You are Alabaster Soliloquy, Gacha game addict and owner of an all-seeing eye. Sort of.
The stink of the municipal sewer system is so much worse from inside of it. You walk through it with a group of thugs on loan from Tyrus, wearing lighted helmets, along with knee-high waders and a hazmat suit which hardly make you comfortable in the fetid stream of waste that flows through, ankle-deep. The sewage is coffee brown, with weird rainbow colored oil slicks on top.
You have to stoop because of the low ceiling, which begins to take its toll on your back after a while. The only sound is the splashing of many pairs of feet. You are flanked on both sides, to the front and rear, as this little caravan of criminals leads you through the labyrinth to the right spot.
The one in the lead holds up a hand, stopping you. He points up. A ladder leads to a manhole cover.
The man writes on a portable whiteboard now:
>sub basement to parking garage here
>200 feet north is direct below server room
You nod your understanding.
>can u do it
You survey the sewage tunnel ahead. The roof here is slightly higher than the rest of the tunnels you've been in - you can stand fully upright again, a blessed relief. This plan has been a long time in the making, it seems.
Camelia wants you to fill this tunnel with explosive charges and destroy Darkbloom Analytics from underneath.
You erase the man's writing and fill in your own.
>I can do it. Doesn't mean I will.
He rolls his eyes.
>tyrus needs an answer today
>Tell Tyrus I'll be in touch.
At home, you collapse into a deep but ultimately restless sleep. This sleep is interrupted after just a few hours, by a phone call from Alex.
"Ally! I'm so glad you picked up."
You rub the sand from your eyes as you sit upright on your foldaway bed in Cerise's living room.
Rose, who hasn't been sleeping at all, watches you intently from the foot of the bed. She hugs her knees with her chin resting on top. You sneer at her to warn her off staring at you, to no avail.
"Hey--" you say into the receiver, trying not to sound groggy. "What's up, bab-- what's up, Alex?"
"You must have been reee-ally sick if you're only waking up now," Alex hums. (You always sucked at trying to pretend you're fully awake). "Whitney told me all about it. She said you're pooping your guts out!"
You grimace. "Yeah. I'm totally gutless right now."
"I'm so sorry to interrupt your recovery! Make sure to drink lots of water and take a lot of vitamins, okay?"
"It's fine..." you grumble. "What do you want?"
"Well, erm--"
"Out with it."
"If you're feeling all right later on, you should totally come to work. Ms. Guiteau made a huge breakthrough over the weekend! But... don't push yourself. You should recuperate first... I know you and your sister and your cousin all have that stomach bug..."
"Once removed," you mutter.
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Look, I--"
Rose's unmoving face staring back at you is more than a little off-putting. You're half tempted to go in just to get away from her creepy staring.
>[x] I'll come by in a little bit.
[ ] Sorry, I'm too sick. (Rest up with Rose and Cerise)
[ ] Sorry, I'm too sick. (Visit Camelia and Galatea)
You hang up. "Where's Cerise?" you ask Rose.
"Sleeping."
"You should be sleeping too, don't you think?"
"I was," Rose says.
"You're a liar, like usual. I can see the bags under your eyes."
"I guess we match, then. You fucking raccoon."
There's the Rose you know and-- well, she's at least able to spar a bit.
"I'm going to work. I'll be back in a few hours - hopefully. Tell Cerise if she wakes up before I'm back."
"Mm," Rose says.
"And get some sleep, Jesus. The last thing we need is you collapsing at work tomorrow, raising suspicions..."
As you stand to get dressed, Rose stretches out on your bed.
"When I said to get some sleep, I meant that you should do it on your bed."
Rose isn't listening as she cuddles up beneath the comforter. You shake your head and sigh.
This is National Public Radio. News Now. Monday, May 14th, 2018.
In a surprise turnaround, David Darkbloom, CEO of Darkbloom Analytics, has signaled openness to a congressional inquiry over the hacking incident that occurred in March. Over 400 million personal accounts, with sensitive private information, are believed to have been compromised. The perpetrators remain unidentified.
Agreeing to appear before the Senate Intelligence Committee, Darkbloom said through chief spokesman Steven Armstrong: "We anticipate that a full and transparent accounting should put the public's concerns to rest."
Senate Intelligence co-chair Mitch Warner said the decision was the right one, and that the public testimony could happen as early as the first week of June.
David Darkbloom is almost certain to appear before the committee, but other names are also widely expected to make an appearance: Mara Darkbloom, his wife and COO; Nelson Berenstoin, the CTO; and Cerise Soliloquy, the woman in charge of the company's internal investigation.
At work, the little coder's den outside Sable's office has been transformed into an ad hoc laboratory: and there's Ken walking up and down the aisles between tables, instructing people on how to assemble SMATTERS units. With every step, the spurs on his boots go jingle jangle.
"What's going on?" You ask him.
You feel something bump against your heel - turning and looking at the ground, you see a completed SMATTERS routing itself around you before continuing on its merry way. Ken intercepts it, picking it up and cradling it and petting it - just like you would with a flesh-and-blood bunny.
"We deploy tonight in select cities," Ken says. "Interesting times! Gets my dander up!"
"This is..." you begin, but aren't sure what to even say. "Deploy?"
"Bingo!"
"Where are Alex and Sable?"
Ken points towards Sable's office.
You start towards it, but a voice from one of the workstations stops you up: "Howdy, pardner."
It's Noelle, in her best jokey impression of Ken's voice. "You gonna pull your weight around here or what? I've got a kit for you to work on too."
You can hardly make eye contact with her, knowing what you know. You stare at the ceiling and wonder how everything could be going wrong all at once.
[ ] Stop and speak with Noelle.
>[x] Continue to Alex and Sable.
"I'm sorry," you tell Noelle. "Sable wanted to see me. I should, uh, get going."
She frowns.
"I'll catch up with you later - okay?" You say.
"Yeah. Sure."
You can't tell whether the tone in her voice signals faux rejection, suspicion, or something else.
You slip inside Sable's office. She busily clacks away at her keyboard, and doesn't even acknowledge your entrance. It's the same dark, uninviting lair that you're used to - but something seems different. Something in the air.
"Hi," you say. "Is Alex here too?"
Sable says nothing, but points down.
You walk around the right side of Sable's chair and look where she pointed. And there he is: Alex on hands and knees, underneath her desk.
From this angle, you see for the first time that Sable is naked from the waist down. Alex has her panties stuffed in his mouth. He has a dreamy look on his face as he nuzzles her bare cunt. His pants are down too, and his little dick pokes out, drooling on the tile floor. He already came, if the puddle between his knees is any indication. Sable did too, if the puddle she sits in is any indication either.
"Oh," is the only thing you can think of to say.
"Today is a big day," Sable explains, still intently focused on her work. "I needed Alex to help take the edge off."
You nod, unable to pull your eyes from the lewd scene before you. You wonder how common of an occurrence this sort of thing is.
"Do you need to use him too?" Sable asks in a matter-of-fact way. "I'm mostly done with him for now."
