Chapter 3: The Check-In Test
The hallway outside Advisor Brenner's office smelled like lemon disinfectant and the faint, sweet ghost of someone's vanilla latte. Mia walked slowly, her hips swaying in the loose cotton skirt that had become her default uniform since the program started. Six days since the breeding techniques class. Six days since Instructor Vale had coaxed that second massive brain pop out of her body, leaving her sprawled on the padded bench, giggling at the ceiling while her thoughts dissolved into warm static.
She still couldn't remember what she'd been thinking about before it happened. Something about the mirrors, maybe. The way they'd reflected her own flushed face back at her, mouth open, eyes rolled back.
The memory sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. She knocked.
"Come in, Mia."
Advisor Brenner's office was exactly as Mia remembered it from her intake appointment three weeks ago. Compact. Sterile. The desk buried under a landslide of red-inked test results and a coffee cup that had probably been refilled at least twice since morning. The framed diploma on the wall still caught her eye—something about hormonal psychology, the letters too small to read from the doorway.
But it was the posters that made Mia's stomach do a little flip. She'd laughed at them during intake. Now they seemed less funny. "Natural Female Potential." "Hormonal Harmony." A woman with a serene smile cradling her own stomach, the caption reading: Your body knows what it needs.
"Have a seat, sweetheart." Brenner gestured to the chair across from her desk. She was older, maybe mid-fifties, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a loose bun and reading glasses perched on her nose. Her smile was warm. Genuine. The kind of smile that made you want to tell her things.
Mia sat. The chair was soft, almost too soft, and she sank into it more than she'd intended.
"How are you feeling?" Brenner asked, pulling a folder from the stack on her desk. Mia's name was printed on the tab in neat block letters. "After your second brain pop, I mean. That was—what, six days ago now?"
"Six days, yeah." Mia tucked her legs under her, trying to get comfortable. "I'm good. Still a little... fuzzy, I guess? But good."
"Fuzzy how?"
Mia shrugged. "Like my head's full of cotton candy. Not bad. Just... softer than it used to be."
Brenner nodded, making a small note on the folder. "That's completely normal. Especially after two major episodes in such a short time frame. Your brain is still recalibrating." She opened the folder and spread several pages across the desk. "I've got your latest check-in results here. Shall we go through them together?"
Mia's heart did a strange little stutter. She'd taken the test yesterday—a series of pattern-matching puzzles and word problems that had felt harder than they should have. She'd spent twenty minutes on a question about a train leaving a station before finally guessing.
"Sure," she said, aiming for casual. "Hit me."
Brenner smiled and turned the first page around so Mia could see. A graph dominated the top half, a jagged line tracking downward from left to right.
"Let's start with where you were at intake," Brenner said, tapping the top of the line with her pen. "You came in with an IQ of ninety-eight. That's just below average, but well within the normal range. Nothing concerning."
Mia nodded. She'd known that. She'd always been a little slow in school—not dumb, but not sharp either. Average. She could live with average.
"Now, here's where things get interesting." Brenner traced the line down. "During your first two weeks, before any brain pops, we saw a gentle decline. Two points, bringing you to ninety-six. That's expected. Participants who engage in frequent masturbation—which I believe you reported, what, four to five times a day?—experience a slight cognitive dip. Nothing dramatic. It's the hormonal cocktail that does it. All those endorphins and oxytocin washing through your system."
Mia felt her cheeks warm. She hadn't realized she'd admitted to quite that many.
"But then we get to the brain pops." Brenner's pen moved to a steep drop in the line. "Your first one, during the assessment, caused a three-point drop. That brought you to ninety-three. Still within normal range, but you were beginning to feel the effects, weren't you?"
"Yeah." Mia rubbed the back of her neck. "I noticed. Things felt... slower. Like I had to think harder to get to the same place."
"Mmm. That's the rewiring process. Every major orgasm at that intensity reshapes the neural pathways, making room for more sensation, more pleasure. It's why participants describe the afterglow as feeling 'empty'—your brain is literally clearing space."
Mia swallowed. Empty. That was exactly right. After that first brain pop, she'd lain there feeling like someone had scooped out her skull and filled it with warm honey.
"Now." Brenner turned to the next page. "Your second brain pop, in Instructor Vale's class. This one hit harder. Technically also a three-point drop, bringing us to ninety, but the lower you are the bigger the change needed to get those same three points becomes. So it was quite a lot."
She drew a circle around a number at the bottom of the page. 90.
Mia stared at it. Ninety. She'd started at ninety-eight. That was—what, an eight-point drop in three weeks?
