Season 2 Episode 7: My Youth Romcom Underground Cyberterrorist Resistance is Wrong, as I Expected.

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, onahole collector and bicycle tutor.


June 6, 2014


The Roomba has a homemade bomb glued to the top of it. Cribbing variously from the Anarchist's Cookbook, Youtube tutorials, and an archive of Cerise's circuit bending streams, you're a self-taught expert in remote-control mayhem.


Instead of moving autonomously, the now-deadly Roomba is your zombie slave, going exactly where you tell it to with the RC transmitter in your hands. A hi-brite flashlight helps you see where it's going in dark spaces. A V-shaped plow helps it overcome debris. And a GoPro strapped to its front, livestreaming back to your tablet, completes the device. You've got a fully controllable IED that can go almost anywhere.


You sit on a curb with Whitney across from a shuttered strip mall near the edge of town. The weeds and graffiti are taking over: this place was a victim of the 2008 recession that never recovered. Years of disuse have left the buildings dilapidated and busted.


"This better be worth my time," Whitney says. "I'm not missing spaghetti Friday just to watch you vacuum an old Sears store."


(Whitney used to worm her way into dessert for dinner Sunday every week at the Soliloquy household. Although mom and her wonderful desserts are gone, Whitney was not to be deterred. Now she butts into the Mallorys' spaghetti Friday every week.)


"Just watch," you say.


The Roomba is moving around the largely-empty interior of the store. On the live feed, you see tipped-over shelving units, dangling wires and scattered trash. More graffiti, too. A rat skitters past and disappears.


"Freaky," Whitney says. She grabs a beer from the nearby 12-pack, pokes a hole in the side with her pocket knife, and shotguns it while she watches the real-time video stream.


"Let me try," you say. She hands you another can of beer and her knife. But you're hopeless. Whitney has to show you the mechanics of how to properly shotgun a beer, guiding you through poking the hole and popping the lid at the right moment.


"Dork," she says, holding the can while you try to chug.


It's the first beer you've ever had. It's pungent and unpleasant and too warm from sitting out all day. You find yourself sputtering and gagging instead of getting it down smoothly.


"Haha! You're a riot, Ally." She pats you on the back like a mother burping a baby as you wipe your mouth with the back of your palm. "You'll get the hang of it. Being a delinquent takes practice."


"Yeah?" You say. "Well, watch this."


You guide the Roomba between a pair of shelves that have collapsed into one another. You turn the tablet off.


"Hey!" Whitney says. "Rude!"


You point across the street, directing her to look at the storefront. Her gaze slowly sweeps up. And then you hit the detonate button.


A bloom of orange and red is visible through the previously-darkened windows - which now bulge and then shatter from the pressure wave. The boom is almost deafening. When it settles, an incipient fire is obviously visible inside.


"Holy..." Whitney breathes.


"I call it the Roomburner. I've got five or six stashed away in the crawlspace at Rose's house."


"Roomburner," Whitney says, rolling her eyes. "Even when you're cool, you're a fag."


You watch the smoldering fire with her appreciatively for a few moments.


"Shit... we better get out of here, huh?" Whitney says.


You pack your remote control and tablet into your backpack. Whitney grabs the beer. Running down the sidewalk with her, her peals of laughter ringing in your ears, you feel the first happiness you've had since that awful night a few months ago.


You like to watch things burn. You want to do it some more.


---


Kay slips a business card into your hand. You're too taken aback at Whitney's attack on Camelia to really register anything of what she's telling you.


"Call me in a few days if you're still alive and not in jail," Kay says. She takes Lady's leash and disappears out a side exit, leaving you gawking and dumbfounded.


Whitney is still delivering vicious hook after vicious hook directly into Camelia's battered face when you finally gather the wherewithal to go over and lay a palm on her shoulder.


"Fucking bitch!" Whitney is screaming. "How dare you!"


"Whit--" you begin, but think better of using her name. "Let's go. Now."


Whitney looks back at you. "Did I do good?" She asks. She's smiling. She genuinely wants to know.


You drag her to her feet, grab her hand, and brush past the fearful patrons crowding around.


You flee with her down the street for a ways, until you see a sight you should have suspected: Rose's Prius pulls alongside the curb.


"Get in," Rose says. "Are you two all right?"


Rose drives. You sit in the passenger seat, and Whitney sits in the back.


"I told you to observe," Rose says, glaring at Whitney in the rearview. "What part of 'observe' entails beating up the most dangerous woman on the planet?"


"Don't oversell her," Whitney harumphs. "She's a wuss. Can't even take a punch."


"We're done for..." you mutter. "Goddamn it." You're not sure who you're madder at: Whitney, for attacking Camelia; or Rose, for thinking that sending Whitney into that cafe was a good idea.


"You need to stay with us for the time being," Rose says. "Camelia knows who you are, and if she retaliates..."


"Let her retabliate, then!" Whitney says. "I'll retabliate her face into dust!" She punches her own open palm.


"Rose is right," you say (ugh), "you'll be safer with us."


Whitney pouts for a moment, then: "What about Alex?"


>[x] It can't be helped. Invite Alex over, too.

[ ] He doesn't need to be involved. He'll be safer where he is.