Even in times of crisis, you can't say no to your dick. "Sure," you say. "I'll fuck him."
Sable grabs a tuft of Alex's hair and pulls his face up. "Did you hear that?" She says. "Alabaster is going to fuck you now."
Alex pulls Sable's panties from his mouth. He turns his head, his hair still in Sable's hand, and asks you: "are you feeling better?"
"Much better now," you say leeringly.
Alex smiles, but his eyes go wide when Sable rudely shoves her panties back into his mouth. He gags just a little as she stuffs them inside, her fingers tamping them down.
"I need him facing this way," you tell Sable. You undo your belt buckle.
"Mm," Sable grunts. She nudges Alex with her foot and he crawls around with her as she spins her chair 180 degrees.
With Alex out in the open now, he'll be easy to get at. Sable leans back, her arms level on the chair's arm rests, and watches as you pull down your jeans.
"I thought you'd be too busy to join in," you tell Sable.
"I like the way his face feels against me," Sable says. Her voice is still flat and mostly emotionless. "I don't want him to stop just yet."
Sable leans forward, over Alex, and spreads his ass cheeks. "Cum inside him quickly, though. I have to keep working soon."
You know you won't need long. "Get me ready," you suggest as you step out of your pants and boxers. You step forward and stand in front of Sable.
"Disgusting man," Sable says, sudden venom in her voice as she stares at your rigid cock. Nonetheless, she takes it firmly in hand and spits on it. Then, using her dark pink tongue, she licks you up and down, getting the head and shaft slick and slimy with her drool. Her technique is perfunctory, inexpert, but it has a certain something to it that makes you feel a tingly pleasure all the way down in the soles of your feet. Maybe it's just the wonderful sight of this proud woman licking your cock. It fills your chest with warm feelings. You reach out to stroke her hair, but she swats your hand away.
"Is that to your liking?" Sable asks when she pulls away.
You honestly want to plunge your dick to the back of her throat and feel her choke on you, but you sense it's best to do this her way for now. "Yeah," you say.
"Fuck him quickly, then."
Alex, still nuzzling Sable's drooling cunt, obediently reaches behind with both hands and spreads himself for you just as Sable did a few moments ago. He says something through the cotton fabric stuffed in his mouth that sounds like "put your dick in me," so at least he's on the same page.
You kneel behind him and do exactly that. You take it slowly at first, enjoying the soft sensation of his pink insides clasping around you. Nonetheless, he gasps at the intrusion. Even through the gag it's a high pitched yelp that, in turn, makes you growl with enjoyment. His ass is a thing of wonder, naturally wet and searingly hot, and nicely tight, like the pussy of a woman in heat.
When you're all the way inside, you grab both his wrists to brace yourself and establish a steady pace. Meanwhile, Sable takes the panties from his mouth and tosses them aside. "Lick me," she commands.
Alex isn't one to disobey, and he immediately sets to the task at hand. He licks her like a dog, lapping her genitals and moaning sweetly to himself. His tongue washes over her puckered asshole, her little taint and her darkly colored cunt lips without hesitation. He pokes his tongue in and out of both her holes, tasting her, breathing her in. Sable is a selfish lover, especially when it comes to Alex - she leans back and enjoys it while he does all the work. Each time you thrust into him, it bucks his face against her, and she shivers a bit at the sensation of it.
Alex's boypussy is a hot fuck, but you find yourself staring at Sable's cunt the whole time. The way it glistens in the low light of her computer monitor, the way Alex's tongue swirls around and inside of it. The way, when Alex gets his tongue deep up Sable's tiny asshole, her pussy squirts a tiny geyser of cum all over his whorish face. The inviting texture of it, its ridges and valleys.
"Are you about to cum?" Sable demands.
"Yeah -- yeah," you pant. Alex's ass ripples around you when you say this, massaging you rhythmically, trying to milk out your sperm. But you have a different prize in mind.
You pull out of him with a plop. Then, like tossing aside a used tissue, you push him off of Sable.
"What are you doing?" Sable says, in a way that indicates she knows exactly what you're doing. She stares at your shiny dick as you square up to her chair.
"Inside," you moan. "I'm gonna cum inside of you."
"Nnn--" Sable chokes, protestingly, yet at the same time she spreads her legs a bit wider to accommodate you. The height isn't quite right, though. Roughly, you pull her off the chair, to the ground, so that you can fuck her the right way. She lands with a hard thud that makes her mad.
"You fucking moron!" she yells. "You stupid fucking faggot piece of--"
You cut her off by shoving your cock deep inside her.
"W-wrong hole!" She squeaks. All the fury is gone, replaced by surprise. "You're in the wrong hole!"
You prop yourself on both hands, looming over her as you begin to fuck her clamping pussy. "No," you snarl, "this is the right hole."
"Nngh--" she gulps, trying and failing to form words. "Ggh-- ohh--"
Alex comes crawling over now, watching transfixed as you fuck your boss. You glance over at him. "Did we tell you to stop licking?" You say.
"Oh!" He squeaks. "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry!" With his fists balled against his flat chest, he gets behind you and licks at the spot where you're mated with Sable. His tongue slides wetly against your dick and her pussy.
"Asshole! Asshole!" Sable grunts. You think she's still in the mode of insulting you, but actually it's a command for Alex. And as she hisses in pleasure, you look over your shoulder to find that he's understood. Three of his fingers corkscrew in and out of Sable's taut asshole, as he continues to lick the two of you. Sable's rear hole is stretched tight around him, so much so that the skin is blanching. It looks like it must hurt. But her spasming cunt suggest she feels anything but pain.
"Oh!!" Sable cries. "That's it! Get me off, you worthless fucks!"
With one hand, you grab her by the face and stare at her. "Have you ever had someone cum inside your pussy before?"
She shakes her head wildly no.
"You're about to now," you say. Your voice is low and firm. "You want to get off? Get me off too, then."
"O-okay," Sable says. She fucks back against you now, meeting your thrusts on every inward stroke. Her technique here is as inexperienced as her blowjob, but it does the trick. You curl and uncurl your toes in ecstasy as that familiar feeling approaches. Sable's eyes are clamped shut as she starts to orgasm too. And what really sets you off is this: a sudden wetness against your anus. While he fingers Sable's ass, Alex has moved his face up to lick yours at the same time.
Your vision goes white. You fall against Sable, hug her tight, and get as deep as you can push. Alex's searching tongue never leaves your ass. You feel Sable's inner walls spread and deform to accept your girth, the wet heat and sticky texture coaxing your semen out. Your nuts tighten - Alex fondles them with his free hand now - and the cum rockets out of your pulsing mushroom head.
"Unggg-- oh god!" Sable grunts, her orgasm voice not very loud but full of guttural enjoyment all the same. She rocks against you and wraps her legs around your hips, accepts your seed inside her as she climaxes hard.
