Premium Story #1: An Address Collision

Premium Story #1: An Address Collision (Content Tags: Kafkaesque horror, perceived brain-drain and brain-gain, messing, diapers, humiliation, intelligent protagonist, school setting, mild references to scat, light sexual elements such as masturbation and diaper-humping, seat-sniffing, unfair scenario, surrealism, crude SPED depiction) When two things share the same name, there is always bound to be confusion; this is especially true in the case that two files in the same location are trying to share the same name. Such confusion can lead to mix-ups, to corruption of the initial data: An address collision. "This must be some sort of stupid mistake. You can't really think...?" They didn't see it as a mistake, and it wasn't a sick joke to them either. What they instead saw was an unfortunate reality that had been verified by a technology they didn't dare to question. In an imperfect algorithm, which frankly should have always allowed the benefit of human analysis and intervention, they saw a flawless system that was beyond reproach. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Renard. Your score is right here in front of us." Rory Renard, a young man who had recently turned eighteen, and who was about to start his second semester on his final year of high school. A prodigy of various disciplines, with perfect scores in all his classes, who was the obvious choice to become the valedictorian. The one voted by his fellow students to be 'most likely to succeed'. That Renard, was now sitting in the administrative office, with his academic file under some completely ridiculous review. And why? Due to an extremely unlikely event, a rare circumstance that should have been easily rectified by a curt conversation between adults. The school, like many others in the district, had recently 'upgraded' to a new filing system that utilized 'cutting edge' AI, but there were apparently some major flaws with the new system, as Rory could currently see. It was a problem that he had actually dealt with on an analog level all throughout his schooling history, but it had always been easily fixed by a short explanation of what the issue was. What was the issue? Well, he was sitting a couple of feet away, eating a booger, and frankly smelling vaguely of feces. There were two young men with the name 'Rory Renard', who both happened to have the same birth date, but whom had no actual relation or similarity. They'd been in the same school system since Kindergarten, which had always been an affront to the pride of one of them, but the problem caused by that had never been of this magnitude. One was borderline genius that may one day change the world, while the other was a pantspooping retard who would never amount to anything except ridicule. The new system had mismatched their academic notes with their identities. Their grades were switched, their behavioral notes, their medical needs, their IQ scores, and anything else that might matter. Their basic identities were still correct, such as school photo, address, emergency contacts, and so forth, but nothing that Rory saw as genuinely important. "The computer is obviously wrong, Mr. Franz. Just look at me, and then look at him! You can't seriously expect me to take this as anything but a bad joke." The frown on the older man's face betrayed no sense of jest, no humor, only a stoic presence. He didn't appear frazzled or sympathetic; he didn't look as though he cared to get to the core of the truth either. If anything, he looked a little annoyed that Rory was giving him so much pushback, for what he thought to be a basic component of his daily tasks. "The system doesn't lie, Rory. If you have complaints, then you can present them to the superintendent whenever he comes back around. My job isn't to question the accuracy of your file; my job is to make sure that all the students are in their correct placements. As it would turn out, the two of you seem to be improperly placed, so I'm just fixing that." The other Rory, who barely appeared to be paying attention, was busying himself by blowing spit bubbles, which lazily popped and dribbled across his lips. His lack of intellect was clearly noticeable at a surface level, and yet the administration seemed to think it made perfect sense that he should take over the smart Rory's classes. "I'll get a lawyer, I'll fight this, I'm not going to--" "--ENOUGH. I'm sure you have plenty of big feelings you need to get out, but that isn't my area to deal with. I'll put a note in your file that you want your placement to be evaluated, but for the time being, the two of you will report to the classes on your new schedule." Was this really happening? What was worse, was that Rory had been so far ahead, that the only classes he had for the semester were unimportant electives that had no real baring on his GPA; the dimwit getting his schedule would end up still taking the valedictorian spot, because there would be no way for him to lower the current average of Rory's grades! There was a gurgling fart from the other chair, and by the way that the dumb Rory was leaning forward with slobber coating his chin, it didn't take a detective to recognize the telltale signs of someone actively defecating. There was sloppy plopping, riding a flatulent note of expulsion, and the diaper under his loose sweatpants crinkled from the rapid expansion. "He literally just crapped in his stupid tard diaper! And you're seriously trying to say that he's the genius