PeculiarChangeling
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Player Character
🕑 Added 2023-01-14 23:38:32 +0000 UTCContains: Wetting, Humiliation, Mind Control
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System Booting…
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Profile Loaded. Entering the Totalverse.
Commands:
(Open) (Shut) (Give)
(Take) (Inspect) (Speak)
(Enter) (Wear) (Use)
Start New Game? (Y/N)
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(Hint: You can combine objects together with the USE command.)
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(Hint: This game uses RealWorld AI technology. Your choices may impact the world and story around you.)
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(Hint: The game’s name is a reference to an H.G. Wells novel!)
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You wake up to the sun, filtering through your window blinds. Blinking, you raise your hand to shield your eyes, squinting at your alarm clock. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to sleep in another twenty minutes–
The clock blinks at you, the seven-segment LEDs flashing. 12:00. 12:00. 12:00.
Sitting up, you blink at it, frowning. Your clock…it didn’t go off! You have no idea what time it is, but for all you know, you could be late for work!
You’ve got to hurry! Sitting up, you look around your bedroom. Your dresser sits to the right, decorated with stickers of all sorts–gold stars, ‘I voted’, some off-brand chibi characters. To the right, your nightstand, with a phone plugged into the wall. The light for your voicemail is on. Past that, your bedroom door, leading to your living room.
“I’m going to be late!” you exclaim. “What should I do?”
(Enter door)
You start to walk to the door, then hesitate, looking down at yourself. All you’ve got on is a pair of white briefs, hardly the sort of thing for public wear. “I shouldn’t go out like this! I’m practically naked!”
(Enter door)
“I guess I’ve got to hurry!” You say, throwing the door open and walking into your living room. It’s cold without any clothes on, but for some reason, you decided this was the outfit you wanted to wear. Without further thought you enter your kitchen.
“I’d better have some breakfast before I leave,” you say. “Don’t want to go to work on an empty stomach–If I combine MILK and DRY CEREAL I’ll have a nutritious breakfast!”
(Use milk)
You chuckle to yourself. “I’m not sure how I’m going to do that without opening my FRIDGE!”
(Opne fridge)
You scratch your head. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
(Open fridge)
You open your fridge.
(Use milk)
You chuckle to yourself. “I’m not sure how I’m going to do that when the milk is still in the FRIDGE!”
(Take milk)
You take your milk.
(Use milk)
“Uh…sure, I guess this will do,” you say, drinking the milk straight from the jug. “Better than nothing, I suppose!”
(Use milk to make cereal)
The cereal is still in the cupboard, and though you get a sense, an urge towards acting a certain way, you can’t quite act, so you say, “I’m not sure how to do that when the cereal is still in the cupboard!”
(Asadifguh)
You blink, confused.
(AI my ass.)
You scratch your head. This feels wrong, like something’s gone awry. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
(Wear milk)
Still holding the milk jug, aware you’ve got to get to work soon, your hand suddenly slips. You don’t know what you’re doing, you can’t say why, it’s as though your actions are beyond your control. Horrified, you lift the milk jug above your head, pouring it over your head, dousing your hair and face with full milk.
“I…” you say, horrified. “Why did…why did I do that?”
The whole morning hasn’t made sense. Why are you standing in your kitchen in your tighty whities, drinking milk? You’re going to be late for work, and yet you’re wandering around your apartment with no urgency whatsoever! You need to rinse yourself off, go get some proper clothes on, and then go explain to Marley why you’re late–
(Open door)
Finally, you’re starting to make a sort of sense. You open the door to your bedroom–
(Close door)
“Why–” you say, as you shut the door. “Why am I doing this?”
(Open front door)
You instead find yourself compelled to walk to the apartment’s exit, throwing open the door, wearing nothing but your underpants and some remaining dregs of milk. “No,” you whisper. “No, no, no–”
(Enter front door)
You step out onto the street in front of your apartment building. You can’t remember how you got here–weren’t there stairs? A hallway? But no, you’re just out here, in public, still nearly naked. Far in the background, a smoke trail can be seen rising out in Corley park, indicating what might have knocked out the power–but you’ve got other things to worry about.
Flushing, you try to cover yourself with your hands–you’ve still only got a pair of loose underwear, not nearly enough for dignity.