GIRLS FUCKED: 3/9
BOYS FUCKED: 1/1
While Sable returns to work, Alex is on cleanup duty below her desk. You finish getting dressed again and compose yourself.
"Things are moving pretty fast around here," you say. "What happened over the weekend?"
"Everything," Sable says. "Just everything. It's all coming to an end point... we have to be ready for the next phase."
"Which is... which is what, exactly?"
She stops typing, looks at you. "What David Darkbloom wants and what I want are separate but commensurate things. This -- right here, is the culmination of what he wants. What comes next is what I want."
You have to try really hard not to snap at her - just for being such an obfuscating little shit. "What is it you two want?"
"The world we live in isn't right," Sable says. "It's sick. The people in it have all gone mad. I'm mad - you're mad. David Darkbloom wants to use this project to make people forget. I want something more... I don't want to forget, I want to fix it..."
"I really need you to be more concrete here," you say, unable to mask your frustration. "Will you please, just once, be clear--"
"David wants to see you," Sable says. "Will you come with me?"
>[x] Go.
[ ] Refuse.
Darkbloom is already waiting in the boardroom when you arrive. He has his hands behind his back, and he stares pensively out the broad double-paned windows.
Sable takes a seat at the conference table, right behind Darkbloom. The wordlessness of the proceedings thus far doesn't exactly put you at ease.
"Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come here," Darkbloom says. He doesn't turn around. "I know you are a busy person."
You sit across from Sable at the huge oak table without replying.
"Have you heard the news?" Darkbloom asks. "I depart for Capitol Hill soon. Isn't it wonderful how many people conspire to ruin me at every turn?"
You say nothing.
Darkbloom finally turns now, and sits beside Sable. "Sable, tell Alabaster your thoughts on VR."
"Virtual reality is a meme. Augmented reality is the future."
"It's important, as a leader, to be willing to countenance disagreement," Darkbloom says. "Conflict and disagreement is natural. As long as your subordinates can commit themselves to achieving the organization's priorities, it is all right if they do not themselves buy in. I hold that principle quite dear to heart. I don't want an army of lick-spittles."
You say nothing.
"Sable has done really quite tremendous work, with your help, and many others - she has her vision for possible applications and I have mine. But really, the augmented reality of the future Sand Reckoner implant is just a pump primer."
(You can't help wincing in surprise a little at Darkbloom so abruptly and frankly discussing Sand Reckoner.)
"We can sell augmented reality to interested government agencies, militaries, politicians... really, anyone who would benefit from a HUD for showing you at a glance what's what about who's who in the world. But that's not the end point of Sand Reckoner. The end point is this."
Darkbloom retrieves a small aluminum case from beside his feet and puts it on the table. Clicking two latches open, he reveals to you a sleek purple headset that is clearly meant to fit over the eyes.
"Sable calls this Gateway to Heaven, which I think may be a sly allusion." He smiles at her, but she doesn't return the gesture. "It's a working name, anyway. We don't want prospective buyers drawing mental associations between this miracle you see here and Nike shoes poking out from under white sheets."
"What does it do?" You ask - Sable, not Darkbloom.
Sable's explanation is simple, and hardly illuminating. "If Sand Reckoner knows you, the gateway makes you a special game to play."
"A game!" Darkbloom laughs. "Sable is as humble as she is ingenious. This device makes you an entire universe, Alabaster. It calculates the universe as you would best enjoy it. It's a portable paradise."
You shake your head dumbly.
"Do you understand? This is the end of suffering. The end of strife and sadness. The final repudiation of Leibniz!"
Darkbloom obviously expects you to have some reaction, positive or negative, but you deny him the pleasure. You're as passive as a cow chewing cud.
Darkbloom turns up both palms in a sort of shrug: "All right. You need a demonstration. With the understanding that this is a prototype badly in need of a more complete data set - which Sable works round the clock to provide us - I invite you to test it for yourself."
"You what?" You say.
"Put it on. Turn it on. See for yourself."
He is already standing, device in hand, circling around to fit you into it.
"Is this safe?" You ask Sable.
"It's safe. It's only just a game - a not very fun game, either."
>[x] Test it.
[ ] Refuse.
You lock eyes with Sable. "Are you telling me the truth?"
"I am," she says firmly. "I promise."
"People are filling your head with such awful lies," Darkbloom says. "When you see this - when you see what I'm really trying to achieve... you'll finally understand. You will. I have faith."
He fits the device over your head and secures a simple strap around the back.
"I swear to god, Darkbloom, if you send me to the fucking shadow realm--" you begin, but that's the last thing you remember.
You are Alabaster Soliloquy, hot-shit destroyer of anime pussy and five time champion of the North High Quiz Bowl. Your manly scent is the number-one cause of cock addiction amongst nukige heroines.
As usual, you get dragged from angelic dreams of Fatalpulse doujins yet-to-be by your bitch of an older sister. She wakes you up with a hard rap of her knuckles against your forehead.
"It's almost 8:00," Cerise says. "You're gonna be late."
There's no worse way to start the morning than seeing her slutty dog choker and unkempt bedhead. You can practically taste last night's beer fumes puttering like exhaust from her every pore. Trying not to gag, you sit up and rub your forehead where she hit you. "Why don't you worry about your own business? At least I've got things to be late to. Shouldn't you be job searching right now?"
Cerise folds her arms. "It's a bad economy! There aren't any jobs out there!"
You sigh, throw your covers off, and stand. After a few seconds of groping around the clothes-strewn floor, you grab a pair of crumpled and stale-smelling jeans from the pile. You pull them on over your boxers. "I cannot wait until mom and dad kick you out," you say.
"They'll kick you out before they kick me out. They actually love me." In the silence that follows as you finish getting dressed, Cerise glances around your sty of a bedroom. "It stinks like cum in here."
"Are you sure it's not just you? I know you've been itching to graduate from your cam show to literal prostitution."
"It's that," Cerise says, pointing at the trash bin next to your computer desk overflowing with tissues. "Did you spend your *entire* summer jerking off?"
"At least I wasn't doing it in front of strangers for money."
"As if anyone would want to see you tugging on your pencil dick. Your only hope in life is if the supreme court legalizes cartoon marriage."
"They are NOT cartoo--" you stop yourself, shake your head, and massage your eyes. You don't have time to get roped into this debate again. Being late on your first day of class might make bitch-pigs swoon in the anime realm -- but it's not going to win you any points with Mr. Langley, your homeroom teacher and Quiz Bowl coach. You need to skedaddle.
You grab your backpack and push past Cerise. "Don't molest anyone today, you little creep!" she calls after you as you run downstairs.
In the kitchen, you grab a piece of toast but don't have any time to butter it. Shoving it haphazardly into your open maw, you head for the foyer. But standing in your way at the front door is your mom.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asks, staring down the bridge of her nose.
"School. Obviously."
"I can see that, you brat. But you need to take some lunch." She holds out a brown paper bag stuffed so full of food it's about to burst. You grab it from her unceremoniously.
She huffs. "Aren't you even going to thank me?"