Rose stays home with Whitney. You return to work to grab Alex and Cerise and circle the wagons.


First stop: Cerise's office. She's sitting across from Fazil, deep into a meeting that you have no qualms about interrupting. You pull up a chair beside Fazil and sit down.


"Excuse you," Cerise says.


"We're going to have a guest or two tonight," you tell her.


"Thanks for asking first, asshole," she says. "Who?"


"Whitney. Maybe her roommate too. I'll explain when we're back home."


"Should I step out?" Fazil asks. "This sounds as if I am becoming quickly the third wheel."


"Yeah," you say. "Cerise and I are going to be heading home soon."


"Fuck that," Cerise says. "Fazil, you can stay. Tell him what you just told me."


"Is this okay?" Fazil says, uncertain.


Cerise nods.


Fazil gesticulates as he launches into an involved explanation. "I am thinking to myself yesterday that the perpetrator of the recent hackings must be a skilled individual. If so, I think further, perhaps he has a reputation. So I think to check around on parts of the internet in which such characters have prestige. Aha! A similar pattern has happened in the past. A so-called black hat known only as Galatea. Researching this person's attacks on banking institutions and government facilities, the methods are nearly identical. I believe this person is responsible for March 10th and the foiled rootkit hacks also."


Fazil, you motherfucker. You're getting too close to the truth.


"Interesting story, isn't it?" Says Cerise.


She already knows this information. Is this her way of telling you that she won't intercede on Camelia's behalf to stymie the investigation? If so, and Fazil traces it back to her... what then?


"You're doing excellent work, Fazil," Cerise says. Fazil can't hide his dopey smile. "Take the rest of the day off if you like - I'm heading out early, too."


"Thank you, Ms. Soliloquy. Good day!"


Down in the R&D labs, you run into Ken doing some work at a PC workstation outside Sable's main office. Well - one of his two monitors has work on it, at least. On the other, he's watching an episode of Ed, Edd 'n' Eddy. He chuckles at the on-screen gags every few moments.


Weird guy.


Not seeing Alex out here, you breeze past and try the door to Sable's office, but it's locked. You knock - no answer.


Great...


You take a seat beside Ken. "Is Alex in there?" you ask.


Ken pulls down his headphones. "Pardon me, pardner. Can you kindly repeat yourself?"


"I said is Alex in there." You nod in the direction of Sable's office.


"I reckon he is," Ken says. "Been in there nigh on an hour or so."


It's either something really important or something really perverted, and you want to know in either case.


You're thinking of how to get past Sable's door when a woman's voice startles you. "Are you Alabaster?"


"Uh, yeah. What's up?"


The woman extends a lithe arm, and you shake her hand. "I-I'm Noelle," she says. "Noelle Keki. I - ah - I just got assigned to the team... dragged up from the server room. Go figure!" She rubs the back of her head and laughs, almost as if apologizing for her own presence.


"Nice to have you aboard," you say, being polite but wishing this conversation would be over.


"If it's not too much trouble, I, ah, I was wondering if you could answer a few of my questions? I was told you just recently went through some orientation yourself. I hope I'm not bothering you!"


"I'm, uh, a little busy right now," you say.


"Oh, hmm..." she mutters, dejected. "A-at least you could help me set up my PC? I need the passwords to the team Slack and network directories. If you have even just a couple moments... I'm so sorry for the intrusion..."


This birdlike, nervous girl - who seems to be a few years older than you - is charming despite her awkwardness. Or maybe because of her awkwardness. Since Alex and Sable are tied up right now, you suppose you can at least give her this much help.


When she walks you over to her computer, you're surprised to see a wallpaper on her desktop bearing characters from your favorite anime of last season: Magical Witchy ~Pero Pero~. A show about cute little girls in revealing outfits who fight monsters - a dime a dozen, right? - but the writing, production values and sheer cuteness of the main characters put it head and shoulders above the average moeblob pander-fest.


Noelle's wallpaper certainly isn't safe for work - the scantily clad witch trio with their panties on full display, and a hint of the main character Lillith's nipple showing - and Noelle blanches when she realizes that she left it visible. She quickly pulls up a folder and maximizes it to cover up the offending image. She gulps and stares down at the desk. She's so embarrassed she's almost shaking.


>[x] Hey, I'm a fan of that show too.

[ ] Don't mention what you saw.


Noelle's face quickly transforms from shame to shock. "R-really?" She says.


"What, is that a surprise?"


"You just don't look..." she trails off. "Are you all caught up?"


"Yeah," you say. "Can't wait for season two next fall."


"I know!" Noelle says. "Do you think Lillith is going to accept the Archon's challenge?"


"How could she not?" You say. "The Archon still has Lucy hostage."


"But Lucy's such a bitch!" Noelle says. She's suddenly much less shy than before. "I don't know what Lillith sees in her. She'd be better off with Lulu!"


"Please," you say. "The double-tsundere dynamic between Lillith and Lucy is the best part of the show. They're destined to be together."


"I can't believe you!" Noelle laughs, feigning anger. "I start to think maybe you have good taste and then you go dropping these shit-taste bombs on me. What a drag... Hey, did you read the manga too?"


