AustrianMogger
LTN from Austria 𝕯𝖝𝕯 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖜, #1 MGTOL
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Chapter Three – Glass Walls (Part One)
The LowTierNormie residential block always felt like a cage. The walls were thin, the hallways narrow, and the fluorescent lights never turned off, buzzing like insects overhead. Sukuti had grown used to the monotony of gray corridors, rationed meals, and the occasional glance from others wearing the same dull crimson bracelet on their wrists.
Life in Kilicia had become a routine of invisibility. But sometimes—rarely—the city forced you to remember how far below you truly were.
It was on a Thursday afternoon when Sukuti’s invisibility cracked.
The government shuttle dropped him off at the central atrium of District 7, a place where citizens from multiple tiers overlapped. The atrium was a massive glass-domed hall filled with polished steel beams and holographic billboards that shimmered with ads. Bright faces—Chadlites and even Chads—smiled from the walls, their perfection framed by slogans:
“Attractiveness is Currency.”
“Beauty Ascends.”
“Know Your Place.”
Sikuti knew the atrium wasn’t for him. It was a place designed to remind LowTiers what they weren’t. Still, he had to pass through it to reach the menial job distribution kiosk.
His bracelet pulsed crimson as he walked, a faint glow at his wrist that marked him unmistakably. The people around him—Normies in plain green bands, HighTiers with their subtle blue glow—didn’t need to look directly at him to know. The band was enough.
He kept his gaze low, weaving through the crowd.
And then he heard the laughter.
At first, it was distant. A group gathered near the center of the atrium, voices raised, bodies clustered around something—or someone. As Sukuti drew closer, the crowd thinned just enough for him to see the source.
It was Karli.
Karli stood taller than most, though not by much. His height—173 cm—wasn’t commanding, but his posture was. Lean, trained muscle shaped his frame, and his profile carried the kind of sharpness that the scanner adored. A HighTierNormie, fresh out of his own assessment, glowing with the confidence that came with his blue bracelet.
His hair was curled just right, framing a face that the hierarchy considered comfortably above average. Not perfection, not divinity like a Chad, but enough to command respect in public.
And enough to humiliate those below.
Sikuti froze as Karli’s eyes landed on him through the shifting crowd. There was recognition there, though they had never spoken before. Recognition not of the person, but of the category.
“Hey,” Karli called out, his voice cutting across the noise. “Crimson boy. Come here.”
A ripple of attention spread through the atrium. Heads turned. A few Normies smirked; others looked away, unwilling to be caught staring. The hierarchy was cruel, but it was also predictable. Everyone knew how this kind of scene ended.
Sikuti’s throat tightened. He wanted to keep walking, to vanish into the kiosk line. But refusing a direct call from a higher tier in public could mean worse than humiliation—it could mean punishment.
He stepped closer, every motion weighted with dread.
Karli grinned, the expression practiced and sharp. He rested one hand casually on the shoulder of a girl beside him—a Normie, laughing nervously, her eyes flicking between Karli and Sukuti like she was watching theater.
“Look at him,” Karli said, gesturing openly at Sukuti. “Straight from the LowTier block. What’s your score, Crimson?”
The words cut like glass. The assessment number was personal, but not private—your bracelet carried it, your housing reflected it, your entire life screamed it. Still, being forced to say it aloud was another cruelty.
Sikuti’s voice came out low. “Thirty-nine.”
The laughter that followed wasn’t explosive. It was worse: small, sharp, scattered through the crowd. The sound of superiority affirmed.
“Thirty-nine,” Karli repeated, letting the number hang in the air. “That’s… what? Bottom ten percent? Damn, that’s rough.”
The girl beside him giggled, covering her mouth. Others shifted closer, eager to see more.
Karli stepped forward, examining Sukuti as if he were some kind of exhibit. “Yeah, I can see it. Weak jaw, crooked nose, skin’s a mess. And the hairline—damn, man, it’s already receding? At eighteen?”
Sikuti flinched, the words digging into wounds that hadn’t even healed from the assessment booth. He felt exposed under the atrium’s artificial lights, every flaw magnified.
He wanted to disappear. To be invisible again.
But Karli wasn’t finished.
“Tell you what,” Karli said, turning back to the crowd. “Let’s do a comparison. Side by side. Come on, Crimson, stand right here.”
He gestured to the space beside him, in full view of everyone.
Sikuti’s legs felt like stone, but he moved. Refusal wasn’t an option.
Karli shifted, squaring his shoulders, jaw tilted slightly to catch the light. It was a pose, deliberate and confident. Next to him, Sukuti felt like a shadow—slouched, average height that now seemed short, his skin marked with scars the scanner had etched into numbers.
“See the difference?” Karli asked the crowd. “That’s the hierarchy. That’s why the system exists. You can feel it. One of us belongs above, the other… well.” He let the sentence trail off, the silence filled by snickers and whispers.
Sikuti’s chest burned. He clenched his fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.
He wanted to fight. To scream. To do anything but stand there as the crowd judged his face, his worth, his existence.
But he couldn’t. His crimson bracelet glowed like a shackle.
The humiliation stretched until Karli grew bored. With a shrug, he turned back to his group.
“Alright, that’s enough. Crimson’s got places to be, I’m sure. Like the ration line.”
Laughter followed him as he walked away, his arm draped casually around the Normie girl’s shoulders. She glanced back once, a flicker of pity—or maybe contempt—in her eyes.
And then they were gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Sikuti stood frozen in the atrium. His heart hammered, his throat raw from words unsaid. Around him, the world carried on. People passed, glancing at him with recognition that wasn’t admiration, but confirmation: yes, that’s where he belongs.
Thirty-nine. Crimson. LowTierNormie.
The words echoed in his skull, heavier than chains.
He forced himself to move, step by step, toward the kiosk. The line felt longer than ever. He kept his gaze low, shame pressing into his skin like needles.
Inside, something cracked.
He had accepted invisibility, but humiliation was different. Humiliation was a fire, small but undeniable. For the first time, he felt it—not just despair, but anger.
And deep beneath the anger, a thought that frightened him more than anything else.
Maybe the system could be broken.
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Previous Parts:
Blackpill Utopia Chapter 1
Chapter One – The Sorting The assessment hall was vast and silent, a cathedral of glass and steel. Rows of booths lined the chamber like confessionals, each glowing with the pale hum of biometric scanners. Dozens of eighteen-year-olds shuffled forward, their nervous whispers swallowed by the...
looksmax.org
Blackpill Utopia Part 2
Chapter Two – Crimson Shadows The dormitory door groaned when Sikuti pushed it open. Inside was a narrow hall with six identical doors branching from it. The plaster on the walls was cracked in places, yellowing under strips of weak fluorescent light. A faint smell of damp fabric clung to the...
looksmax.org
