A parole clinic offers a low-dose Type-B -D patch to “reduce attachment to criminal associates” as a condition of early release. The protagonist accepts under duress, later finding old memories feel dulled; a flicker of a lost kindness resurfaces when they meet a childhood friend, forcing them to choose between remaining compliant or exposing the program’s abuses.
Subject D-7 (29, female, security detail) was exposed during a containment breach. She developed fixation on a mannequin in an abandoned department store — the first “humanoid” she saw post-exposure. For 20 days, she maintained a one-sided ritual: leaving fresh flowers, writing love letters, standing nightly “vigils.” On Day 20, she reported “waking from a dream” and couldn’t recognize the mannequin. Autopsy of the compound’s effects showed no residual neural damage — only confusion and a single tear upon seeing a photograph of herself kissing a plastic hand.
In classification systems, "Type-B" often stands for a secondary or variable class. Unlike a "Type-A" which might be stable, predictable, and "pure," a Type-B classification usually indicates a reactive, conditional, or emotionally influenced variant. In the lore surrounding the Justice 20 Type-B Love Poison -D, Type-B is described as "emotionally resonant." It does not operate on logic or chemical reaction alone; it responds to the emotional state of the user and the target.
Why the “-D” variant specifically? In a world of generic love poisons (the slow kind, the burning kind, the forgetful kind), -D is the personalized strain.
It targets your specific flaw. Your specific weakness.
Maybe your -D is the way they laugh at your darkest jokes. Maybe it’s the way they look at you like you’re already theirs. Maybe it’s the fact that they left a book at your apartment three months ago and you still haven’t returned it because you’re hoping they’ll come back for it.
That’s the poison. It’s not grand tragedy. It’s the small, repetitive choices to stay sick.
Musically (or narratively, depending on how you experience it), Type-B Love Poison isn't a chaotic scream. It’s worse. It’s a whisper.
It starts with a low, synthetic hum—the sound of a machine monitoring your vital signs right before they go haywire. Then the beat drops, but it’s not a drop; it’s a sigh. A trap beat that feels like walking through honey.
The vocals (real or imagined) are layered. One track is cold, logical, reading the side effects: “Elevated heart rate. Loss of appetite. Poor judgment.” The other track is raw, breathy, begging: “Just one more look. Just one more night.”
That contrast is the “Justice.” You are fully aware of the poison entering your system. You have the antidote (walking away, blocking the number, deleting the photos). But the Type-B in you says, “Let’s see what happens.”
This is the most evocative part of the phrase. A "Love Poison" is a classic trope in speculative fiction—a substance that induces artificial feelings of love, obsession, or devotion. However, in this specific context, it is not a simple aphrodisiac. The Justice 20 Type-B Love Poison -D is unique because it weaponizes love. It does not create love from nothing; it hijacks existing feelings of justice, guilt, or righteousness and twists them into a destructive form of love.
