For nalak

It was a lazy Saturday morning, the ideal time for Devon Wright’s brain to reboot and recover from a grueling work week. Management had been breathing down his neck all week, demanding results they knew were unattainable. The constant harassment was annoying, but not enough to dampen his spirit. He was stronger than that, and bullies would never win as long as he drew breath.
Devon had turned forty-seven last month, though he looked younger than that. His dark, trimmed hair was speckled with just the right amount of grey to lend him an air of distinction, and he had no plans of ever dying it, despite being told often to consider it. Dressed in a simple red t-shirt and linen pants, he exuded a casual elegance, as though he’d stepped straight out of a lifestyle magazine.
His sharp blue eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the crossword puzzle glowing on his tablet. He tapped the stylus against the screen to input another correct guess and took a sip of his steaming coffee. The aroma of freshly-brewed Ethiopian roast filled the air, but the avocado toast in front of him remained untouched. It was more of a prop than a meal, a nod to the trendy breakfasts he’d grown accustomed to during his frequent travels.
The crosswords were a weekend tradition, a challenge he always greeted with amusement. His brow furrowed as he pondered a tricky clue, but the corners of his mouth hinted at a silent smile. The world outside could wait; for now, the only puzzle that mattered was the one on his screen. He thrived in these moments of solitude, for it was in them that he felt most like himself, a man who was both a thinker and a doer, and a solver of riddles both literal and metaphorical.
And yet, as peaceful as the scene was, there was always a part of him waiting for the shoe to drop. His alone time was often interrupted by unexpected contingencies, minor crises that could snowball into avalanches. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help himself. Something was on its way. Any moment now.
The chime of the doorbell interrupted his contemplative silence. Devon’s hand froze mid-stylus stroke, his intuition immediately on high alert. “There it is,” he thought. He set down the tablet and rose from the kitchen table, heading toward the front door. The hallway runner absorbed his footfalls, muffling any hint of urgency.
At the door, he paused and peered through the peephole. A tall woman stood centered in his field of view, wearing a crisp ensemble of charcoal grey and pristine white. The pencil skirt was especially tight, highlighting a set of curves no one could be indifferent to, and her heels were so steep that it was a miracle she could walk on them without falling every two seconds. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe yet elegant bun, and she clutched a leather portfolio that screamed something like real estate agent. However, there was something in her deep brown eyes that suggested she was anything but a typical property broker.
For a moment, he hesitated whether to open the door or not, but if trouble had indeed come for him, it was best to rip off the band-aid quickly and face the darkness head-on. He unlatched the door, leaving the double security chain engaged, and said, “Good morning. Can I help you?”
The woman smiled at him, though he had no way of knowing if it was genuine or something she had practiced time and time again for the sake of business. “Mr. Wright? I’m Andrea Stokes with Platinum Properties. I have a proposition that might interest you,” she said. Her voice was smooth and controlled, with just a hint of an Eastern accent he couldn’t quite identify.
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested, Miss Stokes,” he replied.
“But you don’t even know what it is I’m proposing,” she insisted,
“I don’t think I want to know. Have a good day.”
As Devon began to swing the door closed, Andrea wedged her leather shoe between the jamb and the door’s edge. The sudden obstruction forced him to halt, lest he crush her foot. Her expression remained impassive, her quiet resolve speaking louder than anything else he could say.
“Five minutes,” she said. “That’s all I ask.”
“Five minutes that will turn into fifteen or more if I let you in, I’m sure,” he grumbled.
“It won’t come to that. If I can’t convince you in five minutes, then I’m not as good at my job as I think I am. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Devon exhaled, irritation flickering across his face. Every instinct told him to refuse, to push her foot away and shut her out, but he knew what would follow if he did so.
“Fine,” Devon muttered, stepping back and allowing her to come inside. “But only because I don’t want to explain a potential lawsuit to my insurance company.”
Andrea glided into his living space with the precision of a dancer. Her posture suggested she was more accustomed to commanding boardrooms than making polite social calls.
