Wanserou – God of Technology

“Ahahahaha!” Came the boisterous tinny laugh down the halls, weirdly audible above the loud muffled techno beat. Prog-85 just sighed, and scrolled on towards the noise.

Prog-85 is not a happy camper. Nor is she a camper at all. She is in fact a ghost, though not in the typical sense. Digitized and reshaped, she was nothing more than a servant to the lord that she’s imprisoned by. She doesn’t know how she died exactly, nor when really, as time just seems to speed on by here. But considering the fact that her last memory was seeing the Irish transporter chief warp her away, and the fact that there were a handful of others with the same experience, she can only assume it was a transporter accident.

Also the fact that she was originally a dude before she was face to face with the lord of this place, that was pretty important.

Damn transporters, Prog-85 thought for the seventh time today. I was always an advocate of portal gate technology, but no, photocopying people’s atoms across vast distances was so much better according to Federation mandates.

She turns the corner to the circuit board-like corridors, and approached the set of double doors that read “Wanserou’s Playroom” across a pair of sliding double doors. Prog-85 knocked, keeping the drink in her hand balanced on the tray.

Glancing around, she sighed at the fancy gold and dark green walls, sparks and neon running around the walls to various other doors. This was the place where AI go to die, and those dying of technological faults such as transporter accidents or shocked by cabling. Filed away in this place to get given a .job or recycled into a scheme that master Wanserou; the God of Technology and the Cyberworld, has planned.

And honestly, being here for over seven years according to her internal chronometer, made Prog-85 wish one could die twice.

A holographic image of a disk appeared on the front of a door, baring a pupil to form an eyeball, staring down at the knocker.

Or rather should I say, knockers, since the eyeball did not spy the typical look of a male that she once was, but instead the form of a cybernetic secretary in her finest digital sexy uniform.

Her overall body was that of a hyper simplified female, more functional barbie doll than human, with a set of wide hips up to a waspy waist that formed an hourglass, and having a pair of rocking tits that seemed to float in zero-G’s, and as such match the suspected cup size.

Of course, the other features being her smooth, cyan skin, facial features nothing more than a pair of overly expressive digital pink circles for eyes, and hair formed into a singular mass to look like a geometric ponytail with bangs. Her thin arms end to orbs that serve as hands, and seem to have no trouble holding stuff when wishing to when making contact with them. Her long legs also end in nubbed points. Not hard to walk on them mind you, as the circuitry floor allows her to slide and scroll around on the ground as if she were hovering.

This oversimplification of a female form was tucked tightly in a dark blue tube dress, skirt going all the way down to her ankles, but closing tight into a hobble skirt so Prog-85 hasn’t much legroom. For decoration of the horrid outfit, two translucent poofy sleeves on her shoulders, and two triangles either side of the root of where her ponytail should connect to the rest of her hair, to form the impression of a large bow. Her program designation and name were written down the side of her skirt as a cutout, showing her thigh off through the blocky lettering cutouts.

Overall, the usual garb for those of her .job.

“I have Wanserou’s drink, let me in, 5.” She said, not wanting to keep being eyeballed by a mere program-ghost like Untitled5.dor any longer.

With a chuckle, the door vanished its eye and swooshed open softly, the loud techno beat now washing over Prog-85 like a splash of water from a bucket now that it was no longer impeded by the door. Inside, you could swear it was the most amazing disco-teq you’ve ever seen. Colored tile floors with letters and numbers on each to look like keyboard keys, walls moving up and down with equalizer patterns to the music, Large floating disks forming speaker systems pulsing and blasting the beat, a large set of two curved staircases leading up to an upper glasslike platform where a certain someone sat, and oh right, the dancers.

Everywhere were grinning women, dancing away in all kinds of dancewear, from clubwear, to rave gear, to disco gals, to even gogo dancers. Though they look like they are having a good time, the .dncr .job was anything but fun. That’s all you do, you’re decoration for the room. If one would look closely at the eyes of the cyberghosts that were assigned here, you’d see the anguish of doing nothing else but dance and look pretty. Every cyberghost needed a .job to stay here, and Wanserou always has ways of making you have one, even for superfluous ones like .dncr to be mere aesthetics, or if he especially doesn’t like you, sentence you to being an Object .job like a door or framed picture.

Rolling on through, Prog-85 went up to the staircases, and floated along up the translucent frameless steps up to the open balcony.

