Picture: - Mall in case for some reason you don't know what one looks like.

22 Seconds into the future: Washington 2.0/Mall of humanity/ somewhere in the state formally known as Nebraska. Outside temperature 41 degrees Fahrenheit, cloudy with a chance of rain.

#160A's POV

So I'm standing in the lift dressed in some figure-hugging catsuit that might have well have been cheaper to write the words 'SMUT' written on me with a huge felt tip pen. The guy holding the leash attached to my collar is a is doing his impression of a Celtic standing stone again.

"Press level 6" says Master because lets face it when you pay 300 odd bitcoins for a slave you don't want to go around pressing buttons for yourself after all that's too much like exercise. Level 6 to 12 was labeled "The Mall of Humanity".

"You're on your most slave behaviour in the shop understand? You're under supra-human I mean human slave owner law here. I can't protect you from their many punishments. Here if any owner finds you miss behaving, they can punish you on the spot. These supra-humans are no smarter than a meerkat's wedding tackle but what they lack in smarts they make up for in snide ways of crushing you. Don't give them quarter. Oh and don't let them download anything on you - you live in a secure environment, and I don't want to spend hours scanning and decontaminating you tonight. Oh and whatever happens play along." says Master Rockwood.

"Yes, Master. is the way I occupy space satisfactory to master?" I said. I was still angry at the treatment at the security scanner. Not to mention discovering I'd been hacked to have legs like Gisele Bundchen.

"If there was a time to occupy zero dimensions this would be it" Master said.He didn't smile this was serious.

Have you ever been to a foreign country? No, I don't mean Canada I mean somewhere you really don't don't speak the language. I had gone to visit my real dad in Munich once. Nice place It kind of feels a bit like your deep sea diving. You're there but your not part of it and at any point you might drown. That's kind of who I felt.

"The Mall of Humanity" says the lift pinging and opening the door. I instantly feel like a complete and utter idiot. Everything and everyone looked fairly, well, for once normal. The normal shops, Hard Rock Cafe, Lego, J.C Penny. Normal music played in the background. Normal people too, dressed normally. It was as everyone was about jump out and say 'surprise we fooled you!', like the last six month was an elaborate trick. I suddenly feel super embarrassed, it's one thing dressing like a complete slut because basically you're forced to and everyone else is, but it's quite another when you are thrown back a year in time pre-war. I resisted when master pulled the leash. He looks back at me and guesses the problem. I get a low tweak to remind me who has the pain controls and then he pulls my hands behind my back, and the manacles stick to each other like handcuffs. Quite unable to resist he gives me a tug to pull me out of the lift.

"Have you ever seen a darker more malodorous lair?" said Rockwood looking around. Was he joking?

"It looks beautiful. Master " I said warming to the normality of it.

He snorted. Glad to know cyborg's can still snort.

This was the most welcome thing I'd seen in ages; I looked around it was great, fat people, small people, comfortable people. I had spent the last six months of my life hanging around the most beautiful, the most gorgeous, most groomed, most over made up people. My bar of good looking had been massively pushed up. Now I could see normal again it was wonderful, you don't know the meaning of joy until you have seen fat ugly people. I saw a woman with a mole on her face an inch big and could have kissed her. For a second I felt I had woken up from a dream. It was like taking a guided tour of 'normality land' and loving every inch of it.

Master tugged at my leash. "To your left and down on the floor below ," my collar said as a message from master.

I looked down and noticed the odd slave. Their 'standard issue' slave clothes were covered with something to make them look more 'normal'. A well-placed scarf occasionally covered the collars. I felt people glancing at me. I looked down into the atrium below. There I noticed someone on their knees in front of some Roseanne Barr clone two floors below. Some beautiful blonde on his knees to this woman in flats. He was screeching in pain while his owner simultaneously licked an ice-cream and pressed the punish button on the slave's remote.

This kicked me back into the real world. This was the reservation, the city of Judas. These people had sold out humanity. They had been rewarded with palaces, with money, with us. At that moment, I didn't know who I hated more. You don't see the machines screwing each other over to get ahead. They had damned humanity and been damned themselves. Who could do this? Why?

I'd been so sold the view of humanity passing on the torch to the machines to the level that I felt their subjugating us seemed natural. This was unnatural. These people weren't smarter, faster, more evolved. Their right came by virtue of being a sellout. For a moment, I felt good with master. I hoped he would come back when the machines ran the world and wipe them out. If the last of humanity existed anywhere, it wasn't here.

There was another 'master' and 'slave' door up ahead. I walked into the slave one to wait while I was scanned.

"Say OK to agree to the storing of a cookie in your collar and to skip the terms and conditions. In using this site you are deemed to have read and agreed to the following terms and conditions:

The following terminology applies to these Terms and Conditions, Privacy Statement and Disclaimer Notice and any or all Agreements: "Client", "You" and "Your" refers to you, the person accessing this site and accepting the Mall of Humanities‟s terms and conditions...." realising we could be here all day I just said.

"OK" I said.

The door opened, and I gave my leash back to master.

We walked passed some walls covered in large screens.

"5642! 5642" I heard a voice to my left, and I saw a wonderful looking image of a man standing on a moor in Scotland. "Wouldn't' you like to be serving 50-year malt whisky to your master?" This was followed by another advertising looking out at me.

"5642! Why not ask your master about Slave-nol a slave compatible cream for that nasty rash on your private parts you had six months ago" said a video of an actor dressed in a white lab coat.

