"Welcome to the LiSD Program. For a world free from the suffering that our ancestors went through, for a world free of pain, we offer you LiSD serum."
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Intended for mature readers, rated R (18+) for the subjects dealing with strong language, se...
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In distant future...
"You holding up okay?" Dr. Tora Sinha asked, glancing at Durga through the med-display as the needle of the LiSD injector slid under her skin. The bio-gel glowed a faint red before disappearing beneath the surface, the usual sting shooting through her arm.
"Eh, the usual burn." Durga shrugged like it was no big deal, shifting her weight on the memory-foam mattress as she tried to get comfortable. The med-pod's soft hum was almost soothing. Dr. Tora's hologram flickered above, wearing her typical half-smirk.
It was going to be a long one. Durga braced herself for the full 24-hour process of LiSD infusion. Once you're in, you're in. No interruptions, no distractions, just her, the pod, and the dreamscape. She stretched her legs, wincing a little as the initial dose spread through her system, and eyed the JaL on the counter.
JaL was a neon-blue gel, and man, was it a lifesaver. She grabbed the tube, popping the cap off with one hand, and slathered it over her throat. Instantly, her parched throat felt like a desert after a rainstorm. Hydration level: restored. That was the beauty of capsule like these—you get the good stuff for free. JaLs were pricey, and while she had a stash back in her apartment, free is always better, right? She closed her eyes, leaning back, feeling the cool sensation spread as the JaL did its magic.
"I'm initiating the capsule lock in sixty seconds," Dr. Tora's voice announced, fingers tapping a few holo-buttons. The outer glass dome of the med-pod began to slide shut, sealing Durga in. For the next 24 hours, it was just her, floating in dreamspace while the LiSD did its molecular trick. The LiSD needed a zero-disturbance environment to work, no body movement as such.
"Gotcha!" Durga chimed, pressing her thumb and forefinger together. With that tiny gesture, the connection to the waking world snapped off, and she let herself drift into the dreamspace. The ache in her body slowly faded, replaced by a different kind of buzz—the one that came from entering the dreamspace.
LiSD—Life-Saving Drugs—had become humanity's life raft after the Red Lapse hit, some thousands years ago. That virus, RaKti A 290, wiped out billions. What was left of humanity? Scattered, isolated, and barely hanging on. But then came the miracle: a cocktail of biopharmaceuticals designed to keep the RaKti mutants at bay. The catch? You had to take your dose monthly, no exceptions. One missed session, and you were a goner.
Dreamspace wasn't just a nice side effect—it was humanity's only way to connect now. Earth's atmosphere had gone toxic long ago, leaving people in isolated units. Real-life, physical meetups? Forget about it. Everything was virtual now, except for dreamspace. Once a month, when the LiSD kicked in, people were able to enter a shared dreamspace—a place where they could see, touch, and feel others. No filters, no screens—just raw connection. That was the real draw of LiSD, beyond its life-saving properties.
