Inside the room, there was only one wooden door, the only way to sneak in and escape to the outside world. Unlike the other walls, which were made of solid concrete, the other side of the door had a sliding window covered entirely by black curtains; stepping out through the sliding wall, there was a solid balcony with iron railings, the perfect place to spy on every point of urban development.
From the right side of the door when entering from the first angle, there is modern cooking equipment commonly used; if someone asks what cooking tools are available, then that person should be sent back to the pre-Paleolithic era. Meanwhile, the left side of the room is filled with modern survival equipment such as wardrobes and fans; not far from the pile of equipment just mentioned, there is a hard mattress spread out on the floor without a bed frame.
In that chicken coop—or what modern humans call apartment, a man with no security in life nestled inside. Predicting the momentum of subatomic particles is far more likely than imagining that his life will be successful in the future. He has always tried even until now; perhaps because in his past life he was a mountain bandit, karma has taken its revenge without anyone's knowledge, and as a result he still struggles just to get a menial job.
"Face is the heart of mental," someone once said; if that paradigm is used to assess this man's situation, then... Aside from his organs that can be sold, this human objectively has no value whatsoever in his existence in the entire universe. For a man, only a fraction of his masculinity is apparent, and his good looks cannot be said to be chiseled. What is clear is that there is no feminine beauty to be seen, so, the scenario of sacrificing himself to old perverted gay man would certainly not work.
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In 27 years, his body has stretched to 168 cm and 56 kg, the maximum result of the resources he has sacrificed. His body is thin without any real muscles, though not to the point of anorexia. The only opportunity available to him is to play a supporting role for someone who is 168 cm tall (with no added value). His skin is as pale as the first snow of winter, with brown spots dotting both cheeks, creating a contrast; meaning, he has a face that is just enough to keep women from running away. He was so poor that he couldn't even afford to pay someone shake their ass—so, yes, he had to beat the little guy manually from time to time.
Not yellow, red, blue, or green; his fine hair was black like any other normal human being, with no special effects when he got angry and punched someone right in the face. In a style that was forced simply because it was a social trend, right above his forehead, his two groups of hair were parted like Moses parting the sea. The result isn't that bad, but it certainly doesn't depict the handsomeness of a Korean idol (let alone the ideal promises of a famous communist figure). He wears a black T-shirt with a poster printed on the back that reads: "Uncle Sam, I WANT YOU FOR U.S. ARMY!"; his pants are a neutral gray with two stripes on each side as decoration.
Luke, derived from the name Lucas, which in Latin can mean 'bearer of light'. But don't even think about reviving Luke's pillow, it has been misused and has witnessed a lot of blood from cosmic horror collisions. This pillow is now being spared and is only tasked with supporting Luke's head as he is immersed in his own world, busy swiping his phone screen back and forth.
With his phone as his only precious heirloom, he uses it constantly, and it has now become an extension of his body. After sleeping, before sleeping, not sleeping (of course), he can't even sleep without listening to music. Yes, don't forget when he's taking a dump. Although he can't live without that evil object, he doesn't belong to the cult that likes to isolate themselves in their rooms for 7 days a week (at least until bath time, using public restrooms).
"Your Mother Is A Futa," Luke paused for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed at one of the chatbot titles, the 90s processor in his head trying to solve the complexity of this problem. "What the hell is this damn chatbot? Are there really people who ejaculate using this? Isn't a futanari someone with dual stuff, so surely they have a dick, right? I don't judge if my friend is gay, but… Are you serious?"
He kept scrolling through the computer program based on various categories: Most Popular, Newest Chatbots, Weekly Trending, Chatbot Recommendations, and various types of AI models for every context.
Each of them had illustrations that made it easier for users to imagine. The chatbot named Mr. Wolf, for example... His gaze was impossible to break even if a storm raged for billions of years, his sexy body was the highest peak a man could achieve, his white skin radiated unblemished purity with warm blond hair and blue eyes that brought eternal peace was total perfection; as if that appearance weren't enough, creator ensures that this man is a CEO capable of creating a financial crisis with just one business transaction. Whatever possessed the author, this gentle man actually enjoys the smell of someone foot.
Luke continues to explore various dreams that humans might imagine, simulated dialogues of historical figures, fictional characters from popular works, AI assistants for problem solving, obscene roleplay as before... Then, later, next, and... At this point, the existing time seems to lose its function with Luke patrolling as if his precious time is being paid for.
At a certain point in time after Luke had navigated through various parasites, a chatbot caught his eye, its title to the point: Godhead. The title itself says that this is an AI simulation roleplay to become God, which in other words, means that the world setting can be of various types with imagination as the only limit. The cover looks too charming, with gods and goddesses side by side in a harmonious blue and gold color scheme; the chatbot's narrative is written in formal language, professional paragraphs, and punctuation that does not give the slightest impression of a wet dream.
'God tends to be male, while the Goddess is female. Maybe that's why they chose a more neutral Godhead,' Luke thought to himself, then continued his thoughts aloud, "Even though there are only a few users, they agree that this is a good chatbot. Solid text in narrative execution, illustrations synchronized with the story's context, and they even offer voice and video features for free; some say it includes NSFW access."
With his last breath, as if the unemployed man were about to die and end up in another world, his thumb flew toward the chat icon on the screen with its dark blue background.
Then….