January 1, 2026 — 07:15 PM | Wave 1 — Time Remaining: 10 Hr 45 Min
The windowless interior of the adult store didn't just feel stagnant; it felt heavy, a pressurized soup of humidity, chemical runoff, and human failure. January 1, 2026, was supposed to be the dawn of a new era for humanity, but for Gilbert Wilton, it was merely the seventy-fifth minute of a post-coital collapse that felt like a death sentence. The clinical hum of overhead fluorescents cast a sickly, jaundiced pallor over the wreckage of his sanctuary, turning his pale, sweat-slicked skin into something resembling aged parchment left to rot in a damp basement.
He was slumped back into his "nest"—a chaotic, fetid heap of crinkled, high-gloss magazines and toppled anime figurines. His breathing was a wet, rhythmic whistle, the sound of a man whose lungs were struggling against the unmitigated weight of his own frame. His right hand, slick with a cocktail of sweat and a cheap, viscous lubricant that smelled faintly of artificial strawberry, twitched rhythmically on his thigh. His left arm remained a purple, throbbing anchor, the puncture wound from Malenia's "mercy" arrow weeping a thin, persistent trail of copper-smelling ichor. He hadn't bothered to bandage it; instead, he had let the blood soak into the hem of his already-ruined 3XL "Neko-Maid Adventure" shirt, using the sharp, stinging pain as a dark catalyst for his endurance. The polyester seams groaned against the pale, jiggling expanse of his stretch-marked abdomen, exposing a midriff that shuddered with every shallow intake of breath.
On his phone, propped against a stack of "Milf-O-Rama" DVDs, a looped scene from "Tentacle Empress: Flora's Revenge" played on. The screen was a chaotic mess of bioluminescent vines and wide-eyed anime heroines being systematically "pollinated" in ways that defied anatomical logic. Gilbert had spent the last several hours projecting the faces of the plant-archers who had nearly killed him onto the victims in the video. It was an abhorrent, small-minded revenge: while Malenia was outside, presumably bleeding out to hold a perimeter for a nation that didn't want him, Gilbert was "conquering" the forest in a digital void, his hand moving in a frantic, desperate blur of strawberry-scented shame. He felt a twisted sense of "Alpha" dominance as he watched the digital flora submit, a pathetic shadow of the power he lacked in reality.
[LIVE FEED: UTAH SECTOR CHAT]
Vile_Virtue: "Look at the screen of that phone. You can see the reflection of his double chin wobbling while those vines do their work. I want to see a close-up when a real plant rips that phone out of his greasy grip and jams it down his throat. Let's see if his internal organs are as soft as his ego."
House_Always_Wins: "I just watched the betting line for the Utah Sector drop into the negatives. If he dies in the next ten minutes, the 'Fail-State Clause' kicks in and the System seizes all state assets. We aren't just losing a rep; we're losing our bank accounts because of a coomer in a cat-girl shirt."
Bitter_End: "Five hours. He used the blood from his own wound as a 'thematic element' for his session. He's not a man; he's a biological glitch. If Malenia had any dignity, she'd turn her bow on him and end the national embarrassment right now."
Velvet_Stare: "The way the strawberry lube is mixing with the copper of his blood... it's a revolting palette of pink and deep red. I'd pay a premium to see him try to explain this 'marathon' to a warrior-goddess while he's still wearing that polyester rag. The humiliation is the only thing keeping the viewers from jumping ship."
Deep_File_88: "He's watching Flora's Revenge. The irony is staggering. Those plant-humanoids outside share 80% of the DNA markers with the 'monsters' in that video. He's literally fetishizing the Wave 1 predators. The bio-sensors in the shop are probably picking up his increased heart rate as a 'mating' or 'submission' signal."
Void_Walker: "Why are you all so loud? He's the perfect representative for a dying world. We're all just watching a man drown in his own filth because reality is too hard to look at. Let the plants finish the job; the universe is just recycling garbage."