You swallow a bite of toast and grumble. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Don't get the wrong idea, now. I don't care if you have anything to eat, but I can't let the school administration find out I'm not feeding you and decide I'm some kind of negligent parent."
"Oh, no. Of course not. You'll make mother of the year at this rate."
Just like with Cerise, you push past your mom, thinking about how the rotten apple never falls far from the tree.
"And don't buy anything out of those godawful vending machines they have on campus," she says as you go. "Not that I care if you eat healthy, I just don't want you spending any of my hard-earned money!"
Out in the drive, your childhood friend Whitney is waiting. Well-- it might be more apt to call her a "childhood hanger-on." Why she insists on following you around like a lost puppy remains beyond your comprehension. There's no way she could be attracted to you, because you're 99% certain she's a rug muncher.
"Ally!" She calls. She's decked out in her usual late-summer attire of spats and a tank. She doesn't even wear a bra, the harlot. Her darkly tanned skin glistens with morning sweat. "I was about to give up on you ever coming out of your spank-cave."
"I wish you would have," you grouse as you walk by. She spins on her heels to follow your brisk pace. "So what remedial courses are you taking this year?" you ask her over your shoulder, by way of making small talk.
"Algebra, chemistry, English... oh, and they let me into auto shop."
"That's nice. Learning a trade is important for people who can't go to college."
"I was worried they wouldn't, because of that thing last year..."
She means the time an assistant principal caught her toking up behind the bleachers of the gym. Imitating the school's shop-teacher-slash-baseball-coach, she continues in a faux baritone: "being a student in auto shop is a position of trust! Not just anyone can do it!"
"That's awful. If you keep getting away with your rampant drug use, you'll never learn."
"Oh stop being such a dweeb you dweeb. It was the first time I ever did the stuff."
"Pretty soon you'll be fellating homeless men for heroin."
"You are so gross! I don't do drugs. You can't play soccer with smoker's lung."
"You can't play soccer with a 1.3 grade point average, either."
"Actually-- that's sorta what I wanted to ask you about..."
You stop and look at her.
"Algebra this semester is gonna be super duper hard. Like, who even needs that crap? It's gay as shit. But if I can't solve for X or whatever, they're gonna kick me off the team. Can you tutor me this year?"
[ ] Ok.
[ ] Ok... if you pay me.
>[x] No way.
"Why would I waste precious mental energy on you? You're a lost cause. Focus on learning how to turn wrenches. You should be able to grasp that."
"You're such a jerk!"
Before you can make a comeback, she kicks you in the shins. You stumble backward with a howl and gawk at her. When she charges forward with hate in her eyes, you kick back out of pure instinct. The two of you end up in a spastic back-and-forth jig of below the belt kicks. Of course, Whitney is far more coordinated. Eventually she lands a hard blow to your upper thigh, flooring you. You singe your palms on the sun-baked concrete sidewalk.
She looms over you to deliver even more kicks. You clamber to your knees and hold out a hand to stop her. "You're an animal," you cry, standing again on uncertain legs. "I could press charges if I wanted to. You belong in a reformatory."
"You belong on the moon!" she screams. When Whitney gets really angry, her insults become complete nonsense. You decide to let it pass.
"I'm not going to suffer the frustration of trying to teach you. My time isn't yours to just fritter away."
"Fritter? What the hell does that even mean?" She gives you another sharp kick to the shin that nearly bowls you over again. You give her a hard shove in retaliation.
"You're such a shit," she says. "I don't even know why I hang out with you."
"Me either."
"If I fail math because you didn't help me, you're gonna fucking pay for it." She grabs you by the collar. "And I mean it."
You wrench yourself free and straighten your shirt. "I'm sure you do. But honestly, Whitney - you should be used to failure by now."
You continue the trek to school, your walk now a pained limp. Sullenly, Whitney follows a few paces behind. You try not to pay attention to her.
As you round a corner just a few blocks from school, you bump head first into a girl who looks like she came straight from the early 1900s. She wears a prim black dress with a skirt that's positively matronly, and e̳͙̩̖̳̼͜͢n̢͉͙̖̗̜̠̩͜ͅͅo̢͚͉̬̟̺̭͡r̸̨̭̭̳̻̩ͅm̡̰̘͔͈o̢̯̟͔̙̹u̘͕̟̯̦͙̦͉̕͡͝ś̴̨̫̥͖̺͇̗̺͓ ̗̱͓͙͘r͉̰̱͔̹̼̼̭͞ơ̥̦̭̭͕͖͓̕u̵͇͎ͅn̡͚̖͢d̨̫̺͖͖ ̱̦̞̥͝͡e͖͉̟̹̘͜ỳ̸̙̯͇̳͎ͅḙ̖̺̖̣̣͔͟g͙̹l̙̞̥̙̣͢a̷̻s̪͕̗̫̘̣̠͡s̛̻̗͕e͉̬̖̪̤ś͕̳͜ͅ. She looks so pale she might be anemic, and carries a parasol.
"Watch where you're walking," you snap at her.
She regards you for a few seconds, casting a glance at Whitney as well. "Are you Alabaster Soliloquy?"
"What? How do you know me?"
The girl smiles. "That's not what I thought at all. How disappointing. Oh well." She steps off the curb, turning her back to you, and begins down the crosswalk.
You look back at Whitney. She shrugs.
>[x] Follow the girl.
[ ] Forget it.
"Hey!" You call. "You can't go around saying my name and being all mysterious and then expect me to just let you--"
"Walk away?" The girl says, laughing. Her laughter sounds like an honest-to-god "ufufufu."
"How do you know me?" You demand.
"That's for later, Alabaster Soliloquy," she says. She pulls back her parasol for the first time. Her hair is as black as r͝e̵̥͖̥d̪. Her eyes are shining, dewy with some false sense of superiority despite the difference in height and her anemic frame. "I'll have time to crush you later."
"You're not gonna crush shit," Whitney warns, from behind you. When you're threatened directly like this, it seems she's willing to set aside her previous anger. "Who do you think you are? You weird little midget!"
"Aren't the lower classes so cute?" Vivian says. "Tell your lesbian friend that insults such as these will not be tolerated..." She props her parasol on her shoulder and turns to leave.
"Hold on," you say, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She turns around. Her black hair is r̦̳̘̗͇̗ẹ̸͚̗̤͚͉̺d͖̗̙. Her hair is red. She's taller than you remember her being. Is this the same girl? Who is this?
"What are you doing here?" She demands.
"That's what I'm asking you!" You say. "Why are you threatening me? Who the fuck are you?"
"Get out," the girl says. "Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT! GET OUT!"
She lunges for you, choking you, and you fall the ground, sputtering and yelling. She's on top of you, throttling you with inhuman strength. You catch a glimpse of Whitney leaping, airborne, tackling her - and then you black out.
"Guess I have a stalker," you say to Whitney.
"Fah," she says, stretching her back. "If you catch her rummaging through your trash or anything else shady, just let me know. I'll take care of her." She winks. "But-- it'll cost you a week of tutoring fees."