"Of course. Show-only fans are missing half the story."


What follows is a 20-minute back and forth over the relative merits of each of the witches. Noelle is a big Lulu partisan - no surprise, given Lulu's shy and submissive demeanor is so similar to Noelle herself - but what can you say? You've always preferred the main girl in most series. The main girl is usually the best one.


You get Noelle all set up on the network while you yammer. It's nice to finally meet someone who has something approaching good taste around here.


Not long after, Alex steps out of Sable's office. His hair is mussed and he's out of breath. Sable was definitely messing with him. You're not sure if you're jealous, turned on, or a bit mad at Sable for abusing him like that. (All three?)


"Hey Ally," Alex breathes. He sits at his PC and swipes his hair back. "Back from lunch so soon?"


"I left for lunch two hours ago," you say.


"O-oh... I lose track of time I guess..."


"Did you have fun in there?" You say drily.


"I--!" Alex is too embarrassed to answer.


"Nevermind. Say, I was thinking of... uh, having a sleepover. What do you say?"


"Sleepover? Alex says. His voice is a mix of excited and anxious. "I'll have to get my air mattress out of the closet... and wash my guest comforter..."


"No, not at your place. Over at mine. Whitney's coming too. It'll be fun."


"I see," Alex mumbles. Then, thinking it over: "Okay! Let me finish up a couple things first."


You chat some more with Noelle while Alex closes out a couple pressing work assignments. Noelle's breathy inflections make her hard to understand at times, but when you get her excited about a certain topic, she suddenly takes off like a rocket. It's kind of cute. Okay, it's really cute.


She's a fan of magical girl series, slice of life, and yuri (in that order). She insists that she isn't a lesbian, but that she finds the love between two best friends sweet and pure.


You catch Alex glancing at the two of you every once in a while. Is he getting jealous? He finishes his work up quickly and tells you he's ready to go.


Cerise, Whitney and Rose are waiting back at the apartment. When you bring Alex in, introductions are in order. (Cerise has met Alex once before, but she was too worried about those /csg/ threads to really have paid much attention.)


"When did you get so popular with women?" Cerise says, folding her arms. "One day you're a friendless loser, the next you've got all these girls crawling all over you."


Whitney watches in the background, snickering to herself.


"Alex isn't a--" you begin.


"Honestly," Rose says. "You're hopeless. A womanizing pig. I shouldn't have expected anything less."


"Alex is--"


"Not that I have anything against you," Cerise tells Alex kindly, "it's just that Alabaster is such a--"


"--Such a creep sometimes," Rose says.


"--That we're really concerned..." Cerise continues.


"For your well-being, that is." Rose says.


"I'm a boy," Alex cuts in. His voice is very small.


"You're a..." Cerise says.


"A..." Rose says.


The expressions on Cerise and Rose's faces are very different, but somehow convey the same basic emotion. They look at Alex with barely-concealed wonderment.


Rose is the first to speak. "No you're not," she tells him.


"W-what?" Alex says.


Rose takes his hand. "You can tell us. We don't judge here. You can be yourself... if you're a girl, that is..."


"Really..." Alex says. "I'm a b--"


Rose cuts him off by hugging him to her bosom and petting his hair. "Shh... shh, it's ok. I understand."


You pull Alex out of her grip. "I'm the creep here, huh?" You say. "Contain yourself, Rose."


"Trans-misogynist!" Rose screams.


"H-honestly," Alex insists, "I'm not anything else but me! Just plain old Alex! A boy!"


"Look at what you've done to her!" Rose cries.


"How is your perversion MY fault?" You say.


"How isn't it?" Rose spits back.


Whitney comes between the two of you and prevents this from blowing up into a real fight. "Boy or girl," she says, "he sure knows how to suc--"


"Who's up for some Settlers of Catan?" You quickly intervene.


Cerise blinks herself out of her stupor and manages to pry her eyes away from Alex. "Yes... that sounds fun. I'll grab it out of my room."


Whitney pairs up with you. Cerise, Rose and Alex are solo. Of course, having a team of 2 isn't much help when Whitney can hardly understand the rules of the game.


That is - she's no help until the moment a trade negotiation with Rose goes south. Whitney fixes this by lunging over the table, grabbing Rose by her drills and screaming: "give us your bricks, you fucking cunt! Right now!"


The trade really helps your strategic position. What doesn't help is that Alex is willing to give everyone else his resources for basically nothing (sometimes literally nothing). Rose immediately gets the pilfered bricks back from him in turn.


This could be a long night.


Near the end of the game, Alex's eyes suddenly light up. He turns to Cerise. "That's where I know you from!" He says.


"Huh?" says Cerise. She's deep into her fourth beer and a bit slow on the uptake.


"I knew I recognized you... you're Sakura Dokuhaku! The circuit bender!"


Cerise shakes her head. "I... I haven't done that in-- you watched my streams?"


"All the time!" Alex says. "I really admired your skill. You were part of why I got into software engineering." He laughs, nervously, as if starstruck. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, wow! I almost didn't recognize you out of your french maid outfit..."


