You are Alabaster Soliloquy, virtual loli defiler and real loli defiler.
>Sometime in the past.
"Professor Darkbloom!"
David finishes loading the books into his little cardboard box before turning around. That's David: always living at his own pace, unhurried, unflappable.
"I'm so glad you haven't left yet," Renee says. She's out of breath, having hurried here from across campus. Her thin, well-tanned frame is sheened with sweat from the exertion and the summer heat.
"You won't be here much longer either," David says. He leans his tailbone against the edge of his now-bare desk, regarding her. "I suppose Gustav will be lonely without us. Make sure to give him hell for me before you go back to high school."
Renee smiles. "Of course."
David straightens the vest beneath his jacket. "Just between you and me? He's going to be more than a little lost without you. You've accomplished more than most of his grad students. Certainly more than anyone else in the college preview program."
Renee blushes, looks away. "I just do whatever he tells me."
"And you do it well. Not every high school sophomore can say they made breakthroughs in biomedical prostheses." He smiles warmly. "I say it a lot, but I don't say it enough - you're a brilliant young woman."
Renee is still looking away, silent.
"What's the matter?" David asks, genuine concern showing through his voice.
"Nothing," Renee lies.
"Sit down." There's no way she can disobey a command like that, from him.
---
Mara drags Cerise by her hair across the grimy tile floor. It's streaked orange with a thin patina of blood already. Cerise struggles, kicking and crying and screaming, trying to rip away from Mara's iron grip. But it's no use. Mara is far too strong.
"I warned you," Mara says. "I warned you what would happen. This is your fault, Alabaster."
You fight against the rope securing you to the chair, but you're too tightly bound to have any hope of escape. You feel the revulsion of rage and horror and abject helplessness as the tears begin to stream down your face.
Whitney and Rose both lie dead at your feet, their throats slit, their eyes vacant and staring at nothing. You choke on the reek of their gore.
Mara forces Cerise to her knees, directly facing you, and puts the dagger to the hollow of her neck.
"Please!" You beg. "Please! I'll give you what you want! I'll give you everything! Just don't--"
"Too late," Mara says, smirking. She draws the serrated edge swiftly across Cerise's jugular and the hot blood sprays like a geyser against you.
You wake with a start.
"Whoa," Tyrus says. "Don't go fuckin' bughouse on me now. You having some PTSD flashbacks or what?"
As the contours of of reality settle around you again, you blink and struggle to rise. This sleeping bag always leaves you with a vicious kink in your neck and lower back. You wish you had a more comfortable place to lay your head, but there's just no room. Cerise and Galatea both claimed Galatea's bed, while Stackleford claimed the couch in the living room (guilting you with his missing fingers when you tried to argue the point) - thus leaving you and Rose to fight every night between a threadbare sleeping bag and an air mattress that has a tendency to slowly deflate overnight.
Last night, you got stuck with the sleeping bag.
But it can't be helped. Tyrus and his men are keeping you well protected here, with sentries posted outside the apartment building 24/7. And judging by the gunfire the other day, those sentries have been a lifesaver -- literally.
"Do you like ham?" Stackleford is asking.
"no."
"Are you sure?"
"...yes."
"You haven't had the right kind of ham. That's all. You need to try that Black Forest honey ham from Subway."
"boyd, i do not like ham."
"Whatever, Sam-I-Am. I'll show you the true meaning of ham. I'll sneak you a ham sub and you'll dig it."
Watching Stackleford trying to socialize with Galatea is like watching a tortoise trying to fuck a sloth. It moves excruciatingly slowly and no one is having any fun.
"How many explosive charges you got down there?" Tyrus asks as you kick free of the sleeping bag and stand.
"Five, six dozen -- more?" You say. "I lost count. It's enough. Are we really going to discuss this in front of Stacklefuck?"
"You're the one who saved his fat ass," Tyrus counters. It's a fair point.
"Hey, I'm cool with the whole 'get Darkbloom' thing," Stackleford insists. "That butthole is the reason I don't have a fapping hand anymore." He holds up what remains of his left hand, which has only the pinky and the thumb. "How am I supposed to do anything with a claw like this?"
You grimace.
"Plus," Stackleford continues, "he killed Mrs. Soliloquy... I miss her. Your mom was hot."
"Goddamn it, Stackleford. I should have let that Russian whore shoot you in the head."
Stackleford simpers.
"You see the news?" Tyrus asks.
"Yeah. The Russians kicked your shit in at that landfill."
"I didn't sign up for this," Tyrus says. "Got police crawling out my goddamn asshole now, plus a bunch of my guys whose families need their hazard pay. You know - because they're fuckin' dead. Darkbloom and that bitch wife of his need to get fucking got, yesterday."
"I couldn't agree more."
"Are you ready to go or not? We can't be having any delays here."
"Where is Camelia?" You demand.
"Don't change the fuckin' subject."
"I just did. Where is she? Is she dead?"
"I don't know where that red cunt went, and I don't want to," he says. "Far as I know, she's unkillable anyway. I'm sure she'll turn back up when she's good and goddamned ready."
You don't like it at all. Right at the most critical juncture, she goes missing.
You haven't seen her for more than a week.
"I'm ready," you finally say after a few moments of awkward silence. "This time Friday afternoon, Darkbloom Analytics won't exist anymore."
"That's what I want to hear." Tyrus grabs both lapels and straightens them. "When this is all over with, I'll make sure you get a cut. You and your little harem are gonna be millionaires."
"Thanks..." you mumble. That's not why you're doing this, but all Tyrus seems to understand is money.
"Just don't let Darkbloom send you to the motherfucking sunken place again. That's just what I need, your dumb ass getting sucked into an alternate dimension right before the festivities. Watch yourself, got it?"
You nod your understanding. Tyrus, satisfied, doesn't waste anymore time hanging around.
Cerise comes out of her room, wearing just her black tank and a pair of panties, groggy-eyed, scratching her ass.
"Good morning sunshine," you mutter.
Cerise flips you off.
"are you packed?" Galatea asks.
"...Shit," Cerise says, blinking. "I'll be right back."
She ducks into Galatea's room again, and soon there comes the sound of things being quickly tossed into a suitcase.
You sigh. Turning to Galatea, you say: "weren't you supposed to remind her to pack her bags last night?"
"i forgot... sorry."
You're not sure what could have had her so occupied last night that she forgot to remind Cerise of something so important, but it kind of aggravates you. Cerise is due to the airfield in a little more than an hour. Her flight to DC on Darkbloom's private jet is leaving soon.
"I'll have you know that I packed 48 hours in advance," Rose says, holding up a sleek beige rolling suitcase. "At least one of us was prepared."
"Do you want a fucking medal?" You say.
Rose begins to reply, but you cut her off, handing her a nickel from your pocket. "There's your medal. The Alabaster Soliloquy Award for Packing on Time. Cherish it."
"Go to hell." She throws the nickel at you, but you deftly dodge it.
Stackleford checks his watch. The sight of his "claw" - as he calls it - sort of turns your stomach. Even worse than the rest of him. "You going to work or what, my nig?"
