AustrianMogger
LTN from Austria 𝕯𝖝𝕯 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖜, #1 MGTOL
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Chapter Three – Glass Walls (Part Two)
The ride back to the crimson block was silent, but inside Sukuti’s head, the echoes of laughter still played. Karli’s words replayed again and again, like a blade scraping raw flesh. Weak jaw. Crooked nose. Thirty-nine.
The shuttle’s windows were smeared with dirt, the neon of the city outside blurred into streaks of color. For the others inside—LowTier men with their hollow eyes and sunken posture—silence was normal. Everyone wore the same crimson, everyone avoided speaking. Misery shared was misery endured in solitude.
But Sukuti couldn’t contain it anymore. His fists were still sore from clenching. His throat hurt from the words he hadn’t said.
When the shuttle finally dropped him off at Block C, he pushed through the crowd and went straight to his dorm room.
Inside, Shayan was already there.
Shayan sat cross-legged on the lower bunk, his dark hair falling loose around his face. His bracelet glowed faintly crimson, like Sukuti’s, but the number etched on his file—the number everyone knew—was slightly higher.
Forty.
Still crimson. Still LowTier.
But higher.
“You’re late,” Shayan said without looking up. He was scrolling through his old datapad, cracked at the corner, the glow reflecting in his sharp brown eyes.
“Something happened,” Sukuti muttered, collapsing onto the chair. His body felt heavy, but his mind buzzed with restless heat.
Shayan looked up at him then, studying his face. “Let me guess. Someone in blue.”
Sikuti nodded, his jaw tightening.
“HighTierNormie?”
“Yeah. Name’s Karli.”
Shayan snorted, a humorless sound. “Always the same story. They love picking on us. Makes them feel closer to green than to crimson. Like dragging us down buys them insurance.”
The words were bitter, and Sukuti knew why. Shayan’s resentment wasn’t just theoretical—it was personal.
He remembered when they first met, three months ago, in the queue for their initial assessments. Shayan had told him about the surgery.
“I spent everything I had,” he’d said, voice flat. “My parents sent me their life savings from back home. Had my nose fixed, chin reshaped. Doctor promised it’d push me into green at least. Said I could pass for Normie easy.”
But the scanner hadn’t cared about the scalpel’s work.
Composite Attractiveness Index: 40. LowTierNormie.
Surgery couldn’t rewrite bone depth, orbital structure, or genetic harmony. The machine saw through the edits and sentenced him anyway.
Now, whenever Shayan touched his nose—a nose that no longer hooked, no longer bulged—his fingers carried both shame and anger.
“He made me stand beside him,” Sukuti said, his voice breaking the silence. “Like a display. Compared me to his face, his score. Everyone laughed. I just stood there. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything.”
Shayan’s jaw clenched. He closed the datapad and set it aside.
“That’s how they keep us down,” he said slowly. “They make us believe we’re numbers. That’s all anyone sees. But I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter how much you lift, how much you cut, even how much you cut into your face.” His hand brushed his nose unconsciously. “The system’s rigged. We’re not supposed to rise.”
Sikuti’s chest tightened. Hearing it spoken aloud felt dangerous, like uttering forbidden words.
“You sound like you’re saying…” he lowered his voice, “...that the scanner’s wrong.”
Shayan leaned forward, eyes hard. “Not wrong. Biased. It’s made to keep most of us down. If everyone climbed into green, there’d be no hierarchy. No order. Someone has to carry the weight, and it’s us.”
The words sank deep into Sukuti’s gut. He wanted to argue, to say that maybe with enough work, enough training, enough change, someone could climb. But the memory of the scanner flashed through his mind.
Unchanged.
No matter what he’d done at the gym, the machine had spat the same number back.
Thirty-nine.
Shayan lay back on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. “Back home, my uncle told me stories. He said before all this, before the system, people still cared about looks, sure—but they had choice. Some found love anyway. Some made money, respect, even families, without being beautiful. Now? The scanner decides everything. You can’t run from it. It’s worse than fate. It’s engineered fate.”
Sikuti sat in silence. His anger was still there, but beneath it was a growing hollowness.
“I don’t want to live like this,” he said finally. “I can’t. I feel like I’m rotting already, and it’s only been a few months.”
Shayan turned his head to look at him, something flickering in his gaze. “Then maybe you shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are whispers,” Shayan said, lowering his voice. “Guys in crimson talking about ways out. Ways around the scanner. Ways to… fight it.”
Sikuti’s heart skipped. He leaned forward, pulse quickening. “Fight it how?”
Shayan shook his head. “Not now. It’s just rumors. But you’ll hear more. Everyone in crimson reaches the breaking point eventually.”
The room fell quiet again, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space.
Sikuti leaned his head into his hands. He saw Karli’s grin. The crowd’s laughter. The girl’s pity.
The ember of anger that had sparked in the scanner booth now glowed brighter. He couldn’t smother it, no matter how hard he tried.
Shayan’s voice broke the silence. “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I did everything right. I fixed the bone, the cartilage. I trained, I dieted, I reshaped myself. And I still got crimson. They’ll always find a reason to keep us here.”
Sikuti looked up. Shayan’s eyes were glassy but hard, filled with a kind of fury that felt heavier than despair.
“You and me,” Shayan said. “We’ll never be green. Not unless the whole damn system falls.”
For the first time, Sukuti didn’t dismiss the thought as madness.
He let it sit there, heavy and dangerous, between them.
That night, as the dorm lights dimmed to their artificial night mode, Sukuti lay awake on his cot. Shayan’s words replayed in his head.
Not wrong. Biased.
We’re not supposed to rise.
Not unless the system falls.
He turned toward the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides.
Maybe, just maybe, the seed of rebellion wasn’t just in him. Maybe it was in all of them.
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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...
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Blackpill Utopia Chapter 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...
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Blackpill Utopia Chapter 2.5
Chapter 2.5 – Gray Days The days in Kilicia had a way of dissolving into each other, like pages in a book that had been soaked in water. Each looked the same, each felt the same, each ended with the same dull ache in Sikuti’s chest. He woke to the buzzing of the dormitory alarm, the thin...
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Backpill Utopia Chapter 3 Part 1
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...
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