That was Cerise's gimmick back when she livestreamed for E-tips. She donned a maid costume and electronically modified toys like Furbies to make them do weird things. Most of her fans were perverts who got off on it for reasons that have always been beyond you, but some, like Alex, had a legitimate interest in the mechanics of it.


Cerise pokes him in his shoulder, nudging him back a bit. "You're not one of those weirdos from /csg/, are you?" She says suspiciously. "That's the last thing I need."


"CSG...?" Alex says. "I don't know what that means."


Cerise is satisfied here. "Thanks," she says. "It's nice to meet a fan."


"Why did you stop?" Alex asks. "It would be so cool if you came back. Don't you think?"


Cerise is less than convinced. "After a four year hiatus? Would I still have any fans left?"


"You'd have me, at least!" He gives a mock salute.


Cerise doesn't respond.


"If it's a question of finances, don't worry about it," Alex insists. "I'm a millionaire, you know! I'll buy you the supplies you need. Consider me... a patron of the arts!"


"I don't need any supplies," Cerise says, looking away. "I still..."


Alex cocks his head.


"You still have all that junk?" You ask, surprised. "I thought you said you sold it off."


"Of course I have it!" Cerise snaps. "You think I'm gonna let some stalker make me give up my hobby forever? I just... keep it stashed away, that's all."


Alex is sitting on his knees and balled up fists, leaning forward excitedly, smiling. "That's great, Cerise! Or should I say Sakura? Will you show me? Give me a live demo? I'd be so grateful!"


"It's in my room..." Cerise says. She still seems anxious and uncertain of herself. She hasn't done anything like this in a really long time, and the last time she did, it ended with her fearful over what she believed was an obsessive stalker.


(Of course, that "stalker" was you. You were sick of her livestreams eating up bandwidth and making too much noise in the next room over. So you posed as a crazy fan to spook her.)


The death of your parents and the loss of your childhood home was the final nail in the coffin. She never did her show again.


"I guess I could," Cerise says. "Just once. For a dedicated fan."


Alex beams with joy. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"


Cerise stands up and leads Alex towards her room where her old gear is.


>[x] Go watch too.

[ ] Stay here and play with Whitney and Rose.


It's just as well. Rose and Whitney are deep into a sidebar argument over whether "weirdened out" is a real phrase, and it doesn't seem like it's going to end anytime soon.


You enter Cerise's walk-in closet with her and Alex. There's a white sheet here covering up a large bulky object. With it still covered up, Cerise wheels out into the bedroom.


She struggles, though, and has to clear a path through all the junk on her floor to wheel the thing out. She uses her feet to sweep all the accumulated detritus side-to-side, her hands still tugging whatever it is that's covered by the sheet, but she manages.


Alex, ever the solicitous one, helps her. He bends over, picking various things up and tossing them aside for her. He pauses at one point to peer innocently and uncomprehendingly at a vibrator that he grabs hold of - you slap it away from him before Cerise can notice him holding it.


Finally, she has it where she wants it.


"Gentlemen," Cerise says, "I give you..."


>[x] Hold on. You need to be wearing the maid outfit to complete the look.

[ ] Go on.


Cerise tosses a can of hairspray at you, and it clonks against your forehead with a metallic 'ping'.


"Ass," Cerise says.


"Jesus," you groan, rubbing your head where you got hit. "I just thought... you know, for such a good fan, it would only be courteous."


Cerise looks to Alex for guidance. That's game over, then. He's definitely not going to make her wear it if she doesn't want--


"Ally's right! The costume totally completes the look! You should wear it!"


Cerise sighs. It's 2-to-1. She heads back to her closet, grabs a hanger down and pats the dust off a frilly maid costume. "I'll be right back..." she grumbles, and disappears into the bathroom.


"Your sister is really cool," Alex says.


"I wouldn't go that far."


"The best!"


"Definitely too far," you say.


She comes back out, dressed to kill in her old maid outfit (shocker that it still fits.)


You wouldn't tell her so, but it looks really nice on her. Better than nice - beautiful. She even wears the headband and the fake spectacles to complement the nerdy-cute look.


"You look amazing!" Alex says. He doesn't have your same stinginess about compliments, clearly.


Cerise rubs her elbow with the other hand. "Thank you..." she says. "Honestly, this old thing feels so silly."


Alex's eyes are dewy with excitement. "No way. You look like a mad scientist. I love it!"


You're not sure how "French maid" equates to "mad scientist," but you suppose he's remembering the outfit in the context of Cerise getting knuckle-deep in the innards of children's toys and turning them into unholy abominations.


Cerise grabs the white sheet covering up the main attraction.


"Gentlemen," she says. "I give you: the Furby Organ."


She whips the sheet back.


It's immediately clear to you that Cerise didn't just hold on to her old circuit bending gear. She kept at the hobby on her own time. She must have spent months, maybe even years working on this, this... this monstrosity sitting before you. A piano and synthesizer unit wired up to dozens of dead eyed, half-skinned Frubies. When Cerise plugs it in and powers it up, they come alive all at once, groaning and talking and making painful sounds in a totally unsynchronized cacophony that sounds like a good approximation of hell.


"Wow!" Alex says. "So cool!"


This is anything but cool to you. Frankly, it's a little scary.