"Ninety is still technically in the low-normal range," Brenner said gently. "But it's approaching the threshold where we'd classify you as 'pleasantly simple.' That's the term we use. It sounds nicer than it is, I know. But it's not a bad thing, Mia. It just means your cognitive priorities are shifting."
"Shifting how?"
Brenner leaned back in her chair. "Think about it this way. When you're sitting in class, trying to focus on what Instructor Vale is saying about technique, and your mind keeps drifting to how her fingers felt on your thigh—that's your brain reprioritizing. Pleasure over information. Sensation over abstraction. It's natural. It's what your body wants."
Mia bit her lip. She wanted to argue. She wanted to say that she still cared about learning things, that she still wanted to be smart. But the words felt hollow even in her own head.
"And here's the part I need you to understand." Brenner leaned forward, her eyes steady. "Your continued behavior—the masturbation, the arousal, the way you respond to stimulation—it's accelerating the process. Every time you get off, you're lowering your baseline slightly. That makes brain pops more likely. And brain pops cause the biggest drops of all."
She tapped the graph again. "If you'd abstained for two weeks, that six-point drop from your two brain pops might have been four. Maybe three. But because you're engaging in high-frequency sexual activity, your system is primed. Sensitized. The same triggers hit harder."
Mia's mouth felt dry. "So I'm... making myself dumber?"
"On purpose?" Brenner shook her head. "No. But through your choices? Yes. You're choosing to masturbate frequently. You're choosing to attend classes where intense orgasms are the goal. You're choosing to embrace the program's philosophy."
She paused. "Are those choices you want to keep making?"
The room felt very quiet. The little screen on Brenner's desk hummed softly, displaying a rotating brain scan—some other participant's neural map, glowing in shades of orange and pink.
Mia thought about Instructor Vale's hands. The way she'd whispered good girl right before Mia came. The way the world had gone soft and blurry afterward, all the sharp edges sanded away.
She thought about the train problem from yesterday's test. She still couldn't remember the answer. She wasn't sure she'd ever known it.
"I..." She looked up at Brenner. "How much more will I lose?"
"That depends on you. Most participants plateau somewhere between eighty and ninety, or somewhere in the seventies if it's particularly severe. That's the range where you can still function independently—hold a conversation, follow basic instructions, take care of yourself. You'd just be... simpler. More focused on pleasure. More open. Less complicated."
"Seventy?"
"Some go lower, but it's rare. It varies. Most don't drop nearly as much. For participants on a more... advanced schedule the mid-eighties are typical." Brenner's voice was kind. "But here's what I want you to hear, Mia. You're already at ninety. You're going to experience more brain pops before you plateau. That's not a prediction—that's a certainty. Your body is already primed for them. The next one will almost certainly drop you into the eighties. The one after that would drop you even lower. And each one will feel better than the last, because your brain is being rewired to associate that loss with pleasure."
Mia's breath caught. "That sounds..."
"Terrifying? Exciting? Both?"
She nodded. Both. Definitely both.
Brenner closed the folder. "You don't have to decide anything today. But I want you to be aware of what's happening. Your intelligence isn't just fading on its own—it's being actively reshaped by your behavior. Every orgasm is a choice. Every brain pop is a consequence."
She slid a small pamphlet across the desk. Mia picked it up. The cover showed a woman with a blissful smile, her eyes half-closed, the caption reading: Embrace Your Natural State.
"Read that if you want. No pressure."
Mia tucked the pamphlet into her skirt pocket. Her fingers brushed the soft cotton, and she felt a little spark of warmth between her thighs. She'd been sitting here for fifteen minutes, talking about IQ points and neural pathways, and her body was already responding.
That was the problem, wasn't it? Or maybe the point.
"Same time next week?" Brenner asked.
"Yeah." Mia stood, her legs a little unsteady. "Same time next week."
She walked out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her. The lemon disinfectant smell was stronger out here, mixed with something else—the distant, muffled sound of someone moaning from behind a closed door down the hall. A breeding class, probably. Or a partnered session.
Mia stood there for a moment, her hand still in her pocket, fingers brushing the pamphlet. Ninety. She could practically feel the number hovering over her head like a cartoon anvil, waiting to drop.
But she didn't feel crushed. She felt... curious. Warm. Her body was already humming with the familiar ache of arousal, and she knew—knew with the same certainty Brenner had spoken with—that she'd be in her dorm room within the hour, her fingers between her legs, chasing another moment of sweet, empty bliss.
The pamphlet crinkled in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the cover again.
Embrace Your Natural State.
She smiled, just a little, and started walking.