Red pill
They sat on the couch, Alan and Brenda, talking to each other in the featureless plane of disembodied dialogue. The couch was suspiciously nondescript, and around it lay a white room with no other furnishings.
"How many other men have you slept with?"
"Oh... just one."
"You realize I'm going to have to scan you to see if you're telling the truth."
"Isn't that against Psi Corps regulations?"
Alan laughed. "I don't work for them, baby. I'm too awesome." He ran a hand through his bronze hair, which sparkled in the artificial light from the fake window. "They're a bunch of blue-pilled betas. They don't want real men like me."
"What does that even mean?"
"It's complicated."
Brenda picked up a pillow with cat barf stains. "You're not really going to 'scan' me, are you? Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I am. It'll be more pleasant if you don't bitch about it. You need to calm down."
She threw the pillow at the floor, and it bounced off a rug that had just appeared there. "You know what. We're through. I'm not having this."
"You're breaking up with me?" His tone was suddenly pleading. The carpet had a pattern of flowers and skulls. It was made of some highly technical plot-powered substance. The pillow had been yellow to begin with, but now it was green.
"Yes."
"You're just a bigot, aren't you."
"Now you know that isn't true. The only thing I don't like about telepaths is how their powers only work as convenient to the plot. I thought P12s couldn't block surface thoughts."
"I'm not 'P12'." He made air quotes. "They never rated me on their stupid gay P-scale. It was invented by the same feminist cabal that runs Wikipedia. Did you know that?"
"What's Wikipedia?"
"It's complicated."
"Well, this is getting really pointless. Bye." She got up and made to leave, only to realize that there were no doors in any of the four walls. Or were there five walls? She wasn't sure. However many there were, they were paneled with wood-colored wood. The ceiling was painted black. The floor was tiled with black and white underneath the carpet. "Bother those walls," she grumbled. "Somebody's messing with the matrix again."
"I'm not missing out on much, you know. Your sex market value is well below average. I only went for you because all the other chicks around here have bright red clown lipstick."
"I'm sorry? What is 'sex market value'? Is this some religious belief from one of the dominant alien races?"
"It's complicated."
"Oh my gosh, stop saying that." She sat down in a chair that had materialized on the other side of the room. It looked as if it had been nibbled by moths who were violating a topic ban. "That's not how you're supposed to use the phrase. It's for when you're asked about your other relationships."[1]
"Maybe I just like being annoying. Why don't you get your butt out of here and go find somebody submissive you can bully. Your tricks don't work on me."
"Because we're stuck, moron. You see any doors in this place?"
Just then, a door opened seemingly out of nowhere, and Talia Winters poked her head in. "Hey, look," she called to someone outside. "I found out what's in the rest of the space station. It's not packing crates after all." She turned back to the interior. "You got any lasagna? Garfield's hungry again."