"Tutoring fees?" You say. "What are you talking about?"
Whitney stops, cocks her head. "...I don't know," she finally says. "Forget it. I must have had a brain fart."
Like most of your arguments, Whitney's anger over this latest one hasn't lasted long. She makes inane small talk at you the rest of the way to school. You try to be as civil as possible, but you couldn't care less about her problems.
The campus is already packed with students when you get there. Teenagers laughing, smiling, making out like depraved monkeys in public. You suppress a shudder. You suppress an even harder shudder when your friend Naruto Stackleford sidles up to you.
Whatever his first name is, you've long forgotten it, because there's only one that he'll respond to. As usual, he wears his construction-zone-orange pussy deflector.
"Sup nigger?" he lisps. "How was summer?"
That you ever tolerated this lumbering golem's presence is a travesty. You met in sixth grade, when your tastes were much the same; but he never graduated from Adult Swim and wouldn't be able to tell a Nichijou from a Meguca. You, on the other hand, have only become more refined -- like a good Bordeaux.
"Summer was fine..." you say, trying to beat a straight vector to your homeroom, and as quickly as possible. You give a short wave to Whitney and hurry off, but Stackleford follows like a bad odor.
"You gonna join anime club this year, man?"
"I already told you, those morons are beneath me. Besides, I'm preoccupied with Quiz Bowl. When was the last time you brushed your teeth?"
"We've got a new president this year! It'll be great!"
"I'm sure. Look, you're blocking my way. I'm sure you get that one a lot, but try to understand. Please let me through."
"Well, think about it at least."
"Uh huh."
You hurry into homeroom.
Inside homeroom, your heart stops. Sitting near the window, right behind your seat of choice, is none other than that girl from before. But that's not possible -- this an advanced senior course, and she looked like a middle schooler. There's no way she's a senior. She looks at you with that wry smile of hers.
"Come on, come on," Mr. Langely says over the din of students, calling the class to order. "I know you're all still in summer mode, but let's try to get back into the swing of things."
He writes his name on the board and introduces himself, and his credentials. He also gives a quick plug for the Quiz Bowl, announcing that tryouts will be in room 201 directly after school. "Alabaster is our star player," he says, indicating you. "He's been carrying us for three years. And-- we have other potential members in the room as well."
He looks in the parasol girl's direction. Your heart stops for a second time. This can't be happening.
"Now, why don't we do some introductions. We'll go around the room. Stand up, tell us who you are and what your interests are. Let's get to know each other."
>[x] Give your introduction; intimidate the girl.
[ ] Blow it off.
As the whores and mansluts that make up your fellow classmates deliver their boring monologues about "really liking music" and "being into skateboarding," you steal some glances at this mysterious newcomer. She looks so plain i̜̯̳̺̹̗n̵ ̢̳̝̠̳̩̭̜h͈̹͓̣́er͉ ̯͖̘g̞̱̪̜̟̣i̺̹͈̬̫̳͘a͈̘̮͕͙̫̬n͠t ̗s̫̭͍p͕̥̩͇͘e͚̱̱͔̼c̙̝͙̞tac͍͓͉̟l͈͈̤͕ͅḙ̶̠s, so how does she project such an icy and imposing demeanor?
If she wants on the team, it can't be helped. But you won't let her get to you. When your turn comes, you decide to show her where she really stands.
"Tell us about yourself," Mr. Langley prompts.
Without standing, you announce: "Well - my name is Alabaster soliloquy and I̦̗͢ͅ ̵̺͉̟n̢͇͓̣͙ee̪̦͇͎d̪̝̀ ̙t̡̙͇͖ọ̣ ̥̤w̫͔͔̞̠̰̘͟ak͚͙͍̮̦̥e ̴̠̙̦u̙̩̹p̫̬͠ like you said, I'm on Quiz Bowl. That makes me the smartest guy in the school. Maybe in the state. I'm gonna carry the team to the national championship this year."
The rest of the class stifles some laughter.
"People who try to edge in on my glory aren't going to go very far," you continue. "That's just a fact. So if anyone here thinks they're smarter, or more cunning, they're in for a rude a̝̘ͅw̞̕a͉͈̣͜k̮̣̘̰̩̱ͅe͎n̗̞̯͔̯i̪̯͇͎̙n͖͍̝̦g̳̣̞̮̖."
The introductions continue, moving to the next person beside you in your row. It isn't for a few moments that the introductions snake back around to the parasol girl, who's the last to speak.
The girl stands, holding her hands demurely in front of her. "My name is Vivian Darkbloom. I am 13." She waits for the confused whispers that this revelation incites to subside. "Certain people whom I will not name labor under the belief that they are the smartest ones here. They are sadly mistaken. I am the smartest. I will graduate from North High at the end of this year and matriculate at UC Berkley, where I will double major in theoretical physics and European literature. My interests include quantum chromodynamics, cryptography, and the works of Marcel Proust."
The room has fallen deathly silent now. She continues. "I would say that I look forward to the coming school year, but that would be a lie. Every second I spend amongst the assorted dross of the public school system is like a screaming eternity in the stygian void of imbecility's embrace. You hardly deserve my presence. Thank you."
She sits.
>[X] Remove headset.
"He seems to be having a negative reaction," Sable says as she watches Alabaster writhe in his seat.
"He's doing just fine," Darkbloom replies. But still, he holds Alabaster's hands firmly behind his back. "There may be some corruption in the data right now, but I think the overall experience should be an enjoyable one."
"I will kill you if anything happens to him," Sable says in her usual matter of fact tone.
"I know, Darkbloom replies.
This Vivian girl has more or less called you out in front of the entire class. Worse yet, everyone knows it. They cast expectant stares your way. But what can you do? Leap to your feet and shout down a 13 year old girl? That would just make you look worse.
Like it or not, she won this round. So you decide not to let it bother you. But you'll have your revenge.
"Well then," Mr. Langley says. He laughs nervously. "That sure was... something. It's nice to have you, Vivian. And everyone else. Now, the syllabus..."
The first half of the day passes tortuously. Every class you have, Vivian has as well. And she always makes a point of sitting near you. Not just near you -- behind you. What's her game? By fourth period calculus, you know well enough to sit in the very back. But she merely pulls a chair out of the neatly-arranged grid and sets it behind the back row.
You hate her already. Her eyes boring into the back of your skull start to make you sweat, even in the A/C. When the bell for lunch rings, you bolt from the room and down the quickly-filling hall. Even as you jog you sense Vivian slowly following behind you -- is this just paranoia? -- and in a fit of panic you take a strange route that leads you out a pair of double-doors to a parking lot near the track. On the distance, you see that Whitney is using her lunch period to run laps. As expected.
[ ] Go say hi.
>[x] Go eat your lunch.
You consider going to Whitney and asking for her help with your putative stalker. You feel like you need a second pair of friendly eyes looking out for you. And let's face it, you're not in the best of shape: you honestly doubt your prospects even against a 13 year old.
