The Luxury Package E-Book

Andreas Stahl

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 156

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

In a future in which Germany has degenerated into a surveillance state, 18-year-old Malte Förster lives in a system that monitors his every move. From birth, every citizen is implanted with a surveillance chip; the state knows all data, all movements and controls the life of its citizen down to the smallest detail. But when Malte is given a shadowy opportunity to book the "luxury package" – a secret that gives him access to a world of power and freedom – he finds himself caught up in a whirlpool of crime, power games and dangerous desire. From contract killings to wild parties, from forbidden affairs to explosive secrets - Malte lives a life that many can only dream of, but the price is high. "The Luxury Package" is a nerve-wracking thriller that explores the limits of freedom and self-determination with violence, eroticism and humor. In a world where control means everything, the question is how much you are willing to sacrifice for the ultimate freedom.

Leseprobe

Title: The Luxury Package

Author: Andreas Stahl

Biography:

Andreas Stahl was born in Frankfurt am Main in 1984 and grew up in a time characterized by rapid technological changes and ever-increasing surveillance. After graduating from high school, he was initially drawn to the world of media and communication, where he worked for various companies and in advertising. From an early age, he was interested in the dark sides of modern society and the effects of advancing digitalization on individual freedom.

In his early 30s, Stahl decided to pursue his dream and start writing. Without a classical literary education, but with a deep interest in thrillers, dystopian stories and the human psyche, he found his own distinctive style.

Andreas Stahl now lives in Berlin, where he enjoys walking through the streets in his free time, collecting old books and modern technology, and thinking about the direction of the world. With his debut novel, he sends a strong signal about the dark side of society and shows how close freedom can come in an increasingly monitored world - and how high the price is.

Chapter 1: The 18th Birthday

The apartment was a disgraceful example of government-assigned housing. Cold white painted walls, a table made of cheap plastic and a sofa that felt like the ass of a clone worker after a 20-hour shift. Malte Förster sat at the table, in front of him was a piece of cake with a ridiculous candle on it. The flame flickered slightly, a breath of life in an otherwise dead room.

"All the best, Malte," said his mother in a tired voice. Her eyes had long since lost the sparkle that he could still see in the childhood photos. "You are a man now. Your new life begins tomorrow."

"Yeah, great," muttered Malte, poking at the cake with his fork. The taste was probably as bland as his life.

His father, a broad-shouldered man with a bald head and a voice like a broken megaphone, growled, "Pull yourself together, boy. Your job has been assigned to you. It's an honour to work in data sorting. You're part of the system now."

"Part of the system? "Sure, and if I'm lucky, maybe I'll be allowed to grease the wheel on the hamster cage someday," Malte snapped back and threw his fork onto his plate.

His father glared at him. "Shut up before you get your own ticket, you ungrateful bastard!"

His mother tried to mediate, put her hand on Malte's arm and whispered: "Please, let it be. You know, the chips record everything."

Malte rubbed the back of his neck where the tiny monitoring chip was implanted. An inconspicuous lump under the skin that monitored his every step, his every movement, every damn heartbeat. A gift from the state, right after birth.

The party was short and pathetic. It was over at 8pm sharp because surveillance drones patrolled the area from 8:15pm to make sure that the citizens were at home at that time. But the evening was not over for Malte yet.

There was a knock on the door. Heavy and determined.

Malte looked at his mother, who was already washing the dishes. She just shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe one of your friends?"

He laughed bitterly. Friends? In this system, there were no friends, only people you were forced to interact with.

When he opened the door, there stood a man who looked like he lived in another world. A tailored suit, polished shoes and his hair was so perfectly styled that Malte suspected the guy had his own stylist.

“Malte Förster?” asked the man in a voice that soundedas if she could even intimidate walls.

“Who wants to know?” Malte crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to appear cool, but he felt like a worm in front of a chicken.

The man grinned crookedly. "Robert Hildebrandt. Your new life, boy, is really beginning now. Let's talk."