Cerise clicks a few buttons and turns a few knobs, and the Furbies fall silent again. Then she sits at her bed, cracks her knuckles, and gets to work on the symphony.


Playing the keyboard like a maestro, she elicits a melody of torment from the zombified Furbies: "Me-- me worry-- achoo achoo - me- achoo- HAIL SATAN HAIL SATAN achoo -- worry. Feed me. SATAN. Feed -- SATAN. Feed SATAN. DEATH DEATH DEATH - achoo. Worry."


Alex, sitting on the bed beside Cerise, bounces up and down on his butt. He's giggling as he watches the madness unfold. Surely these two people are the most evil sadists you've ever met.


"More!" Alex cries. "Haha!"


"La la la la-- woo-- Hello! Sleepy. Hungry. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE."


The stock phrases, and the Satanic perversions of said phrases, resolve into an approximation of the Phantom of the Opera theme. She plays the fucking Phantom of the Opera with hijacked Furby innards. What the fuck, Cerise.


When she's done, she's got a big dopey smile on her face.


"You HAVE to do your stream again!" Alex says. "That's too good not to share with the world!"


"You really think so?" Cerise says.


"I'll do whatever it takes to get you set up! It's amazing! You're a true artist!"


Cerise shakes her head, as if to deny this, but she's still smiling. You're not sure whether unleashing this horror upon the world is a good idea, frankly.


"Isn't it cool?" Alex asks you, hopping to his feet and circling the bed to gaze up into your eyes.


"It's... something," you say noncommittally.


"Don't be like that," he pouts. "You should encourage your sister's hobbies."


"I don't know whether encouraging cruelty to animals is the right thing to do," you say.


Alex pokes you in the tummy and then grabs one of your sleeves. "You can be kind of a jerk sometimes," he says.


"Forget about him," Cerise interrupts. "He never liked the circuit bending thing. If I want to do another stream... not saying I will, but IF.. what would you suggest?"


You sit at Cerise's desk chair as Alex explains how Twitch would be a perfect platform for her. Great... your sister becoming a popular Twitch streamer. That's just the kind of attention you all need right now.


In the midst of his explanations, Alex walks over and sits down in your lap, totally uninvited.


"Unf--" you groan, not prepared for Alex to suddenly use you as his personal cushion.


"--and there's even monetization opportunities," Alex is saying. "You could be a big hit... make a lot of extra money--"


"Uh," Cerise says, looking strangely at the two of you, taking in the sight of Alex lounging on your lap.


Alex leans back against your chest, chummy and oblivious as ever, and blathers on. Cerise stares you in the eyes as if to wordlessly ask: what the hell am I seeing here?


You shrug. Alex has been clingy and touchy-feely like this ever since that encounter in the sauna. You can't say you're surprised.


"Alex, is there a reason you're..." Cerise begins.


"Huh?" Alex says, confused.


"Nevermind," Cerise says. She seems to be putting up a mental barrier here. You can see the thought pass into her mind: are they--? and then being quickly rejected. And then being replaced with: But maybe...


[ ] Be forthright.

>[x] Let her wonder.


You know Cerise's porn habits better than anyone else on Earth (except maybe that weird Galatea person...) So while you still don't want her to know that you've, uh, fooled around with Alex - you can't resist the fun of making her go crazy with curiosity.


You wrap one arm languidly around Alex's midsection and rest your other hand on Alex's shoulder.


"Mm~" Alex moans ever so slightly to himself as you gently massage his neck. He keeps talking excitedly to Cerise about the future of her circuit bending stream, but neither she nor you are paying attention anymore. Alex squirms around in your lap happily.


"Is there something wrong, Cerise?" You ask.


"What? No, I-- I-- it's..."


You pat Alex on the head. He blushes and giggles and keeps talking.


Cerise is transfixed. There's obviously a whirlwind of unchaste images raging in her mind's eye. Some of them may even be true.


After a little while, she speaks over Alex's monologue: "Excuse me..." she says. "I should... I should go change back into my normal clothes. I'll be right back."


She disappears into her bathroom again. She takes way longer changing than she did the first time around.


Alex takes the opportunity to rub a hand seductively against your crotch. He puts his lips to your ear. "I like your massage," he purrs.


"Not here," you tell him.


"Why not?"


"She could come back any second."


"I don't think she'd mind~"


"I'd mind," you tell him. He makes a frustrated little "mou~" noise but relents. A few moments later, Cerise is back in the room, looking a bit flushed.


After another half hour of conversation about the minutiae of circuit bending that you neither follow nor care about, Alex is falling asleep in your lap. That's kind of a problem -- you don't want to be stuck in here all night. You shift your weight gently and lay him down on the chair. He stirs a bit, but doesn't wake.


"I'll get him out of your hair," you tell Cerise, grabbing the chairback.


"You can leave him here," she says. "I'm going to bed too anyway."


You frown. A suspicious bit of generosity, that. "Is he going to be safe with you?"


"I could ask the same thing of you!" Cerise says.


You make rather a show of shrugging. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say.


Cerise squints, trying to get a read on you, but she's just going to have to wonder for now.


"Goodnight, dear sister."


You step out of the bedroom.


