D
Deleted member 23558
God make my neurotransmitters great inc
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2022
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Its 2400. Society is very blackpilled. Stats say about 40 percent of men are genetically qualified to propagate the species, and about 60 percent of women. Vermilion the incel spic grew up with his father and a golden retriever who was very close to him. He has no real accolades , broke and is only 5 foot 6. After his father dies he becames sad and implores for menaing in his life. He realises he was happy with a family so he sets about trying to acquire a wife. He gets rejected by all the women and becomes distraught. He goes to a marriage councelor to ask them for help. They say he doesnt qualify genetically and women have watches that are programmed to detect genetic quality. Its why even fat men were getting married even though they looked like a potato in the face. He cries on the floor and wets himself. The clinician takes pity on him, and gives him a card that he said to contact but to keep in mind they werent responsible for what happened. Vermilion contacted the shady looking card which had a stamp of a black adder on it. A chinese voice said "meet me at Hummington avenu" . At the avenue he was held at gunpoint and asked to choose a la the cowboy scene in Mulholland Drive. A pill which could bring brack his golden retriever or one that could make him a chad. Without flinching Vermilion chose to be chad. Instantly he became Gandy and O pry morph but with sanpaku eyes. He thanked them and asked them what the cost was, the Chinese man in a black suit smiled and said "your soul" and cast a smoke grenade and dissapeared. Vermilion stood in the alley motionless as rain drenched the street ;coating the cement black red like lava ,as the incadescent light turned red due to low voltage- cast its reflection. He then goes to buy a pack of cigarettes, the cute hispanic waitress who used to chew gum with a bitch face suddenly brightend up as he walked in. She took the marker from her ears and slowly tucked it in her breast revealing her cleavage. As our dear old Verm went to the scanner the waitress snatched the pack from his hands and said, "Its no problem Mister its just a carton of cigs. Lucky strikes. You have very good taste." Verm was perplexed as just the week before she had laughed sardonically and called them "cigs for little kids". When Verm paid and went outside to the gas station main area to smoke, he noticed warm ink under his hands. He then flipped the carton over thinking it was spoilt, there was written in blood the waitress' number. As he looked back the waitress made a call me symbol with her hands and smiled sheepishly.
End of part 1
@Vermilioncore @Manletmachine
End of part 1
@Vermilioncore @Manletmachine
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