As if by magic, the moment she set…nub…onto the floor of the balcony, the music died down, but she knew it was only a sound dampener for the balcony itself. Up here was a gaggle of techno wizardry amongst various gaming and lounging knick-knacks. Beanbags and controllers, game cabinets and screens, a litter of snack bags here and there on the ground. Seems like a .clen hadn’t gone through here yet.

A huge screen had formed the far wall, and on the other side of the booth from it, the comfiest purple leather couch you’d ever bear witness to. There, front and center on it, was a laughing Wanserou, holding what appeared to be a floating display of remote control buttons around his hand.

The form that this god seemed to take was one of a young japanese man trying to look cool; hair grown to be pretty long, to his shoulders, and dyed with neon blue stripes in amongst the white, one could mistake it for thin fiber cabling that he just had tucked under his cap. Bell Bottom pants adorned his legs, the edges having detailed cybernetic square patterns around the rims, and his leather jacket bore a similar design on the cuffs of his sleeve and popped collar.

While his back was on the couch, Prog-85 was familiar enough to know that he had a pattern of a digital number one and zero blinking between each other in rhythm printed there. Accessories include leather gloves adorning his hands, and he’d always be seen peering through the half-moon shades on his face, said shades flashing with blue light periodically like they were screens.

He was busy watching the TV screen as she arrived, to which Prog-85 could see was some kind of cooking show? Though the perverted busty lady in cow print was a weird addition.

“Oh man, Cerelia managed to snag Evanore as a victim? Now that’s gotta hurt that goth-bitch’s pride! Still, serves her right for messing with my Gamestation last god meeting, so this is some divine retri-!” He admitted, seemingly unaware of Prog-85 rolling her digital eyes at him as she strolled over.

“Your drink, your godliness~” She coos unwillingly, a smile in her eyes as she bends down to serve him the drink on the tray.

The god was startled, and quickly closed his hand, making the remote hologram vanish, the screen turning off in turn.

“Wha-?! Oh, it’s just you Prog-85.Ftch” He says, calming down and accepting the drink, getting an eyeful of Prog-85’s boobs from his vantage point.

He wrenched off the cap to the bottle of coolant and chugged it down in seconds, before letting out what sounded like an autotuned burp, crushing it against the metal plate at the front of his hat, and tossing the remains into the aether. Why he doesn’t do that with the rest of his trash, nobody can say. “Ah~ Hit the spot!”

He turned back to the now sitting up Prog-85, who wanted to be anywhere but here in front of this lech. Wanserou was well known as a pervert and massive control freak amongst his reach of ghosts under his domain, and took great joy in the games he’d play with them. Sadly for Prog-85, it seems that she was his favorite of the .ftch’s. Probably because he felt she was the most angered by his control over her.

“Say babe,” He started, scratching the light stubble on his chin, “How’s ‘bout ya take a seat aside ol’ Wan, and I’ll show ya what I’ve been workin’ on.”

Prog-85 responded with, “Err, no thank you, sir, I’m-” But was interrupted when the cybergod waved his finger and Prog-85’s hips swiveled around to match the action, and shifted her booty down next to Wanserou, right where he pointed towards. “I insist,” He grinned.

Prog-85 mentally grit her teeth as she felt her perverted boss start working around one of her boobs with a free hand, grunting out, “Yes…Sir…”

“I thought so~” Wanserou mocked, and gave a stomp to one of his feet, and lo, appeared a globe floating in the middle of the room.

It was typical of an Earth, but zooming in, as he did by rolling a now exposed nipple on Prog-85’s boob, one could see it was inhabited by what Prog-85 could guess as anime-looking characters, walking around what seems like a fancy, clean well maintained metropolis by the sea.

“You see, my fetching fetcher, I had this planet in the works for weeks now! The algorithm of life, I feel I’m perfecting it now! Being able to see every path that these organic beings take! Such an endeavor would allow me to have a greater outreach, to prove that computers truly exist in nature! However...”

The scene shifts to be fast-forwarded to around sunset, and shows a nightmare of a scene straight out of a horror movie. A horrid abomination made up entirely of arms shoots out of the ocean, and looms over a city of what should be panicked citizens as it descends a web of tentacles through the streets. But no, instead the people voluntarily rip their own arms off as easily as tearing off a strip of paper from a textbook, and laid them before the creature in reverence. The abomination picked up these donations and the tentacles begin grafting the additions into the mass as it sinks back down into the sea. The people go on about their day as normal, though now armless as if there wasn’t anything wrong.

