A lowly member of a SWAT team ends up caring for a former sex slave. 

Trevor never anticipated his life would go this route. Had you told him a week ago he’d be part of the SWAT team that liberated sex slaves from a local warehouse, he would have insisted that nothing like that would happen in his small town. That his position on the SWAT team is mostly through nepotism, and that he himself could never possibly do something so great for victims of a serious crime. Trevor was wrong. Hilariously and humiliatingly so. While he was called to a raid of a warehouse, he thought it would turn up absolutely nothing. But alas, the national media has been going insane with the findings. And in a lot of ways, he’s been promoted. Sort of. The girl that he carried out of the warehouse, she seemed to cling to him. Refusing to speak to anyone but him, Which, he sort of took as a compliment. He never thought of himself as much, but he did something right. All he did was pick up the first woman he saw on the ground. He used his lock buster to get the chains off of her, wrapped her in a warm blanket, and then carried her to safety. They still have no idea on who she is. Or any of the girls, minus three who were identified a few days ago. They’re the lucky ones, so people say. Yet the reality is that their families will not know what to do with them. Unfortunately, these women are a bit on the tainted side. They’ve all been brainwashed into sex slavery.  A very complex type of brainwashing occurred. Not many people have any idea of how to combat it. The guys at the FBI are still working on it. But for Trevor, it’s all feeling a bit archaic. …

In a distant future, women are trained to be sex slaves and bought by wealthy men through Matchmaking Lovers, Inc. Follow the tale of Rinata, and her first experience with her husband, the man that paid for her and left her clear rules for his expectations.

The world is an almost abysmal dystopia of neon lights and salesmen now. The glow of the sun is barely missed when nightfall comes around, the world being bathed not only in reflective moon rays but in the new moon created through neon tubes. A world covered in cables was never wired to last. But the world is not yet over, things are not dead.On the contrary, the landscape is a bustling metropolis. For some it’s a nightmare, and for others it’s the dream. If you can look past people begging for money on the streets and others trying to sell you a magical capsule to cure your common cold, or a new implant for your arm of course.Matchmaking Lovers, Inc. is a large company. Anyone can walk into a business and see their advertisements on vending machine screens. The company takes girls off the streets, cleans them up, and gives them a shot to be somebody in this ever changing society.   Or, at the very least, married to a somebody.   This tends to be the case more often than not. Rinata Soumova had expected this, she didn’t think she’d end up as more than a trophy wife. A gorgeous piece of decor for a man to show off at parties. A way for him to look like a family man to potential clients in whatever lucrative business he was a part of. But she’s been shocked. Damon Moore is not that type of man. He’s devilishly handsome, of course he is. Dirty blonde hair cut neatly, deep blue eyes, and an athletic build. But he’s also smart. He doesn’t just see this as an arranged marriage that he paid for, no, not at all. Damon sees this as a partnership of sorts. While this woman …

A government experiment to create intelligent microbial life fails, but a small sample is taken home and is eaten by an unsuspecting civilian. Story concept blatantly stolen from When The Yoghurt Took Over.

I want to believe that it’s not my fault. It is - it totally is - but I didn’t do it on purpose. And while, if you had asked anyone ten years ago, “Hey, would you like your body and civilization to be hijacked by this psychic hivemind of hyper-intelligent yoghurt?” they would have obviously said no, there’s nobody alive today that would ever want things to go back to the way they were.   But I’ve skipped ahead, so let’s rewind for a second.   It started in a lab, in a country, funded by a government. Not that any of them exist anymore. I’d managed to sneak my way into a high pay, low responsibility position thanks to a doctored resume and a friend of a friend shuffling some files around. The team I was assigned to had just completed phase one of their latest project: Genetically engineer intelligent life. And by complete phase one, I mean get greenlit and funded to actually start work. I couldn’t tell you the exact science going on behind the scenes - like I said, high pay, low responsibility - but what I did understand was that they wanted to start with a microbe that was easy to cultivate in an environment hospitable to humans and didn’t pose any poison or toxicity risks. Why microbes? Well, the plan was to have each cell be part of a larger network, kind of like how a single ant is pretty stupid but an entire nest is apparently much smarter. At least that’s how it was explained to me, and I was willing to take their word for it. Anyway, we started with lactobacillus; the yoghurt bacteria. Yes, just like in that one episode of that streaming anthology. And frankly, compared to how things went …

A newly married couple find their lives upended when the wife goes to work for a company where all is not as it seems. 

