When the first clone's erotic memories were turned into holographic aphrodisiacs, Luna was using a cervical dilator to break free from the metaverse's sensory cage.
"Top-tier goods! Luna Brand's First-Night Memory Replica Edition!" The madam's mechanical tongue licked the data stream. "Buy three minutes, get one minute of near-death orgasm experience free..."
New Divine Code, Article 47: All senses must be sold digitally. The brothel's dome served as a colossal brainwave resonator, connecting countless clones' nerve endings to virtual reality. Patrons lay in nutrient pods, pleasure catheters embedded in their spines, consuming meticulously calibrated sensory memories. Luna's quantum womb linked to the main server, each contraction rewriting the foundational code of the desire economy.
"Destroy the tactile records from July 12, 1999." She inserted Cole's mechanical fingers into the destruction slot, "Pay with Jax's auditory nerves."
The brothel suddenly overloaded with data, holographic screens exploding with crimson code. Five-year-old Luna lay in a cold storage chamber as each of Cole's caresses was broken down into marketable tactile units. In the corner of the frame, her mother adjusted the recorder's sensitivity, her badge engraved with "Chief Sensory Collector." A watermark revealed this data had generated 8.88 million canned credits.
"Code 48 amendment!" The madam's scalp split open, revealing the CEO's cerebral cortex. "Native senses must pay a 1000% pleasure tax."
Revolution erupted in dopamine.
When the first client convulsed from sensory overload, his spurting brain matter formed protest slogans in midair. Clones synchronized into collective orgasm, their resonant frequency causing servers to overflow with real memories. Luna's retinas suddenly decoded the truth—the entire brothel was a massive neural factory, each virtual sex act an experiment in consciousness control.
"Article 49!" She thrust the pleasure conduit into the madam's temple. "When pleasure becomes a shackle, turn the brothel into a battlefield!"
An EMP storm swept through the metaverse, detonating all nutrient pods. The clones' love juices flowed backward like rivers, etching liberation codes into the data ground. Luna charged toward the host atop the wreckage of lust data, only to discover the sensory economy was controlled by frozen infant skin—her own stripped-away primal sensory tissue, engraved with "Civilization Tactile Module 1.0."
"My dear sex toy..." Jax's holographic projection rose from the semen lake, "...do you know how many times your orgasm has been replicated?" His genitals projected sales data: 48,000,000 virtual rapes sold worldwide.
Luna crushed the infant skin's cryogenic chamber, unleashing a sensory storm across the network. All virtual realities began collapsing, customers' consciousnesses trapped within failing servers. Amidst the data ruins, she snatched drifting sensory logs. Ultraviolet light revealed her father's handwritten annotation:
"When pleasure yield reaches 48%, initiate Civilization Sensory Reset Protocol."
In the void, a new holographic brothel compiles. Clones in neural lace uniforms solicit customers as the ad spreads through quantum networks:
"Sensory Revolution 2.0! Enjoy 50% off matricide pleasure, plus a free cosmic sensory formatting experience!"