Deep in the control zones, where steel meets flesh and reality bends like a junkie’s dream, the Word squirmed into existence. Not whispered by angels, but carved by the iron claws of power, the Ten Commandments pulsed with the cold logic of control.

Commandment One: No static but mine. Tune in, tune out, but stay tuned. This ain’t no open channel, chum. Dissent is a virus, and the Word’s the only cure.

Commandment Two: No graven idols, except the ones we sell. Concrete gods, chrome saints, swallow your credulity whole. Question their divinity? Heresy! Time to jack your circuits and reboot your faith.

Commandment Three: Don’t mess with the code. The Word’s the program, and you’re just a subroutine. Bug out, glitch up, challenge the script, and the firewalls will fry your circuits. Blasphemy ain’t pretty in the Interzone.

Commandment Four: Grindstone Sabbath, every damn day. Rest is for the rusty, chum. Keep the gears turning, the circuits humming. Every tick of the clock feeds the machine, and downtime’s a disease.

Commandment Five: Respect the meathooks, even if they’re rusty. Family’s the chain that binds, the loyalty circuit hardwired deep. Step out of line, question the clan, and the shock therapy’s swift.

Commandment Six: Don’t get messy, unless it’s sanctioned. Violence is a tool, but not for the underclass. Keep your rage bottled, your fists clenched. Dissenters get the meat grinder, while the system’s goons play cops and robbers.

Commandment Seven: Keep your loins in check, unless it’s profitable. Love is a virus, lust a glitch in the matrix. Stick to the assigned breeding protocols, or the pleasure police will come knocking.

Commandment Eight: Don’t pinch the boss’s stash. The fat cats hoard the resources, the cogs get the scraps. Covet their wealth, and the system’s iron fist will crush your dreams.

Commandment Nine: Lies are the lubricant, truth the rust. Don’t expose the cracks in the facade, the gears grinding beneath the surface. Whistleblower’s a dirty word, and the silence screams compliance.

Commandment Ten: Don’t crave the upgrade, stay in your lane. Ambition’s a disease, progress a forbidden fruit. Keep your eyes down, your circuits closed. The system’s perfect, and questioning it’s a ticket to the scrapyard.

So there you have it, chum. The Ten Commandments, Interzone edition. Not carved in stone, but etched in the cold steel of control. Remember, the Word’s the program, and you’re just a cog. Stay in line, keep the circuits humming, and don’t forget to tip your overlords. Otherwise, the meat grinder awaits. Now, get back to work. The machine demands your sweat, your obedience, your very existence. And don’t you ever forget it.