In the living room, Whitney and Rose are passed out over the destroyed Catan board, having obviously gotten into a pretty nasty fight about something. Even though you turned Alex down, your hijinks with him left you in great need.


[ ] It's time to deal with Rose like you and Whitney planned.

>[x] Whitney needs to be punished for what she did earlier at the cafe. You're sure Rose will agree.

[ ] Go to bed for now. You've got unfinished business with Alex tomorrow morning.


You wake Rose up by slapping her in the face.


"What the fu--" she begins, but you cut her off by grabbing her hair and dragging her halfway across the room. It's vicious and quite painful for her and she kicks and tugs but can't get away.


You pin her on her back and get on top of her. It helps, here, that Whitney is almost impossible to wake up. It's not time for her to be part of this yet.


Rose sneers at you, pure defiance in her eyes. "I'll scream," she threatens.


"I'll scream," you repeat in a mocking voice. "Boo hoo. Too afraid to face me on your own?"


"Fuck you. You worthless pig. I'm not afraid of you. I own y--"


You slap her again. "Shut the fuck up. I'm sick of your voice."


She shivers underneath you.


"I told you it was coming. Didn't I?"


Rose says nothing. But that fire in her eyes means you haven't come close to quashing her resistance. Oh well.


"You're a rapist," she says. "You're a monster. You make me sick."


"Stop lying. Your cunt is wet right now, isn't it?"


"How dare y--"


You reach down, flip up her skirt and feel her bare pussy. It's more than wet. It's dripping freely down her soft little slit, over her ass and onto the ground.


"You want me to rape you," you tell her. That's not a question.


"No--"


"Say it. Tell me the truth."


"I would never--!"


You get up on your knees and sit over her face, freeing your throbbing cock from the confines of your jeans. She scrunches up her nose and turns her head this way and that, trying to avoid it, but that just succeeds in rubbing your dick all over her face. You masturbate yourself slowly against her, enjoying the softness of her cheeks and the wetness of the tears welling in her eyes. You leave little trails of precum all over her, marking her.


"Do you smell it?"


"Fuck you-- mmf--"


You rub the head against her lips. You push out a little dollop of precum directly into her mouth. "You belong to me. To my cock. Don't you."


"I hate you... I hate you..." But despite her words, she's licking her lips, too. "Just get it over with..."


"No," you say.


Her eyes widen in despair.


You move away, lying back on top of her, and use your hand to molest her freely flowing pussy. You put your face right up against hers. "Tell me that you want it first."


"No!"


You grab her cheeks with your other hand and squeeze them. "Say it!"


She spits on you. You slap her, with real force this time - and then she starts to cry. More than cry. She sobs. It's a pitiful sight.


You get off of her, stand up.


"Where are you going?" she shouts, clambering onto her hands and knees, staring up at you like the bitch in heat she really is.


"If you don't want it, I'll just have to get it somewhere else..." you say.


She falls to the ground and rolls onto her back and covers her face with both hands. She's at the very height of her desperation and confusion.


You kneel over and whisper into her ear.


Her crying stops for a moment as she listens.


"Understand?"


"You're sick," Rose says.


You pry her hands away from her face. She's beet red and her makeup is running messily. "Do you understand?" You repeat.


She nods.


You walk across the room and shake Whitney, violently, to wake her.


"Mmmh?" she says.


"It's time," you  tell her. She cranes her neck up and looks across the room where Rose is convulsing with sobs of confused sexual frustration. Whitney is immediately and fully awake at this sight. She takes off her shirt then kicks off her spats, at the same time clawing your shirt off of your body too. She's wanted this for a long time.


When you're both naked, you walk back over to Rose. She stares up at you, dazed and dead-eyed.


"You got her started without me..." Whitney coos. "How nice."


"I slapped her a few times," you say. You kiss Whitney deeply and enjoy the taste of her tongue intermingling with yours. Rose can only watch, of course. When you pull away, you add: "Every time I smacked her, she got a little wetter."


"That's so cute," Whitney says. She nudges Rose with her foot. "Let's fuck right over her face."


A suggestion that fun can't be passed up. Whitney gets down on hands and knees with her invitingly pink pussy positioned directly above Rose. You kneel down, grab Whitney's hips, and slam yourself home in one thrust. You'll never get over how fucking good it feels to get your raw cock inside a silky smooth hole like Whitney's.


You fuck her hard and fast, putting on a show for Rose who lies just a few inches underneath you. She obviously doesn't want to see this, but she can't look away, either. Every time you pull out, you see her horrified expression, her tear-filled eyes - and Whitney's cunt dripping lewdly all over her.


Your hands move up, from Whitney's hips to her torso, and then further still to her shoulders. You brace yourself against her so that you can slam-fuck her as viciously as you can. Whitney's mewls and moans of pleasure transform into distressed little "ahh--"s.


She takes it gamely but soon it's too much. "Ala-- Alabaster--" she says, her voice vibrating from the force of your cock slamming deep inside her. "You're being a l-little-- a-a little--"


Rose punches Whitney in the tummy.


Whitney immediately falls silent, all the air knocked out of her, and she collapses to the ground. You haul her up just enough for Rose to shimmy free.


