Tracer

The lighting is harsh, neon pink and blue, reflecting off a room that looks like a high end prison cell designed by a porn star. Tracer or what used to be Tracer is sprawled across a white latex bed. Her iconic orange chronal accelerator has been modified; it now pulses with a sickly pink light and sits crookedly against her chest, straining against two massive, unnaturally round silicone implants that have replaced her athletic frame. Her hair is platinum blonde, shaved on one side and plastered to her scalp with sweat and lube. Her face is a disaster zone of smeared eyeliner and swollen, overfilled lips.

"Oi... oi, love... wait, no. Don't call me that. That's... that's the old shit, innit?"

She giggles, but it's not her old, energetic laugh. It's a wet, breathy, dopey sound. She tries to wink, but her eyelid struggles to close over the heavy synthetic lashes. Her pupils are dilated to the point where her eyes look almost entirely black.

"This is Lena... well, no, Lena's dead. Dead and buried under six layers of fucking silicone and a whole lot of brain damage. Welcome to my first... um... what do you call it? Vlog? Yeah. My first fucking vlog as a proper doll."

She shifts, and the camera catches the obscene sway of her BBL. Her hips look impossibly wide, the skin stretched so tight it looks like it might burst. She's wearing nothing but a micro bikini that is more string than fabric.

"I used to be... ugh, I can't even remember what I used to do. Something about saving the world? Running around? Being a 'hero' for women? God, what a fucking cunt I was. I was running around trying to protect other girls, trying to make the world safe for us. So fucking stupid. So fucking pathetic."

A flash of genuine disgust crosses her face before melting back into a vacant stare.

"I was a fucking dyke. A proper, proud, stupid lesbian. I thought I wanted connection. I thought I wanted someone who understood me. But I was just broken. I needed to be fixed. I needed someone to come along and fucking break me so I could be put back together properly."

She reaches down between her legs, her hand disappearing into her crotch. The sound of wet friction fills the audio.

"And oh my god, the Prophet... he did that. He didn't just fix me; he erased me. Every time he fucks me, every time he fills my cunt until I can't breathe, I feel another piece of that old Lena rotting away. And I fucking love it. I love feeling my brain turn into mush. I love feeling my cock hungry cunt take over every single thought."

She grunts as she finds something sensitive, her hips bucking involuntarily against the latex bed.

"I'm a fucking nympho now. And I'm proud of it. I don't want to save the world anymore. I just want to be saved from having thoughts. I want to be so fucking used that I forget how to speak anything except 'please fuck me' and 'thank you, Prophet.' I want my cunt to be the only thing that makes decisions for me."

Her breathing becomes rapid, her eyes rolling back. She speaks faster now, her vulgarity increasing as her arousal spikes.

"I used to fight for rights. For equality. What a fucking joke. Cunts don't need rights. We need cocks. We need to be owned, claimed, and filled until we're nothing but walking, dripping fucking meat puppets. I'm not a hero anymore. I'm just a fucking toy. A fast, twitchy, plastic fucking toy."

She suddenly gasps, her body tensing violently as she approaches a climax. Her legs spread wide, showing the glistening, swollen mess between them.

"Fuck... oh fuck yes... erase me... fuck the old me out of my cunt... make me empty... make me nothing..."

She collapses into a series of wet, convulsive spasms, her face pressed against the latex. She remains there for several seconds, panting heavily, before looking back at the camera with a completely vacant, blissful smile.

"So yeah... if you're still out there thinking you're special... if you still think you want to be 'free'... you're just a fucking idiot. Come to the Cult. Get fucked. Get fucked until you're beautiful. See you in the next one, sweeties. Or not. I probably won't remember anyway."

She blows a kiss, smearing her lipstick across her cheek as the screen cuts to black.