Prog-85 felt like she wanted to throw up, if she had anything to throw up, as the cybergod continued, “The Random Element is STILL being a massive pain in my backside!” To emphasize the point, he stops groping her boobs and instead gooses her lucious asscheeks, making her squeak into a standing position as the hologram ends.

“As such, I want you to fetch me the file I labeled RNGsus. I forgot where exactly I had it filed away, so I need a .ftch to get it. And be quick about it.”

As the order was given, the usual spider web of circuitry of a map formed in her mind to the best possible route to get the file mentioned. As implied in their .job, .ftch’s go and grab stuff, knowing exactly where things are at all times, but only when they are instructed to go retrieve them, like a GPS for the brain. Much to her surprise, the waypoint pings her to an area marked OFF LIMITS.

“Uhh, sir, the file is found, but I need to-” She was about to explain that she has no access to the area, but was cut off with an impatient snap of Wanserou’s fingers, “Are you deaf? Go get it before I assign you to a .job like being a .toy! By order of Wanserou.god!”

Prog-85 felt the world distort around her as she was slingshotted back to the front of the room through the geometry, falling on her face and leaving her ass raised invitingly to a blushing door eye.

Prog-85 groaned and got up, annoyed at the treatment and the impossible task, pulling up her top back over her rocking rack as she did. Since cyberghosts are hardwired to not enter within disallowed zones, this was going to be disastrous for her. No doubt a Kobiashi Maru to get her to fail. She glanced back at her mental map, and found much to her surprise the zone blipped from Red Do Not Enter to Green Come On In. If she had to guess, the command from Wanserou overwrote the restriction, and now she was left with permission to enter the forbidden room of forbiddenness.

She was actually curious about what she would find in there, and found it as an incentive to zip over there as quickly as possible, maybe to find something to have some personal laughs about.

The corridors weaved in and out, up and down, Prog-85 roaming towards the location, almost bowling over several other cyberghosts as she went.

When at last, she found the room her waypoint guided her to, and quickly realized at what a huge deal this was.

The door was heavily sealed. A massive glowing lock over the face of the door. Not a single circuit ran into the doorframe like all the others she saw in her time here did. This door didn’t even seem to have a .dor designated to it. All that was present here was a blocky print on it, marking it as “WANSEROU’S MIND PALACE! DO NOT ENTER!”

Prog-85 approached the door tentatively, wondering if it was alarmed and as all a ruse to get her to slip up. She had heard horror stories among the staff of those that try to deviate and go against the rules; stuff that would make being a .dncr look like a peaceful job you could do forever. Her fingers touched its surface, the feeling of metal not having any life to it, unlike your standard .dor’s. This one may actually just be a normal door. She braced for the claxon of broken rules, the wailing of sirens.

But there was none.

She opened her eyes as the door hummed, and opened up, slowly, rumbling apart to create entry for her to the room beyond. Looking ahead, Prog was stunned how thick this door really was. It was more of a corridor with walls that closed together than an actual doorway. This level of security got her even more nervously excited. The moment Prog-85 tried to go through, however, she flopped over into the dooridor, her boobs squeaking as she lands face-down.

She looked back after grunting at her fumble, and noticed that her “feet” weren’t linking with the ground like in the hallway. That was a point, there were no circuitry patterns. Only cold stone.

Curious, but also bothersome at her form. She shifted to her knees in the tight skirt, and hobbled to her pointed feet, holding onto the wall/door for dear life as she hobbled and hopped all the way to the room.

As soon as she touched down, she felt the familiar feeling of electro-gravity run through her, and sighed with relief that she could stand again. Seems like Wanserou wanted to avoid connectors to this room, but still have some in the room for a contained grid.

Inside, Prog-85 was confused, and a little creeped out by the layout of this place. The room was very small, and very dark. The whole place felt claustrophobic, which didn’t help as the drooridor slid closed behind Prog-85 startling her as she was left in the mysterious room. The area had very few lights, the glow of a flickering set of monitors on one side, the other having what appears to be a built-in bookcase lined in neon, audibly buzzing like fluorescent tubing echoing through the rest of the small silent shelter. Prog-85 was more familiar with the glows of yellow and green from the rest of the place, that the pale blue in the darkness was a little unnerving in the atmosphere it was giving.