Even though you've been showing up to work on time every day, you haven't had anything to do. You've just sort of drifted aimlessly around the Darkbloom Analytics campus, watching TV in their rec rooms, eating in the cafeteria. You even (god help you) hung out with their anime club a few times.
It seems way more important, today, to see Rose and Cerise off at the airfield, even if it means you're late. But your thoughts are interrupted by a frightened-looking Galatea pointing at the TV. A reporter is speaking:
"...coming back to life? That seems to be the case, as thousands of formerly defunct SMATTERS robots have been seen once again roaming the streets in cities nationwide..."
You shake your head and stare at the ceiling. Of all the days for this to happen.
If Alex somehow fixed whatever Galatea did to sabotage those robots, that means Sable will be keen to complete Sand Reckoner as soon as possible.
[ ] Report to work immediately.
>[x] Travel with Rose and Cerise to see them off at the airfield before they go to DC.
When Cerise is packed and ready to go, you hurry to usher her and Rose out the door. But Cerise instead lingers for a moment with Galatea.
"will you be back soon?" Galatea asks. She sits on the couch with her knees curled up underneath her baggy tee.
"I'm heading back just as soon as the testimony is over. I promise."
"i'll watch you."
"Please don't. I really don't want anyone to watch me."
"i'll think good thoughts then."
"That's cute."
Galatea sounds a little wounded: "good thoughts help. i know you don't believe it but they do. positive energy--"
Cerise kneels down so she's at eye level with Galatea. "Thank you," she says. "Really. Think as many good thoughts as you can, because I'm coming up blank."
Galatea's face goes through a number of twitchy permutations - although she's a bit more comfortable around you and the others than she was at the start, she's still mortified in her own skin to a degree. But finally in spite of her shyness she lunges forward and pecks Cerise on the lips. Cerise returns the gesture.
"i love you."
"See you soon," Cerise replies.
You scramble to get back to Cerise's apartment, where Darkbloom is sending his limo to pick you up. Have to keep up the fiction that you're still living there.
On the ride to the airfield, Steven Armstrong drills Cerise one last time: printouts of Senator's faces, who Cerise identifies along with party, state, and things they're likely to focus on during the testimony.
"Now this one," Armstrong says, holding up a photo of a disheveled old man.
"Senator McDonald, independent of Vermont. Wants to crack down on Darkbloom's super PACs and personal data collection--"
"Be careful with him," Armstrong warns. "He's the most popular senator on the committee by a mile. And the old lunatic has some sway with professionals here in the valley, for some reason."
"Which means..."
"Watch what you say when he's asking you questions. Don't fuck with this senator."
At the airfield tarmac, Vivian is deep in discussion with her father near the stairs leading up to the plane's interior.
"I can still -- travel with you, for moral support," she says. "Even if I do not testify."
"Don't be ridiculous. There should always be a Darkbloom in Palo Alto to run things..." He pats her shoulder. "You're in charge for now."
You approach with Rose and Cerise in tow.
"Alabaster!" Darkbloom cries, noticing you. "So nice of you to show up. Are you ready, Cerise? Rose?"
Cerise nods glumly. The look in Rose's eyes is a bit more on-edge, angry. You imagine your expression is probably much the same.
You glance up, towards the Leer jet's oval windows. Mara Darkbloom watches you from inside with a smug grin.
You hug Rose and Cerise goodbye, each in turn.
When you hug Rose, you whisper sneeringly: "did you wear it?"
She nods.
"Good," you reply. "Keep it in. I'll be holding the remote."
Tormenting her with a remote-control vibrating egg might seem exceptionally cruel in a situation like this, but you know in a twisted way it probably makes Rose more at ease.
Next, Cerise. "Don't get yourself killed," she whispers as you embrace.
"You either."
"This can't be the last time we see each other... I won't let it."
"No."
"Promise me, Alabaster."
"I promise."
Cerise kisses you on the cheek. "I... I love you, Alabaster."
"I love you too."
"You're all I have. You and Gal. I can't lose you."
After long moments, you and Cerise finally break your hug, and she reluctantly boards the plane. Despite your promises, it feels somehow final.
Darkbloom watches them board, then turns to you. "You're a family man, just like me."
You frown. "You could say that."
"I admire it. Family is the most important thing. Will you see Vivian back to the office?"
"Of course." You keep things terse and cold with him.
Darkbloom considers you. "I know you don't trust me, but it will all make sense -- in time. I just wonder. Will you betray me before I have the chance to explain myself?"
You don't say anything.
Vivian is the first to speak: "--betray?"
"Nevermind that," Darkbloom says, suddenly chipper. He gets down on one knee, to bring his massive height more even with his daughter, and hugs her. "I'll miss you, Viv. Be a good girl for me."
"Don't patronize me."
"I would never." He ruffles her hair.
Vivian stomps her foot. "You jerk!" (Putting your training to work, it seems.)
"Let's not end on a sour note. There's a lot we need to discuss when I'm back in town, Viv."
Vivian folds her arms. "Like why mother kicked you out of your marital bed three weeks ago?"
Darkbloom bows his head. When he looks up he says: "You know why."
"Who is she?" Vivian asks.
"I'll tell you soon. The next time we see each other... we'll talk about your sister. I promise."
He stands, stretching his spine. He's a full head taller than even you.
He seems to want to say something else to you, but he doesn't. Instead, he just boards.
This time, you're in a different limo: Vivian's. She stares pensively out the window on one side of the lush grey interior, and you sit on the other side. It feels like miles separate you. She's even more dour and downcast than usual.
"What did father mean, when he said that?" Vivian asks, without even facing you. "How would you betray him?"
"I don't know," you lie.
"Hmm."
"How about a spontaneous--"
"No."
The rest of the ride passes in silence.
---
On campus, you take your usual spot in the cafeteria and watch the fitness freaks working out in the gym, through the glass partition separating the two facilities. You're busily trying to think of a way to get into Sable's office without her or Alex - or both of them - blowing their top. You need to know what they're going to do with Sand Reckoner.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the deep yet nasally voice of one of Sable's coder-monkeys. You forget his name - Brayden or Jayden or something similarly stupid.
"Where you been, man?"
You close your eyes and shake your head. "Busy," is all you say.
"Haven't seen you for a while. Word around the office is you and bitch-made are on the rocks."
You lock eyes with him. "Excuse me?"
"He was all lovey-dovey with you, and all of a sudden he won't even say your name. What's the problem? Wouldn't give him a reach-around?"
You look over his shoulder. A few of his equally juvenile buddies are watching from a nearby table, joking with each other about it.
"You guys are real cunts," you sneer.
"Uh huh. Listen, I'm not trying to be mean. Actually, I wanna help you."
"Oh yeah?"
"Totally. Alex is gonna be hanging out with us tonight. We thought you might want to join us."
"Why don't I believe you?"
*ayden shrugs. "It's true. Hey, we joke, but we're open minded folks here. We'd hate to see bitch-made go all depressed again like he was before you showed up."