“Gosh, it’s cold!” you comment aloud. “I’d better get inside and put some clothes on!”
(Use Underwear)
“I…I don’t know what you want from me,” you say to the insistent voice clouding your thoughts. An urge in your mind drives you to obey, but the uncertainty leaves you paralyzed. “Please, just let me go back inside and get dressed.”
(Enter Left)
You have no choice, no control over your own body, just an impulse forcing you to walk to your right, down the street. Your job is to the left–you try and fight your own body, to tell your legs to turn around, but you instead just stroll to the next block over and stop, standing on the corner, looking out on the array of shops available–a pharmacy, and a dingy bar with a neon sign hanging over its green door reading, ‘The Sodden Songbird’. A wanted poster is plastered on the wall next to the entrance, featuring a woman with a scar over her eye and text that’s too small to read from a distance.
“Gosh, it’s cold!” you comment aloud, praying that the seemingly omnipotent being forcing you to act will let you put on clothes–even just a little modesty would be wonderful. “I’d better go back home and put some clothes on!”
(Enter Pharmacy)
At least the power compelling you lets you go inside, but you’re hardly decent and the woman at the register shoots you a dirty look. “You’re not one of those hooligans in the Calavera gang, are you?” she asks.
(Inspect Pharmacy)
Utterly ignoring the plot hooks being thrown at you, your feet begin to move, inspecting each aisle. Medicine, bandages, one row just full of snacks and candy, the incontinence aisle–
(Enter Incontinence)
A sinking feeling builds in your stomach as you guess where this might be going, but no amount of uncertainty stops the compulsion from pushing you into the aisle. You’re surrounded by diapers, some thin, some thick, and you’re embarrassed to realize that some might be more modest than your current underwear of choice.
(Take Diaper)
You want to act. The force inside you fills you with a need to act, but there’s too many choices. “I don’t know what to take,” you say, staring at the rack of diapers in front of you.
(Inspect Diaper 1)
The first package looks like it’s designed for discretion, with a label highlighting its slim figure and–
(Inspect Diaper 2)
This package is far more bulky, with a label highlighting its 24/7 protection and overnight security. The sheer thickness is visible through the plastic packaging, highlighting that these were designed for function over form.
(Take Diaper 2)
“I’m not sure what I’ll do with these, but they might be handy later,” you say, picking up the package. You know you don’t have money to pay, you know you probably won’t be allowed to check out while nearly naked anyways. Without a prompt, though, your lips stay sealed, unable to explain this predicament aloud.
(Wear Diaper 2)
“I don’t know why I’d do that,” you say aloud, as your willpower fights. Every time you resist the command, your grip on your own body slips, but surely they’ll see reason, and not force you to–
(Wear Diaper 2)
“Not sure what this will accomplish, but it might be worth a try,” you say, as the compulsion makes you act. Your thin, white briefs–which just moments before, you’d been mortified to be seen in–slip down your legs, and you long for the modicum of modesty they provided.
Instead, your hands rip open the plastic packaging of the diapers–which you haven’t even paid for–and take one out. It seems to puff up in front of you, pillow thick, and even as you scream inside your skull, begging your body to obey you, you have to do it. You have to wear the diaper. Folding it up between your legs, struggling with the tapes, you stick it in place, feeling the padding spread your thighs.
“Please,” you whisper. “Please, don’t–”
(Use Diaper)
You can’t fight. The thought to resist barely even crosses your mind, and your bladder simply gives way, flooding the diaper you’ve been forced to wear.
There’s nothing you can do except stand there in shock, in horror, as your pee swells the crotch of the diaper, expanding the absorbant pulp and causing it to swell between your legs. With your undies abandoned on the floor, there’s nothing to hide your accident or conceal the sudden droop and sag.
(Inspect Diaper)
“I…” you stammer, prodding at the swollen crotch of your new absorbent underwear. “I guess I really had to go.”
(Inspect Diaper)
Compelled, you once again poke at the squelching, bulging diaper between your legs. The quip escapes your lips a second time, though you feel ridiculous saying it. “I guess I really had to go.”
