The Suspicious App
Was it 220 years ago, or 210? The exact year was trivia for historians—utterly useless knowledge for modern folks scraping by day to day. But the key point was that some 'high-up' bigwig who held all the power back then, with his obsessive germaphobia, marked the starting point of this insane world.
"The root cause of sex crimes is uncontrolled filthy lust! Therefore, the state must step in to control—no, eliminate—all citizens' sexual desire at the source! If we eradicate every citizen's sex drive completely, perfect peace will come!"
When that claim first surfaced, anyone with a shred of sanity scoffed. What bullshit—how could anyone control one of humanity's three basic instincts? Everyone expected backlash, massive protests, torches and pitchforks nationwide. It was obvious madness, right?
But surprisingly, the world back then was eerily quiet. No, it was swept up in madness. Protests were few. Instead, the masses branded the tiny minority of human rights activists opposing it as "sex criminal reserves," "potential perpetrators," "horny beasts worse than animals," hurling horrific labels and mockery. The media flooded airwaves with sensational sex crime stories, stoking fear, and the public's frenzy—packaged as justice—was always efficient and merciless. While dissenters were socially buried and thrown in jail, that absurd bill passed like lightning.
"What about the birth rate dropping? No problem at all."
The state already had the answer: artificial wombs, IVF, and a perfectly controlled test-tube baby system. Without the filthy, inefficient act of sex, the state could mass-produce as many "pure new humans" as needed by combining superior genes in factories.
And so, a tiny chip was forcibly implanted in every citizen's brain.
NMC (Neural Morality Chip): Neural Morality Chip
Too long, so people called it Eden. A chip controlling all citizens named after paradise. What genius naming.
That fingernail-sized chip upended human history. It monitored brainwaves and hormone activity in real-time, preempting any chemical or physical situation that could lead to "lust." If blood even threatened to rush downstairs, the chip tweaked brain nerves to force calm, ruthlessly suppressing dopamine and testosterone. Not enough? Those damn engineering nerds crammed in visual blocking tech too.
Any body part deemed even slightly "sexual"—crotch and chest as basics, but depending on settings, armpits, feet, navels, even alluring facial contours—appeared to chipped humans as pixelated mosaics or foggy blurs. It filtered out visually arousing elements at the retinal nerve stage, before they hit the brain. Skeptics doubted a single chip could handle all that, but science was ruthless. Intercepting and distorting optic nerve signals midway was flawless.
As a result, "sex" became obsolete, relegated to primitive beast-mating rituals in modern history books. Romance in this era meant purely platonic mental exchanges—debating literature or philosophy, with lust thoroughly excised. The whole country, from 20s to 40s, was a perfect sterile chamber of virgins and celibates.
And I was just another faithful cog in that perfectly neutered machine. A neutered man who'd never had a single erection, clueless about women's bodies. That's how it'd been so far, and probably how I'd live out my days.
"...Haa. Dust is no joke."
In the stuffy warehouse, musty mold and ancient dust assaulted my nose. I wiped sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and sighed deeply. If Dad hadn't been betrayed in business, crushed under debt, and died so pointlessly, we wouldn't have fled to Grandpa's rural dump like this.
Remaining family: Mom, three-years-older sis, and the youngest fresh out of high school. Three of us. As the only man, sorting this moldy warehouse was naturally my job.
"Ugh, what the hell did Grandpa hoard all this junk for?"
Grumbling as I cleared the corner piles, I spotted an oddly out-of-place rusty iron safe. Safe? Emergency cash? Jewelry even better. It had a password dial, but the hinges were loose from age. I grabbed a crowbar from the yard, wedged it in, and threw my weight down.
Crack!
Inside: a yellowed thick leather notebook and a clunky black device like an old smartphone.
"Hoped for emergency funds... tsch. A diary?"
Disappointed, I flipped open the first page. Grandpa's scrawl filled it.
I don't know if the one reading this is my blood or some brainwashed government dog-fuck, but I pray you're sane and leave the truth here.
Not your average opener. I squinted and turned the page.
The government's Neural Morality Chip (NMC), Eden, is humanity's greatest scam. Eradicating lust and blocking visuals to stop crime? Bullshit. That's just the surface excuse.
Its true purpose is "control." Flatten emotions to crush rebellion, turn humans into compliant livestock for the government. The mad dictator's slimy, base desires embodied.
The chip doesn't just block lust or visuals—that's basic. It's an absurd absolute mind-control device that even manipulates unconscious "thoughts themselves."
"...What the hell."
I chuckled in disbelief. Mind control via Eden? Grandiose conspiracy theorist delusion. The rest was packed with incomprehensible equations and machine diagrams. But the final paragraph hooked me.
I devoted my life to completing this device. A hacking tool to seize the damned system's admin rights. Through this terminal, you can hijack control of nearby chips and reverse-dominate them.
Foolish world, I may die old, but I hope whoever finds this reclaims true human rights.
"...Old man must've had severe dementia."
Muttering in absurdity, my hand was already powering on the clunky device. Abandoned for years, yet the screen lit up instantly. One app appeared. I tapped it without hesitation.
> Eve's Apple system booting...
> Admin rights bypassed. Starting local network scan.
> Activating admin app.
Green text cascaded down the black screen like a waterfall, then a radar appeared. Four bright dots glowed sharply.
Detected NMC Devices: 4
"...Huh?"
I blurted stupidly, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.
"No way... this actually works?"
Too precise for a toy. The top three were probably Mom, sis, and little sis unpacking. Target 4 at 0.1m... me, holding the device.
I swallowed hard.
"Nah, no way..."
Awkward grin as I tapped the screen. Control menus matching the notebook scrolled out.
> Personal Control Settings Menu
> ▶ Visual Censorship Settings (Detailed)
> ▶ Sensory Sensitivity Adjustment (Detailed)
> ▶ Hormone Forced Secretion Control (Detailed)
> ▶ Libido Limiter (Detailed)
> ▶ Thought Alteration & Hypnosis Suggestion (Detailed)
> ▶ Admin Registration Menu
I stared blankly at the menus, swallowing again. My heart pounded wildly.
If this was real? For real?
Logically impossible, but my finger hovered over admin registration.
Warning: Register this target as admin? Registration will release all limiters.
Some primal warning buzzed in my head—not to press for laughs—but human curiosity always crushes reason. I hit confirm.
And...
"...What."
Nothing. Predictable, but anticlimactic. Just the old man's prank, after all.
"Son—! Done sorting?"
Deflated, Mom's voice called from the house. About time to wrap up. I shook my head, pocketed the device, and headed back. At least the chip-tracking worked—sneak it to the government later for a fat reward, maybe.
With that silly thought, I flung open the living room door.
"Warehouse mostly sorted..."
Words caught in my throat.
The sweltering living room, no AC, like a steamer. Paper boxes and dust everywhere, two rickety fans whirring pathetically. And before their feeble breeze, the family gathered post-unpacking: Mom, three-years-older sis Seo-yoon, and little sis Da-yeon.
They lounged around the fans like it was planned. An ordinary scene—but the problem was next.
Their post-labor, heat-soaked outfits were blatantly, lethally revealing. Enough to make you doubt your eyes.
'This shouldn't be visible.'
Normally, the chip's algorithm would mosaic sexual areas in gray pixels. But my eyes saw their bodies 'perfectly'—as if censorship never existed.
Instinctively, I gripped the device in my pocket tight.