"F-- Fucking whore!" Whitney screams in a rage when she can speak again. "Let's fuck her up, Ally!"


You flip Whitney onto her back and hold her legs apart. You start fucking her again. Whitney, trapped beneath you and still hurting from Rose's surprise attack, is powerless to stop you.


"Ally--" she whines. There's a sudden hitch of fear to her voice. It makes your cock twitch inside her. "What-- what are you doing?"


"You need to learn how to take orders," you growl.


"Wh-- what?"


You get down over her and fuck her harder still. You fuck her little ass right into the floor as you press your full weight over her. You get your face right up close to hers now and repeat yourself: "I said you need to learn how to take orders."


"Ally-- please-- stop--!" She's really scared now. Panicking.


You glance over: Rose is naked. She's got a dildo with her.


She kneels down and brushes Whitney's hair out of her sweaty face while you continue your brutal fucking. "I'm very sorry," Rose purrs. "But we're going to rape you now."


"Bitch!" Whitney cries, but that's all she can manage before Rose shoves the dildo into her mouth. "Much better," Rose says, smiling warmly. "Don't you agree, Alabaster?"


Whitney is a real nice fuck, even if she acts like she doesn't want it. Her pussy is still wet and clamping down around you as you pump her full of dick. Rose holds her by the face, one arm wrapped around it and the other pumping the rubber dick into the confines of her throat. She doesn't have much of a gag reflex, but Rose manages to find it. Whitney is gagging and staring with hatred into Rose's glimmering eyes.


"I hate to do this," Rose lies, "but Alabaster thought you needed to be taught a lesson... and, well... to be honest... I agree..."


Whitney's cunt shudders around your raping cock. You feel her cumming against you.


"He said you wanted to rape me too," Rose continues, "so this is only fair. Isn't it?"


She pulls the dildo out of Whitney's throat. Whitney coughs and chokes, her face covered in her own slobber.


"I'm going to fucking ruin you!" Whitney sputters. Little droplets of spit fly up and land back on her with every syllable. "I'm going to rape you until you pass out! I'm going to break you! You fucking whore!"


"That's nice," Rose says. She holds the dildo up. "But I'm going to rape you first."


That look of fear is back on Whitney's face again. You never knew you'd have so much fun doing this.


You pull out of Whitney with a wet squelch. Rose quickly clambers into position. Now it's Rose with her cunt inches above Whitney's face, rather than the other way around. Rose arches her back and presents her ass to you, inviting you to do as you may.


As you get your cock up Rose's pussy for only the second time ever, Rose grabs the rubber dick with both hands and shoves it unceremoniously into Whitney. Whitney hisses with a mixture of pleasure and raw anger.


"Fuck me Alabaster, you fucking rapist piece of shit!" Rose screams. "Cum inside me! Rape your fucking cum into me!"


Rose pumps the dildo into Whitney to the same rhythm of your dick pumping her in and out.


"I'm going to cum," you tell Rose."


"Don't you dare!" Whitney says.


"Oh, shut UP," Rose groans, "speak when you're spoken to."


You gently push Rose's tail bone so her lower half droops down and her puffy mound rests directly against Whitney's face. "That'll keep her quiet," you say.


"Oooh~" Rose groans, trembling with this new perverse pleasure. She redoubles her efforts on Whitney's pussy. "That feels very nice..."


You're fucking at an upwards angle now, which means you can get even deeper inside your cousin's cunt. Her insides are softer and a bit tighter than Whitney's, too. She doesn't milk you off like Whitney can but the heat and snugness make up for it. So does her newfound enthusiasm. She fucks back against you without inhibition.


Rose bows her head and fully gives herself in to your incestuous mating. And then comes a new, even more perverted command: "Lick me," she tells Whitney. "Lick me while he cums inside me. Do it or I'll stop using this thing on you!"


That's almost enough to push you over the edge. You feel that tingle deep in your crotch and the cum boiling inside you, getting ready to fill her with a hot load.


"Oh-- oh--" Rose moans, overcome with evil delight. And then-- "Oh fuck, Alabaster... she's doing it... she's licking me..."


You slow the pace just long enough to reach down and ruffle Whitney's hair a bit in appreciation. "She's a good pet after all," you say.


"VERY good," Rose agrees. "Lick me, you dyke bitch! Oh god..."


You fuck Rose with slow, deep, forceful strokes now. All the way in - all the way out. She's shaking from the dual sensations of your eager thrusts and Whitney's apparently talented tongue.


And then it happens. Your balls tighten and your cock bursts, a wet explosion deep inside Rose's greedy slut cunt. She grinds her pussy mound against Whitney's mouth and gets herself off too, her breathy exhalations so high-pitched they're almost inaudible. She gets the dildo all the way inside Whitney's cunt and leaves it there. At the height of her pleasure, she slaps Whitney's clit, hard, and this brings Whitney off too. The three of you cum wetly together, your thick seed and Rose's girl-cum leaking all over Whitney's face, Whitney squirting all over the floor. And then you collapse in an exhausted heap.


Hopefully Whitney got the message.


November 3, 2014


"I will NOT wear that outfit to the winter ball," Rose says, again. "You can kiss my ass, Alabaster."