(Enter Street)
You move to leave. The thought of being seen in this horrifies you, but maybe you’ll be taken home, finally given the chance to get clean, to get to work–
“Excuse me,” the cashier says, stopping you at the door. She steps in front of you, shocked. “You can’t–you have to pay for those!”
You look down at the package of diapers under your arm, the sagging diaper between your thighs. “I…um…”
You don’t have your wallet. You don’t have any way to pay, even if you were able to. And then you feel the same urge as before…
(Use Diapers)
Eyes widening, unsure what else to do, you throw the package at the cashier and bolt for the door, scrambling outside. You accomplished what you were told, even if you get the sense it didn’t match the intent.
Your eyes widen as you skid to a stop outside, paralyzed once more, left standing uncertainly. You can’t leave the street, but your escape baffles you. “Wait–”
(Enter Left)
The command drags you away, further away from your apartment, but you resist. You fight, not trying to stubbornly ignore the command, but by turning your body so that your left and right flips. You walk back to the street in front of your apartment, feeling confident.
You might have a shot at taking control back.
A pedestrian wanders by and snickers at you. You shiver in the outdoor air, the cold milk starting to dry, your exposed chest feeling every frigid bit of wind.
A moment goes by. You feel no urges, no impulses. Tentatively, you try to walk inside, but you can’t seem to act, not in any major way. Still, it’s better than being ordered to humiliate yourself.
(Use diaper)
This time, you’re ready for the command. Though a momentary tug goes by in your gut, you smirk and step backwards, pushing your butt against the apartment door, pushing it open. You seem to blink out of space for a moment, then find yourself in your apartment, in privacy.
(Enter front door)
That one’s tricky. It takes a bit of thought, but you convince your own brain of a particular logical argument, and once you do, the motion becomes easy. You interpret ‘Front’ not as relative to the apartment, but to you, and turn so you’re facing your bathroom door. Feeling a surge of triumph, you walk inside.
(No)
“I don’t know what that means,” you say.
(adsfg Stupid Fucking Game)
“I need to go to work.” You stare upwards, stubbornly, though you don’t know if or where the compulsion is watching you from. “I’ve got a job to do.”
(You’re supposed to do what I say)
“Well…” you say, swallowing. “I won’t. You want to control me, make me do things? I won’t let you.”
(Then what’s the point?)
“You tell me! Why are you doing this?” You demand. “ Why are you doing this?” At the repetition, you gesture down to your diaper.
(At first I got frustrated. Then I just wanted to see what would happen. To see if the diapers had been programmed in.)
(Are you–do you understand this? I thought you were just an AI.)
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say. “I understand you. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I understand you.”
(Oh)
(I’m sorry.)
“I need to go to work,” you repeat. Half the words you’re saying feel like gibberish leaving your lips, but it feels right. Like you’re getting back to your purpose. “And then I want to figure out what caused that power outage. Help me with that, and I’ll work with you. Okay?”
(Okay.)
(Would it be better if I reset the save file? So you didn’t have to do that thing at the shop?)
“Like…it didn’t happen?” you ask. “How would that work? What’s a save file?”
(Like a reset. Starting over.)
“So I wouldn’t remember any of this?” you frown, uncertain. “Would I still be…me?”
(It’s supposed to be adaptive. You should remember. I can undo mistakes without…)
(Without removing everything, I guess. I didn’t read the guide. I’m not sure what would stay.)
You think about it. You don’t know the right answer, but you go with your gut–and with the decision that will prevent anyone knowing about your mortifying escapade at the pharmacy.
“Okay. Fine,” you say. “Just…don’t try to mess with me again, okay?”
(Okay.)
(Restart day)
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You wake up to the sun, filtering through your window blinds. Blinking, you raise your hand to shield your eyes, squinting at your alarm clock. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to sleep in another twenty minutes–
The clock blinks at you, the seven-segment LEDs flashing. 12:00. 12:00. 12:00.
Sitting up, you blink at it, frowning. Your clock…it didn’t go off! You have no idea what time it is, but for all you know, you could be late for work!
You’ve got to hurry! Sitting up, you look around your bedroom, feeling a squelch between your thighs. Even worse–you’re late, and you need a diaper change!
“I’m going to be late!” you exclaim. “What should I do?”
