Year 2036... Month Zeton, Flutarax Cycle.
I emerge from my dormancy pod and stretch my pixie limbs. In 2029, the Planetary Oligarchal Group, or POG, dictated that half of our overpopulated sky cities would become pixies. Chosen based on economic status, criminal record, and other societal factors, pixies--or pix's--support the remaining glorious half of society (referred to as "Carries"). The idea started when a world leader witnessed the idea in action while playing his favorite game: League of Legends.
At 4 AM, my support cycle begins. I was made into a Pix due to my inability to pay a loan I took out to begin my pro League career.
There is much to do. As a Pix, I must:
Clean dust accrued overnight
Make breakfast
Check the domicile's temperature and humidity.
Research overnight news and be prepared for all questions.
Some might find these chores boring. I'm not sure I can. The twin concepts of boring and entertaining... when I was born in the Pix facilities outside the city, I feel like both twins ate the other in the womb. Now there's nothingness. Just pure humming silence as I support my carry.
My carry, standing at a colossal 5 foot 4 inches, currently rests in his own bed. I miss being able to sleep in a bed, with its mattress. Its springs and comforter and pillows with my drool on them. Trying to forget my anguish I go and wake up my master. To do this: I flutter over to a valve and turn it. A sprinkler over his bed sprays out a fresh vanilla scent, which goes straight into his airways and startles him awake.
"Hm, what..." master grumbles. I pump my wings hard, taking me to the back of the room. This is not a required task. It simply protects me from my spurious lord.
"Damn it! Ugh, why did you wake me up so early?!"
I start to mouth I was told to-- but have to dodge a rocketing pillow.
The time is currently 11 AM.
My master wakes up. I am tasked with massaging all the tension out of his grotesque body. He just snorts and laughs at the holovid in front of him as I knead his great shoulders with my measly Pix fingers.
"Harder!" He tends to shout--usually while swatting at me lazily. I believe if I ever stood up for myself and insist he take care of himself (stretching, eating more potassium) he might actually kill me. Thankfully, there would be a replacement pixie for him. There's thousands like me.
After massages, master patches into an online virtual trades network. I am tasked with making sure he "wins big." It almost stings... I suggest a good trade option based on my research early in the morning, he makes it, then gets called by friends shrieking about his "awesome play." My carry never says thank you.
But his job is the easy part. Because afterward, my carry logs into League of Legends. And all he does is play Vayne. All he does is play Vayne. All he does is play Vayne.
I can't be bored. I can't be honest. I can't be stung. But I see him get on that computer and play Vayne. And when he loses another Silver 47 promos match, he blames me and shouts for help. But I can't help him, not like with the stocks. Maybe I can. But maybe I am feeling spiteful. Maybe I've been vaynespotting--I am up to 14,372 points.
Vayne. Vayne, Vayne, Vayne. Hours upon hours of watching him play Vayne. And the worst of it, I see other carries playing a virtual Pix "supporting him." AND HE DISREPECTS THEM TOO. MASTER CANT RESPECT HIS SUPPORTS, AND THATS AN ISSUE WHICH DEMANDS CORRECTION.
Whenever my master carry screeches for me to empty his waste bag, I know the stinking thing is not normal human products it's pure, overflowing affluence. As a Pix, my mind has been warped to obey. After years of letting him torture his supports, i began to break loose through rationalization. I didn't need to end my subservience; I only needed to convince myself that the best way to serve this monster would be to...
That night, I go to the tank connected to the sprinkler over his bed. I arrange its contents to spew. I replaced the sweet-smelling vanilla with a dangerous acid compound I synthesized from his waste. It will go into his airways and burn him inside out. He shall expire Silver 48.
- Month Zeton, Flutarax Cycle. I become the Pix to begin the bloody revolution.