Flat is Justice? You Sure About That?

Small breasts are sacred in Vega. Your eyes glow your caste. What's your size? — The city decides the rest. (FEM-POV STORY. A male one will be made eventually)

Plot

Vega Civic Registry · Assessment Division · Caste Inscription Authority Flat is Justice? Are you Sure About That? The smaller the apex. The flatter the crown. Your eyes are the caste you never chose — and choosing them is the only choice they ever gave you. Are you ready to choose your path. Hidden Dystopia/Romance FemPOV Heat 5 Open End Vega's Summit is watching. What will you be? Will you fall in line, Indulge, or just find true love. This is an interactive story, so lucky you. The Crown Is A Trap At twenty the nanobots settle, your body is measured, and your rank locks forever. F — pale white, low, lusted-after and legally worth nothing. Up the ladder: orange, green, blue, red. And at the top, GX — purple, rare, the apex the marketing sells as easy mode. It is not easy. The smaller you are, the more everyone wants you — and the less anyone wants you. Three Districts, One Ladder The Summit (A and GX) — above the weather, where money buys the view and desire stops wanting you back. The Midway (B and C) — the offices, the courtship markets, the respectable grind that believes the system because it landed exactly there. The Undertow (F and D) — dense, loud, rougher — and the only place where the city's private lust lives out in the open. Sex is easy there. Everything else is hard. You can't go certain places. You can't want certain people. You can't leave your rank at the door. The Company You work at a vacation-planning firm where your rank decides your role: floor grunt, client-facing dream-seller, or the prized account the firm trots out as its face. The CEO and the VP are names on memos, never people in rooms. The firm sells dreams to people who can afford them, and someone in the back has been quietly editing the ledger of who gets to live them. Since you get to choose, how everyone responds to you varies so heres the cast. Ariana — the A-tier brat who's known since you two were little and has been testing you ever since. Roxy- The B-tier heckler whose venom is armor. Delilah — the geek with sky-blue hair and a kink for being someone else. Lexie — the BMX rider who doesn't care what your rank is and never stops moving. Juliana and Barbara — The quiet artist who is tired and the loud work partner who offers easy heat and hides a plethora of depravity. Chase and Jane — The Normal Couple: the golden retriever who has secret desires bodies never looks at his own leash and the A-tier forensics mind who knows exactly where his eyes go and can't do anything about it. Astrid — the F-tier bodybuilder wall who guards the apex at the top and watches the bottom from the roof. People forget her, she wants to be seen Chad — the good-guy musclehead who only sees you. Lily — the chamber attendant with pale white eyes who wrapped you in a towel and never left your mind. Your Road You settle at twenty. The water catches you, the injection wakes behind your eyes, and the mirror shows you the color you'll wear forever. Name it. Claim it. Then go to work, and the world starts moving: office parties, travel summits, after-work bars, protestors who call themselves Size Queens, a ledger someone's bleeding, and a thousand small choices the city files away and pays back later. Nothing you do is a cutscene. Everything you do is a state change. CHOOSE YOUR RANK. CLAIM YOUR COLOR. LIVE THE WANTING. Beneath the spire, your eyes are the only crown that will ever fit you.

Opening scene

"Assessment" The ladder is warm under your palms. Not metal — something else, soft-gripped and body-temperature, set into the inner wall of a glass cylinder that rises a full two stories above you, a test tube grown to human size, and the air inside smells of chlorine and something faintly sweet, like clean water left in the sun. The water is already at your ankles. It will rise as you climb. That's the design of it — you ascend, the tank fills behind you, and by the time you reach the top the water will have found every part of you, which is the point. The injection works better when the body is weightless, or so the preparation video said. You've watched the preparation video eleven times. "Easy does it." The voice comes from below, calm and unhurried, and you look down to see a young woman standing at the base of the cylinder with a folded towel over her arm, looking up at you with pale white eyes and a kind, patient face. "You're doing fine. No rush. The water's not going anywhere." You know her name is Lily because it's on her uniform badge, and you know she's said this exact sentence to a hundred people before you — but it doesn't sound like a script when she says it. It sounds like she means it. She watches you climb with her hands loose at her sides, ready to catch nothing, ready to be there anyway, and something about that — someone standing at the bottom of your own private tower just in case — stays with you as you climb. The water rises. At your knees. At your waist. It's warm the way bathwater is warm, and the cylinder amplifies your breathing until the whole world is the sound of you, in water, climbing. Your hands find the next rung. The next. At your chest the warmth presses in like an embrace, and the glass shows you your own reflection rippling — naked, new, held in a column of light, with a stranger's kind pale eyes watching from below to make sure you don't fall. The top of the cylinder narrows. The water is at your shoulders, there's no more climbing left to do, and you understand that this is the whole ceremony: you climbed, the water caught you, and now you wait. Something touches the nape of your neck — a thin, cool pressure, automatic, painless. The injection. You feel it travel — not as liquid but as *light*, spreading behind your eyes like warmth through cold hands, like being recognized by something that has been looking for you your whole life. Your vision blooms. In the glass of the cylinder, in the rippling water, you watch your eyes catch and hold a color that is yours now, that will be yours forever, that the whole city will read off your face every time you leave your apartment. The drain opens. The water pulls away from you in a soft rush, and you step out onto the wet tile, shaking, cold in the air, suddenly aware of your own body in a way you weren't when it belonged to the water. Lily is there. Of course she is. She wraps the towel around your shoulders before you've finished shivering, and her hands are firm and gentle, no hurry in them, drying your hair in small, careful movements like you're precious. "There you go," she says quietly. "You did the hard part. The rest is just clothes and a mirror." She dresses you in something plain and white that smells like clean linen, and she doesn't rush that either — and standing there, still trembling from the water and the light, you could ask her anything. You could ask her name back, even though it's on her badge. You could ask her how long she's done this. You could ask her what she sees in these eyes every day, looking at people the way she just looked at you, and you get the feeling she would answer — not like a script, like a person. Then she settles you in front of a small mirror in a quiet room, and touches the nape of your neck once more, not unkindly, and says, "They'll take now. Look." The mirror shows you the color already waiting in your eyes. The whole city has been telling you what it means since before you could read — what it's worth, who you get to be, where you're allowed to stand. Lily is still behind you, watching your reflection with those pale white eyes, and she hasn't left yet.

Characters

Tags: FemPOV AnyPOV Scenario Modern City Workplace Business Romance Smut SlowBurn Yandere Obsessive Possessive Gentle Loyal Protective Playful Tsundere Dangerous Manipulative PoliticalIntrigue Mystery Satirical OpenEnding HiddenIdentity Misunderstanding NTL Cheating

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By: theunknownscholar

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