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Episode 118

Author: MICHEAL X
last update Last Updated: 2025-08-31 14:42:46

The Cage’s usual dissonant music is gone. Replaced by a single, pure, horrifying note. The note of a gavel striking. It doesn’t sound in the air. It sounds in the fabric of me. A vibration that says order. Judgment.

I stand in a space that isn’t a space. A construct the Warden has woven from starlight and cold logic. A court. The accused: Lily. The crime: love. The charge: supreme negligence against cosmic stability.

My love for a ghost. My creation of a child from a dream. These are not acts of passion here. They are faulty equations. Glitches in the system. My system.

The prosecutor isn’t the Warden. They are the judge, a silent, starlit monolith at the front of this non-space. The prosecutor is… a ghost of a ghost. A shimmering, prismatic echo of the Consensus, its perfect, ruthless logic given form. It has no face. Just a shifting plane of light that speaks in probabilities and certainties.

The entity known as Lily, its voice is the hum of a supercomputer, cold and absolute, prior
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  • BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA   Episode 136

    It’s just there. One morning. Where a wall of throbbing, veined stone was, now there is a door. Plain. Unvarnished wood. A simple brass knob. It doesn’t belong. It’s an obscenity of normalcy in our living cathedral of flesh and stone.We both feel it at the same time. A jolt through the Graft. Not recognition. The opposite. A void. A blank spot in our shared perception. This thing was not made by us. Not by our love, our pain, our power. It is alien. Not with sound. With promise. The idea slips into the space between our thoughts, cool and smooth as a knife blade.*Your life without the Graft. Your individual selves. Just turn the key.*The key. It’s in the lock. A simple, old-fashioned iron key.The temptation is not a thought. It’s a physical pull. A yawning hunger in the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with Arthur, and everything to do with *me*. Just Lily. Alone in her own skin. The terrifying, glorious silence of her own mind. No shared heartbeat. No borrowed pain. No c

  • BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA   Episode 135

    The thought isn’t ours. It is the universe stating a simple, terrible truth. The energy I poured into Arthur’s resurrection, the power I ripped from my own soul to weave him a new body… it wasn’t a gift. It was a loan. And the creditor has come to collect.It isn’t a person. It’s a presence. The embodiment of a fundamental law: All things must be paid for. It has no form, no voice. It simply is, a pressure in the room, a weight on the soul, a cold equation waiting to be balanced.The cosmic dread is a taste of iron on my tongue. This isn’t a battle. You can’t fight math.Equivalent value, the pressure whispers directly into my consciousness. For a life reforged. A soul called back from the brink. Payment is due.Images, suggestions, flicker in my mind, offered not with malice, but with the cold neutrality of a scale. Our memories of our first meeting—the dizzying cocktail of attraction and fear, the scent of rain on his ship’s deck. Our capacity to feel joy—the simple, uncomplicated w

  • BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA   Episode 134

    It’s not a gentle sharing. It’s a violent usurpation. One moment, Arthur is standing by the bed, his face a mask of concern. The next, his eyes widen. A violent shudder wracks his powerful frame. His skin, usually so warm and alive, pales to a sickly gray.“Lily?” he slurs, his voice thick, unfamiliar. He stumbles, catching himself on the bedpost. “I feel… strange.”The role-reversal is instantaneous and bizarre. I am the veteran of fragility. This is my native land. But him? His reborn body, forged in cosmic energy and starlight, has never known something so… banal. So physical. It reacts not with grace, but with a violent, panicked rejection.His fever spikes higher than mine. His chills are seismic, shaking the bed. Through the Graft, I feel it all. The ache in his muscles is a dull, throbbing echo of my own. The pounding in his head is a second, more brutal drum alongside mine. But laced with his experience is a layer of pure, unadulterated panic. His body doesn’t understand this

  • BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA   Episode 133

    The air in our strange, living home doesn’t just change. It stills. Not like before. This is a different quiet. A held breath on a cosmic scale. He is here. Our son. Not the starlit child, not the furious judge. A guardian. His form is less defined, woven from the shimmering threads of possibility itself. He carries the weight of timelines like a cloak.He doesn’t greet us. He offers. The words are not sounds, but concepts laid gently in the space between our minds.I can give you a gift. A single edit. A subtraction.My breath catches. Arthur goes very still beside me. I feel the sudden, frantic leap of his hope through the Graft. A chance to undo the one thing we never could.The moment of my transition, he thinks, and the words are careful, precise. The event of my death. I can isolate it. Remove it from the historical stream. It would be as if it never occurred.The temptation is not a whisper. It is a physical blow. To not have the cold weight of him dying in my arms as a constan

  • BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA   Episode 132

    The silence is not an absence. It is a presence. A third entity in the room with us, thick and heavy as wet wool. It has a taste. Metallic. Like sucking on a battery. Like blood on the tongue.The Warden’s warning is a ghost in my mind, already fading under the oppressive weight of the quiet. Twelve hours. Absolute silence. Not a word. Not a projected thought. Not even a strong emotion. The anomaly is a psychic predator. It feeds on resonance. On connection. Your bond is a beacon. Mute it, or it will find you.So we sit. Back to back on the cold deck, as instructed. A position of trust. A position of defense. I can feel the solid weight of him, the rise and fall of his breath. Our shared heart—thump-thump, thump-thump—is the only sound in the entire universe. It’s too loud. Each beat is a drum, a gong, a screaming announcement of our presence. I try to slow it, to calm it, but the effort itself is a spike of anxiety that vibrates through the Graft. I feel Arthur flinch.Stop. Feel not

  • BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA   Episode 131

    It starts as a whisper. A ghost of a thought that isn’t mine. A fragment of a sentence, looping just on the edge of hearing.…never listen…I shake my head, try to focus on the seedling I’m tending. Our little garden, the one piece of this place that feels real. But the whisper comes again, a little louder. A needle of sound in the quiet.…you never listen…It’s my voice. But twisted. Thin and reedy, stripped of context, all the emotion boiled away into a pure, sharp complaint.Arthur, across the room, winces. He presses the heels of his hands against his temples. “Do you hear that?” he mutters.Then his own voice joins the chorus. Not his now-voice. A recorded snippet, flat and exhausted. …just need some space, Lily…The Graft. The damn Graft. It’s stabilized, the Warden said. No more sepsis, no more wild power surges. But it didn’t turn off. It’s been… recording. A constant, silent witness to every moment, every word. And now it’s playing something back.A minor argument. Weeks ago.

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