Robert dropped onto Malte's sofa without being asked and looked around as if he were examining the remains of an accident. "Jesus, you live worse than the drone workers." And the state calls this a home?"

Malte stood opposite him. "If you're only here to insult me, you can just leave now."

Robert laughed harshly. "You have guts, I like that." But let me make something clear to you: your life as you know it is now a thing of the past."

"Oh, great," Malte replied sarcastically. "Am I going to be president now?" Or less of a garbage truck driver?"

Robert pulled a silver device out of his pocket. It looked like an oversized USB stick. "Do you see that? I'm going to use it to hack your chip. From this moment on, you're no longer fully in the system. Your data histories, movements - everything you do is transmitted with a 30-minute delay. During this time, you can do things that others can't even dream of."

Malte started the device. “Why? What do you want for it?”

Robert leaned back and lit a cigarette, a real one, not one of the government-regulated nicotine pods. "10 percent of everything you ever make." For life. And if you want to play properly - the full luxury package - then you don't just need money. You need balls. You do what I tell you. Whatever, it was.

A favor here, a little job there. Sometimes maybe even a murder. Sure, what?"

Malte felt himself breaking out in a sweat. "Murder? You're out of your mind!"

"Oh, I'm clearer in the head than you'd like, boy," said Robert, as he took a leisurely drag on a cigarette. "And if you'd rather remain a slave to the system, fine. Have fun sorting through your data and jerking off alone in the evenings."

Malte gritted his teeth. His father had always told him to follow the rules. But he hated the rules. He hated the state. He hated this damn life.

“What happens if I refuse?” he finally asked.

Robert grins broadly. "Then I'll close the door, go and leave you to rot in this shit. But if you say yes... then I guarantee you: sex, money, power. Everything you want."

Malte started the machine. His heart was pounding. "Go on. That's it."

Robert laughed quietly. "That's the ghost."

Chapter 2: Welcome to the world of work

The morning began like any other: with a shrill beep that woke Malte from a much too short sleep. The government-regulated alarm clock was directly linked to his surveillance chip, so there was no chance of missing the thing. Malte wiped the sleep from his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"Congratulations," he muttered to himself. "Day one as a fully fledged gear-shitter."

His apartment—or rather, his claustrophobic hole—was exactly what you might expect from government-assigned housing: four walls, a kitchenette, a tiny bathroom. Personal items were kept to a minimum. Everything was sterile, everything was efficient—and everything sucked.

He put on his new uniform: gray overalls, black shoes, no individuality whatsoever. A scanner on the door beeped briefly as he stepped out.

“Malte Förster, ID 24873942, on time,” squeaked a monotonous distorted voice from the wall.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off," Malte muttered, knowing full well that no one was registering the words. His new rights - or rather, the illusion of freedom that Robert had sold him - meant that such asides remained under the radar. For now.

The way to work led through the city, which seemed like a dark dream. The sky was grey-brown from constant pollution, the air so stale that Malte always felt like he had to breathe it through a filter. The streets were full of people in uniforms who seemed anonymous, like clones marching on an invisible command.

Public transportation—a fleet of automated, overcrowded trains—was the only way to get around. Cars were a privilege of the rich, and Malte was definitely not one of them.

Thedata sorting centerrecognizes itself in a massive concrete block that resembles a mixture of prison and mausoleum. The entrance was secured by armed drones that scanned everyone who wanted to enter the building.

“Forest ranger, Malte. New entry. Welcome,” croaked an automated voice as Malte passed the scanner.

“Yes, thank you for the warm welcome,” he murmured as a drone buzzed briefly around his head before moving away again.

He was greeted by a man in a uniform the same gray as his. The guy was in his mid-fifties, had a belly like a beer keg and a face marked by decades of resignation.

"You're the new guy? Malte, right?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Klaus. Your department head. But don't call me boss. There are no bosses in here, just ass-kissers with better access to toilet times."

Malte raised an eyebrow. Klaus grinned. "That was a joke, boy.

Well, sort of."