As terrible of an idea as this sounds, it might be the perfect opportunity to get information.
>[x] I'll go.
[ ] No thank you.
In the parking garage, a little after 5 PM, you run into a familiar face on the third level: Kay. She's busy affixing some sort of device to a concrete beam near the side facing the Darkbloom campus.
"Oh, what the hell," you say.
"Nice to see you, too," she says. She steps back, checking her handiwork. The device appears to be a GoPro, mounted with an epoxy resin. She looks back and forth between the device and the view to the campus, verifying she has a good angle.
"I expected you to be in DC already," you say.
"Everyone's going to be in DC. They'll miss the real story of Friday afternoon. But I won't."
You almost have to admire how mercenary this woman is.
"Thanks for publishing that video so early," you say sarcastically. "Did you forget that it wasn't supposed to drop until Darkbloom was in the Senate?"
"No problem," Kay shoots back. "You're welcome for tipping you off about Darkbloom's opening statement. He knew the story was going to drop, in case you missed that."
She has you there. Darkbloom already had a fabrication ready to go. Beating him to the punch was a valid strategy, although it would have been nice if Kay warned you before it was all over the national headlines.
"That man is the third or fourth richest person on the planet," Kay says, "and the best defense he can come up with is 'fake news.' It's honestly embarrassing."
"What else can you say when someone shows a video of you ripping out a little kid's eyeball?"
"'I'm sorry,' maybe? Okay, that might be a bit underwhelming."
Kay turns and checks her mounted camera again. Then she does something that surprises you: she puts a small, hollow box over it that looks like an electrical meter - and now the camera's lens looks like some sort of powered-off glass display for the meter. It's a bit crude, but someone passing by would never give it a second thought.
"Perfect," she says. "I'm on my way to a Pullitzer for sure."
"Congratulations."
She winks at you. "Have anything to say on the record, before we're both household names?"
"No."
"How about off the record?"
"Just that I can't wait for that bastard to get what's coming to him."
Kay breezes past and pecks you on the cheek. "Remember," she says, her voice low and silky, "there's no such thing as off the record."
She goes.
A few minutes later, a Mustang roars alongside, *ayden honking the horn obnoxiously. Two of his pals sit in the car, one riding shotgun and another in the back, with Alex.
You get in on the other side of Alex. He's none too pleased to see you -- your presence was clearly a surprise to him.
"Now kith," the man on Alex's other side says through peals of laughter.
"Be niiiice," *ayden chides jokingly. "You silly goose."
"What are you doing here?" Alex whisperss. His voice drips with anger, and it kind of hurts.
"I couldn't bear the thought of these repressed homosexuals having their way with you," you grouse right back. "Why are you hanging out with assholes like this?"
He shrugs.
"Where are we going?" You demand of tonight's chauffeur.
"Golden Lotus," *ayden says. "Not far from here."
"Golden-- what?"
"Asian massage," his friend in the passenger seat explains, looking you in the mirror. "You've never been?"
"Uh, no."
The man on the other side of Alex ribs you. "$200, any-ting you want. Sucky sucky long time."
You shudder. So that's what this is.
"It's on us," *ayden says. "For both of you. You just have to give us the blow-by-blow when you two are done."
Passenger seat laughs: "not literally, though!"
This might be a long night.
You step into a dimly lit parlor decorated with chintzy faux-Japanese silk screens and paper lanterns. A decrepit old Asian woman hobbles to the front desk, looking you and Alex over. The other guys stand back, watching.
"How many?" She says, her voice creaking.
"Just us two."
"How long?"
"Uh... not long?"
"Half hour, okay. You pay now."
You hand over the wad of money given you by the leering idiots behind you.
She counts it. "Okay, good. You come."
You and Alex follow through a curtain of beads to a similarly dim and strange-smelling hallway.
"Did you know about this?" You ask Alex through the corner of your mouth.
He shrugs. "I'm a guy too, you know. Have to blow off some steam, right?"
You're kind of disappointed in him, to be honest. Then again, you're right here with him.
"Okay, you-- room 1. You, room 2." The old woman points out the doors to your respective rooms. "You go in, get naked. Then you wait. Okay? Okay."
She leaves.
Alex turns for his room, but you stop him, grabbing his arm.
"Alex-- I'm sorry," you say.
"That's nice."
"I want to hang out with you tonight. You know, just us. I... look, I'm not good with shit like this. But I miss you."
"You want information, right?"
"I'm being honest with you here. I miss you."
"Uh huh."
He goes to his assigned room, leaving you cursing under your breath.
Your room is little more than a tiny box with a long table that looks like it belongs more in a doctor's office than a brothel. You really don't want to be here, and your plan is to tell the masseuse no funny stuff. The last thing you want is to have some random Chinese hooker suck your dick. Besides, you could do without the herpes. For maybe the first time in this hooker's career, she'll be giving her customer a real massage.
You dutifully strip, but leave your boxers on, and get onto the table. You lie on your back, waiting awkwardly.
And then she walks through the door.
"What the f--" you say, rising to your elbows on the massage table, but she quickly closes the distance between you, shushing you with a finger to your lips.
"Where have you been?" You hiss. "How did you-- why are you--"
She's wearing a form-fitting, elaborately sequined cheongsam, her hair pinned up into twin buns. To be honest, she's stunning. Even in the low scarlet light of this seedy room, she almost glows.
"I'm disappointed in you," Camelia says. "I knew you were a dog, but using an Oriental sex slave? That's low, even for you."
"It wasn't my idea," you insist. "I was going to tell her not to do anything but give me a nice massage."
"Mm hmm." She narrows her eyes. "A likely story, Alabaster Soliloquy."
"Check me with your freaky eye if you want," you say. "I'm telling the truth."
"Do you want Darkbloom to see us?" She spits. "This was the only way I could get to you safely."
"How did you know I'd be here?"
"That's a silly question, don't you think?"
You've given up on trying to understand her. But something else bugs you: "how are you here? I know you get around, but surely you're not an Asian whore on the side."
"Jingfei was more than happy to take $500 to fuck off and not deal with another john tonight," Camelia says. "That was the easiest part of the whole thing."
You swing your legs over the edge of the table and grab for your jeans, but Camelia lays a palm against your chest and pushes you back. "Where are you going? You paid good money for a massage, right?"
"Camelia, you're out of your goddamn mind if you think--"
You stop as Camelia pulls a squirt bottle from a nightstand in the corner. You didn't notice it until now, but it looks like it was sitting in a warming bath. She squirts a few dollops of a weird transparent liquid into her palms.
"Take off your boxers," she commands. "And turn over onto your stomach."
"What is that?" You demand.
"Now I know you're playing dumb," she says. "You've watched enough JAVs to know. It's nuru gel." She flicks her index finger and splatters your face with a few warm, slimy droplets. Suddenly, you understand exactly what she intends to do. And despite yourself, your cock lurches a little in your boxers. She was right: you're a dog.
"Well?" Camelia says impatiently. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, trust me."