“This won’t take long, Mr. Wright,” she began, her tone suggesting the exact opposite of a brief conversation. “What I’m about to discuss requires absolute discretion and complete focus, so if you’ll be so kind to listen…”
“Okay,” he said, standing by the living room window, the sun hitting his back. He crossed his arms, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
“Do you like what you do, Mr. Wright?” Andrea asked, her eyes roaming around the large, inviting space.
“That’s a weird conversation starter,” he frowned. “And how do you know my name? Because I don’t remember telling you, Miss Stokes.”
“I know more than your name, Devon,” she replied. “My company has been keeping an eye on you for quite some time now.”
“Oh? That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” he rolled his eyes. “I can’t say I’m thrilled about your sales pitch so far.”
“You still haven’t answered my question, Mr. Wright? Do you like your job?”
“Sometimes, I do. Sometimes, I don’t. But isn’t that the same for everyone?”
“It’s a common sentiment, yes, but it doesn’t have to be this way. Platinum Properties can give you more than you ever hoped for. We specialize in making fantasies come true.”
“What sort of fantasies?”
“The ones people don’t like to talk about in public, Devon,” she smirked, insisting on a familiarity he hadn’t agreed to.
“What does this have to do with selling and buying houses?”
“Nothing. We’re not in the real estate business.”
“A name like Platinum Properties seems to imply otherwise.”
“True, but that’s part of keeping a low profile. Our clientele requires discretion, and so does our business model. The fewer questions asked, the better because not everyone understands what we do and why we do it.”
“Count me in that lot then because I’ve yet to understand a thing about your sales pitch, and your five minutes are almost up.”
“It’s best if I show you then.”
Her fingers traced the leather binding before she handed him the portfolio. Devon reached for it, pulling the folder closer and opening its contents.
The first images struck him immediately - figures posed in stark, clinical settings, their expressions vacant. Muscular men and lean women were arranged like mannequins, dressed in leather, latex, and other kinky materials. Beneath each photograph was a cryptic label: “Pet Package 7”, “Love Slave Prototype”, “Compliance Unit 3”.
Devon’s fingers danced over one particular image - that of a man whose face had been digitally altered to look like him. He stood at attention in a black rubber bodysuit, looking at the camera as if it owned his mind. It was creepy and yet riveting at the same time.
“I don’t know what I’m looking at,” he mumbled, averting his gaze. “What is this?”
“Potential,” she replied. “Untapped human potential, waiting to be… activated.”
Devon looked at her, one eyebrow raised as if trying to make sense of the emphasis she had placed on that last word. Whatever game she was playing, he was certain he had yet to understand its rules.
“Please explain,” Devon demanded.
Andrea’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a touch too perfect. “Our inventory, Mr. Wright. Living, breathing… products,” she said.
“Products?”
“Yes. People transformed into... shall we say, specialized service providers. We don’t just sell properties. We create them. Compliant. Devoted. Programmed for pleasure and service.”
Devon’s fingers trembled, and a chill ran down his spine, equal parts revulsion and bizarre fascination. “You mean… You brainwash people?”
“Brainwash sounds so clinical… and cynical, too,” she chuckled. “We prefer to say we optimize human potential. The individuals you see there chose to become our Properties. Willing. Eager. Perfectly designed companions.”
Her casual tone made the horrific concept sound almost mundane, like discussing a new smartphone model instead of human beings transformed into sexual instruments. Devon realized he was staring, his mouth agape.
“So this is your proposal?” he gasped. “You want me to become one of these… things?”
“Yes. I have clients looking for someone just like you. With the proper training, you can become a valuable asset to our company. Oh, and let’s not forget the commission, too.”
“Commission?” Devon muttered, his mind drowning in questions. He had never been more confused in his life, and the fact that he was also aroused didn’t help either.
“Yes. We’re paid good money for our services. I get a cut, of course, but so do our Properties. It’s quite easy to get set for life, and all you need to do is…”
“Sell my soul?” he shook his head.
“Agree to the reprogramming of your mind. It’s a job like any other. It just requires a little more finesse.”
“How is becoming a mindless zombie a job like any other? For fuck’s sake, this is absurd!”