"I tried it, 5642" said a 127c model like me, entering the picture " and that really bad itch you had cleared up in hours. Now I can concentrate on giving master the best ***** he's had in years".

"Thinking about Greg that ex-boy friend in L.A, worried about your family in Acapulco? Why not ask your master about RohypnolX the best memory suppressant on the market. Believe me it works or my name isn't 4993 2332" said a slave girl who looked like Miley Cyrus . I guess it was the original Miley Cyrus. All the model slave 256s were based on ; otherwise the joke wouldn't have worked.

"You look like sweet 19 year old girl like who knows a thing or two. Why not get master to get you a new TRS6000 clothes printer so you can wear your favourite colour - Lime green!" said another advert.

"Do you remember that lump that worried you two years ago? Why not ask your master to sign you up to HillStreet Vets..."

"Think master would be pleased if you learnt pole dancing? The Skidmore College of erotic dancing and performance can teach you the skills which will please your owner"

"Odalisque at Home has hundreds of size 12 collars and 19 pairs of punishment shoes in your size".

"Smell that Jenny. It's the taste of Soylent green. It's the only meat you will ever want to eat" said the next advert.

"Remember the little girl who wrote 'One day I want to be a microbiologist to her friend Amy?' Well isn't she happier now she's his personal slave? That was a public service message from the New Mechanical order.'

Master was clearly, worried I was freaked out. I felt like I was being mobbed by a hoard of psychic hawkers who knew me better than my own mother. It felt like I had been digitally defiled. It was like I was nude which given that my current state of clothing wasn't a good analogy, given that my current clothes left as much to the imagination as could be filled in by a brain damaged mouse who was at this moment drunk.

I was amazed that the adverts knew so much about me. They knew my name, my family, my medical history, they had read all my emails, my favourite colour, the fact I liked the black veil brides, my weight, my size, my model number then felt it was OK to use this to get me to pester my owner into buying stuff.

"They banned personal advertising to supra-humans but not to slaves. Slave's aren't allowed privacy or anonymity. They can't even stop the subliminal voices they are sending to your collar now. If you start salivating at the idea of getting a 'Macdonalds' for me, then a mouth full of salt can help I'm told" said Master.

I had wondered what the whispers were.

"These adverts are fairly benign. They have some thought behind them. The ones you've got to look out for are the ones who evolve themselves to maximise the number of slaves looking at them. Their just desperate and really should have a limit on what they show to get your attention" Master said

I flashed permission to speak. He nodded.

"Master what to they show?"I asked.

"Each advert is different - The displays evolve the adverts contents the more people look at them, the more they try variations of what works. The displays have a pick and mix bin of images and videos, and they attempt to maximise the time the slaves spend looking at them. I've noticed they've evolved to cluster around showing horrific scenes of mutilated slaves who were punished for one crime or another. The displays then sell you attention instantly to an advertiser who will add the thing they want to sell like 'for not getting a RollingRock for her mistress'. It's like looking at a car accident; you know you shouldn't, but you can't stop yourself. The adverts are completely mindless; I'm told they do give you nightmares. Remind me to punish you harshly, you the next time someone asks if they can store a cookie on you to help personalise your visiting experience, and you say yes" he added.

"Yes, master, I agree, master." I said using the formal slave talk I had learnt.

We walked towards Odalisque at Home in the distance. While we did so, we passed another digital plinth with a movie aimed at me.

A slave who's face was black and blue with marks

"5642 Are your bruises and contusion's spoiling your look for your master? Next time your makeup printer needs a new cartridge remind your owner to get new Maybelline precision foundation specifically designed to hide a slave's unsightly bruises and injury sights. Look I'm good as new." the slave said to me quickly hiding her bruises and looking 'factory fresh' at the end. "Maybe she's born into slavery, maybe it's Maybelline"

"The robots don't have emotions like anger so they don't understand the way the human slave owners don't just use the collar controls," said Rockwood. I notice he didn't say anything about the cyborgs. The paradise of the mall had turned sour on me. Suddenly I felt trapped. Suddenly I couldn't wait to get out of there and be in the gilded cage of Rockwood Hall. Master undid my bracelet's handcuffs and took one by the hand and held it for a moment. It felt reassuring.

We walked quickly, but this place was big. Eight floors, 96.4 acres of shops. We took the escalator up and I could stop behind master to admire his statue of David's a$$ ( purely for academic purposes you understand).

As we move past shop after shop, I noticed that it was slaves who worked as shop assistants. Either that or wearing a large silver or gold collar was the latest must have retail team member fashion statement. Beyond that, they wore the usual shop assistant nondescript black teeshirt. Aside from the legally prescribed near lethal quantity of makeup and skyscraper court shoes the sales assistants looked fairly normal.As we continued, I began to realise that I had fallen into a state worse than a slave. The slaves in the shops worked. Okay, they weren't paid but least they had a purpose. I realised that I wasn't even functional. I was purely a status symbol. I was little more than bling with a heartbeat. From book worm geeky honours student to companion animal I had lost a lot in the rout of humanity. We had become a planet of the diaspora.

In one shop, I noticed another type 127c. For a second, I wondered if I was looking at myself in a mirror then realised it was someone who had a similar face job. We exchanged glances, and I thought how really gorgeous she looked. For a second, I wondered if admiring your own model makes you vain or not. My existential reflection was broken as we approached our destination.



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Thanks for all the votes, lovely comments and read. Reb+RK. This is version 1.1