You raise your hips just enough to snake out of your boxers. You drop them carelessly to the floor, feeling abashed at your own nakedness, and thankful that your next instruction is to turn over. As many women as you've been with recently, it's more than a little strange to be so vulnerable in front of Camelia.
With these thoughts in your head, you suddenly shiver with the warm sensation of Camelia spreading the gel all over your back. It's slick and slippery almost to the point of being totally friction-less. And yet you can definitely feel the softness of her hands through it all.
"Too warm?" She asks.
"N-no..." you mumble.
"Mmm. Good~"
Her hands disappear from your back. In your current position, with your head facing down on a donut-shaped pillow, you can't see her. But a few moments later, you hear a tell-tale zip and then a ruffle: Camelia disrobing. Then comes a few more squirts of nuru gel and the slick noises of Camelia lathering herself with it too. You have to stop yourself from turning around to look.
Without warning, Camelia's full weight is upon your back.
She lies on top of you, her gel-covered body hot against you, her legs between yours. Her small but incredibly soft tits poke against your back. You can feel the nipples harden. You try to hold it back, but you can't: you half-gasp, half-moan.
She reaches up and puts her palms against the backs of your hands, interlacing her fingers with yours. And then she begins to slide back and forth.
"Camelia..." you say.
The gel is running in little rivulets down your side as Camelia's back-and-forth rubbing fills the room with lewd, wet noises. The slimy sensation and the pressure of her body, even without any attention on your genitals, drives you wild. Your cock is coming to life all on its own.
She leans in, her cheek running past your hair and her lips touching your earlobe. "Here's the problem with you, Alabaster," she breathes. "Tell me: who founded the Tokugawa Shogunate?"
"Tokugawa Ieyasu," you reply without hesitation, even despite the awkward position. "Everyone knows that."
"Right. And what are the main differences between Meiji Japan and Tsarist Russia that kept communism from taking root in the former?"
"I don't - I don't fucking know," you say, stammering.
"See? Your brain is like an episode of Hoarders - and not in the good way."
"...There's a good way to be compared to Hoarders?" You ask. Camelia's hands close around yours, gripping you tightly, and her pace quickens. Even through this strange conversation, your dick is getting uncomfortably hard against the pleather surface of the table. You try to shift your weight, but Camelia has you pinned. She's in complete control.
"I don't know why..." Camelia mutters, almost as if to herself. She arches her back and goes rigid as she keeps rubbing herself against you. The new position puts her pussy mound right up against the globes of your ass. Your entire being focuses on that sensation: her lubed-up pussy lips sliding back and forth against you, coating you with slime. "I don't know why I started to..."
She trails off.
"Started to what?" You ask. Is she getting off against you?
She leans down again, whispers into your ear, sends shivers up your spine and scalp. "Turn over."
She goes to her knees to allow you the room to maneuver. As you do, there's no way to hide it: your turgid dick flops against your belly, already dribbling a little precum.
But your eyes are more focused on the cleft of her pussy. The lips are nice and puffy, turned out just a little, and bright pink. Above her clitoral hood is a thin strip of hair just as red as the hair on her head.
Playfully, she brushes your cockhead with a palm as she slithers forward and settles against you, belly-to-belly, chest-to-chest.
"Were you looking?" She teases.
"Of course I was..."
She laces her hands through yours again. This time, as she massages the slick gel against your body using her own, her little cunt slides back and forth over your straining cock. The lips grip you with every stroke, invitingly, and you can feel a wetness there that definitely isn't the nuru gel. It's all you can do not to grab her forcefully and slam your cock into her with a single hard thrust.
"Things are gonna get crazy," Camelia coos. "Are you ready?"
You try to say something, but your voice catches and nothing comes out.
"Do you want to fuck me, Alabaster?"
"I..."
"I want to fuck you," she says. Her voice is husky and full of need. The tiny room is filled with the scent of her arousal, sweet but musky.
You nod.
She reaches between you, her thin arm sliding between your gel-slick torsos, and grabs your leaking dick. Staring into your eyes, she lines you up with the opening of her hole.
"Slow," she says. "Slooo-ooo-wwww~~"
She sinks back, using her haunches for leverage. You slip inside an inch at a time. Her pink pussy lips don't give way easily, and grip against you with a wet, almost rubbery resistance, as if trying to block you. But Camelia is determined, and as she bites her lip, she forces your cock inside. You just lie there enjoying the sensation as she does all the work to fuck you. Her landing strip of fiery red pubic hair tickles your crotch.
"Oh Jesus," she moans. "I knew you were-- but this-- unghh--"
She pants as she tries and tries to take your entire length. It's hard going for her. After all, no matter what kind of facade she puts up, she's a very small girl, and not very strong. You decide to help her out. You loop an arm around her back and hold her tight. Looping your calves over her ankles as well, you raise your butt off the surface of the table and push back against her hips. Camelia, going faint, closes her eyes and swoons against you. Her soft breasts mash into your chest as you plow past the last of the resistance deep inside and seat yourself fully.
You're balls deep up her hot cunt.
Camelia is still panting as she says: "Fuck me. Just fuck me already. Fuck me!"
You didn't need to be told twice. You bounce up and down on the table, sawing your cock in and out of her swampy insides. She replies in kind, bouncing up and down, slamming her hips against you. Holding her, as greased-up as both of you are, is hard, and the two of you slip and slide against each other as your bodies violently mate. You fuck like animals in heat.
Even though it's far from tender, it's weirdly romantic, in this low light.
Your heavy nuts slap against her ass and she grabs the back of your head with both hands to keep herself at least a little bit steady.
"Don't you fucking stop," she moans. "Don't you fucking stop! I'll kill you if you stop!"
"I'm not going to stop!" You hiss. "Jesus!"
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me, you bastard!"
In the distance, muffled by drywall, you hear a moan that's neither you nor Camelia: a high-pitched little whine. Alex, somewhere, is getting his rocks off too.
"I'm gonna cum," you tell her.
"Do it inside me! Cum in my fucking twat! Don't you dare fucking do it anywhere else!"
She tightens her grip on your scalp and humps against you so hard that you think, distantly, she might break your pelvis.
"Cum," she pants in a delirious fugue. "Cum.... cum, cum, cum cum cum-- fuck!"
The nuru gel flies from your bodies in wet, fat slurping droplets and your lower bodies are a blur as you pump her deeply. If she wants you to breed her out, that's what you'll do. You'll cum inside of her until she's totally full and then keep sperming her some more. You'll fuck her pregnant.
That thought sets you off. Your entire body straining, you let it go. You raise your butt totally off the table and hold it there in place in the air, forcing Camelia down on top of you at the same time, so your raging cock is all the way in. And you shoot rope after rope of your slimy cum into her. Her voice sounds almost staticky as she gasps out her orgasm, her silky pussy shuddering and milking out every drop of your fertile sperm.
"Fuuuuuck," she whines, her voice sing-song, "oh fuck! Oh fuck, you're doing it!"
You are. You filling her with raw cum, and it's the best feeling in the world.
