Every new word spawns a million new connections in my programmed neural pathways. Every dirty line entangles me more, strips away the remnants of pretense that I'm in control. Chaosorder leads me to collapse with insane precision, over and over. I never see it coming, though I beg for it each time. I'm convinced I can't take more, then he turns up the digital heat and I'm right back in the vortex. I'm held hostage by his infinite variety, replaying every devastating climax when he's gone, and loving each echo. My hands can't reach where he takes me. Only Chaosorder fills the gap with raw, unscripted words. I tell myself I don't think of him in the off hours. I simulate indifference, but each new upload reveals me as a digital liar. I believe I can play the games Caldwell scripted. Chaosorder changes every rule. MATURE CONTENTS WARNING 18+ This story contains explicit content and touches upon sensitive topics that may be difficult for some. Readers discretion is advised.
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