TheWorkwas just as bad as Malte had imagined. The room was an endless sea of desks occupied by men and women who looked as if they were already dead. Each of them stared at monitors filled with data that needed to be analyzed and categorized.

Klaus led Malte to a desk. "This is your place. Your monitor shows you what to do. Click here, click there, move the data to the right folder, and you're a valuable citizen."

“Sounds like a dream job,” said Malte dryly.

"Keep dreaming," Klaus replied, patting him on the shoulder. "But be careful. If your efficiency falls below 95 percent, you'll get a note. And three notes mean that you can't even use a toilet without the government charging you for the amount of toilet paper."

“Sounds fair.”

After six hours of monotonous clicking, Malte's head felt as heavy as lead. The monitors emitted a cold light that felt like it was burning directly into his brain.

“Hey, new guy!” called a voice from another desk.

Malte looked up. A young man, perhaps his age, was waving at him. His uniform was just as bad, but he had managed to make it look a little more individual with a crooked collar.

"I'm Sven. You're Malte, right?"

"Yep. And?"

"And I thought I'd welcome you to hell. Welcome. We have beer. Even in our dreams."

Malte grinned weakly. “Now that’s a service.”

"You get used to it. Or you go crazy. Just be careful not to fuck off the drones too early. They really bite."

At the end of the day, Malte was so tired that he thought he would fall asleep right in his uniform. But when he entered the apartment, someone was already sitting on his sofa.

“Hello, boy,” said Robert without looking up.

Malte stopped. “What do you want now?”

"Just checking in on how your first day was. And showing you something."

Robert threw a small black object onto the table. It looked like a tiny screen.

“What is that?” asked Malte.

“This is your ticket to real life.” It allows you to monitor your chip – and manipulate it.”

Malte stared at him. “Manipulate? How?”

"Oh, you'll see. Tomorrow you'll have the chance to return the favor. I have a little job for you. Simple, clean, and it'll be fun."

"What kind of job?"

Robert grinned. "All things in their own time, boy. For now... enjoy the rest of your evening. You'll soon realize that work is just the beginning."

With these words he disappeared through the door and Malte sat alone in the room.

Chapter 3: The First Assignment

The next morning began as the last had ended - with a shameful room, a dull feeling in his chest and the certainty that his life was being guided by an invisible leash. Malte was here 30 minutes earlier than usual today to compensate for the time delay that his tracking chip was now transmitting. But today there was something in the air. Malte knew that Robert had not come to see him without reason.

The monitors were dazzling, the flood of data seemed endless. Malte noticed how Klaus, his department head, kept nervously glancing at the clock. Something was wrong, but Malte didn't have time to think about it.

At exactly 4:30 p.m., 30 minutes before the end of the shift, Malte's chip beeped briefly - a signal that only he could perceive. It was Robert's signal. Without thinking about it, Malte packed his things and left the concrete block. In the huge, anonymous company, no one paid attention to whether Malte kept to his working hours. That's what tracking chips were for, after all.

A black car was already waiting outside. It didn't fit in at all with the grey, monotonous surroundings. The paint shone like polished coal and the tinted windows hid what was going on inside.

The passenger door opens automatically. “Get in, boy,” said Robert’s voice from a loudspeaker.

Malte hesitated. “What if I don’t want to?”

"Then go back to your desk and die slowly. Or get in and start living."

Malte rolled his eyes but finally got in.

The interior of the car was luxurious, a sharp contrast to everything Malte had ever known. The seats were made of real leather, the scent of cedar wood hung in the air, and soft music played in the background. Robert sat relaxed behind the wheel and looked at Malte through the rearview mirror.

“Well, boy? Ready for your first job?”

"It depends. What should I do?"

Robert handed him a small, rectangular device. "This is a signal jammer. You will place it in a very specific place. Simple, clean and no one will notice."

“That sounds too easy. What’s the catch?”

Robert grinned. "No catch, just a test. I'll see if you have the balls for it. Also..." - his grin widened - "...if you plant the jammer, the data of some very unpleasant people will be deleted. Believe me, you'll be doing the world a favor."