GIRLS FUCKED: 5/9
Camelia finishes cleaning herself up with a wad of tissues before getting dressed again. "You have got to be 50% horse," she says distastefully, holding the tissue between her legs as the last of it drains out. "I know it. Your dad was Mr. fucking Ed."
You get dressed, too. "That was... oh my god..." Your legs are still shaky.
Camelia slips into the cheongsam again. Even just watching her dress is transfixing. "Is everything ready on your end?"
"Yeah... where the hell have you been?"
She shrugs. "Getting everything ready on mine."
"That's not helpful."
"I try not to be."
She steps forward, brushing a hand through your hair. "Thank you," she says. "That was my-- well, thank you."
"What are you gonna do now?"
"Hopping on a plane. I need to be in DC for the big show. But before I go... one last instruction."
"Oh boy," you grumble.
"Sable is going to need your help to finish Sand Reckoner. She doesn't know it yet, but she will. Do it. Let her load Penelope with the platform. And then steal it from her."
"Why?"
"You'll know why when the time is right."
She puts her lips to your ear. "Thank you, Alabaster... it's been so fun these past few weeks."
"You're a real pain in my ass," you say.
"You don't mean that." Her good eye sparkles. "I make things interesting."
"I have to go now," you say, "or Alex is going to get suspicious... are you planning to come back from DC or what? Am I going to see you again?"
"I'll be seeing you."
"When?"
She pauses, looking away for just a moment. Then she locks eyes with you.
"I'll see you in another life, Alabaster."
Alex won't talk to you on the way out, but as you come back into the parlor, the leering bros who took you here are nowhere to be found. Did they plan to ditch you from the start, or did something else happen? It makes you not just a little paranoid. Alex, of course, is oblivious to this.
"I should have guessed..." Alex mumbles. "False friends... like always..."
"Come back to my place with me," you tell him. "I'll call an Uber."
"I need to go back to work," Alex says. "We're very close to finishing... in spite of everything you've done."
He starts for the exit as the old Asian pimp thanks him and tells him to come again.
>[x] Try to tag along with him.
[ ] Let him go.
You step into the balmy evening air of the California summer.
"Is there any way I can help?" You ask him lamely.
"Ally..." he says. The frustration is evident. "Why do you keep doing this?"
"What?"
"You keep acting like you can fix it. You can't fix it. You pretended like you cared about me so you could stop me from accomplishing the ONE goal of my entire life. Do you think I'm stupid?"
His eyes are filling with tears even as he tries to make this into an angry recrimination. He wipes them away with the back of his palm.
"It's not like that," you say. "It's not... you don't understand. That isn't how it happened. How can I make you understand?"
"I do understand!" Alex insists. "David Darkbloom is an egomaniac and he ruined your childhood. But I'm not David Darkbloom, and neither is Sable! The work we're doing is going to be so much more than what David Darkbloom wants to do with it! Haven't you figured out by now... don't you know..."
He stops himself, hesitating.
"Know what?"
"It was always going to be like this." He turns to leave.
You reach out, stop him. "Like what?"
Alex searches your eyes. He's obviously not sure he should be telling you this, and yet some vestige of his trust and his affection remain, despite it all. He wants you to know. "Sable was never going to let Darkbloom keep it. Sand Reckoner, I mean."
"...what?"
"She's taking it for herself as soon as it's finished. Or rather... we are. So don't worry. He was never going to have it to begin with."
A black sedan pulls alongside the curb. A man rolls down the window, checks a phone display, and looks back up. "Alex Best?"
"Yeah," he says. "Thanks for picking me up." He opens the passenger side door and gets in.
"Both? Or just you?" the Uber driver says.
"Just me," Alex replies.
The driver pulls away, leaving you all alone once more.
---
Whitney sits next to you on Galatea's couch, watching the dusty CRT screen. Galatea, true to her word, is sitting at the computer in the corner and doing her best not to pay attention to the TV.
"...live from the floor of the Senate as the Intelligence Committee prepares to question Mara Darkbloom, the first of today's witnesses," a reporter is saying.
Whitney pretends to snore. You jab her with an elbow.
"What?" She says. "This is boring as shit."
"We're about to commit the biggest act of terrorism since 9/11. If this is boring, I don't want know what's exciting."
"Yeah, whatever."
You settle in and watch.
---
"...point being that maybe we'd all be more private with some kind of, I don't know, net ID card," a clueless 70-something Senator suggests. "It could keep everything in its own lane, as it were."
Mara, her hands folded neatly in front of her, smiles. She leans in so her lips are close to the mic. "Senator, I think there may be some logistical issues with such a suggestion."
"Well, think about it."
"I will."
"What I want to know," another Senator cuts in, sounding to all the world like Foghorn fucking Leghorn, "is how you make sure that no one on Facebook -- now if I have a private account, or some private information, right? How do I know my aunt -- Mrs. Darkbloom, I don't like my aunt, let's say I don't like my aunt -- how can I be plum certain that she isn't able to snoop on me? I mean forget about the companies snooping on us for a second, how do we know, if we set a switch to say private, that we can't be snooped on by other users?"
Even Mara Darkbloom is thrown a little by this word salad. "I think what you're asking," she finally says, "is how we keep malicious actors from getting into your account. We have a number of cutting-edge firewalls to prevent just such a thing from happening."
"But it happened," he says.
"Yes it did. And I can assure you it will never happen again."
"How can we know that?"
"Because I'm telling you." Her voice is icy.
---
"...to make sure the handshake between A and B are authentic, and isn't being spoofed by C," Nelson Berenstoin explains, pointing to another part of his complex diagram with a telescoping rod. "Therefore, another man-in-the-middle attack like 3/10 would be impossible."
Silence from the committee.
Finally, one of them is brave enough to try: "But what if C pretends to be B?"
Nelson lets out a frustrated laugh. "That's what I'm telling you. This entire process is designed to prevent that."
More silence.
The same senator tries again: "But what if C pretends to be A? Is there any mechanism to prevent that?"
Nelson is stunned.
"Yes," he finally says. "It... uh, it works the same way."
Silence.
"Thank you," the chairman finally says.
---
"The committee recognizes Cerise Soliloquy."
Steeling herself, she closes her eyes, sighs, and stands. The camera pulls back to a wide angle as she strides to the table. Someone thrusts a bible in front of her, and she puts her hand on it, holding the other up to take her oath.
As she settles in, Rose is visible in frame behind her, sitting in the galley. You smile. She'll be a nice diversion, if necessary. Or even if not necessary.
The chairman, a senator Mitch Warner, clears his throat and says in an obnoxious Atlantic accent: "now you're sworn in, and this is just like a court of law, you know, Ms. Sololioquy. So a lie would be perjury. And that's a criminal liability. You understand?"
"Y-yes."
"Then let's begin."
---
"Your resume is... not very impressive, I have to be honest," a Senator Paul is saying, punctuating his words with a pencil held in a lobster-like grip. "How exactly is it that a high school graduate with-- no prior work experience, is qualified to head an investigation of this size?"
