Chapter Text
Gilded Cage Ch1: The End
Takeru Shimizu, Age 30
31 August 2138
‘Italicized Text’
is inner monologue
T/W: gender dysphoria, suicidal ideation, brief mentions of adult toys and crossdressing
Stale air. Dried sweat. Partially dehydrated nutrient paste spilled on your nightstand. Your olfactory senses stir you awake and assault your nostrils before you are even fully aware of your situation.
Pain. Back pain more precisely. The first thing you feel, although you wish it were something more pleasant. Your brain searches for anything better. Stiff neck, sore from the almost twenty-four hours straight you sat in the dive chair. Mentally scanning lower, you register that you have a bad case of what some of the more vulgar previous guild members referred to as “swamp balls”. Your left hand reaches down, lifting the stretchy polyester waistband of your black panties to adjust your jewels.
Your right hand reaches up to behind your head and detaches the cable interfacing with the top of your spine. With a heavy sigh you decide to replenish and check on your affairs before jumping back in for the last time.
The floor is cold, even with your knee-high socks. It is not like you needed to pay for heating these past couple of months anyway. Barely three hours a day are spent conscious in this “reality”. You scoff at the notion of reality. Fuck reality. Reality is what you make it right? This reality is harsh, cold, and unforgiving. There is not a single person who cares about you in this world. Your chosen reality is in Yggdrasil.
And today that reality is coming to an end. So, you have chosen to go along with it.
Heavy footfalls lead you to your bathroom. Along the way you see the sunlight poking its way through the curtains. On the coffee table in the living room is an organized pile of documents and identification papers. You can double check those after, nature calls. And it is blaring loudly.
The door to the bathroom creaks loudly, crying out for maintenance. Or even the smallest hint of lubrication. You do not warrant its wants with your further attention. Nothing in this apartment will be your responsibility after today, the next tenant or the landlord can take care of it. The door closes with even more protest.
Your reflection appears in the mirror as you stand on the tile floor. The last time you had a physical you clocked in at 52 kg, underweight for your 167 cm height. Over a year has passed since then, and you guess your current weight is at 47 kg, too skinny to be healthy for sure.
‘Too bad I never tried to put myself out there. I am quite sure there are at least a couple women in this county who would be thrilled with having a closeted femboy. At least if the H manga and eroge I consume are anything to go by. Ah fuck, who am I kidding, no one would want to be with me now. Maybe just after college at the latest.’
Your physical form and genetics seem to align quite well with your mind's wishes. The expectations that “as a man” you were “supposed” to sport a mustache and for some dumb reason body hair was masculine. What was the point? Humanity evolved from primates, so why strive to look more like them?
If anything, you were the opposite of a primate. Virtually hairless, no fat, barely any muscle, your body is barely more than skin and bones. The only hair you have, besides your eyebrows, has grown to a black shoulder-length mess. It is not like you have had anywhere to go for the past six months, you have not spoken to another human being, nor even seen anyone in person since then.
A quick turn of the shower knob lets loose the flow of cool water. It will be a couple minutes before the temperature is bearable.
With a sigh you strip off the knee-high socks, reveling in the sublime feeling of your toes’ newfound nakedness and freedom. Next you hook your thumbs around your black panties and strip them off. Not that you really needed your hands to assist the removal, your frame can barely keep them on while standing. A sheer black negligee falls to the ground next, leaving you naked. Briefly you debate on running the bath as well but decide against it. Your top priority is to enjoy your last day in Yggdrasil.
The cold sensation of the porcelain toilet seat makes you clench your rear before settling in and doing your business. Thoughts of despair and reaffirmation of your plans run rampant in your mind. The rising steam and gradual temperature break your concentration. With a wipe and flush, your toilet time comes to an end and you enter the shower.
The blissful feeling on soap waging war on sweat, dead skin and dust leaves you with a small high. The last of your shampoo was used up last week, so your hair will remain an oily mess. But the rest of your body feels clean and purged of all impurities.
‘Well almost, I still have this useless cock. Not that I want it anyways. Stupid thing, why was I born a male? Why? Male centered societies are stupid, fuck patriarchal family structures, fuck machismo, fuck “big dick energy”, FUCK ALL THIS SHIT.