student? The president of the student body? And the chess club?" The dumb Rory giggled a little, looking ecstatic to have fresh, warm soil beneath his flabby buttocks. It was the same braindead reaction that the smart Rory had cringed at all throughout elementary and middle school, only mostly stopping now in high school, when they'd gone to sharing only one inclusion-friendly class together. "Hm, well, I'll make a note here about medical requirements." The man muttered, still seeming disinterested by the strangeness of the scenario. "Now, the two of you are free to go. Here are your new schedules." As the smell of fresh droppings began to fill the cramped office, Rory wrinkled his nose and plucked the paper off the desk. The first thing that stood out, really the only thing that mattered, was: Special Education (Severe). It was the retard room. It was the bottom tier retard room. It was the centralized location where all the most mentally incompetent students in the school were placed; it was a room full of the same caliber of student as the young man sitting next to him, who was currently gyrating around in his own manure. "I'm not going there. There's no fucking way. I'll just go home." Rory growled. As much as he wanted that to be the case, for his threat to have teeth, that was not what would end up happening. Instead, while he fussed and balked at the absurdity of his new placement, the admin had already called down someone to forcibly escort him to his new academic abode. While Rory was brainy, his other physical attributes were less impressive. His growth was stunted, his puberty lacking, which had left him flatly at five foot, and less than a hundred pounds. He hadn't grown as much as an inch since seventh grade, and he'd already been considered pretty petite back then. He was a pencil-pusher, a poindexter, so he had no muscle definition to speak of, only a thin layer of fat. So, as it would turn out, he was rather easy to manhandle. It only took one regular-sized adult to drag his ass down to the SPED hall, regardless of his kicking and screaming about it. His first stop wasn't in his new classroom though, but in what was effectively the SPED version of 'homeroom', with the lead teacher of the department. As he stood in front of her, his face red and tear-stained, she was reading off of the file that had just been emailed to her. "Oh, I see...A little mix-up..." She murmured. The sound of that was music to Rory's ears, and he jumped at the opportunity to get the attention of someone with an ounce of sanity! "Yes! That's what I keep saying! There was a stupid mix-up, between me and that other kid!" She nodded her head, "Same name, same birthday, I'm not surprised there was an issue." Was the nightmare going to be over before it began? What sweet serendipity! "Exactly, so if I can just--" "--Lucky that the new system was able to catch that, huh? Technology sure is incredible." His hope was fractured and then shattered, all in an instant. "W-what? No! The new system got it wrong! I not..." "Don't be so upset, dear. I know it must have been hard to be stuck in such hard classes for so long, but now we'll make you right as rain! You'll learn things that are more your speed..." Her condescending tone was like a knife in Rory's gut, and much like the administrative officer, it betrayed no chance of relenting. "Let's see... Very low function, poor social discipline, full diaper dependency, risky behavior involving diaper-touching..." She blathered on, reading out loud what she saw on the screen. "Well, if you were in a higher functioning class, then we might try to address some of those, but we won't bother stifling you in the class you'll be joining." She wasn't really talking to him. She was talking to herself, just like an adult spoke about a very young child in front of them, not bothering to include them as a real component of the conversation. He wondered what those 'risky' behaviors meant, but then he started to think about the long history he'd had with his nominal doppelganger over the years. All the gross things he'd witnessed in that time, especially in the unrestrained elementary years, and the resulting stains on the dimwit's hands, or around his mouth... She was talking about poop! How repulsive! How insulting! "I-I don't...! I don't play with...o-or eat, I can't even believe..." The young man sputtered with indignation, a blush coming to his cheeks at the clear insinuation. "Shh, no more fussing, dear. Let's get you dressed and ready for class, okay?" He would have argued more fervently with her, in some small attempt to defend his honor, but any subsequent bleats were silenced by the rubber nipple of an adult-sized pacifier, which strapped around his head. If he had to guess, then he would assume that the other Rory may have also had that on his file, for either genuine soothing, or perhaps because he was once a biter. (Though obviously not now, since he hadn't had any teeth in quite some time.) What would follow was the end of the prologue, and the start of the first act, in this tragic comedy that life was now becoming. His polo shirt was taken from him, his black slacks were taken from him, as well as the boxer-briefs that he'd long claimed enough toileting proficiency to have earned. All these things would be lost upon the grand changing table, and in their place, he would become shackled by shame. As could have been expected by having swapped places with the other Rory, his new primary garment, which was almost