"I... I completely forgot I'm live," Gilbert croaked, his voice a dry, papery rasp. A cold, visceral shame washed over him, a sensation more paralyzing than the arrow. The realization that every citizen from Logan to St. George had just watched him indulge in his most depraved, tentacle-laden impulses in 120fps was a weight he couldn't lift. He stared at the screen, his mind flickering with the image of his own mother watching this from her home.
Then, one message cut through the static of his shame like a lightning strike: "TURN AROUND."
Gilbert froze. A cold prickle of sweat, unrelated to his previous exertion, ran down his spine. He slowly rotated his torso, his neck cracking with audible tension. Standing in the narrow, light-drenched gap of his makeshift shelf-fortress was a collection of nightmares. Five plant-humanoids stood there, their mossy, vine-choked bodies twitching with a rhythmic, predatory grace. Their amber eyes weren't filled with rage; they were filled with an alien, unblinking curiosity. They had followed the scent—the pheromones, the strawberry lube, and the copper of his blood had acted as a biological dinner bell.
Panic, sharp and primal, overrode his exhaustion. Gilbert scrambled to his feet, but his body screamed in protest. His muscles, drained of glucose and stiff from his "marathon," felt like lead. He fumbled with the hem of his shirt, trying to cover his pale, sweat-slicked midriff, but he had boxed himself in against a wall of "Extra Girth" toys.
In this moment of absolute terror, Gilbert's mind—warped by decades of over-consuming media—began to filter reality through a lens of high-fantasy delusion. He didn't see five monsters in a porn shop. He visualized the scene in 4K resolution, his 3XL cat-girl shirt transforming into the flowing, battle-worn silken robes of a Ronin of the Digital Waste. He imagined a "System" prompt appearing in the air, a neon-blue interface flickering before his eyes, granting him a "Legendary Weapon" from a hidden inventory.
"Alright... uh, um... I'm a protagonist! I'm strong! I... I have the power!" Gilbert shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, hysterical wail that sounded like a seagull being strangled.
In reality, there was no system. There was no mana. There was only his grease-stained smartphone and a shelf of adult novelties. His right hand closed around a ten-inch-long, reinforced pink silicone dildo with a weighted base. He gripped it with a shaky, white-knuckled intensity. He held it aloft like a holy relic, his chest heaving, his pale rolls of fat shivering under the fluorescent glare.
"Back off! I've watched every episode of Steel-Heart Vanguard! I know your patterns!"
The lead plant-humanoid didn't move. It simply tilted its mossy head, its unblinking amber eyes focusing on the vibrating pink object in Gilbert's hand.
Gilbert lunged forward, his heart hammering against his ribs with a violent, erratic thud. He wasn't strong, but a sudden, hysterical surge of adrenaline—the kind that allows a mother to lift a car—shot through his nervous system. His muscles tore under the strain as he ignored the hemorrhaging in his arm. He tripped over a pile of Waifu Weekly magazines, his foot slipping on a glossy cover. He went down hard on one knee, his pale midriff flopping over his waistband with a wet, heavy slap as he delivered a clumsy, floppy "bonk" to the lead creature's mossy forehead.
The pink silicone bounced off the bark-like skin with a dull, hollow thud.
[LIVE FEED: UTAH SECTOR CHAT]
Vile_Virtue: "Look at the jiggle! Every time he swings that thing, his entire body ripples like a bag of warm custard. I hope the plant bites his hand off mid-swing so we can see if the lubricant acts as a coagulant! This is pure comedy."
House_Always_Wins: "The 'Hysterical Strength' buff is the only thing keeping him vertical. 10,000-to-1 odds on the 'Silicone Samurai.' I'm putting a grand on the plant just to watch Gilbert get dismantled in high-definition. This is the worst hedge I've ever made, but watching him fall is cathartic."
Bitter_End: "He's yelling 'Desu' while holding a humming toy. I have never felt more ashamed to be a Utahn. If he survives this, we'll be the laughingstock of the multiverse for the next thousand years. Someone please, just kill the feed."