Why did Nee-chan have to “play dress up” and treat me like a princess years ago? Maybe I would be normal if not for that. Maybe not, I guess I really liked it… Fuck, well if there is an afterlife, I hope that I can be born again as a woman.’
You exit the shower and wipe yourself down. The towel has not been washed in a while and smells slightly of mold. After drying yourself off as quickly as possible and throwing the towel into the hamper you begin the rest of your ingrained morning routine.
Brush teeth. Floss. Wash face. Fuck, ran out of face wash yesterday. Skip that. Check for any hairs that need tweezed off face. None, moving on. Debate on what to do for the rest of the day.
Yggdrasil. Easy decision. The sink countertop is cluttered with toiletries and adult toys. A glass enema syringe, anal beads, metal chastity cage, toy cleaner and several empty bottles of lube have been hastily shoved into the corner. Another problem for the landlord.
A naked stroll through the two-bedroom apartment brings you to your dresser.
‘Might as well keep up the appearances for my corpse. They can discover how fucked up I was when they clean out the apartment’
Your Tokyo Daigaku hoodie and sweatpants are retrieved, along with one of your few pairs of boxer briefs. The next thing to check is to make sure your documents are organized, your self-written will is on top, and your suicide note is ready.
‘Social Identification Card. Check. Family Register Documents with notarized seal. Check. ID badge from “father’s” company. Yep, Takeru Shimizu, VP of Operations, Shimizu Pharmaceuticals. Check.
Let’s see… sell off what you can and give that money to the Nijiro Diversity charity. Cool, no money back to family. Good, all of it is there. Not that mom or dad would want anything from me. Fuck both of them. I bet they won’t even be at the funeral.
And now the last bit. Suicide note. I hate this world… blah blah blah… perverted son of the “great” CEO died in the closet. Heh, maybe this will shame him into early retirement. That would be a fitting revenge from the grave.”
Securing the note to your dive room door you decide to do one last check. You grab your outdoor coat, breathing mask and goggles, checking the filters on your mask. They will be enough, at least for the quick excursion right now. A firm layer of particulates has accumulated between your front door and frame, signaling the infrequent use it has seen in the past half year. Quickly locking the door behind you, your footsteps echo down the hall towards the stairs.
Fourteen floors, and two small breaks to catch your breath, later you are finally at the rooftop. Your tiny frame must give the door a charging tackle twice before it finally creaks open. Even with the filters reading “green” the air feels heavy and invasive to your lungs. You walk to the edge of the roof, feeling disdain at the polluted air obscuring the sky. The ground is not visible from the twenty third floor rooftop.
‘This for sure is high up enough. Well rooftop, I’ll be back after midnight. So in about… twelve hours. See you then I guess.’
You carefully make your way back to your apartment, shedding your protective gear and throwing it in a pile near the front door. It will be used later today. Time for final preparations.
Frantically you search for your phone, finding it in between the couch cushions you call a bed. You transfer the last of your savings into Yggdrasil cash shop currency. A refrigerated tube of nutrient paste, labeled “Daily Essentials by Shimizu Parma” is quickly gulped down, followed by electrolyte infused water. You grab the last vitamin and mineral injection you have, quickly slotting it into your IV port in your left arm.
Confident that Yggdrasil will not boot you due to a nutrient deficiency warning, you make your way to your dive room. A worn leather chair, in serious need of reupholstering, greets you. Its companion hums in a low tune, fans working overtime in the dusty room. You grab the neural port, sit down comfortably, and plug the cord into the base of your skull.
You check to see that your voice modulator is working and set to your custom profile of “Mature Onee-san”. Mentally you check off everything you did since waking up.
‘Maybe I should have organized the toy and lingerie closet? Too much work right now. If I really want to I can do it before I get reacquainted with the rooftop. Oh, I should make sure the funds have transferred correctly.’
Opening your browser, you check your bank statement. It reads off with a line of zero’s confirming the last of your savings have transferred over successfully to the Yggdrasil Cash Shop.
This is the last day of Yggdrasil. Your last day of Yggdrasil. Your last day on Earth. You might as well enjoy it.