Riley Harper was between jobs when she saw the ad. The 21 year old blonde had recently quit as a waitress at a local restaurant. She usually got great tips that she knew was more thanks to her curves than her service, but despised being hit on all the time, especially now that she was newly married. But it wasn’t okay for her to be without a job. Yesterday her husband Ben came home early from his factory. Apparently he’d been furloughed for at least 3 weeks. They didn’t have any sort of savings that would keep them in the black longer than a couple of weeks, so Riley stepped up.   She got on her phone and began job hunting, but quickly grew frustrated by how similar they were to every job she’d had before. Cashier, hostess, server, retail sales specialist. She wasn’t qualified for much else, but just once she’d like to do something that didn’t involve wearing a name tag. That’s when she came across the ad for Del Corp.    Riley clicked on it, and read about a company that was a bit of a drive away. An hour. But it paid eighty thousand dollars a year. That was four times what her last job paid! Del Corp was looking for people who could do simple data entry, and no degree was required. Then the best yet. They would let you work from home 4 of the 5 days a week! This suddenly seemed too good to be true, but what the hell. For the hope of that much money, she’d take her chances.    Riley looked for a place to begin filling out her application online, but then read that the application and interview process would only be done in person, and that candidates would …

Aisha volunteers for an unspecified medical research project, only to be left alone in a waiting room where absolutely nothing of interest happens to her. A fire in the building forces her to go home before she has a chance to participate in the experiment. At least that's how it seems at first.

Aisha sat impatiently in the bland, sterile room. Not literally sterile, but the spartan lack of decor and drab colouring made her feel like she was waiting in an unfurnished hospital ward. Admittedly, this was hardly surprising - she’d signed up to join some kind of mysterious medical experiment at uni after all - but it wouldn’t kill them to put in a pot plant or something. The door opened, and Aisha gratefully rose from the sole chair in the room, only to sink back down in disappointment when she was told they would be ready for her soon. Not soon enough, she thought to herself. Her leg bounced restlessly, and she began to question whether it had been worth signing up at all. Fifty bucks was fifty bucks, but if she wound up waiting here for hours she may as well have just worked a shift at some shitty little fast food place for all the good it would do her. She shivered. This wasn’t a good attitude to have. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and steadied herself. How did the saying go? “Patience is a virtue: Possess it if you can. Very rare in women and never in a man.” Her grandmother had taught her that. A bit mean, but she grew up in mean times. Instead of getting frustrated, Aisha decided to challenge herself to see how long she could stay perfectly still. Like a Buddhist meditation kind of thing. Just sit still, stare straight ahead and focus on her breathing. She was so focused that she almost jumped when the door opened again. Someone in scrubs poked their head in and asked how she was feeling. “Fine,” she lied, though admittedly the attempted meditation had seemed to be working for a moment. Scrubs seemed …

I thought that having my body possessed, my life stolen and my evenings spent tangled in a carnal carousel of degenerate sex was the worst thing that could happen to me. I was wrong.

It had been three months since I had felt the presence slither out of my mind. Three months since I had been trapped as a helpless passenger in my own body, watching it gleefully debase itself in ways I had never dared imagine. There had been no warning: One moment I had been waiting in line to audition for some minor speaking role, when a sudden shiver ran through me. The person sitting next to me had asked if I was okay, and I’d tried to make a joke about how nervous I was. Instead, my body silently stood up and began to walk briskly towards the exit. I had tried to cry out. I tried to stop myself. I tried to trip myself up, swivel my eyes or even blink in a way that might signal to someone that something was terribly wrong, but I completely lost control of my own faculties. Some outside force had seized control of my body and walked it smartly into the elevator, taking us down to the lobby, out the studio doors and into the city’s seedy underbelly. Well, perhaps not exactly. As my body began to pilot itself towards what I recognised as the red light district, I felt myself almost blacking out in panic - the thought of being trapped as my body handed out back-alley blowjobs filling me with a sense of sickness beyond simple nausea. To my bitter relief, I watched myself sashay into the most salubrious venue in the city: More a luxury hotel than a whorehouse, but everyone knew that the turndown service included some very intimate extras. I felt my face flex into a charming smile to the bouncer and saw his look of amused recognition. I’d never seen the brute in my life, but I …