Here's how it all went down.

*beep beep, beep beep, beep beep*

"Ugghhh."

You slap your hand out to silence the alarm, then tuck in back under the warm duvet

*badeep, badeep, badeep*

"Fuuuuckkk."

**** to open your eyes, you lean over the side of the bed and half drag your body reluctantly towards the noise that is once again summoning you to the dreary, ceaseless monotony of your waking hours. Swearing as you knock your mobile phone further away in an attempt to silence it, you grunt and slide out of bed. There's a reason you always set 2 alarms and kick the phone away from your bed, you've learned from past experience not to trust yourself to get up unless ****. Not that it ever stops you resenting your past self every morning. Responsible asshole.

Swiping the screen, the browser you were using before sleep last night pops up, along with the porn site you nutted to before passing out. Dragging the phone back into bed, you rewind and hit play, reaching under the boxers you wore to bed to take care of your morning wood.

Different day, same old shit. Wake up, eat, work, jerk off, play some videogames, do housework, sleep. Wake up, work. Sleep. Jerk off, videogames. Sleep. Work. Sleep. Work. It just never fucking ends. And as of last week, even the luxury of watching porn on your PC has been stripped from you. Your door didn't have a lock and wearing headphones was just an embarrassing parental conversation waiting to happen.

Why was losing access to porn so important? Because, hands in the air, you were a pervert. You know how there are dead life alcoholics, and then functional alcoholics who can hold a job with a clean cut appearance? You're a functional pervert. Normal guy, get's on well with everyone, no issues talking to women or holding down a job, but walk around at work most days with a full erection tucked behind the top of your pants. It's just harmless, and it feels good. You lean into it. It feels good to maintain eye contact with your female co-workers and making small talk whilst imagining them wearing heavy makeup, and you smearing your erection all over their face.

It's just harmless daydreaming. Chatting with a client, or that cute rocker girl at the corner shop, all the while imagining sliding your hand up her sweater, ripping off her bra and pushing her down onto your cock. It wasn't like your daydreams hurt anybody, and you weren't some psychopath that couldn't differentiate fantasy from reality. Truthfully, you just enjoyed fantasising about being able to use women's bodies without restraint or consequence. A reprieve from the endless drudgery of being a cog stuck in a late stage capitalistic society.

"Breakfast's going cold! I'm heading off, don't forget your open day," your sister Marie calls up the stairs. The clunk of the front door signals her departure.

So, yeah. You were still living with your parents. It's not like you hadn't tried moving out, but with rent skyrocketing and landlords snatching up every property within your budget, it had become depressingly obvious over the past year that you were never going to be able to get onto the property ladder without a serious life change. Working two jobs at the local garage and supermarket was just barely paying for rent, bills and groceries and so, with miserable realisation and no small amount of shame, you'd had to ask to move back in to your old bedroom. Your dad had been fine with moving the gym equipment back into the garage and letting you bunk for a few months. A boomer to a fault, it took a little convincing that times had changed, but at least he recognised that you were making an attempt. Your step-mother, on the other hand, was not so enthused about having a 'man-child leeching off our charity'. Fucking bitch. The very definition of a trophy wife, your father had hardly married again for her personality. She'd always resented you and Marie as the two of you had come from your father's previous marriage. Her daughter Rosalyn on the other hand, she doted on like a little princess, and she'd grown up a spoiled little brat as a result. You'd be lying if you said that both of them hadn't featured prominently in some of your darker free use fantasies.

At least your sister Marie was chill. The two of you had always been thick as thieves and, with your father usually away on business, and Rosalyn and Claire constantly at your throat, it was good to have somebody on your side.

Finishing up and more than a little frustrated, you toss the balled up tissues on top of the small pile in your bedside bin, splash some water on your face in the bathroom and head downstairs, yawning. Oh, right. The open day. You'd been applying for university courses in an attempt to grab a higher paying job and some semblance of a career path. Mechanical engineering or something to do with physics. Machines and maths had always been your strong points and literally anything would be a welcome change from the soul crushing monotony of stacking shelves and dealing with disgruntled car owners.

Shovelling some lukewarm bacon into your mouth, you grab your phone charger, check your calendar and head out the house.

An hour into a boring tour of a dusty old physics department led by a balding old guy whom you suspect was more mildew than man, you break away from the group to go pay the water bill. Promptly getting lost, you eventually find yourself in what looks to be an old service corridor. Concrete walls and dripping condensation alongside the harsh exposed strip lights suggest this is very much not part of the tour. You try to backtrack but find yourself completely lost.

A few minutes of random wandering later, and starting to entertain the idea of relieving yourself up against the wall, you find yourself standing at the end of a grimy looking, abandoned corridor. Maybe an exit? Fucking finally. Who build this place, M. C. Escher? You wander in and find yourself in a room that okay, you obviously shouldn't be in.

Tape and cloth covers half the equipment. Everything is cordoned off with warning signs of **** voltage and chemical hazards. Shit, you shouldn't be here. You're about to leave before you get into any more trouble before noticing a gents sign in the far corner of the room. Looks like you can cut through. So long as you don't touch anything it'll be fine, right? When nature calls, man must answer!

Less than 30 seconds later...

Looking down at the lever you accidentally snapped off a nearby panel as you stumbled over your own feet, you watch helplessly as the doors slam shut and sirens start sounding. The whirring and beeping of of equipment you should definitely not have touched fills the room. A particularly expensive laser of some kind starts glowing white hot, and you realised you'd just royally fucked up. God, you were going to be in so much trouble.