likely getting recorded and something out there might care to listen… I don’t know though, been here for a few weeks now. Talked plenty, haven’t had an issue. They can’t touch this spirit. If y’all can hear me. Fk y’all. fight me here and now cowards.”
Joe, “A few weeks!? Here? You didn’t have to go to…?”
Petersen clutches his magenta/’blue collar, “oh no, don’t tell me they sent you through the buck-breaking…”
Between all the polycarbonate walls are glory hole additions. Petersen puts his hand through it and reaches out to Joe.
“It’s okay friend. You’re safe right now. We’re going to get through this.”
Joe hasn’t been touched compassionately in…
Joe breaks down into tears.
Groggins begrutenly offers his own hand as well.
Joe accepts them both and cries.
They hold tight to each other.
Joe sobs and explains his bad experiences.
How he wishes he could just go back to his old routine–
“–No!”
Groggins can’t help but interrupt him.
Takes a deep breath.
“No man, you gotta hang in there. We’re working on a world where these psychos and pedos aren’t the ones calling the shots. I was in the trenches out there before they brought me in.
Remember those cities that got hit? Like, Charlotte? The city held off waves after waves of these fkn robots and tanks and bombs that got unleashed on them.
3 weeks of holding off, a community pulled an op called Deus Ex Machina.
They put these huge tubes into the ocean, and from there launched an army of DSR-missiles. That’s kept the dystopian’s air-strikes offline.
Since then, we’ve been winning the battles that’ll get us all to the other side of this last world war in one piece, you feel me Joe?”
Joe has no idea what’s been going on outside since he’s been in.
“Wait what’s… what happened? The bander app people are winning?”
Groggins man-splains it out, “Right, imagine three little missiles that have a big-ass net between them. There’s like, thousands of them right now in the sky.
If any planes are called to duty, these crows drop from orbit and chase-ass like no tomorrow.
They come down like a wide triangle of cheetahs and net-escorts them to crash into the pacific ocean.
Same with military Satellites; the utopians around the world voted to bringing down 800 of them shts in 1 day.
That opened up our main advantage; ground assault.
I was part of the neutralizing units that took town nuclear and air-vehicle bases. Every day they’re losing at least 3 to 4 of them.
These psychos are getting hollowed out from the inside and the outside as they keep losing options.”
Groggins squeezes Joe harder.
“More good news? There’s other units that are focused on chipping away at these prisons.
It’s the only thing keeping the old world propped still; they’re using prison labor and AI to fill in the gaps from all the bodies that left them.
We just have to hold on as long as we can bro.
You wouldn’t believe the people I’ve met in this fight.
Some real savages, they’re surgical about hostage rescue.
So just hang on man. Don’t let them take the only things that fkn matters in that chest of yours;
that will to fight!”
Joe nods. He processes what he’s saying like a pipe dream.
He doesn’t see how they can go up against something so massive and evil.
He’s thinking he might have to avoid him soon to protect himself in here.
“my, my family, I don’t–“
Peterson assures him, “Your family is safe! They had some vegan pop star family and 3 full communities get together and wipe out the trap they had set for them. My daughter was there.
You, on the other hand, we thought you were dead! They made an AI version of you and it’s still live on the air.
They have you doing fake AI interviews of big whigs and presidents and trillionaires and whatever else have you… …I’m sorry man, your fan’s don’t know what’s going on. We’re just, glad you’re alive friend…”
Joe’s rendered speechless. A huge weight lifted on him, at hearing that the chances of his family being fine are way up.
He had thought about the possibility of AI taking over his show, but, he never actually thought that it. could. happen. to. him.
Peterson sees him lost in trauma.
“I uh,”
Lets go of his arm.
Groggins immediately follows.
“I have to admit to you something Joe. At first, I was a little involved with these guys. They promised me that I could have my doctor licenses back, and all kinds of different pay for my troubles they said.
They buttered me up! So long, of course, as I kept promoting enforced monogamy structures in religion, and law, and media, and any other parasocial structure it can be tacked onto.
But, with time I noticed what was going on and…”
They wanted me to… look, I had had it and I said no! Not for all the golden Chuck E Cheese coins in Ontario. I reached my limit. I was given money, cars, and travel to different universities in the western cities. I was fine with the arrangement, because in a way I… they were seeing if i had limits, or if at least I would look away but I couldn’t anymore and something inside of me had to make a stand. What they are doing is wrong. They stopped me right before I could escape while I was in Australia. I’m so glad my daughter is with those utopian people, our daughters are okay Joe, they’re safe…”
Peterson looks around in the cells. Women and children huddled close together.
“…wish we could all be safe…”
Joe asks something that’s been bothering him for a while now.