“Why? You’re getting paid. You’re already a slave to your job sometimes. Now, you can be one for real,” Andrea concluded.
Devon walked over to the sofa and crashed down, head buried between his hands. His brain was in shambles as he struggled to process the contradictory sensations running through his mind. Why would anyone agree to that treatment? And why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? The five minutes had already passed, but the turmoil was far from over.
“Would you like to see how we do it?” Andrea asked, producing a pink smartphone.
“Huh?” he almost didn’t register her question.
“I have a couple of videos here. Some are promotional materials, but there’s also a conversion record. You should watch it. It will make you more at ease, I promise.”
The phone slid from her manicured fingers, landing in Devon’s trembling palm. Before he could question her further, the screen flickered to life, revealing a stark white room with minimal lighting. A figure strapped into a reclining chair dominated the frame, and Devon bit his lips.
The man looked like him, too. Same build. Same facial structure. Sleek metallic nodes connected to a gleaming helmet pulsed with electric tendrils, wrapping around his skull like vines. The helmet seemed alive, penetrating his innermost thoughts with surprising ease. Each pulse synchronized with the man’s increasingly slack facial expression, his eyes losing focus, pupils dilating and then contracting in a precise, mechanical rhythm.
Devon watched, transfixed, as his doppelgänger’s eyes went blank. His muscles relaxed, becoming loose and malleable.
The video continued, merciless in its clinical demonstration. His twin’s consciousness was being dismantled, rebuilt, recalibrated. And the most surprising part? His lips betrayed the pleasure he was experiencing as if the mental transformation was a never-ending fountain of ecstasy.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Andrea purred. “It’s been proven ad nauseam that becoming a Property is related to an increase in dopamine levels. It makes you feel good, but it’s not a temporary thing. It’s a long-running process that makes the pleasure more intense the deeper you go. It’s no wonder anyone who tries it can’t get enough of it. Brainwashing is pleasure, Devon. Giving in to these desires is bliss.”
The video’s mesmerizing dance continued, each frame more captivating than the last. Devon’s fingers gripped the phone tightly, his breath shallow and irregular. Andrea’s voice drifted around him like silk, weaving between the visual pulses and electronic rhythms playing in the background.
“Keep watching,” she murmured, her words sliding into his consciousness. “Notice how smoothly he transitions. How peaceful he becomes.”
Blue and silver spirals appeared on the edges of the screen, expanding and contracting while drawing Devon’s gaze inward. As he stared, the living room became smaller, compressed inside his mind until it was the size of the phone’s screen, the only thing he was allowed to see.
“You’re doing so well,” Andrea whispered, her hand touching his shoulder. “Just keep watching. Let everything else fade away.”
The spirals leaped out of the screen, bleeding into the room’s periphery. Her voice grew softer and more intimate as his resistance began to crumble.
“You’re watching yourself transform. See how easy it will be? How natural?” Her words slipped past his defenses, coating his consciousness like warm honey.
Devon’s thoughts became thin, fragmenting and reassembling according to Andrea’s gentle cadence. Resistance was unnecessary. The spirals consumed everything - logic, hesitation, individual will. All that remained was her voice, her suggestions, and the promise of complete and exquisite compliance.
Suddenly, the phone’s screen erupted with a series of flickering text overlays. SUBMIT. OBEY. CONTRACT. Each word pulsed in a stark white font against the swirling blue and silver patterns, appearing and vanishing in microsecond intervals. They stabbed Devon’s consciousness, bypassing rational thoughts.
Andrea was sitting beside him now, though he hadn’t seen her move. “You’re doing great,” she murmured. “Just a little longer now.”
PROPERTY. SLAVE. COMPLIANCE. The subliminal messages flashed faster, the words blurring into one another. “Let go, Devon. It’s what we both want.”
His pupils continued to expand, becoming vast dark pools reflecting nothing but the screen’s hypnotic choreography. Devon’s fingers twitched. Then went still.
“Surrender feels good, and we at Platinum Properties take care of our own,” Andrea purred. “It’s okay to let go. Let go. Submit. Comply. Yes!”