But your pride won't allow it. Asking Whitney, of all people, for help? Inconceivable!
You can watch your own six. If things get too crazy, you can always... go to the police, or something. You're not going to let a little girl cow you like that.
In the lunchroom, you eat at a table alone, playing on your phone. You quickly settle into the romantic storyline of "Suck My Dick or Die!"
"Squeee!"
You look up. Stackleford is looming over you with his usual sweaty desperation for friendship. And this time, he brought backup. She loops her arms over your neck and hops up and down.
"Is this the new recruit?" She says. "He's cute!"
You flip your phone over so these two rejects can't see what you've been playing. Then you pry yourself out of this crazy girl's grip.
"What the hell, Stackleford?" You say. "Is this one of your friends from the halfway house or what?"
"I thought I'd introduce you to the new club prez!" Stackleford explains. "You know, before you made up your mind not to join. This is--"
"I'm Rose!" She says, winking and flashing a peace sign. "It's so sugoi to meet you, Alabaster!"
>[x] Struggle
Sable is standing. "Let go of him, David. It isn't working. It wasn't ready for a demo yet."
"Just-- a little-- more--" David grunts, struggling to keep control over Alabaster as he flops like a dying fish.
"You're sick!" Sable shouts. "He's suffering. Don't you care if people suffer?"
"Of course I care!" Darkbloom shoots back. "That's why I'm doing this! That's my business! The end of suffering! Alabaster will enjoy this - he has to - there's no way he can't!"
"You cannot be serious," you say.
"Serious as stage V cancer!" Rose says. Her smile drops for a moment: "wait, was that too much?"
"No," you cut in. "It wasn't. It was perfect, actually."
"We'd be, like, totally honored if you joined anime club this year," Rose says. "We're gonna watch so many great series! Uh, Death Note, and Evangelion. Just to start with -- and--"
You stand up. "Have fun with that," you say. "I'm not gonna be there."
"Wait!" Rose says. "Were you playing Suck My Dick or Die?"
You eye her suspiciously. How could a stupid weeb like her know about that game to begin with?
"I've been getting into nukige recently and I heard it was pretty good! So what do you think? Is Suck My Dick or Die any f--"
You cast worried glances this way and that. "Will you shut the fuck up?" You hiss. "Jesus. Talk a little louder about how you love porn games, huh?"
"You were playing a porn game?" Stackleford says, as if tuning in to this conversation for the first time.
"Shut up," you and Rose say in unison.
"Uhh... sorry," he says.
"I just get excited, that's all," Rose says. "It's not often you see someone with tastes so advanced! So... what do you think?"
>[X] Yeah, it's pretty good.
[ ] (Lie) I don't know what you thought you saw, but you were wrong.
You still don't trust this weird little dork, but you can at least answer her question: "yeah. It's pretty good."
"Do you have it translated? My Japanese isn't that great. I'm terrible at reading the moon runes..."
You cringe. "Yeah. I got it--"
She pulls a pink sharpie from her bag and grabs your wrist. "Just email me the magnet link!" She says.
She writes her email on your palm: xXneopetfujoXx@hotmail.com
"Sorry about the email," she says, laughing nervously. "I've had it since I was 11... I use it for spam and stuff now."
"Gee, thanks," you say, looking at your palm. "Just what I needed. Pink highlighter on my hand all day long..."
"So what do you think? Still sour on anime club?" She says. "We're meeting for the first time today after school..."
>[X] I'll check it out.
[ ] No way in hell.
"Squeeee!" She squeals, hugging you again.
You windmill, shoving her away. "Get off of me!" You cry.
"Mou~" she pouts.
"What's wrong with you, huh? You weirdo. Y̶̩͎̦̝ọ̡͉͚̱͔̦̱u̘̥̟̭̼͍'̸͔̳͚̳r͢e̳̩̤͖̘̺̕ ̹̹͎̗̪no̩t̵ ͈̙Ṟ̮̗̗̬͠osè̫̦͖͔̖."
"What?" Rose says.
"What?" You say. "I said you're not right in the head. You're deranged. You're f͟i̴c͔͇͚t̠͖̱̀i̪̭̳̦ò̪̩͔ņ̼̯̬̺͕̦a̻̱̼̭͖l̻̘."
"What are you talking about?" R̨͎͙o̮s͔̭̦̕è̙̗̣͚͕̻ says. "Fictional? Oh goodness... you've got eighth grader syndrome."
This is too much. She's babbling like a crazy person. "You need medication or something. Look, I'll come to your stupid club, but you have to accept that Į͎̣͙͖̳͎'͖̝̩̱̺l̛͎̟̝l̴͓̻͎͚̞͈̼ ̹̰̹̳͓n͚̱͘ͅe̷̫̟̻v̷̖̼̠͖̦͖e̺̟̖̬r̨̮̯̹̰̤͖͖ ͚̞̦̰̰̜ĺ̼̜o͎̞̳̮͜v̗͍̜̟̥͙e̤ ̮̗͕̗̞y̫͈̹͇̙̻̬͢o̺̼u̙̦͘.͖̫ ̙͡I̪̫̫̻̹̱ͅ ̮̼̼̻͘l̛̘̦o̯̬̗̪ͅv̳͈͓̠͙̱̠e͓̥̻ ̻̹̱R̰o̳̙͈̥̳ͅse̶̠̘̝̬ͅ."
"Silly! I'm Rose!"
"YO̥̯͉͜U̶̞ ̻̻͕̤͖̮͢Ḁ̥̭͞R̴̙͓͈̠E̳̤̭̳͉ͅ ̯͚̰NO̤͓T̟̭̮͔̝̰̳ ̻͈̣͞R͖͚ͅO̸̜̭̖S͍E̢̩͉͎͇ͅ.̖̙͙!" You step forward in a blind rage, ready to throttle this stupid cunt to death, and then you black out.
Fifth period biology is a return to the new normal. Without thinking, you take a seat in the second to last row. Like clockwork, Vivian sits at the black-top bench just behind you.
Five minutes pass, then ten. The class is growing antsy and people start throwing out the old misnomer that class is dismissed if the teacher is more than fifteen minutes late. But at the last second in saunters Ms. Carte.
All of the boys and a few of the girls find themselves staring at her buxom form. You included. Vivian, too.
Most people don't know about the rumors -- but via Whitney you've heard... things, about this woman. You can believe it. Who stays single at 30 without a reason?
"Good afternoon, boys and girls," she says, her voice like silk. "If you're not here for AP Biology, then you're in the wrong place. Please go."
She waits, but no one leaves. If there was a person in the wrong room and they decided not to go after seeing her, you wouldn't blame them.
"All right," she says. "Obviously, we focus on biology. I hope after coming through this class you all know much, much more about the subject." She smiles a pointy smile. "I expect you all to score well on the AP exam. Please see me for out of class help if you're struggling...
"Now before we get started, I need to assign a couple roles. First, I need someone tall who can help me in the storage room on experiment days... a boy, preferably."