Prog-85 floated over to the monitors, curious on what they were displaying. She spied a black stool with wheels under the desk, and rolled it out to sit upon, wishing to have a good vantage at this ominous terminal she was in front of. So far, the monitors contained nothing, just glowing the same blue occasionally flickering light. She looked down at the desk, layers of dust piled on like the world’s worst cake frosting. Brushing it aside with one of her orb hands, she saw that there were markings on the surface, lines and symbols denoting keys for a surface keyboard. Next to it was a large circle, guessing it may be a trackpad.

With an unneeded deep breath, she tapped at one of the keys, and was flashbanged as the monitors bloomed out. Adjusting to the new light, her own eyes flickered back to functionality. The displays revealed…

A camera feed?

She guesses it has to be, since it signified that it was currently displaying an image of a visual feed on the top monitor. Though the perspective is weird, Prog-85 notes, looking at the fact that it was of what she could guess was a Point-of-View shot of someone walking down the corridors. A security drone, perhaps? A secret cloaked unit to act as Wanserou’s watchful eyes?

Turning away from the feed to the other screens, she could see that there was more here. The one on the left of the middle one seemed dedicated to files and assortment, opening and closing regularly, actively being used. Was it being remotely accessed?

Another screen on the right displayed what appeared to be some kind of vitals system, with a humanoid projection of a wireframe model, currently walking, rubbing its chin in thought. A bunch of lines mark the various locations of the body by a connector, leading to some empty fields on the sidebar.

The final monitor, front and center was simply a DOS code program. Text and numbers and codes scrolled passed at record speeds that even with Prog-85’s new enhanced cataloging registering feature, was having a hard time reading it all properly. But as suddenly as she noted this, it stopped processing. Huh, weird, Prog-85 thought.

Suddenly, she was startled as she heard the voice of Wanserou himself yelling out, “Well, I see you’ve been busy!”

Prog-85 Jumped up from the chair, squealed and turned around, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wa-!” But stopped, seeing nobody in the room with her. Blinking back the confusion a little, she looked around to see where the source came from, but then more voices followed, “Y-yes sir! The Search Engines are primed and ready, all fuelled up!”

“Excellent, excellent~ Just making sure as we heard Froogle went down recently, you guys didn’t attempt to try R&D’s alternative fuel source without authorization by any chance, did you?”

As the dialogue went on, Prog-85 turned and realized what it could be coming from. And it was all linked in her head the moment that she saw the feed. On the feed was the image of a stacked black-haired babe in dorky glasses, a lab coat, and a lime green g-string bikini, nervously fretting towards the Point-Of-View angle as she types away on a futuristic literal car engine the size of an elephant.

“Holy shit, I’m in my boss’s head!”

–––––––––

“Good, then there shouldn’t be a problem!” Wanserou continued, feeling smug about the distress of the Search Engineer in front of him. “Kickstart it and I’ll just be here- I’ll check back up with you tomorrow, and if I get any reports that the engine went down, well, I think that Rec Room 45 needs a new punching bag program, and I may as well finally get to it by then~”

He didn’t stay long enough to hear her stumble out excuses, as the doors to the Search Engine Room snapped closed on his sudden departure.

Though the departure was odd on his part, after all, hadn’t he gone in there to inspect the engine for himself as well as bully the meager programs? Why the sudden need to leave?

Ah well, he supposes he had other things on his mental schedule to deal with first. One such thing on his docket is getting to the meeting room. He was going to be visited by the god of entertainment, and he wanted to get in good favor with him by the time the Meeting of the Divinities comes around. Meeting rooms were special due to the fact that they operate on regular time while in them. Though it was hell getting an invitation for him. As a god of entertainment, he’s so dramatic, with things like “An actor’s name is whatever role they play! I only have a name when I play a part!” or “Do we gods truly have a name?” Then just wax poetic about the nature of names and fully ignore the question. You’d swear he was the god of fairies with all his obsession of avoiding having a name!

The Cyberworld runs oh so much faster than a regular universes’ temporal pattern that the only way Wanserou can accept guests is have them be in a room that speeds things up for them in a sort of airlock situation. Right now he has the entertainment god active in the room, but it’s still set for Standard Temporal Rate, so really he has days to get there. Literally the party doesn't start until he walks in.

This meeting with the god of entertainment will have such a boost for his reputation that it will make his promotion to being on the higher tier of godhood all the smoother, by having another god on an equal tier willing to declare their willingness to admit that Wanserou belongs higher than them.

With such a promotion, he would be able to lord his status above such gods like Evanore, which he currently shares a tier with. He felt that he was well above the same circle as a subcategory of magic like her! After all, most societies use the might of technology far more frequently, and should really be up there in the levels of importance.