Devon’s subconscious floated somewhere between the realms of independent thought and complete subservience, with the scales tipping in favor of the latter. His soul was clouded and pulled deeper and deeper into submissive oblivion.
PROPERTY. PROPERTY. PROPERTY.
Now hypnotized, Devon sat motionless, trapped by her words and the commands swirling in his brain. Andrea’s crimson nails clicked against the portfolio as she extracted a set of documents he had missed before. A Mont Blanc fountain pen materialized between her fingers, its platinum nib reflecting Devon’s mindless expression.
“Sign here,” she commanded, pointing at the last page.
His right hand moved without thinking, fingers closing around the pen without hesitation. His glassy eyes scanned the document without comprehending its contents. The Drone Deluxe Program header gleamed at the top of the page, its elegant typography belying the profound transformation awaiting him.
It was the most expensive service the company offered, producing a handful of obedient machines every year. Only billionaires were given access to it and were allowed to customize their new toy in any way they desired. Besides the programming mechanism, cosmetic enhancements were also included, most of them free. The most popular ones for men included permanent body hair removal and genital enlargement, both of which Devon would most surely benefit from.
Andrea offered him a duplicate of the contract for him to sign as well. Each stroke of the pen was like a release, another layer of his former self dissolving. She would receive thirteen percent commission on the future transaction, while he was entitled to only two percent. As far as when he would get them, well… that depended on the client who would get him to take home.
“Excellent!” she said. “Welcome to Platinum Properties.”
Devon said nothing. Her phone lay forgotten in his lap, but the overpowering messages still danced inside his brain. Andrea grabbed the phone just in time to hear it ring. She pressed the phone against her ear and said,
“Hey, Ruth. Perfect timing.”
“How did it go?” Her enthusiastic co-worker and Recruiter at Platinum properties asked.
Andrea’s gaze swept over Devon’s motionless form, a satisfied smile playing across her lips. “Flawless. Another Property secured for the Drone Deluxe Program. He signed just now with no significant resistance.”
Ruth chuckled on the other end. “Nice work. That’s the third high-profile acquisition this quarter. Management will be pleased.”
“Pleased is an understatement,” Andrea replied as she walked around the living room. “This one’s quite valuable. Tech executive, perfect physical profile, zero family attachments.”
Devon remained seated, unaware of the conversation happening mere feet from him. His eyes remained fixed, mind broken and blank.
“That’s wonderful. Can you send me the preliminary processing notes so I can start with his file right away?”
“Easy, girl! It’s Saturday! Shouldn’t you be at home fucking your husband instead of at the office?” Andrea asked.
“Craig is in Italy for two weeks, and I miss my chair. I don’t mind the extra hours. Besides, aren’t you working, too?” Ruth replied, and Andrea almost saw her tongue sticking out in cheerful defiance.
“Touché. Tell you what: get an Extraction Team ready and then let’s grab lunch together to celebrate the new acquisition.”
“Only if you’re buying this time.”
“I buy every time, so what else is new?”
“It’s a deal. Do you want anyone in particular to assist you? Good old Hendricks, perhaps?”
Andrea laughed to herself. Gene Hendricks was an elegant black stud she had been wanting to fuck for over three months now, but he kept rejecting her advances, and she wasn’t used to that. Still, she hadn’t given up on him yet, and every opportunity to spend some time together would always be welcome.
“Sure. Send him over.”
“Will do. Good work once more. You are the best!”
“Thanks, dear. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
Andrea hung up and stretched her arms. Convincing people to become Properties was her favorite part of the job, right after the money. She had already bought a new car on account of this year’s earnings, and a new house was on the horizon, too. For her upcoming vacation, she wanted to go to Africa for the first time, but still hadn’t decided which countries to visit. And then there was the dream of a world cruise, but she would only get to that after she had enough money for a lifetime or two.
“I can’t wait to see you clad in rubber, little drone,” Andrea whispered in Devon’s ears. Glancing at the kitchen table, she saw the forgotten avocado toast and took a bite as she waited for Hendricks and his team to arrive. It was already a good day, but once his conditioning got started, it would be perfect.

The End