[ ] Me! Me!
[ ] Let some other lug do it.
>[X]ONCE REMOVED
"Once removed... once removed..." Alabaster mutters.
"What on Earth?" Sable says.
"Nevermind that. He's calming down."
"He wants you to remove it."
"That isn't it! It's just data interference, that's all!"
"Once removed... once removed..."
Alabaster jerks violently, with such force that even Darkbloom can't hold him down. He falls to the floor, seizing. He foams at the mouth, his entire body going stiff, and flops this way and that on the ground.
"I'm taking it off of him!" Sable shouts.
Darkbloom pulls a small pistol from his waistband and points it at Sable. "If you do that, it'll kill him," he growls. "If you do that... it will have all been for nothing!"
Sable glowers at him, calculating quickly whether she should take the risks and physically revolt or let this play out for a little longer.
>[X] TENDERNESS
You leap to your feet, yelling.
The entire class looks at you as if you sprouted antennae. You cough and sit down. "Uh... sorry," you say. What the hell was that?
Anyway, the things you've heard about Ms. Carte make you think twice. She'll be the top story on CNN someday, you figure. Best to Ẁ̰̪̮̬A̛̙̠̙̥̯̗͈K̗̪͙E̥̱ ̷U̹̭̠̺̕P͇̹̭ stay away from that trainwreck waiting to happen.
Besides, the competition for being her "helper" is fierce. Most of the boys volunteer, including a lot who you've never seen be proactive about anything. Ms. Carte licks her lips like a fat kid promoted to the head of the cake police. Surveying her smorgasbord, she chews on the end of her pen and finally chooses one of the school's football players.
"You'll Ẁ̰̪̮̬A̛̙̠̙̥̯̗͈K̗̪͙E̥̱ ̷U̹̭̠̺̕P͇̹̭ do," she says. "I can't wait to work with you."
Class proceeds normally; Ms. Carte assigns other roles. You end up being her "computer technician," which basically means you'll help her if her powerpoint presentations get messed up during class for some reason. Easy peasy.
The rest of the day proceeds without incident. Predictably, Vivian follows you to English as well. The only time you get away from her is in final period PE class, which is of course gender-segregated.
The sky is a grey-black blob by the time PE comes into session and a storm is obviously brewing. The coach holds class in the auditorium.
At the end of class, you dutifully head to the anime club room in what used to be Mr. McMichael's class, but no one's there. You start to feel antsy and exposed.
"Oh... hey..." you hear behind you. It's Rose. She's soaked to the bone, her hair stuck to her face, and shivering. "Let's go inside, huh? Soccer practice got canceled..."
"Soccer? Aren't you the head of the student council?"
"What? I'm head of anime club. Let's go. It's starting."
The anime clubroom is precisely what you remember of it. Formerly under the purview of Mr. McMichael the home ec teacher, anime club was -- you figured until yesterday -- disbanded when he got busted for certain felonies over the summer. His home ec class is still strewn with insipid meme-based anime posters and student-made fanart that would look more at home on Deviant Art.
There are already about a dozen other students here: Earl the guy with a bowl cut and a facial tic; Connor the dude who wears a trenchcoat and fingerless gloves no matter the forecast; Kyle the guy who you're 90% sure has downs; and Fartin' Franklin, whose nickname was not his choice but nonetheless apt. Amongst others.
Stepping into this writhing mass of human failure, you gird yourself make self-promises that this is only once.
Stackleford, blessedly, leaves you alone to talk with Rose, the only half-attractive person in attendance. This leaves you to sit in the back and hate your life in peace. But the wait becomes wearying. You ask Rose when you'll be able to to start watching anime.
"We can't start without our adviser," Rose grouses. "I think she's a drunk or something?"
You don't have time to formulate a response before the door of the clubroom opens and someone walks in.
"Oh. There she is now," she says. It's your sister.
The reaction is nearly instantaneous. You leap to your feet and begin to shout something; Cerise bounds across the room and grabs you by the collar before you can get one syllable out. She drags you away. The peanut gallery hoots and cheers, not understanding what's going on, but entertained anyway.
She tosses you like a sack of potatoes into the hallway. Rose watches with interest but doesn't intervene.
"What are you doing here?" Cerise hisses.
"What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here?" You stop and sniff at the air. "How drunk are you, anyway?"
"You're a fucking, asshole," she says with a strange pause between curses. "You're supposed to be at your stupid Darkbloom thing right now."
"You're supposed to be looking for gainful employment." You pace back and forth, disbelieving. "Why are you here? You graduated two years ago. And at the fucking anime club of all places?"
"They needed an adviser to fill the gap or they'd be disbanded. No one on faculty wanted to do it."
"Why would you?--" you pause, feeling the mental cogs spin into place. The unexplained post-school disappearances of hers when she was a student here... you always just assumed that she was out having sex with bikers or something. But...
"Anyway," Cerise huffs, "I'm Sand Reckoner."
"Yeah? How much are they paying you?"
"The amount isn't important. What's important is that I'm working again."
She has an eyepatch. Her hair is red. Her eyes are blue as lapis.
"Pocky isn't currency the last time I checked. This... is..."
"Get fucked. Why are you hanging out in a simulation?"
"Because you epitomize everything that's wrong and degenerate and evil about anime fandom. God. I knew you were the enemy, but I never... I never..." You can't remember what you wanted to say.
"I'm fixing it!" Camelia yells. "And I don't need you perving up my work in progress with your stupid moe bullshit. Wake up, Alabaster!"
"I am not going to let you corrupt the-- what's my line?"
"Morals!" Camelia says. "Big words for someone who was jerking off to Radiohead last night!"
"Who are you?"
"I'm your sister."
"No you're not."
She steps forward.
"I̹̞͕͖̥̞͖ ̪̦̭a̪̖̻͖͞m̯̜͙̫̗͖ ̴̮̞̝S͔͎̳̥̭̪̠a̪͓̕n̟̹͎̻̠̰͘d̟ͅ ̬R̬͚̀e̤̕c̬̬̞͇̬k͙͎̘̙o̢̦͓̟̦n͍͈̦̼̠̰e̵̫̦̼r͈̬̭.̩͖̺"
"You are NOT my sister." You stumble back, frightened, shielding yourself. From what?
"M͈̗̹̫̩͘y̝͈̻̠̻͈̰ ̯n̦a̛̪͕̻̖̘̘m͎̬e̞͇̳͕̘̱͠ ̧͙i͓̩̮̩̼͜ͅs̸ ͙̭̫̗̯͖͙C̤̥ͅe͍̘̘̯̼͕r̤̦i̳̗͓͙͠s̪̖̻͇e̴̠͉̟͍͎̫̬ ̝Ṣ̬̻̰ọ̭͢li̯͉͡l̳͍͍̺̣oq͚̖u̢̺̰͙y͉͚. ͇̬͈͉̥̬͘Í̺͎̱̭ ͔ͅa̞̮̟̹̝m̝͙̰̹͘ ̘͙̗̼͓S̟̦̝a͕̤̩n̛̙̣̰̥d̝̙̗̞͡ ̦͖͉͙̣R̝̜̫e̥͖͎̝c̮̻͖k͕̯̜̝͙̺͚o͓n̡̦̝̘e̤̘̙̱̱ͅr̫̖̤͎͇̠.͉͡"
Her face is a hideous amalgam, flickering back and forth - first Cerise, then this other person.