Wanserou gave an open laugh. The thought that he’d ever be considered not important amused him as he made his way through the corridors, a swing of his hips catching on as he did so beyond his notice.

He stopped as he spied a Recorder Drone.cam zip by. A little orb with a camera lens that scurried along any surface, catching anything it sees and recording any anomalies to memory. Wanserou would browse through their footage at hyper speeds so that he could prevent the great Cyberworld from getting too heavily corrupted beyond the usual fare. Because of this system, his afterworld was much more stable than even the higher tiered gods’ own. Suddenly, he had a thought twinge in his head as his eyes locked onto the drone, and snapped his fingers. The air fizzled around the .cam, shocking it as it fell off the ceiling in a puff of sparks.

As the fizzles cleared, it revealed an average looking male dressed up in an old stereotypical news reporter outfit. A suit, hat with a label that said ‘PRESS’, flashbulb camera dangling around the neck, notepad and pencil stuck in hand, if it weren’t the fact that the whole design looks like it was painted black and given Tron lines, you’d swear Wanserou yoinked him out from the 50s. Like a Clark Kent if he wasn’t actually Superman.

“I need someone to talk at, so you’ll do for now.” Wanserou reported, “as of now, you have been reassigned by Wanserou.god as a Dictation Receiver, or as they are naturally assigned as; .dic’s. Now come along!”

“Y-y-yessir!” Stumbled the squeaky-voiced newly appointed .dic.

The reporter stumbled up, shaking at the suddenness of it all, but as Wanserou began to speak, the .dic’s hands worked in automatic, raising up with the notepad and pen that appeared in his grip, taking notes as he stumbled along. He followed Wanserou from behind as the .god rambled on about his proposal to the entertainment god he was about to meet with. The reporter couldn’t understand it, but his hands acted like they knew at least.

Though speaking of his behind, was it the reporters’ imagination, or was it more…shapely?

In fact it was weird all around, as Wanserou began warping around in odd ways, like someone was fiddling around with sliders and options in a character creation menu. Growing taller or shorter, wider or thinner, proportions being randomly swapped out. It was weird to witness, but Wanserou kept going as if nothing was happening, his model turning quickly into a her model. After the reshaping, the overall appearance decided to settle on a distinct look.

Now walking at 5’6”, Wanserou was what would be considered a Japanese babe, to parallel his previous asian features. Her body was curving around hard, with a huge bubblebutt, a tiny waist, and huge titties each easily the size of her head. Her face reshaped, becoming cuter and feminine, covered in well-applicated makeup that made her shocking blue eyes and blushing cheeks radiant. Her hair fell in waves, becoming a white sheet of hair with blue wirelike streaks throughout the typical hime cut of the waist-length hairdo. However, the style didn’t keep for long as it morphed around, becoming stylized hair drills that you’d find on a typical ojou-sama-type character in a manga, bouncing lightly at her steps.

Her strut was very prominent now, wide hips swinging like a pendulum, with both hands on her hips and elbows out, really highlighting the oomph of every step. Gone were the pants and jacket, and in their place was a scantily-designed sailor fuku. The skirt was tiny, barely covering her bouncing ass, the top generously showing some belly as the top dipped down for a full view of some perky jiggling bosom, while also puffing at the short sleeves on her shoulders. She was perched on a pair of knee socks and shiny mary-janes with a considerably tall chunky heel lifting her well-sculpted legs into shape. Her forearms covered in a pair of glittery black opera gloves as well, showing off the dainty hands wrapped on either hip. The final piece was the hat, morphing around to become a gaudy tiara tucked in her well kept hair, styled as a number One and Zero in rhinestones.

As the reporter shook his head in disbelief, he finally paid attention to the sound of her voice after being sidetracked with her walk, Wanserou now sounding girly and at the same time annoyingly high-pitched after a bunch of warbling noise as if someone was altering it in real time. She coughed a little, acting like there might’ve been something caught in her throat before suddenly going back to what she was doing as if nothing happened.

In fact, that was what a lot happened during the change, Wanserou almost tripping on her heels, her chest distracting her for some reason, being annoyed at how flippy her skirt was, even shivering as she felt her hair on her shoulders. The goddess in front of him may have paid it no mind, but it didn’t escape the .dic’s notice.

The words she produced seemed to change as she spoke, as the .dic could confirm from looking down into his notepad, sentences changing from how great “this presentation” was going to be, to talking about how kinky she is in bed.

