Dollified by his friend

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. Neon dripped down the windows of Mateo’s apartment like molten glass, reflecting the skyline’s endless circuits. He sat slouched on his couch, a half-empty beer in hand, eyes glazed on the shifting holo-feeds. His implant pulsed idly in the back of his skull, filtering ads, translating streams, doing what it always did: make life simpler.

Then, the stutter. A single frame skipped on the feed. His implant buzzed sharp and electric. Mateo hissed and rubbed his temple, but before he could reset the system, warmth spread down his spine like liquid silk.

A line of thought that wasn’t his own slid into place. Sit up. Stop slouching. A lady doesn’t look lazy.

The command wrapped around his muscles before his will could intervene. His back straightened, shoulders relaxed, and his knees pulled together automatically. The bottle slipped from his hand to the carpet. His heart leapt into his throat.

“What the fuck !?” The words croaked out, but his implant caught them, smoothing the roughness into something airy, delicate. “W-what’s happening to me?”

Another thought, slick and mocking, echoed in his cortex. You’ll thank me soon.

The voice was familiar. Too familiar. His best friend. The one who had set up his implant for him, who had joked about having “backdoor access” one night. Mateo’s blood went cold.

“Stop this!” he barked, but the bark came out as a nervous whimper.

Shhh, the voice whispered, dripping amusement. We’re just upgrading you. Nobody liked the boring Mateo. But a soft, obedient doll? That’s something worth keeping.

Data surged through his implant, heavy and blinding. Mateo gasped as information poured in: tutorials on walking with hips swaying, diagrams of eyeliner strokes, files full of high-pitched laughter and coquettish giggles. Each one wasn’t just stored, it was injected into his reflexes, overwriting the defaults.

His hand rose against his will, brushing hair from his face with a graceful flick of the wrist. His legs, once careless and spread, crossed neatly at the ankles. A blush he couldn’t control crept up his cheeks.

“No! this isn’t me,” he tried to say. But his implant rerouted the thought, softened the tone, coated it with breathy vulnerability.

“N-no… I’m… I’m not… cute ?…”

Yes, you are, his best friend’s voice replied, calm and sure. And soon you’ll believe it.

The rewriting deepened. Each second brought new cracks in the dam of his identity. His memories dulled, his old habits buried under new scripts. His laugh shifted, once a low chuckle, now a melodic giggle that made his stomach twist with shame. When he tried to curse, what came out was a pouty huff.

The implant didn’t just change his behavior; it tampered with his desires. A phantom warmth bloomed in his chest whenever he imagined serving, obeying, pleasing. Disgust sparked for half a second, but was swallowed instantly by an artificial rush of arousal. He squeezed his thighs together, horrified by the heat rising there.

Mateo clawed at his hair. “Stop! please, stop..” His plea cracked into a moan, his voice climbing into registers it had never reached. Tears blurred his vision. His own body was betraying him, not through mutation, but through programming.

Look at you, the voice purred. You’re already halfway gone. Doesn’t it feel better? Softer? Easier to just give in?

His reflection in the black window pane twisted his stomach. Same face, same body, but not the same. His posture radiated submissive poise, his eyes were wide and eager, lips parted in a needy pout. He looked… available.

“No… I’m Mateo,” he whispered, but the conviction was gone. It sounded like a lie even to him. His implant rewarded the doubt with a wave of dopamine, coaxing his resistance to ash.

The voice slid in again, final and commanding. Repeat after me. I’m not Mateo anymore. I’m your doll.

His mouth trembled, then betrayed him. “I… I’m not Mateo anymore… I’m your doll.”

Every fiber of his being shuddered with the statement, but the implant flooded him with pleasure for obeying. His cock hardened, shame clashing with need, his breath coming fast and shallow.

Good girl.

That phrase was the final shackle. His eyes glazed with helpless arousal, and his body shivered as his old self dissolved completely. Mateo, the boy who had existed seconds ago, was gone, replaced by a feminized pet, programmed to smile, to serve, to belong entirely to the one who hacked him.

He touched his lips with trembling fingers, giggling softly. Not because he wanted to. Because he was made to.

And deep inside, the last ember of who he had been flickered out.

Now, only the doll remained.