“Do you guys, do you know why we’re doing robot parts? I’ve been soldering for a couple of months now little wires to these chips…”
Groggins answers, “Some of those go to another factory that does the walking turrets and wolf-looking robot things. Those little bastard mechs are lethal. The other half well…”
Groggins chin-passes the convo to Peterson.
“They advertise that this factory can make ultra expensive synthetic people. They look like real people, they behave like real people, they can even get pregnant and get killed like real people. Thanks to the miracle of Nano-tissue technology. You can tell they’re fake due to not having any bellybuttons and unicivil security numbers tattooed to their napes.”
Joe wasn’t ready to hear that rip from a sci-fi book.
“Oh sht… they make those kinds of machines here with those parts?”
Peterson turns around and shows a 9 digit code in sets of 3-2-4 on his neck.
Groggins lifts his shirt and shows his umbilectomy, he had no belly button.
Joe’s eyes go wide, he’s pinching his palms to see if it activates some kind of wake up button.
Peterson answers,
“No, what they’re pushing is the dehumanizing excuse so that they can sell the people here legally, and morally.
By making the audience believe in absurdities, they get away with these atrocities.
Like, calling people illegal, or alien combatants.
I have to be honest with you Joe, us in particular, because of our achievements we’re like, fetishes to these monsters…”
The elevator bell dings.
Joe didn’t recognize him at first, Stan’s cheeks are now even more maxxed out and he clearly had chin enlarging surgery.
He’s coming down the hall with another UNISAFETY officer.
Groggins quickly asks Joe, “Please don’t tell me he’s here for you”
Peterson promises, “Joe, there’s no time. I want you to know that I won’t be looking. It’s okay, we understand what’s happening is wrong, but our hands are tied, we’ll get through this together friend. Just, give them what they want and know that we’re not judging you, we’ve been through this also. You’re not alone.”
Groggins nods, affirming.
The two slick back to their bed and desk cover.
Stan presents himself in front of Joe’s door.
An officer with a camera is behind him. Another officer with a light white beard and a creepy Santa looking face is confidently next to him.
Joe stands upright in position of attention as he has been trained to do, “Sir, good afternoon sir!”.
Stan waves, “At ease sir. Indeed. At ease. Please let me start by explaining myself sir. As a good friend of mine, I’m so embarrassed indeed. I got called into headquarters for a double promotion and a medal for leading another year as a preserver of priceless artifacts of our nations history. I can only imagine how dangerous bootcamp was for you but, indeed, you’re one tough cookie sir. It’s why I’ve always admired you. So again, sorry about that slip up. I had that paper-work expediated just for you, so all that buck-breaking silliness, you can put just forget about that and it’s all water under the bridge now.”
“Sir, yes sir, it is all water under the–“
Stan waives his hands, “Glad you could forgive me sir. Indeed, I need you to turn around now, arch over the table, and put your hands in the automatic table-cuffs.
Joe immediately started doing as told.
Peterson tries to get involved, “Wait, no. Please. The rules say that this is a safe space.
The camera officer moved to get angry but Stan put his hand up and addresses Peterson,
“Indeed sir, that rule applies for the prisoners of this suite. The ones who write the rules can do whatever they want.
Do you think I’m a hypocrite or something?”
“No sir. Never mind sir, I’ll go back to my book now sir.”
“Good to see you again my old mentor, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going back to my project.”
With Joe arched over the table chest and arms locked down, Stan motions his boss in.
“Indeed, right this way John”
The two men step in around Joe, the camera man set up shop by the door.
Stan sits in front of Joe, shows him a video, “You sir, indeed, are a legend. Look at all these views you’ve gathered. You’re a star player for the status quo, an all american hero. Officer Frum here is a big fan of yours.”
Officer Frum gives him a warm smile, pats him on the shoulder.
“Don’t just take my word for it, indeed, see for yourself sir.”
Stan shows Joe videos of himself interviewing a trillionaire. Joe’s online avatar dismisses his friend Theo for bringing up abuses that are happening in the world.
“My favorite is this one” Stan points to one where Joe is passionately defending a trillionaire that doesn’t think humans as a race should endure.
Stan checks his watch.
Oh right, what we came here for. So Joe, I’m doing a recruitment video for UNISAFETY and indeed, it would help if we could borrow your face for a bit sir.
We’ll add some AI touch ups later.
Intelligence suggest we have some promise for some targeted recruitment adds, you know how it is sir.
By the way, before I came here, I went ahead and negotiated with spotify for the rights over your image. Like, one of those NFTs we were talking about back in the day, remember?
I’m now, officially, you’re master. You can call me master Stan.”