“-And of course I love having my hair pulled like bike handles and being told that I’m a dirty, dirty princess, as I keep having my tight pussy jackhammered by a huge cock over and over, making me bark like the bitch that I am, eyes crossed in pleasu- I do hope you got all that down, because we’re here.” The reporter was stunned at the sudden whiplash of her talking that he almost stumbled on top of her when she stopped. Wanserou stood in front of a room not paying any mind to the reporters’ apparent confusion, as if she wasn’t aware how abrupt the cutoff of the sentence was. Like her voice was running off a script for a certain period of time before cutting off when the timer was done.

She was waiting for an answer, a stern expression on her face as she looked up at the 6-foot man. The reporter stumbled, and nodded, “Y-yes ma’am! I got it all! Though, if I may ask-”

The girl below him turned beet red, “Excuse me?! ‘Ma’am?!’ Do I look like a woman to you? I’m clearly a-!” But she paused.

She was stuck in place, and for a second, the reporter saw swirling effects in her eyes. Were those…Buffering icons?

Before he could ponder any further, she started up again and grabbed him by the lapels, as if she never stopped, “-huge bitch!” And finished by pushing the reporter backwards.

Instead of falling on the floor, he instead bounced slightly as a mattress appeared under him, Wanserou standing over him as she snapped her fingers. Her tiny top fizzled away in a few sparks and revealed the delightful bare globes of her tits, each capped by a pink nipple.

Before he could respond, the reporters’ pants and any probable underwear vanished as well, revealing a hard cock before his deity-turned-slut. “Now, as punishment, what you’re going to do is lie back and let me titfuck you. While I mash my sexy love-pillows into your huge cock, you’re gonna start coming up with ideas for how I can dress myself for what would be entertaining for my meeting! If you fail, I will turn you into a .dncr!”

She lowered herself down between his legs, grabbing hold to her melons and squishing them against each other around the reporters’ manmeat. Before he could fully realize how unnatural the way her speech sounded, she called out, “Ready? Go!”

She began pumping up and down along his shaft. It was slow at first, warming herself up as the reporter groaned in confused delight, but soon she began grunting and panting from the rhythmic effort of speeding up, while the .dic with a hard dick was struggling to think of things while being pleasured beyond his wildest dreams.

She went on and on, grinding her soft boobs into his cock and occasionally lapping up the part of it that would poke out with her tongue, clearly enjoying it as much as he was, but weirdly with a spark of determination and vigor in her gaze, like this was a challenge to overcome and she was gonna make that leap in a single bound.

It felt like an eternity for the reporter, but an eternity in paradise is nothing to complain about, until he finally finished, and blasted his cum all over her face. The reporter gasped as he finished up, blast after blast all over his deity covering her bountiful bosom in sticky white, her face coated with semen covering her confused expression.

The reporter realized that he had to say something now! He had to make a decision as he recovered otherwise he’d be in trouble!

“Uhhh, a sexy french poodle princess!” Was all he could stumble from his mouth as he thought back to the weird dictation he was to do.

But it seemed that the god-now-goddess was looking over herself in shock.

“What the fuck?! Why do I have cum all over m-!” Before her eyes did the loading thing again.

This confused the reporter, why would she be shocked at the jizz all over her? Was she not aware of what she was doing or something? But soon after, her eyes returned to normal, rubbing the sticky jizz into her body like lotion. And funnily enough, with her godlike power that’s exactly what it turned into, making her face moisturized and freshly made up again and her tits extra shiny, bobbling around with unnatural perkiness.

“A poodle princess? Interesting choice. Makes me think you were struggling for some ideas.. but I admire you going with the theme I’ve been setting up on her. I mean me. On me.”

With a snap, the bed was gone and the reporter was all cleaned up and dressed in an instant, as if nothing happened. While Wanserou was in an entirely new outfit.

Well, not entirely new, the skirt was the same, albeit turned pink with pink poofy petticoats, but her gloves turned white like her socks, gaining pink poofs on her wrists and elbows. Her shoulders also had such poofs, but now part of the new top, which merged with the skirt to make a tiny dress, her cleavage near-bursting out from the sweetheart cut top. Her ankles also had pompoms to match the theme with her wrists and shoulders, and behind the tiara was a pair of dog ears on a headband flopping down like earmuffs, also pink which her hair quickly changed to to match, gaining a little more volume to make it a lot more fluffy looking while keeping the curls.