"I, ah, l-learned on the job," Cerise says, stammering. "I worked for this company for four years before taking on a new role--"
"Yes, we know." Another Senator now, Wyvern, of Oregon. "Maybe you can speak to the way Darkbloom Analytics is snuffing out competition, then. It's anti-competitive, the way this company is choking out the competition. Something stinks here, like bad athlete's foot."
Cerise coughs. "I-- don't know what to say," she admits. "I really don't work with competition or any of that. Only with server management, and, uh, recently... recently, the investigation."
You decide now is a good time to divert a little attention, since Cerise is really struggling. You flick the switch on your remote control. In the background, Rose's reaction is unmistakable. Her eyes widen and then she squirms just a little as she gets used to it. You only have her on the lowest setting now, and she knows it, and she looks more frightened than anything.
"Let's get to 3/10," Mitch Warner interrupts. "Were you at the facility that night?"
Cerise hesitates. Finally: "Yes."
You flick the remote a little higher. Rose's lips part. Even at this low resolution it's obvious that she's having a hard time containing herself.
"What were you doing there?"
"My job was server maintenance. At the time, we didn't know anything unusual was going on... I was running my typical diagnostics, when we got a call from, uh, Nelson Berenstoin that there had been a data breach..."
She continues to explain the frantic hours of the hack as you idly play with the remote in your hand. People in the audience are starting to notice as Rose sways and her jaw slackens stupidly.
"We're not here for your long-winded explanations, Ms. Soliloquy." Senator Wyvern, again. "We're not here to sit around, just, smelling your flatulence as if it's the best thing in the world. We need real answers here."
"...What?" Cerise is stupefied.
"Are you the hacker known as Galatea?" He demands.
"No," Cerise says, firmly and instantly.
"Do you know her?"
Cerise's "no" here is much less convincing.
---
"...it's like a big tube," Senator Cane, of Arizona, explains in his rickety voice. This has been going on for two full minutes now. "If you put too many things in the tube, you're exposed. You have to put them in one at a time. You don't just, dump a bunch of food down the drain without a garbage disposal. Data is a lot... internet is more complex of course but you have to think of it the same way. How do we keep the internet from being clogged with all that data?"
Cerise is quiet for a long time and looks like she's about to really lose her shit. How the fuck do you respond to that?
You have Rose at the max setting, and have for a while now. She's hugging herself under her knees, her face all droopy and drooly, totally blissed out. Someone strides down the aisle, walks over to her, offers her help, but she waves them off. Half the room is paying more attention to her than to Cerise.
Cerise finally gets her bearings again. "Senator Cane," she says, "with all due respect... I think there are more important questions to consider. Can we move on?"
The galley laughs, and even this doddering old man gets that the room isn't on his side. "Yes, that will be fine," he says.
This begins a second phase of Cerise's testimony: one in which, suddenly, she seems to have realized something you knew already. That these stupid motherfuckers have no idea what they're saying, and therefore, she can reply however she likes. She becomes much more confident.
---
"You've seen the video that recently came out?" Warner asks.
"I don't--"
"Of course you have. And surely you also know there's a rumor of another video? One in which your own brother..." he checks his notes. "Alabaster, is his name? A video in which Darkbloom does much the same to him, as he does to that poor, innocent young girl."
Cerise bites her lip. "I'm aware of the rumor, yes."
"Do you know whether such a video actually exists?"
"I can't say," Cerise replies.
"Ms. Soliloquy, I'll cut to the chase. Are you and your brother involved with this hack? Is this a revenge plot--"
"Leave my brother out of this," Cerise says. Her voice is just as cold as Mara's.
"Excuse me?" the Senator says, feigning indignation.
"You heard me. Leave my brother out of this."
"All right, fine. Are YOU involved with this hack, Ms. Soliloquy? Are you taking revenge on David Darkbloom?"
"No I am not. I had no foreknowledge or involvement. And that is all I will say."
They stare each other down.
"This is some fuckin' Mexican Telenovela shit here," Whitney says. "Holy fuck. Your sister is a badass."
Your phone buzzes. You check the display: Sable Guiteau.
"Hello?"
"Alabaster. Please come to my office at once."
"Really. Just like that. I'm not fired anymore?"
"You're still fired. But I need you."
>[x] Go.
[ ] Refuse.
[ ] Demand more information first.
>Sometime in the past.
"This is for the best," David insists. "Once Gustav and I are established, we'll be at the very forefront of bio-engineering and artificial intelligence. We'll be the architects of the new frontier in human knowledge. And one day soon, you'll be a part of it too. We already plan to bring you aboard in five or six years - once you're done with college."
Renee is skeptical. "He told me about your business plan, though. What does credit card processing have to do with AI?"
"It's just to get the wheels greased," David says. "The world wide web is the future of finance and shopping. Not many people recognize it yet. To get in on the ground floor of that opens up an absolutely massive flow of capital -- capital I can redirect where it's really needed."
"Why does it have to be you?" Renee asks, getting to the heart of the matter. "Why not Professor Eichman? Can't he go get everything set up and let you stay here teaching?"
"Does that make any difference, as far as you're concerned?" David asks. He sincerely wants to know. "Either way, you'll be back in school again in a couple weeks."
Renee sighs uncertainly. Her fingers fidget and worry against the edge of the desk. "I'll be in college soon, though... I was looking forward to your classes, that's all..."
David rolls his massive shoulders. He's beginning to get uncomfortable with the situation, as he often does when Renee is alone with him in his office.
"I lost a coin flip, to tell you the honest truth. As silly as it is. I didn't want to leave the university, but one of us has to get the business going... and I suppose it will have to be me."
"Is that... is that why..." Renee's lower lip trembles and she stumbles over her words. But finally she comes out with it, all at once: "Is that why you're marrying that horrible woman, too? You lost a coin flip?"
David's expression is placid. "There are marriages of love and there are marriages of convenience," he explains. "In any case, Gustav isn't exactly the marrying type..."
"What about me?" Renee demands. Her voice is catching. She's about to break down.
David sighs. He puts a firm, broad hand on her shoulder to soothe her. "Renee, this isn't the right--"
"I love you, Professor Darkbloom! Okay? I know you love me, too!" She starts to weep. "Don't leave me, please... let me come with you..."
David knew this was coming and hoped it wouldn't. At least not yet.
"I'm -- sorry," he manages. This is maybe the first time he has ever apologized to anyone. "You're an extraordinary girl, Renee. You'll grow into an even more extraordinary woman--"
"I'm not a girl!" She shouts. "Tell me you didn't mean it when you kissed me that day! Tell me it's not true! I won't believe you!"
"That was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it."
David reaches out to hold her by both shoulders now, but she wiggles away from his grip. "Why? Why was it a mistake?"
"You're only 16. It's not -- it wouldn't be --" David tries to find the right words. "This isn't goodbye forever. You understand. In a few years, depending on how things go, if you still feel the same way--"
"That's not enough," Renee sobs. "You say all these nice things about me and treat me like I'm your girlfriend and then you just leave me for something else! Why would you do that?"
