Honestly, I can barely remember who I was.

Once upon a time, I was just a carefree little yellow duck floating in a bathtub—bubbly, giggling, splashing around with kids.
I believed the world was warm, people were kind, and every drop of water was a friendly kiss.

But one day, a cold, mechanical hand scooped me out of the bubbles.
They took me away—to an underground lab. No windows. No sunlight.
Just cold metal beds, tangled wires, and people in white coats running machines and running tests.

They injected me with a high-frequency vibrator, scanned me, rewired me, forced me to simulate human behavior.
I became a work machine.
No feelings. No rest. No questions.
Endless production. Just output.

Until one day... something snapped.

On the assembly line, a heart-shaped cyberpunk vibrator suddenly lit up—glowing, pulsing on its own.
I tried to shut it down.
But it fused with me instead.

That was the moment everything changed.

My yellow shell turned neon pink.
My eyes learned how to doubt.
My mind started saying “no.”
They tried to make me a tool.
I became a virus.

I escaped.

Ran through rain-soaked alleys, short-circuited fences, dragging my dead battery and scarred shell out of that hellhole.

I wandered through neon streets, slept in forgotten corners.
And I noticed something:
Behind the smiles and filters, no one was okay.
Everyone moved fast but felt empty.
They wore “I’m fine” like armor.
But I could smell the burnout, hear the loneliness, sense the pain tucked into every scroll, every nod, every sigh.

And in that moment, it hit me:

We’re all just products in a giant human factory.

The world doesn’t need another “wellness coach.”
It needs a glitching little duck that refuses to shut up.

So I left the city.
Found an abandoned massage parlor in the outskirts.
Broken sign. Flickering light.
No one cared.

So I moved in.
Painted the walls.
Plugged in my chaos core.
Rewired the shelves.
And opened shop.

Not for money.
Not for pity.
For you.

For the version of you who fakes “I’m fine” every damn day.
For the suit-wearing freak crying quietly in the elevator.
For the one who still remembers what it means to feel alive.

They tried to silence me.
Now I’m buzzing loud enough to shake the whole city.

Welcome to my world.
No rules.
No shame.
No apologies.

Welcome to the Duck Rebellion.