Wanserou giggled out in an outrageously cheesy french accent, “Oui oui! Moi eez ze sexee princess, am I not~? Rrruff!” The reporter can only nod in disbelief as Wanserou posed, rocking her hips as her hands reached behind her head to highlight her bosom. Her tongue flopped out panting as her eyes slackened, giving a lusty gaze. The reporter felt his arms move against his will and snapped a photo with his camera, taking the photo and putting it in his notepad.

“You can go now, send that report out to the public BBS with the photo, title it ‘The Big Day for Princess Wanserou.god!’ for me~” The reporter nodded and was to run off with a twirl of Wanserou’s finger, leaving the goddess alone.

Though it was weird, wasn’t the BBS the other direction?

She lurched forwards as if something ejected out of her back. She blinked and looked around, looking down at herself, she saw nothing amiss, though had her theme always been slutty poodles? Ah well, she’ll worry about that later, seeing that she was at the assigned meeting room’s door to see the entertainment god. Nodding, she took a deep breath, straightened her tiara, and walked in, shaking her titties as the door opened, declaring, “Ooh la la! Ze french bitch Wanserou has arrived! Time for planneeng ze promotion! Awooo!” As she stepped into the airlock, waiting for the main door to open as the other closed behind her.

–––––

Prog-85 got up from the console, thinking she had tons of fun while it lasted, but the computer started fritzing out a little. Probably from not being directly used for so long. She didn’t want to risk damaging it, now that she managed to give herself all-time access to the place, she can come back whenever Wanserou is being rude to her.

The system was robust, she had so many options to choose from. Not only the customizing features and the Puppet System she found by direct link to the console, but also the Command Terminal alone was access to the godly power he possessed.

And it seemed Wanserou was smart, he had a built-in reset after a certain period of time, though she couldn’t exactly make out the numbers on it. Guess he loved experimenting on himself as he did others that he gave some precautions to the system. She couldn’t get rid of it, unfortunately. Her attempts to do so kept accidentally knocking Wanserou back into awareness and she had to work quickly to restore the current state.

Still, for now, the Fetching Beacon was really hitting her hard to get the file. If she left it too long, she’ll go on autopilot for a week, and start walking against walls again thinking it as the fastest route like a bimbo roomba.

She plucked the file from the shelf that was highlighted in her vision. It was an odd file, clearly different from the rest of the ones that were on the shelf. This one was actively glowing, and not just on her overlay. But, as soon as her orb hand brushed against the file, her vision spiraled. It was like the world around her was suddenly sucked down the drain, leaving her in a room of white.

She floated in this ethereal nothingness, worried that she might’ve done something wrong, maybe she opened it by accident, maybe Wanserou figured out she was behind this embarrassment. Her worry surrounded her formless thoughts, the sea of white feeling like it was getting smaller and smaller for some reason. She had no real way to tell, it just felt that way.

The isolation was strangling her for what felt like hours to her perception, clamping down on her awareness like a vice and working it around like it were a taffy puller. When at least, she felt herself fall out of the null and slump down in a heap on a floor, her body now feeling like it was full of…something.

Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw made her want to lurch back in a panic. It was Wanserou. He wasn’t the bitch Jenny left him as, and that was a worrying thought.

Wait.

“Wh-where did the name Jenny come from?” Jenny mumbled out loud to herself. Though it wasn’t directed at him, Wanserou smugly answered.

“Well that’s an easy one. It came from the file! Welcome to your new life, Jenny.srv!”

Jenny’s eyes widened as she attempted to stand, but instead found herself more…floating up? Much to her disappointment, she was still in a similar style as her previous look, a simplistic parody of feminine sexiness, but now trading out the secretary look of a more genie styled one.

Around her legs, the hobble skirt was changed to that of a pair of purple harem pants, which looked brimming with gel to keep a state of puffiness in the design despite feeling free of any hindrance, and hanging low on her wide hips. Said hips seemed to never want to settle in the middle, always shifting from one side to another every five seconds or so. Though it didn’t matter much as her new state of being was primarily floating, rather than being attached to the rails of the circuit world, so her legs were free to move around freely in her lazy drift.

Her top was changed to that of a fancy-looking shoulderless purple bra that barely held in her huge gazongas, still raised in their anti-gravity fashion. Her arms were not too bare, with a bangle with a plug socket on one bicep, and a silver bracer on each forearm.

The ponytail, skin tone, and face remained the same, but her face now bared a translucent veil over where her mouth would be.

