A Few Years Later, in America

The dorm room was cluttered with gaming gear—controllers, half-empty energy drinks, a neon-lit keyboard pulsing in sync with the bass-heavy soundtrack from Stevie’s headset.

And in the center of it all, two figures moved in place, their bodies shifting and twisting as they reacted to the virtual world only they could see.

Karl Cullinane stood with his legs apart, his stance low and tense, gripping an invisible rifle in his hands. He crouched, pivoted, then snapped upright, his fingers twitching as he fired off a perfect burst shot—or at least, he hoped it was.

Beside him, Stevie Swanson was more animated, her petite frame twisting and jumping in rapid succession, her purple-dyed hair bouncing as she dodged unseen attacks. Despite being thin and small, she moved with a fluid confidence, completely absorbed in the game.

Both of them wore VR headsets, the sleek black visors reflecting the glow of their computer monitors, their bodies occasionally jerking or flinching as if they could actually feel the chaos happening inside the sim.

“Left flank!” Karl shouted.

“Got it!” Stevie’s voice was sharp, focused. She was fast—faster than Karl, sometimes—but reckless as hell.

Karl Cullinane flexed his fingers, adjusting his VR gloves as he and Stevie "sprinted" through the war-torn streets of KillShot Elite. The neon haze of explosions reflected off their armor as they cleared a bunker, their rifles humming with charged plasma rounds.

"Left flank!" Karl barked.

"On it!" Stevie Swanson—his petite, purple-haired, trash-talking girlfriend—darted past him, sliding into cover. Her tiny frame made her fast as hell, and she moved like she was born in VR.

Headshot.

"Boom. Suck my dick," Stevie grinned, her full lips curling into a smirk as she tossed Karl a glance through their shared voice chat.

Karl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Watch the—"

A grenade indicator flashed.

BOOM.

Mission Failed.

He took off his headset and sat down at his computer.

"Fuck." Stevie pulled off her own headset, stretching her arms above her head, her slim waist arching slightly as she groaned in frustration. "That was some bullshit."

Karl smirked. "Or maybe you just suck."

Stevie swung around to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? Big talk from Mr. Negative K/D Ratio."

"I'm a strategist, okay?" Karl smirked.

"Yeah? And how'd that strategy work out when you got us both blown up?"

Before Karl could answer, a notification popped up on his computer.

Slovotsky: yo losers
Slovotsky: wanna see some real shit?

Karl snorted. "Oh god, what now?"

Stevie leaned over his shoulder, her breasts lightly pressing against his arm as she peeked at the chat. "Slovotsky’s always up to some weird-ass shit. What is it this time? Another hot mutant chick thirst trap?"

Karl pulled up the message window.

Karl: Depends. Real shit, or 'download this and get a virus' shit?

Slovotsky: nah man. this is MARKANDAN tech.
Slovotsky: fully immersive. blows KillShot outta the water.
Slovotsky: but u gotta go thru the back door. not on UltraPlay. not in the OS Store.

Karl’s stomach tightened.

Everyone knew about Markanda.

It used to be Wakanda.

For centuries, people thought it was just another third-world African country, no different from a dozen other struggling nations. Then, twenty years ago, the truth broke—the world learned that Wakanda had actually been the most technologically advanced civilization on the planet for centuries, hidden behind layers of deception, ruled by its superhero king, the Black Panther.

And then, just a few years ago, everything changed.

Wakanda fell.

Not to an army. Not to foreign invaders.

To one man.

Mark Williams.

A mutant.

A mutant with a dick the size of a damn forearm and brainwashing powers that scared the shit out of everyone.

He walked into Wakanda, took out its leadership, and by the time the world even realized what was happening, Wakanda was gone.

Now, it was Markanda.

A mutant mecca—a place where the old world order was flipped on its head. The mutant-human dynamic, once defined by fear, resentment, and bigotry, was different in Markanda. Humans there didn't fear mutants.

They worshiped them.

In Markanda, mutants ruled.

And humans? Humans were more than happy to serve.

It was controversial as hell.

Governments tried to block Markandan content, labeling it propaganda. But their tech was too advanced, their servers impossible to shut down. And, of course, their culture was… intense.

Markandan porn had flooded the net in the past few years. Sex wasn’t just common there—it was entertainment. Mutant males treated human women like breeding stock, and the King himself, Mark Williams, had entire harems dedicated to his pleasure.

And now Slovotsky wanted them to jump into some Markandan tech bullshit?

"Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and say hard pass on that one," Karl muttered.

Stevie, however, looked intrigued. "Hold up. You’re saying it makes the game more real? How?"

Slovotsky's reply came instantly.

Slovotsky: only one way to find out
Slovotsky: click the link

A URL flashed in his HUD.

Karl froze.

Stevie, on the other hand, clicked instantly.

“Babe, what the fuck?!” Karl stared at her.

Stevie just grinned, her full lips teasing at the corners. "What’s the worst that happens? My credit card gets stolen?"

Karl exhaled sharply. “It’s Markandan, Stevie. This isn't some underground mod—it's probably illegal as hell.”

Stevie tilted her head, her sharp blue eyes locked on his. "God, you sound like one of those ‘Markanda is corrupting our youth’ freaks on the news."

Karl gave her a look.

She smirked. "It's just a game, dude. Relax."

Slovotsky, still in chat, dropped one last comment.

Slovotsky: c’mon man. don’t tell me ur scared.
Slovotsky: or maybe ur too busy getting ur dick sucked by ur girl’s pornstar lips lmao.

Karl gritted his teeth.

Stevie? She just smirked, licking her lips slowly before shooting Karl a sideways glance.

Slovotsky wasn’t wrong.

Karl stared at the blinking cursor next to Slovotsky’s invite.

He knew better.

And yet…

He clicked.