Marvel: Emotion Farming System

At this point, i am sure you guys know the drill.

Next bonus at 6900 stones.

Then 8008 stones.

Just a friendly reminder, there are other stories on the site. Give them stones too.

Toodaloo.

...

"Oh, that spawn of Satan? Don’t even speak about him."

"Spawn of Satan?" Norman blinked at the wording, and that had opened the door to complaints the industry had about this writer.

High-quality works, good quality books, low prices, and absurdly fast delivery. He did things the way other Publishing houses were unable to copy. And that brewed resentment.

But there was also a growing number of passionate publishers that wanted their readers to get the best treatment, and also several jealous competitors who thought they could do better if they just got their hands on his logistics.

After a phone call that lasted about 30 minutes, Norman had all the information. The writer had a printing and delivery company in Detroit, but they had no direct contact with the owner and only got orders through emails.

The bigger problem was that they took no orders from anyone else, regardless of the attempts to negotiate.

The head of one publishing house described it as ’It’s like these facilities were made solely for him.’

"A real mystery, huh?" He scoffed a bit, but his eyes went back to the website on his computer screen.

There were three more works along with Look Back, two completed and one ongoing. Navigating the clean and smooth website that almost made him want to search for the one who made it, Norman skipped the romance novels and landed on Fight Club.

The name was a bit dry, but he liked the previous story, and it didn’t hurt him to try. Time was a resource he had plenty of these days.

So, he clicked on the first Chapter.

The start was explosive. Gun in the mouth. Real bombs about to go off. But then it shifted.

Norman read about the narrator’s life. His brows knitted together with each line. For a moment, he looked at the catalogues at the table, and then back at the screen. He had an urge to stop.

"It isn’t anything serious, plus what I do is different." He continued, watching the narrator being ignored by doctors. Then going to the support groups, pretending to be sick, crying, and finally getting some sleep.

Then Marla came in the second Chapter. The comment section was interesting to say the least, but Norman pushed on.

The Narrator and Marla, who were both faking illnesses to get into support groups, started to divide them between the two. It was a cold, calculated measure of human misery and how it helped them.

It was almost funny to watch. Using someone else’s real pain to soothe oneself.

"The real life is much crueller." Norman thought of Oscorp, but shook his head and continued reading.

Before he could hear the Protagonist’s name, the focus shifted again.

Norman learned that the life of an automobile recall co-ordinator wasn’t the best. Constant fights, jet lag, having to stare at dead people in car crashes for hours to make a decision, and turning human lives into numbers.

It wasn’t exactly an ideal job.

But jobs were jobs; some were harder than others. Still, everyone had their own problems, and people had long become stats on a sheet. It was the price for building this human civilization.

At this point, Norman wondered how things would develop further. Where could this even lead?

That’s when Tyler Durden arrived.

An impossibly charismatic soap salesman. However, it wasn’t what he did or appeared as; it was what he said.

"Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you’re taking giant breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile, you accept your fate."

Norman was stuck on this line for the better part of the day; he kept re-reading it.

It wasn’t true, not scientifically. But deep inside, in the corner of his heart, he felt like this wasn’t about the start. It was the ending.

For a moment, even Norman believed that oxygen part, because the ending made so much sense.

"Accepting your fate? Who likes to do that?" After a deep breath, he continued. The Narrator’s luggage was taken, and when he finally returned home, it was burning.

There was a flash of pity in Norman’s eyes. To have everything you built just vanish before your eyes like that. It wasn’t the prettiest feeling. But sometimes you just had to accept it.

"But do you really have to accept it?"

Norman continued; the Narrator contacted Tyler, and they went for drinks. He nodded as the Narrator was devastated, having everything he built go down like that; hearing him ramble reminded him of the days shortly after he was ousted.

But he started to notice something important.

’Defining himself and his worth by the possessions he had.’ His mind went to Oscorp, this house that had become a mismatch of art and the constant calls from brokers trying to stick anything on him.

He had believed he was doing something with his time, but was he really? That’s when Tyler started speaking once again, in that confident tone.

"Humans have been broken down by corporations from hunter-gatherers to consumers. Instead of worrying about survival, we worry about the celebrities, new tech, and name-brand clothes."

There was no lie in it. But these parts had become an important pillar and grown so big because people needed them. They would disappear if people stopped flocking; that was the rule of business.

It had become a symbol of status, a way to feel superior over the one next door.

Humans no longer looked at the bigger muscles; they looked at who had the faster car, the prettier woman, and the bigger yacht. As a society built on money, they were perfectly where they wanted to be.

But why did Norman feel tired of it already?

He had never bothered to make such purchases before, even after always hearing others describe it greatly. It was almost like they had won a war if they got the bigger private jet.

And now that he tried it himself, it felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere. A part of him just wanted to go back to Oscorp, even if he didn’t have the same position. He just wanted his life’s work back.

And no amount of shopping was gonna fill that hole.

"The things you own end up owning you; Tyler is correct here." Norman frowned; he had no answers. The reality he sat in already refuted any words he could conjure.

But that’s when something in the plot shifted.

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

The words unfolded Tyler’s life, and why he wanted to do this, because he had never been in a fight. Norman leaned in, eyes focused on the words.

What was it like getting in a fight?

He had never had to resort to it; any disputes he had were handled through money and connections.

But as Tyler had said, men had spent 99% of their history killing and hunting. While that remaining 1% was the time modern society had spent obsessing over money and status.

So, when pitted against each other, which instinct would come out on top?

Obviously the former.

A normal man, when in anger, rarely thought of calling his lawyer. The very first thing they did was ball up their fists, feeling that urge to hit the one who did them wrong.

That feeling was engraved in the body, an almost natural response, because that was how men have lived. Even Norman couldn’t refute it. Even the weakest of the weak men would find someone to take their anger out on.

But why would they do that in the current world?

What good did it do to hit someone?

Norman thought back on his father; when that man used to hit him, what did he feel?

Was he happy?

Was he at ease because he let out his anger?

Did he feel any better afterwards as he went out for drinks?

"How do I find out?" Norman looked at his own hands for a moment. He had no reference for this matter.

In the comfortable society where he could destroy a life with a call, he never had any need to raise his hands. The media had a field day if he so much frowned at someone; hitting was out of the question.

But that meant he wasn’t familiar with himself as much as he had thought he was.

Norman looked back on the screen. The Narrator and Tyler were fighting. Even people who have never fought before try throwing punches when they are threatened, because that was instinct.

"That is nature."

"No, no way. Humans are better than this." Norman shook his head. He closed the site and went back to the living room.

The phone rang, probably the broker or someone else. Norman didn’t pick it up. The butler came by and placed a stack of newly arrived catalogues, taking the prior ones away. But he didn’t touch it.

His mind kept going back to that scene, that same thought. Until he couldn’t take it anymore.

"Are you going somewhere, sir?" One of the houseworkers, a young woman with a charming smile, looked at him with practiced respect. "Should I notify the driver?"

’What does it feel like to hit someone?’

...

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