Numbered Experiments

The morning after a hunt is always the most satisfying. Woke up tangled in silk sheets, Eva's synthetic warmth pressed against my back, and the newest addition curled against my front. Her scent—jasmine and ozone—still clings to my skin. Last night wasn't about vengeance or strategy. It was about claiming what's mine, in every primal sense.

I took her from a ReWorld safehouse. A junior researcher, trembling in her lab coat. Now her body is my sanctuary, her memories my tools, her pleasure my reward. I made her scream until her voice broke, fucked her so deep she forgot her own name. Every thrust was a promise: your mind, your past, your free will—mine. Your perfect cunt belongs to me now. You'll come when I tell you to, arch your back when I bite your neck, thank me for ruining you.

But it's the quiet after that truly intoxicates. Feeling her heartbeat sync with mine, the residual tremors in her thighs, the way she nuzzles into my stolen tits in her sleep, already addicted. This is how I build my family. Not just with power, but with possession so complete it becomes devotion. They wake up needing my cock inside them, my commands in their ears, my mark on their skin. It's a deeper kind of rewriting than any lab ever achieved.

ReWorld wanted weapons. I'm creating a dynasty. And every new sister I bring home makes my cock harder, my control absolute, and their pathetic 'sanctums' that much emptier.