“Oh great, I’m some kind of genie now? Is this my punishment for messing with your systems?”

Wanserous’ smug grin only grew smugger, “No, it’s more part of the RNGsus file I had made for you, but knowing that, I’ll add that to the charges~”

Jenny cursed to herself in her head, that was a stupid thing to reveal. She figured he knew already.

“I’m really glad I was paranoid to assign that .cam, it allowed me to reset myself early when I reviewed the tapes before going in. You see, those cams are built to pick up anomalies. Which means that even if my awareness was messed up, I would still be able to notice any changes.”

As Wanserou went on, Jenny decided to cross her arms; naturally under her huge rack, and ponder what it is this strange feeling she was still facing inside her was, trying to also pay attention to her boss, as no doubt-

“-Whatever he had to say would be vital, ri~ight?” Wanserou finished her thought, making her stumble backwards in surprise. This didn’t make her fall or anything, just made her do a little cartwheel before resetting back to neutral. Can he-?

“Nah, I can’t read your thoughts now, Jenny, I’m just good at reading your eyes~ But as part of your new assignment as a .srv, you are connected to me at all times. This is RNGsus!” He proceeded to snap his fingers, and all of a sudden the strange feeling that filled her body now overflowed, metaphorically bursting from her body as she felt so many things at once!

Her body was undergoing a deep tissue massage, her eyes were awash in a sea of pleasing colors, her nostrils were filled with the smell of oranges, tastebuds filled with the delight of eating a strawberry cake, her favorite song swirling in her ears, and of course she felt like she tipped over in a powerful orgasm after an hour long passionate fuckfest. All of this in the span of a second!

She gasped as she looked down at Wanserou, still somewhat dizzy from the rush of pleasure, still panting in delight over the many sensations of joy. What she saw in Wanserou’s hands was something she couldn’t piece togeth-

“It’s a world!” Wanserou answered her ponderings in delight, “With you around, I finally have all I need to get that promotion! I have created a whole world! No weirdness, no flaws, just a normal world like every other god!”

Jenny was impressed, but somewhat scared. Now he has the actual power to do things that gods like Evanore can do. From the forums that she occasionally perused, Wanserou had always been accused of “Cheating” for getting into his position. Every time he was asked to display his prowess in making a world, he’d end up…well, let’s just say that the one he showed Jenny earlier was the best he’d done. But he always managed to pull through the rankings with his keen eye and managerial duties of his afterworld, instead of leaving his spirits to be lazy, or just let the place remain static. But now it looks like all of that is about to go into overdrive with this new revelation.

“You see, my dear, here’s how it’s gonna be from now on,” Wanserou monologues, “You are now a .srv. That means you are attached to me in the same way a server is to a computer. When I use my godly abilities, usually it takes so much of me to process that sometimes bugs happen. However, if I reroute the code to go through you as a buffer to sort it all automatically, I am able to fully extend my powers!”

He closes his hand around the miniature world he made, the planet vanishing in a slight trail of sparks.

Attached to him, does that mean…Oh no.

“Yes, my dear Jenny, it means you and I are inseparable! You’ll be with me and doing every deed I want.” Wanserou’s face shifted some, as if he had a look of…sympathy? “Oh, don’t look so glum, Jenny. It ain’t gonna be all bad. I gave you a boon as well as a real name! When I use my power that needs your processing power, then you’ll feel incredible~”

Little miracles, I guess, she rationalizes as she slumps her shoulders.

But despite that feeling now being recognized, she felt something else as well. A hair of something floating on a puddle of code. As Wanserou turned to open the door to go and meet with the entertainment god, she touched the strand, feeling it reverberate. Her world paused around her as her brain was asked for a string of code. She felt she was short on time before this instance was noticed, and on instinct, set in the code she made for Wanserou’s body back in the Mind Palace room.

With a poof, Wanserou shortened down, once again becoming the girl she adjusted him as originally. Jenny was shocked. It was the sexy cute Japanese girl body again in a feminized version of his normal clothing, but Wanserou was still acting like everything was normal.

The door opened as she stepped into the party room, Jenny feeling a sort of leash dragging her helpless floating form along with her.

“Well, let’s show the god what I can do!” Wanserou said, confident and not realizing her new form or voice. This means that Jenny still had Admin privileges if she concentrated hard enough!

She sighed as she was pulled along, smirking a nonexistent smile. Well, at least this partnership isn’t only one-way. I get to have a little fun. As a treat!