like a uniform all by itself, was a very thick adult diaper; retard-grade, if such a thing existed. It bowed his legs out with its bulk, and he could feel the material riding halfway up his back, having the extra length to contain more stool. It had four sturdy tapes, and when he'd tried to put his hand by them, it'd been smacked as if he was hovering over the cookie jar. He couldn't tell if he was being physically reprimanded for seeming to attempt to take it off, or because the teacher thought he was trying to touch himself, or as a more repulsive third option, that he was already going digging for trouser-brownies. Regardless of the reason, it left a scar upon his pride. Once the diaper was on, a large drool bib was then secured around his neck; on it, right in the center, there appeared to be a poo emoji sticker. He wanted to ask about it, but the pacifier was still lodged in his mouth; it was only by fortune that some of his other questions would be answered by the teacher's rambling. "No onesie or anything like that today...I'll have to contact the middle school about finding some fitting clothes for you. Oh, and since you've been such a fussy boy, I think some time with the cap would do you some good." Cap? What cap? He didn't have to wait long to figure that part out; from the same cabinet as the bib, she pulled a long, white, pointed 'hat' made of some kind of paper material. His first impression was that it looked like a gnome's hat, but then he saw the writing on it: DUNCE. It was a dunce cap. A classic accoutrement of discipline, with the goal being to denigrate the intellect of the one wearing it. She gently pinned it to his hair, to keep it in place, and the smiled at her handiwork. He now looked utterly ridiculous, which was apparently a job well done in her book. He was placed back on the ground, and almost immediately, he realized how much difficulty he would now have with walking. The tremendous bulk of the diaper was an encumbrance that he'd never dealt with, and as she led him out of the room by the hand, he found himself barely able to keep up with her by toddling along. The diaper rustled and crinkled with the slightest bit of movement, an embarrassing feature of the plastic-backing that the tardpants boasted. Finally, his ultimate destination would be room 113. What was behind that door? It was hell, at least for someone as intellectually gifted as Rory. After all, this was the classroom intended for the worst of the worst. It was the classroom where all the low-functioning, adult males of the school were sequestered, but it was really more of a quarantine. It wasn't hard to see why, whenever he crossed past the threshold of that door. What would he find? He would find a collection of the most degrading possible behaviors, all packed into one medium-sized classroom, with extremely lax supervision to preside over it all. There was a single, disinterested looking teacher at the back of the class; she sat behind a desk, scrolling through her phone while having earbuds in. She had no interest in teaching, or even in moderating; she was but a zookeeper who was tasked with keeping everyone alive, fed, and sparsely changed out of their shit-packed britches. The class itself was like a jungle; infantile toys were tossed all along the floor, both diaper pails were cracked open from overloaded capacity and balled-up diapers could be seen being used as toys too, students were giggling and screeching, and it smelled worse than a barnyard that'd been baking in the sun. Within moments of entering, Rory was also introduced to the ambient soundscape of the retard room: strained grunting and groaning, pleased moaning, mindless drool-soaked babbling; there was a constant barrage of farts, of all different pitches, volumes, and durations; there was the crackling of solid turds, the gassy plopping of sticky loads, and the high-powered splattering of loose stools; diapers crinkled, creaking under the weight of the heft being added to them; there was squishing and squelching, from sitting in their own putrid piles, or from fervently kneading their own diapers. It was akin to a factory, but one that produced only retarded degradation and filth. No moment could pass without a flatulent note bubbling in the air, or without the distinct sound of waste being expelled into the same sort of diaper that Rory was now entrapped within. He saw students crawling around, their diapers sagging heavily with use; he saw one boy squatting, getting red-faced as he was obviously shitting himself, and another boy crawled behind him to stick his nose into the expanding seat. He saw men with their hand down the front of their diaper, their eyes rolling back as they were obviously in the middle of great pleasure, which would only add to the soundscape as the spurted loudly into their garments. That wasn't the only very 'adult' thing he saw either, as he could also see a pair in the corner of the room, where one had mounted the other from behind, and was currently humping quite vigorously; each thrust was a grunting, farting, squishing affair from the dominant one, with the back of his diaper starting to bulge with freshly squeezed shit. Meanwhile, the submissive one laid there and gladly took it, the undeniable sound of explosive diarrhea sloppily echoing from within his own tormented padding. It was a dirty den of debauchery. It was a nightmarish slice of the absurd, kafkaesque scenario that he'd found himself embroiled in. It was his new classroom.