Velvet_Stare: "The way the pink silicone vibrates against his sweaty, grease-stained palms... the desperation is just delicious. He looks like he's about to cry and climax at the same time. The humiliation is better than any show."
Deep_File_88: "Note the plant's reaction. It's not attacking because it's confused by the 'weapon.' It's analyzing the vibrations. It's treating the dildo as a biological anomaly, not a threat. Gilbert is literally conducting a field study on himself."
Void_Walker: "Calm down. The plant is just waiting for the 'performance' to end before it turns him into compost. It's the most mercy he'll ever get—becoming something useful like fertilizer. The show is just starting."
The plant-humanoid resumed its slow, jerky approach, its heavy, root-bound foot coming down with a sickening crunch on his limited-edition Tifa waifu figurine, snapping the plastic head clean off and grinding the torso into the grit.
"Noooooo! My Tifa!! You... you botanical bastards!!"
A single, greasy tear rolled down Gilbert's cheek. He entered a state of "Blubber-Rage," a primal, uncoordinated fury fueled by the loss of his most prized possession. Powered by pure, unrefined adrenaline, he began flailing the humming pink club back and forth with every ounce of his 180-pound momentum. His 3XL cat-girl shirt rode up to his armpits, revealing the pale, shuddering rolls of his torso. The silicone "bonked" off the plant's moss with wet, rhythmic sounds—thud, slap, thud.
"TAKE! THIS! YOU! OVERGROWN! WEEDS!"
Gilbert reached for the dial at the base of the toy and twisted it to the absolute maximum. Suddenly, the store was filled with the loud, frantic thrum of a high-powered motor. The vibration was so intense it made Gilbert's own teeth rattle in his skull. With a final, shrill, and completely unhinged warcry—an "Ikuze!" that cracked into a sob—he lunged forward. He drove the high-frequency vibrating pink dildo directly into the plant-humanoid's open, rasping mouth, the silicone gagging the creature as the motor hummed against its internal sap-veins.
After the thrust, the adrenaline vanished as quickly as it had arrived. The "stamina" he had borrowed from his future health evaporated, leaving him a hollowed-out husk. He collapsed onto one knee with a heavy, wet thud. In his mind, the monster was supposed to explode. Instead, the humanoid stood its ground. Its mossy chest heaved. The pink silicone device remained lodged in its maw, buzzing at maximum frequency, making the creature's vine-hair ripple like a disturbed pond. It simply stared at him, a low, guttural hiss vibrating through the dildo's motor.
The humanoid didn't wait. In a blur of mossy movement, a solid, mushy green fist slammed into Gilbert's face. The impact rocked his head back with a sickening crack, sending his glasses flying. Gilbert's vision tunneled into a kaleidoscopic blur of white light and red pain. The humanoid, still "gagged" by the humming pink toy, leaped onto him with animalistic ferocity. It pinned his frame to the concrete floor and began a systematic, rhythmic pummeling.
Gilbert was helpless. Each punch felt like being hit with a wet bag of soil, spraying him with green sap and the stench of the jungle. He felt his nose flatten, the warm, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.
"MALENIA! I need h—"
The plea was silenced by a heavy, thorned kick to his soft abdomen. Gilbert instinctively curled into a tight fetal position on the cold, lube-slicked concrete. He tucked his chin and covered his head with his functional right arm, while his useless left limb flopped and swayed like a deflated tube man in a high wind.
The people of Utah watched in a state of grim, collective fascination. The jiggling of his pale, exposed flesh under the assault was a spectacle of pure, unadulterated cringe.
[LIVE FEED: UTAH SECTOR CHAT]
Vile_Virtue: "WORLDSTAR! Look at the blood splatter on the magazines! The plant is literally pounding the 'Neko' right out of him! I hope it starts using those thorns to peel him like a grape. I want to see the pulp!"
House_Always_Wins: "Total liquidation. Watching that 3XL shirt get ripped to shreds by botanical fists is worth the bankruptcy. I'm witnessing the death of a nation in 120fps. No one is betting on a ball of fat."