You scream -- and then you wake up.
Sable has the headset in her hand.
"Are you okay?" She says.
"I'm... I'm all right," you say. "How long was I out?"
"Just a few minutes."
"It felt like hours..." You look around. "Why am I on the floor?"
Sable helps you to your feet. When you get your bearings again, you see Darkbloom sitting at one of the conference table's tall chairs, his arms resting on his knees, his head bowed.
He has a gun in his hand.
"What the hell," you say.
"I am sorry, Alabaster," he says, not looking up. "I don't think you had a very enjoyable experience, did you?"
You look at Sable. "Why does he have a gun?"
"It doesn't matter," Sable says.
"Like hell it doesn't. Did he threaten me? Did he threaten you?"
"He's all bravado," Sable says.
Darkbloom puts the gun back in his waistband. He finally makes eye contact.
"You're familiar with Plato's allegory of the cave, right?" He says.
"Yeah. That was definitely some allegory of the cave bullshit right there."
"What if it wasn't?" Darkbloom says. "I don't know what exactly you saw, but..."
He returns to his spot at the window, basking in the sunlight. He thinks for a long moment.
"If you believe in free will," he says, "you must - you have to know that every choice creates a new reality. Every choice is a reckoning. Why is our reckoning any more real than any other possible reckoning? It's no more accurate to say our reality is the true one than it would be to say that 2+2=4 is truer than 3+2=5. And if we knew everything... if we knew it all... we could find the most optimal reckonings. That's all I want."
"You're insane," you tell him.
"If I've hurt you, I'm sorry. I have loved you like a son, Alabaster."
"You killed the people who loved me like a son," you say. You can't help it.
"That wounds me," Darkbloom says. "It wounds me that you would believe such a thing. Why would I kill your parents? What benefit would it serve?"
"To hide the truth of what you did to me and the others."
"How would you ever know the real truth? Not even your mother knew, rest her soul."
"Then why is she dead?" You say, half shouting. "Why is she dead?"
"Maybe... maybe an unfortunate accident. Such things are always possible. Or maybe -- if it's something more sinister, then step back and look at motives. Consider it dispassionately. Who else has a motive? Who might want you on their side? Are Camelia's parents dead? How do you know that?"
You seethe.
On the elevator ride down with Sable, the silence is deafening. You have no idea what to say or how to say it. It's Sable who finally breaks the silence.
"I didn't know the Gateway to Heaven would be such a terrible experience. I tried it myself and it was actually quite fun... I'm sorry, Alabaster."
"Are you still going to help Darkbloom after what you just saw up there?"
"Yes. Absolutely. It has to be like this... I may not like the man, but his money and resources make everything possible. This is my life's work."
"Do you know what Darkbloom did to me?" You demand.
"Yes. He put a device in your eye. The data it gathered was fundamental to everything we've developed."
"Do you know what happened to a girl named Camelia?"
"Her real name is Amber. Yes, I know about that. Dr. Carte told me."
"You're okay with that?"
"Working with the tools at hand is different from being okay with something. You must understand, Alabaster. This is important work."
The elevator dings and opens to the lobby. You step out, turn to face her.
"There's a lot to be done," Sable says. "Go home and get some sleep."
"No," you say. You reach out and stop the doors from closing. "Come with me and watch a video."
"I've seen that video. It won't change my mind."
The doors close again. This time, you don't stop them. You feel sick with a sense of betrayal.
>[x] Follow her.
[ ] Go home.
You take the next elevator down and find her in her office. She's her usual self -- knocks back what looks like half a pill bottle before resuming her work at her computer terminal. Just outside, her drones are still building SMATTERS units.
"What is so important about this work?" You demand.
Alex is at your side. He must have followed you in from outside - sensing your anger, perhaps.
"David Darkbloom is right about one thing in particular," Sable says, "if nothing else. What we do here has the potential to end suffering. It really does."
"Bullshit," you say. "That man killed my parents!"
"Killed your... your parents..." Alex mutters. "What?"
"I don't know," Sable says. "I don't want to know. I'm sorry for your loss."
You grab her chair and turn it around so she's facing you - an old maneuver.
"You know now," you say. "You know because I'm telling you. David Darkbloom murdered my parents."
"That can't be true," Alex says. "Mr. Darkbloom? A murderer?"
"What are you going to do about that?" You say.
"Why are your parents so fucking important?" Sable shrieks. "Are they more important than everyone else on Earth? You would end this project because you think Darkbloom did something to them? A Sand Reckoner implant could improve the lives of billions! We'd know each other better... we'd know the world better... we'd live in harmony again. No more war -- no more killing. I'm sorry about your parents, Alabaster. I'm sorry! I didn't hurt them. And I'm trying to make a world where good people like your parents never get hurt again!"
[ ] I'll help you.
>[X] I won't help you.
"Then let me work in peace," Sable says. She turns back around.
You storm out of her office, boiling with a barely contained rage. Alex follows you out, past the coder's room, and into the garishly lit hallway.
"Ally! Ally! What's going o--"
You grab him by the shoulders and push him up against the wall. He shudders with fear.
"I'll tell you what's going on. Your boss's boss is a murderer who killed my family. Your boss is working for him. And you're working for her."
You step back. Alex crumples to his butt, his legs splayed. "I don't understand..." he says, fighting tears. "I don't understand... did I do something wrong? I... I'm sorry... please..."
You stare down at him. "Pick a side, Alex."
"Are you leaving?" He says. He wipes his eyes with the back of his palm. "You won't come back?"
"Are you still going to work for Sable?"
"Ms. Guiteau needs me..." Alex says. "W-without me... s-she'd..."
You turn.
"Ally! Ally, please! I'm sorry! I love you!" He falls to the ground, in the fetal position, weeping. "Please don't go, please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
You don't listen to his pitiful pleading as you walk down the hallway.
On your way out of the Darkbloom campus, you send a message to Galatea's Skype account - the only way you know how to contact Camelia.
>I'm in. Tell the others.
You hope she understands to pass it on to Camelia and Tyrus.
As you pocket the phone and move across the street, towards the parking garage, a voice calls after you from the curb.
"Alabaster! Fancy meeting you here. Wanna catch a ride with me?"
You grimace. "I'm sorry, Noelle. I'm really busy right now."
She pulls a gun. In her other hand, a badge.
"I insist," she says, her bubbly facade dropping like a rock. "You're going to have to come with me, Alabaster Soliloquy."
A panel van nearby opens its side door. A man in an FBI coat grabs you by the arm.
END OF EPISODE 11.