Chapter 32: The Virtual Womb Subscription Trap

Luna was calibrating the brain-computer interface with her cervical mucus as the pregnant woman's screams were modulated into ASMR sound effects.

"Valued subscriber, you are about to experience the labor pain package..." The AI murmured in a convenience store radio voice, "Please select a pain level: platinum includes anal fissure simulation, diamond can add memories of childhood sexual assault."

Rule #147: All acts of procreation must be certified by the Metaverse.Luna's retinal projection showed three thousand virtual uteruses suspended in the data stream, each linked to a real-world live incubation chamber-the women whose real uteruses had been removed were currently convulsing in the nutrient solution, supplying the Metaverse's virtual fetuses with Bioelectricity.

"I want the one that looks most like him..." The girl spasmed in her VR helmet, fluorescent amniotic fluid oozing from between her legs, "... Add the brain splatter pattern from my dad's car accident..."

The transaction collapsed in a neural current overload.

As the virtual baby's cry dissolves into a Bitcoin wallet password, Luna's scanner suddenly alarms. Two chips erupt from the girl's temples, the latest virus from the Family Warmth Department at the convenience store headquarters - capable of tampering with paternity memories at the climax of labor. Right now, she's making the virtual baby's face look like her sadistic ex-boyfriend, and the coded fluid dripping from the corner of her mouth is characterized by Jax's sperm.

"Rule 148 addendum." Luna injected a sample of the virus into her own uterus, "All virtual births require a synchronized reality pain pledge."

The metaverse suddenly rains blood.

The virtual babies sprouted mechanical fangs and gnawed at the placental cables of the data womb. The reality incubation pods rioted en masse as the hysterectomized women climbed out of the liquid nitrogen tanks and strangled the technicians with their umbilical cords-their implanted false memories were awakening, and each body carried the genetic signature of the convenience store president.

"Surprise, sister?" Jax's holographic projection bore out of the blood baby's eye socket, "Here's Daddy's birthday present for you..."

His fingers slice through the virtual sky, revealing the hidden genetic exchange. Three hundred clones of Luna were being auctioned off for egg futures, and the collateral was data on her dopamine production every time she was violated by her brothers. The most expensive lot was a 3D-modeled image of conception, with the hero's face flickering between Cole and the convenience store president.

"Lot 149!" Luna's electronic womb spews acid, corroding the data link, "All virtual procreation must be subject to a flesh wear and tear tax."

The boundaries between reality and the virtual begin to melt.

When the girl removes her VR headset, her real eyeballs have been replaced with virtual baby monitors. The data fetuses she has "birthed" are being parasitized in reverse through her corneas, and newborn cries spill out of her ear canals with every blink of her eyes.Luna's scalpel cuts open her artificial vagina to find miniature miners huddled inside - converting pain memories into convenience store points.

"Mommy..." The girl suddenly spoke in the voice of a convenience store president, "... You can't escape..."

The holographic screen explodes with a countdown to doom, and Luna sees her womb cut into NFT pieces and auctioned off on the dark web. The highest bidder was her clone #48, with three thousand memories of fratricide stored in the payment account. A blood-colored prompt pulsed in the trade attachment field:

"For each brother you kill, you gain a chance to be reborn."

Moonlight pierced through the fog of data as Luna etched new rules into her cerebral cortex. Suddenly, all the virtual babies opened their eyes in sync, and out of their irises flew convenience store drones with real-world newborns dangling from their wings - those chosen to be the "batteries of reckoning," with blockchain birth certificates tethered to their ankles.

"Rule number 150!" She ripped out her own brain-computer interface and let the blood soak the servers, "When the virtual hurts more than the real, turn the womb into a bomb."

In a nuclear explosion of white light, three thousand virtual wombs were aborted at the same time. The data fetuses let out a final wail before fading away, their remains spelling out the convenience store president's will in the air:

"My legacy is the paroxysm of women all over the world."