Bitter_End: "He's curled in a ball crying while a plant with a dildo in its mouth beats him like a drum. This is the official end of the human race. If this is our champion, we deserve to be fertilizer. End the stream already."
Velvet_Stare: "The way he's shivering... the raw, unadulterated fear in those muffled sobs. It's better than any professional production. I'm archiving this for the 'Ultimate Humiliation' tag. It's truly poetic."
Deep_File_88: "The plant has stopped punching. Look at the way it's hovering over him. It's not looking for a kill stroke anymore. It's sensing the chemical pheromones he released during his 'marathon.' It's shifting from 'predator' to 'collector.'"
Void_Walker: "And there's the silence. No more screaming. Just the sound of wet mulch hitting fat. Peace at last. Let the jungle reclaim what's left of him. ACTION IS COMING!"
Gilbert's consciousness flickered like the dying fluorescent bulb above him, a shuttering strobe light of agony and strawberry-scented lubricant. He lay in a shivering heap on the cold concrete, his 3XL "Neko-Maid Adventure" shirt now little more than a collection of polyester ribbons that failed to contain the pale, bruised expanse of his torso. The ground-and-pound had been systematic, a wet, thudding percussion that had turned his face into a map of burst capillaries and nacho-dust-stained hematomas.
Through the hazy, salt-crusted film of his remaining eye, Gilbert watched the world swim. The plant-humanoid stood over him, the pink silicone toy still lodged in its mossy maw, buzzing at a frequency that seemed to hum in Gilbert's very marrow. It was an image of pure, unadulterated absurdity—a forest god gagged by a novelty vibrator, looming over the representative of a dying nation.
But the rhythmic pummeling stopped. The silence that followed was heavier than the blows. He felt a sudden, sharp pressure—not the blunt force of a fist, but a cold, constricting grip. One of the creature's vine-choked hands, reeking of stagnant pond water and ancient soil, had reached down. It didn't grab his throat.
The humanoid's hand closed around his "junk" with a firm, predatory grip that sent a jolt of visceral terror through Gilbert's spine.
It wasn't a sexual act. It was clinical, a cold and analytical constriction. The plant wasn't a lover; it was a gardener weighing a strange, overripe fruit. It pulsed with a dull light, the vines on its fingers tightening as it analyzed the strange chemical residue and pheromones Gilbert had spent five hours producing. It was a biological analysis, the hive mind trying to understand why this specific piece of meat reeked of both fear and artificial strawberry.
"Wait a fucking minute," Gilbert croaked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, desperate whine. The irony was a physical weight; he had spent five hours watching digital plant-monsters do exactly this to pixelated girls in Tentacle Empress, and now, the universe was forcing him to play the lead role in a scene he couldn't skip.
[LIVE FEED: UTAH SECTOR CHAT]
Vile_Virtue: "Finally! I was wondering when they'd stop the punching and start the real harvesting. Look at the way those vines are constricting—if that thing squeezes any harder, we're going to see some internal ruptures. This is the content I subscribed for!"
House_Always_Wins: "Oh, for the love of... the betting line just went flat. It's not even a fight anymore; it's a biological violation. Utah's credit rating is currently worth less than a used tissue. I'm liquidating everything."
Bitter_End: "I am officially logging off. I've watched this grease-stain 'desu' his way through a porn shop, but I draw the line at a botanical hand-job. This isn't survival; it's a Darwin Award in the making."
Velvet_Stare: "Look at his face. That's not 'Alpha' bravado anymore—that's pure, unadulterated realization. The way his eyes are bulging behind those broken glasses... the humiliation is peaking. It's like a car crash you can't look away from."
Deep_File_88: "The plant's vines are turning a deep purple. It's absorbing the chemicals through its 'skin.' It's not a sex act, folks—it's a literal data transfer. It's harvesting Gilbert's biological information. ACTION IS COMING! This is a hive mind at work."
Void_Walker: "Why is he protesting? He spent five hours asking for this in his own twisted way. The universe is just giving him what he wanted. Close your eyes, Gilbert. The meat-grinder has a sense of humor."