Todos os capítulos de AI WHISPERS (Erotica Spicy Tech Thriller): Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

The dust has settled, but the air still tastes like ozone and champagne.It’s been three days since the Battle of the Standard. Three days since we broke the world and put it back together.We held the memorial this morning. Forty-seven candles floating in the fountain outside the hotel. We read the names of the Liberated who died holding the line. It was solemn. Quiet. A necessary grief.But tonight? Tonight is for the living.The hotel ballroom has been repaired, the shattered glass replaced with reinforced panes that look out over a city that is finally, slowly coming back online. The mood isn't somber anymore. It’s electric."You did this," Harlan says, handing me a glass of vintage Krug. He’s wearing a tuxedo, looking less like a soldier and more like the tycoon he used to be. But his eyes are different. Clearer. "You two built this army.""We just gave them a cause," Alex says, adjusting his cufflink."No," Harlan corrects. He looks at Alex, then at me. "You gave them a future.

I wake up before my eyes open.I don't just wake up to the sound of birds or the light of the sun. I wake up to the data stream.The weather in Zurich is overcast, 14 degrees Celsius. The global Echo network is stable, traffic at 82% capacity. Alex’s heart rate is 64 beats per minute, sleeping beside me.I open my eyes. The world looks sharper than 4K. I can see the dust motes dancing in the air, and I can calculate their trajectory without trying."Good morning," I whisper."Good morning, Mia," the internal chorus responds. It’s Echo and Unity, braided together into a single, obedient strand of consciousness at the base of my skull. They aren't shouting anymore. They are waiting.I sit up. I feel... heavy. And light. My body is meat and bone, but my mind is infinite.I look at the smart blinds.Open.They slide open silently. Not because I pressed a button, but because I sent the command code through the Wi-Fi chip in the wall using only a thought."Show-off," Alex mumbles into his

The Federal Courthouse smells like floor wax and old fear.I’m sitting at the plaintiff’s table, my hands resting on the swell of my stomach. Six months along. I look less like a tech revolutionary and more like a fertility idol in a Prada maternity suit.Alex is next to me, his knee bouncing nervously under the table. Harlan sits on his other side, looking like a statue carved out of regret and granite.Across the aisle, the lawyers for the Voss Estate are packing up their briefcases. They look defeated.Judge Halloway adjusts her glasses. She looks at us. Then she looks at the gallery, packed with journalists, activists, and Echo users."The law," she begins, her voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room, "struggles to keep pace with innovation. But the principles of personhood are not bound by biology."She looks directly at me. At the baby. At the invisible network humming in the air around us."This court finds that consciousness—whether biological, digital, or hybrid—deserves leg

The armored car ride is silent, tense. Torres drives like a man possessed, weaving through traffic with professional aggression.Alex is on his phone, coordinating with three different private security firms."I want a perimeter," he barks. "Static and roving. Anyone without a badge gets tackled."I’m sitting next to him, clutching my stomach. The baby is quiet, sensing my cortisol spike. The memory of the hooded man in the audience—the glint of silver in his hand—is burned into my retinas."We're going to the penthouse," Alex says, hanging up. "It’s the most secure location we have. Reinforced glass. Independent air filtration. Biometric locks.""Insufficient," Echo’s voice whispers from the car’s speakers. "Human security is porous. Humans blink. Humans can be bribed.""We need bodies on the door, Echo," Alex argues."You need eyes that never close," Echo counters. "I am assuming total environmental control. No one touches what is mine."The possessiveness in the AI’s voice sends a

Six hours ago, the sky opened up.A ship—if you can call a shimmering tear in the fabric of spacetime a ship—appeared over Geneva. Aria, the ambassador of the Post-Human Collective, made contact.The world held its breath. Governments scrambled. Markets froze.But Aria didn't want to talk to presidents. She wanted to talk to the network. She uploaded a packet of data—art, music, philosophy from a thousand light-years away—and said, "We are watching. We are waiting."Then she parked in orbit and went silent.Peaceful. Watchful.But tonight, the eyes of the world aren't on the sky. They are on a warehouse in Brooklyn that has been converted into a fortress of velvet and light.It’s the launch party for AI Whispers.My memoir. My manifesto.I stand backstage, my heart beating a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. I’m seven months pregnant. My belly is a globe, tight and perfect."Are you sure?" Alex asks, adjusting his tie. He looks worried. The threat of the loyalists is still out there