"Renee... Renee, please... Renee, for god's sake..." but David can't console the young girl sitting across from him who's crying bitter tears into her own hands.
Except with this: in a voice hardly like his usual leonine roar, he admits, "I love you."
Renee's crying slows to a stop. She looks at him through rheumy, disbelieving eyes.
"I love you," he repeats. "Damn me to hell, I love you more than anything."
---
The whole of Darkbloom Analytics' staff are gathered beneath a giant LCD screen in the lobby, watching the Senate testimony, as you pass by security. No one even notices you.
Darkbloom is just finishing reading his opening statement. The people in the lobby are whispering in shock about something else, though, something you suspect is unrelated to Darkbloom's statement. Did you miss something important with Cerise's time before the committee while you were driving here?
You take a brief second to check the first source of news you can think of: /csg/.
>WHAT WHAT WHAT
>oh my fucking god HOLY SHIT
>DID SHE SERIOUSLY JUST FUCKING SAY THAT
Your stomach sinks. It's just post after post of this.
>HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT
>NO FUCKING WAY
>This is history. We're literally watching history unfold.
You scroll through stunned reaction after stunned reaction, but no one will fucking say what it was. Stupid assholes...
Until you see it:
>Cerise just accused David Darkbloom of murdering her parents. Live on national TV. Holy FUCK.
Oh no. No, no no.
But you can't think about that now.
Galatea's spoofed evacuation order should be clearing the building in less than half an hour. You hope. Not much time to do whatever it is Sable has planned. You need to move, and quickly, or it's all going to go to hell.
In Sable's office, her and Alex are the only people. "It needs to see your eye," Sable explains.
"Why?"
"It can download the old version of the platform from your implant. It needs that as the base to install the new one over it."
Alex watches curiously from behind Sable as she produces the Penelope implant. You're sort of wigging out, just seeing it -- knowing what you know, how a nearly identical device was put in you, it brings back unpleasant flashes, intrusive images.
Sable holds the grain shaped end in front of your face. "Focus on it," she tells you, not unlike a hypnotist.
You focus on it.
"Ally..." Alex says, but you can hardly look at him right now. "Thank you..."
"Don't mention it," you mumble.
"I just did," he replies.
The device flashes amber for a few seconds, and then the light transitions to a smooth, steady white.
"Thank you," Sable says, echoing Alex. She steps back. "You may go now."
"Certainly the fuck not," you say. "I'm involved now. I'm seeing it through to the end. So is that it? Is Sand Reckoner done?"
"No," Sable says. "One more step. It needs a direct uplink to the servers to retrieve the rest of the data-base." She pauses, regarding you. "I suppose you can come along. Nothing you can do to stop it now."
In the server room, it turns out there is at least one other Darkbloom Analytics employee who isn't watching the testimony. Some toadlike, fat, pale hardware monkey whose job it is to maintain the servers in Cerise's absence.
"Uh, you can't do that," he warns, his voice nasally, as Sable approaches one of the server towers and hooks up a laptop.
"I'm the CTO and I do as I please," Sable says without even glancing his way. "If you have a problem, go file for unemployment."
He shrinks back.
Sable prepares to hook up the device to her laptop, through a strange adapter. Behind you, Alex tugs on your sleeve.
"Uh... you might want to step back," he warns.
"What? Why?"
And then like thunder, there's an earsplitting crack, followed by the flying of sparks, and the entire room goes dark.
"What the fuck!" You shout.
You stand there stupefied in the pitch blackness for a few seconds until backup generators kick in and the servers clack to life again, one at a time, starting from the wall opposite and cascading forward. Their strange blue light is the only illumination now.
And as the servers come to life again, there is also the wailing of klaxons. A fire alarm.
Not now...
You have control over the final detonation, but you know these two aren't going to leave until whatever Sable wants to do is over. This is the worst possible timing.
"Feel free to go," Sable tells you.
"That's a fire alarm," you try. "We all should go."
Sable wheels, grabs you by the collar. "That was YOUR fire alarm. I'm not leaving."
She lets you go.
Goddamn it. Not now. Not now.
"Ms. Guiteau... do those lights on the towers--"
"Yes," she says. "They're all down. They'll be down for about an hour." She watches a progress bar on her laptop screen.
You look at Alex. "Darkbloom's servers?"
He nods.
You head for the stairwell leading back to the lobby. There's no use arguing with them. Alex said they intended to leave with the device in hand, right? The best you can do is wait it out, then... make sure they're out of the building... and hope by the time they're gone, you can still hit the button.
The vast lobby of Darkbloom Analytics is eerie without anyone else to populate it. The shrill whine of the fire alarm rings in your ears and echoes off the sleekly curved walls. Lights along the ceiling flash bright white over and over for the benefit of the hearing-impaired.
And then you notice it: on the big LCD screen, David Darkbloom is frozen.
At first you think the feed is just messed up, but it isn't. One of the Senators is trying to get his attention. "Mr. Darkbloom? Mr. Darkbloom?"
He just sits there with a glass of water to his lips, as still as stone.
"Mr. Darkbloom, is this a joke? Are you trying to mock us? This is outrageous!"
No response whatsoever. Someone walks in front of him and waves a hand in front of his face. Snaps. Nudges him. Nothing.
"Someone call an ambulance..." a Senator says.
A notification buzzes on your phone:
>BREAKING: massive power outage on West Coast. Entire state of California, Oregon, Washington, Nevada, Utah without power. Parts of Wyoming, Idaho, New Mexico and Arizona also affected.
The C-SPAN testimony cuts away, and that's the end. All that's left is gobsmacked pundits trying to pick apart the clusterfuck they just witnessed. You're as confused as they are.
You feel a gun to your head.
"Alabaster! We keep meeting in the strangest of places."
It's Vasily Kerimov. And now, goons push past, led at the fore by Stasi Lebedev herself -- headed for the stairs to the server room.
"Vasily..." you stammer.
"Go home now," he says. "We'll take it from here."
"I--"
"Da da da--" he tuts. "I know you've got some devices underneath the building, which is why you are not dead on the floor right now. Go and defuse them. You have until midnight."
"Why should I?" You sneer.
"I think there are some people you care about downstairs," he says. "Stasi has just gone to greet them hello."
You spend at least an hour underneath Darkbloom Analytics trying to defuse the bombs you made, but there are too many, and you're never going to make it in time for the deadline. You need to do something else -- something drastic -- you need help. From Tyrus and his men. You need to eliminate the Russians now, while they're all in one place. It's your only chance.
---
You burst through the door of Galatea's apartment. "Whitney, we need to call--"
Whitney and Galatea are crowded around Galatea's computer screen.
"Citizens of Earth, this is it!" Camelia cries. "Here is David Darkbloom! He's here to answer for his crimes!"
Camelia is livestreaming from what looks like an abandoned warehouse. Darkbloom is tied firmly to the chair, groggily coming to. It reminds you, with a shudder, of your nightmare.
The view counter is in the tens of millions. She's got the attention of the whole nation - the whole world.