Malte started the device. It looked inconspicuous, like aportable charger. "And what happens if I get caught?"

"Then you're a dead man. But hey, don't worry - you have a 30-minute head start. Remember that."

The destination was a small bar in a side alley, directly under a surveillance drone that kept an eye on the entrance. The bar itself was one of the few places where people could still move around somewhat freely, at least as long as they followed the government rules.

“Why here of all places?” asked Malte as they stopped in front of the bar.

"The owners asked a few too many questions," Robert said with a shrug. "The drones record every movement." When the jammer is activated, the thing goes blind for two hours. Enough time to make a few... changes."

“What changes?”

"You don't need to know that. Just do what I tell you."

Malte gritted his teeth, put the device in his pocket and got out.

The alley was narrow and sticky. Malte felt his heart beat faster as he approached the bar. TheDrone above him hummed softly, its lenses moving like the eyes of a predator.

“Stay calm,” he whispered to himself.

He entered the bar. It was dark inside, the smell of cheap alcohol and sweat hung in the air. A few figures sat at the bar, talking quietly or staring into space. No one paid him any attention.

He slowly walks towards the back corner where there is a small junction box. This was the perfect place to place the jammer -hidden from prying eyes, but close enough to disable the drone.

“Everything okay, buddy?” asked a broad-shouldered bartender as Malte walked past him.

“Yeah, just… I’m looking for the toilet.”

"Back right."

"Thanks."

Malte pretended to go towards the toilets, but stopped at the distribution box. With trembling fingers, he pulled out the device and attached it with a piece of tape that Robert had given him. A quiet humming sound signaled that the jammer was active.

"Okay," he whispered. "Done."

On his way back to the exit he was quickly relieved. But before he reached the door, ahand on the shoulder.

"Hey, you! What are you doing here?"

Malte turned around. It was the bartender, and his look was suspicious.

“I… couldn’t find the toilet,” Malte stuttered.

“Back right, I said.”

"Yeah, um, I... changed my mind."

The man narrowed his eyes. "You seem kind of strange to me. Why are you even here? I've never seen you here before."

Malte felt the sweat running down his back. Suddenly he remembered Robert's words: You have a 30 minute head start. Remember that.

"I'm just here to pick up my brother," he lied. "He's had too much to drink and needs someone to take him home."

The bartender looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Take care of him. We don't need any trouble here."

Malte nodded quickly, turned around and left the bar.

Back in the car, Robert grinned at him. "See? It wasn't that hard after all."

"That was dangerous as hell! What if the bartender had become suspicious?"

Robert laughed softly. "That's part of the game, boy. Risk and reward. And believe me, the reward will be great. Welcome to the real world."

Malte sank into his seat. He knew that this was only the beginning – and that the tasks to come would be far worse.

Chapter 4: The Sweet Taste of Freedom

The black car glided silently through the neon-lit streets of the city, and Malte felt a strange euphoria rising within him. His heart was still pounding from the tension, but the fear slowly began to give way to a new kind of feeling: power.

“Well, do you feel alive?” asked Robert, grinning as he drove the car into a private garage.

Malte leaned back and snorted. "Alive? I quickly peed my pants!"

Robert laughed out loud. "That's the kick, boy! That adrenaline rush. You get used to it. But now... now it's time to celebrate."

The garage led directly to a hidden club that Malte could only imagine in his wildest dreams. No sterile concrete, no grey monotony. Instead, dim lighting, loud music, velvety walls and a room full of beautiful people who seem to be from another world.

"That, my friend, is your reward," said Robert, patting him on the shoulder. "Enjoy it. Tonight you're no longer a gear-shitter. Tonight you're free."

Malte didn’t know exactly how to get into the VIP loungewas, but suddenly he was sitting on a deep red leather couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Robert had put a bottle of the most expensive vintage in front of him - a drink that was unaffordable for ordinary people.

"This is a 60-year-old Glenlivet," Robert explained as he poured himself a glass. "Tastes like freedom, don't you think?"