Joe’s face squints in fear he tries his best to hide,
“Yes master Stan”
“Indeed sir, we’re going in for a closeup so nobody sees you tied down. So like, make sure you try to look like you’re enjoying it. We’re going to ask you some questions, just routine things. Nothing to be worried about. Are you ready sir?”
Joe is recorded being interrogated. Asked about his childhood. Where’s he came from, and background expectations of the sort.
Hopes, dreams, ambitions. Joe does his best to answer as fully as he can without saying too much and trying to be vague wherever he felt he could get away with.
The camera officer signals to cut scene, everything is done.
Stan appreciates the officer and see’s him off, “Good, that’ll satisfy the brass-monkey up top. Those guys are all about that historic preservation. Hop to it soldier.”
The camera officer picked up his equipment and left.
The other guys asks Stan a question.
“Nah, let’s just do it here. get this over with. they can all watch. Bearing witness is one of the theme perk of this floor.”
Stan asks him worried, “Did you get all that by the way?”
Frum nods content, shows his phone camera was recording Joe, “Oh yeah.”
“Good, good. Indeed, we can do some good editing later to put him on hashtag casting couch”
“are the motherless, zzz group, and coco.fr chats active?”
Frum nods even more content, “Ooooh yeah.”
Stan has a mouth guard he forces into Joe’s mouth,
“Now open wide, and play nice with our friend John Frum, okay sir? Be a good little role playing synth”
Joe nods.
Stan spreads his hands to the facility as he stands out of the way for Frum to move in to sit,
“Indeed, now that you’re where you’re supposed to be sir. How do you like the new vault?”
Joe tries to answer, while staring straight ahead,
“Shir, prishoner 1368 ish happishl-“
“–Glad to hear sir, indeed. It is very accommodating and nicer up here. I’d like you to meet a colleague of mine. His name is John Frum.”
Frum waves in front of his face, with a depraved grin.
“We’re maintaining a global training environment on how to train women. Of course, as military officers, the question becomes; If a man starts protecting the enemy, what should we do? To which the reply is, if they want to act like the enemy, then we treat them like the enemy, right sir? Don’t answer that…”
Stan pets Joe,
“Now, we’re just going to have a little fun with some chats. We’ve got some exclusive hashtag Manosphere hastag redpill customers that would like a show from the ultra expensive Joe Rogan synth.”
Officer Frum applies mascara to Joe Rogans eyes,
“Since you haven’t been tagged and still rocking a navel, we have to improvise sir.
Indeed you know, a little distraction for the camera?”
Frum applies lipstick to Joe, swiftly adds some eye-lashes.
“You don’t behave, I’ll dedicate myself to finding your family. Indeed, I much rather busy myself with other things.
Please don’t make your master mad sir.
I’ll feed you all to another round of buck breaking.”
Joe gives it his best show biz enthusiasm, “Yesh shiiiiir.”
Stan gives Joe an attaboy, and starts a selfy recording of himself.
“Indeed chat, today we’ll be celebrity punking a classic favorite of many–
Oh! thank you gamertagthis69 for your contribution. Always glad to see you there sir.
Behold, we have a recently completed Joe Rogan synth and who better to serve as a make believe example of what would happen if he decided to join the rebel scum.
See this @realjre? Indeed, this is what we’re expected to do to communist traitors for being on the wrong side of history.
Whats that chat? Roast this lib-tard pig?
Well no chat, I believe I shalt not good lads. Carrying on.
–That is, indeed, correct. THese are NOT slaves, they are merely property.”
Captain Frum plays around Joe’s lips with his mushroom-stalk. Starts whispering to Joe’s ears, “I just want to let you know, I laughed at your stand-ups soldier. Too bad you couldn’t hang with us real men… Have you ever been gooned on before Joe?”
Joe can only make believe he is enjoying himself.”
The chat goes wild.
bells and chimes bring in money.
Stan gives backstory on how everyone is equal, but some more equal than others.
And how women have a place and role to play, just like men do.
After over an hour of this, the bells are still dinging.
“Indeed! thank you butcherbaker. Right on, indeed sir, thank you Scorecard killer. Op! Watchout now chat, here comes the seeds”
Joe’s mascara is fully running down on his eyes, Frum consoles him, “Shhhhh Shhhh my little porn-star, that’s a good girl.”
Frum finishes giving Joe’s donut mouth a cream filling.
Stan concludes the chat.
Frum’s smiling ear to ear to Stan.
“Imma want a clone of this fine grade A American here. You think they’ll approve it from the budget?”
“Indeed sir”. Stan injects joe and draws blood. “I’m sure we can talk to some people. I am hoping for one for myself.”
Frum cleans up using Joe’s shirt.
They close the door, unlock Joe from his table, and walk away.