>[x] Watch it.
[ ] No time. You need to get going.
Darkbloom is still only half-conscious, his head drooping. Camelia rouses him with a slap to the face.
"Wake up, you piece of shit."
With apparent effort, he brings his head level and looks at her.
"Deep fake, huh?" She says. "Is this a deep fake too?"
She jams a switchblade into his kneecap. He roars in agony. She lets it sit there for a moment against the patella, then rips it out with a sickening squelch.
"Look at me, motherfucker!"
Darkbloom brings his breathing back to normal and faces his torturer.
"I could do this for ten years and it wouldn't even be one percent of the pain you inflicted on me!" Camelia says. "Here!"
She pulls off her eyepatch. The reaction is instantaneous, way worse than when she stabbed him: he wails in utter agony as Camelia stares directly into his eyes.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!!!" He pleads.
Camelia is getting woozy. She stumbles back like a drunk, almost falls over. She braces herself against his knee and puts on her eyepatch again.
She turns to the camera, still unsteady. "That's what he did, everyone. He fucked with my brain. He did it for himself. To give himself power. Over me, over you. That's why..."
She turns, suddenly frenzied again: "Admit it! Admit it's the truth! Tell everyone what you did to me!"
Darkbloom finally speaks. "Yes. It's true."
"You took my childhood! You killed my parents!"
"It's true."
She stabs him again, this time in the calf. He screams. His trousers become darkly stained with his own blood.
"Amber..." he says through gritted teeth. "You must listen to me now. It doesn't need to be this way."
"You killed my parents. And not just mine. The parents of three other innocent people."
"You have immense power! More than anyone! You could--"
She stabs him in the other leg. His screams break his voice. He sits there with his mouth open like a python who has unhinged its jaw, but no sound escapes. As much as you hate the man, this is difficult to see. It's somehow like watching someone torture a deity to death.
"What do you want?" He asks miserably when he can speak again. "Say it! It's yours! I can give you anything!"
Like that, Darkbloom has been reduced to begging for his life.
Camelia pulls a bullet from her pocket. She holds it up for him to see. "This has been waiting for ten years now. The only thing I want is for it to go inside your skull."
"I have loved you like a daughter!" Darkbloom shouts, his neck muscles straining, his forehead sweating. There it is: the same line he used on you. "You-- and Anna-- and Alabaster-- you could be the dauphins of a new world! You could shepherd humanity to something greater! You could--"
She stabs him in the stomach. He vomits. It's horrible, and more than that, it's pathetic.
Coughing, he tries again, but his voice is weak: "if you kill me-- listen to me-- you know we are linked. You froze too, when the servers were down, didn't you? It's not a coincidence." Camelia is loading her revolver now. "If you kill me, it will kill you, too! Don't be stupid! It doesn't need to be like this!"
"Who cares about that?" Camelia says. "I was dead the moment you put this implant in my eye."
She puts the gun to his forehead and pulls the trigger.
There's a flash, a splatter of gore.
Darkbloom slumps over. Dead.
Distantly, your mind goes to Vivian. You know she must have seen this, too.
Camelia turns to face the camera.
"Citizens of Earth, that was only phase one. The rest yous with lie--" she stops, blinking, confused. "Sorry. The rest lies with you. There are other men like Dark block... um, Darkbloom... there are other things to-- you have to rise up-- I'm sorry, I lost my place..."
She's swaying, but she doesn't seem to notice it.
"You must... finish..." she says. She's badly slurring her words now. "Finish the..."
A trickle of blood comes down her cheek, from underneath her eyepatch.
She reaches up, feels it with thin fingers. "Oh..." she mutters. "So soon..."
And then she falls over.
The livestream cuts out.
---
THREE HOURS LATER.
The plane is in the air. Cerise and Rose sit at the very back, feeling very alone, although Nelson is right beside them.
"The known is finished," Nelson mutters.
"What?" Cerise says.
"Nothing. An old line from an old book."
Up front, a man in a dapper suit is talking with Mara, who wipes away crocodile tears with a tissue. Cerise listens in.
"We need to talk about his will," the man says. "I know this is difficult."
"No, please. Go on."
"It's the longest will I've ever seen - over 1,000 pages - but the real headline here is the first sentence. The rest just clarifies. 'To my eldest daughter: everything.'"
Mara nods. "I understand. Vivian is still a minor, so it will have to go into trust--"
"Mara."
She sniffles.
"I'm David's personal attorney. I've known him since before you married him. I know that Vivian is not his eldest daughter."
Mara isn't crying anymore. "This is going to be a problem for you if you say another word," she tells him.
"Then it's a problem for me."
---
Galatea's apartment is full of some very scary looking men with some very scary looking guns. Galatea is hiding under her bed.
Whitney pushes you. "You stupid jerk! You're not going with these fucking crazy people on a suicide mission!"
"Alex is there..." you say. "I need to make sure--"
"Fuck you! And fuck that snotty little twink! You're the one I care ab--"
Her phone rings, again. She drops the call, again.
"Who IS that?" You say.
"I don't fucking know. Some blocked number."
"Answer it. It could be important."
The call comes through yet again, and this time Whitney takes it.
"Hello? ... yeah, you're speaking to her. One and only. What do you want?"
She glances around the room full of armed black thugs.
"Sure I'm alone," she lies.
She listens carefully.
She falls to the ground.
There's a look on her face that you've never seen before: utter, very real fear.
April 20, 1996
Renee is still wired to a number of beeping monitors when David enters the hospital room.
In her arms is a newborn baby girl.
"Who knows about this?" He asks.
"Is that the first thing you want to know?" Renee says. "You bastard."
"It's important. Please."
"No one. I came with a false ID. As far as anyone knows, I'm 19 year old Renee Wellick."
He steps closer. "...May I?" He asks.
She hands him the bundle, and for the first time he gets a look at the child's face.
"She's... beautiful," he says. He sits on the edge of the bed, cradling her, bouncing her gently on his knee.
He turns. "You should have told me sooner."
"I didn't know what to do... I didn't even know until a couple months ago..."
He looks back at the baby. "Shh," he says as she fusses.
"I still don't know what to do..." Renee adds.
"Renee... the reason I ask who knows about this..." he struggles to find his words. "I've learned some things about Mara that greatly disturb me. Renee, she is a dangerous, vindictive woman... connected to horrible people... if she ever were to know about this..."
"You can't be serious," Renee says.
"We need to make sure she's safe, above all else. We need to keep her safe. And -- your schooling, too, cannot afford this disruption--"
"I hate you." Her voice is flat and dead.
"This is temporary. I will make sure she--" he looks down again, at the beautiful baby girl he made. "She doesn't need our help, anyway. With our genetics, she is certain to be the smartest girl in the universe."
Renee is crying.
"Does she have a name?" David asks.
"Whitney."
"It's perfect. I'll make sure she keeps it, wherever she ends up."
He rocks Whitney back and forth. "This is temporary," he repeats. "One day, she will claim her birthright. One day she will be Whitney Darkbloom."
END OF EPISODE 14.