"How many times do we have to go over this? That's President Soliloquy to you--"


"Go to hell!"


"--And if we don't advertise for StuCo, how are we going to get new secretaries? We're hemorrhaging talent here."


"Because of YOUR incompetence!" Rose says. "And we can get fresh blood without parading me around in-- in this DEGRADING outfit." She indicates the bunny costume you picked out for her - the one now laid out on the desk between you.


"You have no say in this. You don't hold an elected post in StuCo anymore, which means I can dismiss you at will. Wear the costume or you're gone."


Rose grabs it off the desk, along with a pair of scissors. She holds the scissors to the costume like a madwoman with a hostage. "I'll do it!" She cries.


The rest of the student council is hanging back, watching in stunned silence as the argument continues to escalate. This meeting has... not gone very well.


"You better think long and hard about what you do next," you snarl.


"Maybe I'll jam these scissors down your throat, then!" Rose screams.


"I-- I think Rose is right," says one of the StuCo people now -- one of Rose's old polo-clad toadies. He tries to defuse the situation: "if we want to try a cosplay theme, maybe we can find something less revealing--"


"Shut the fuck up," you snap at him. "Was I talking to you? This is a conversation between me and Rose."


"I swear to God, Alabaster, I will cut this thing in half!"


You close the distance between the two of you and put a hand on her shoulder. It looks chaste enough to the rest of the people in the room: just a President reassuring an angry underling. But Rose winces at the force of your grip, which is anything but reassuring.


Rose's eyes simmer and her lips are trembling with a mixture of fury and fear that you've come to cherish. "I hate you," she hisses.


You whisper so only she can hear. "I hate you too. That's why I'm gonna make you wear the costume. And if you want to fight me... then maybe after the ball, I'll drag you into the utility closet, cut the costume in half FOR you and--"


"Are you Alabaster Soliloquy?"


You turn. A pair of men in snappy black suits stand before you.


"Who wants to know?" You ask.


"I'm Agent Cooper, and this is Agent Cohle. We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions."


"I don't--" you begin.


"It's about some arsons," Cohle says. "We think you may have useful information."


Your stomach drops. Actually, your whole body feels like it drops. It's as if you're falling headlong into a bottomless pit.


Rose puts herself between you and the agents. "Is this boy being detained?" She asks.


"I'm sorry, young lady, we're not talking to you," says Cooper. "Alabaster, you're going to need to come with--"


"Is he being detained?"


Cohle gently pushes her aside. "Yes. He is. Alabaster, please come with us."


They flank you and lead you from the room, past the disbelieving eyes of the other StuCo members. You could vomit.


Rose follows you into the hall.


"Tell them nothing!" she cries after you. "Just say you want a lawyer! I'll call dad right away!"


Cooper stops, wheels around, and points at her. His index finger is right in her face. "Stop butting in. I can arrest you for interfering with an investigation."


"No you can't," Rose growls. "Fascist pig." Then, to you: "Don't tell them anything, do you understand! Only that you want a lawyer! That's it!"


---


In the morning, you've got a decision to make: stay all together at Cerise's apartment (and try to find a damn good excuse for Alex to stay here with you), or go about your day like normal. You haven't heard from Camelia one way or another, and who knows what that crazy woman is going to do next.


In the predawn light, you watch Rose and Whitney's dozing forms beneath the blanket that you draped them with. In their sleep, they've cuddled up together. As rough as you've been with both of them, you don't want to see them come to harm from Camelia. That goes for Alex and Cerise, too.


Complicating things even further is that it's Friday - the day you're supposed to show up for a board meeting at Darkbloom Analytics. Disappointing Vivian and David Darkbloom could have dire consequences of its own.


>[x] Go to work as normal.

[ ] Stay home.


Rose and Whitney fight over who gets to use the shower first, an argument Whitney prevails in: she headbutts Rose and pushes her bodily from the guest bathroom.


Rose pounds uselessly on the locked door. "You idiot! You'll pay for that! Don't think you won't!"


Back to their old ways, it seems. Your suggestion to Rose that they give up fighting and shower together is met with a hailstorm of indignant insults, as if she wasn't just rubbing herself on Whitney's face a few hours ago. You'll never understand her.


By the time Rose and Whitney are clean and dressed again, Alex is awake too. "Thanks for the sleepover, guys!" He says, stretching and yawning. "It was a lot of fun!"


"How about spending the weekend?" You suggest.


"R-- really?" He sounds like a little kid being invited to a birthday party.


"Of course," says Rose. "We always have room for a sweet girl like you."


"But I'm a b--"


Rose ruffles his hair.


Cerise is the last one awake - hungover, as usual. "Work today?" She asks. She rubs the sleep from her eyes.


"It's the best way," you say. "We don't want to..."


To look suspicious, you'd like to say, but saying that would itself look suspicious to Alex. So you just let the thought trail off.


You gather your things and head out.


On your way into work, there's a gaggle of reporters standing outside the DA campus. A man you recognize is at the center, speaking into a mass of foam-covered microphones. Scanning your mental banks, you finally put a name to the face: this is Devin Isstein, the weaselly looking congressman you've seen on the news.


"I feel very confident, yes," he's saying. "The signals look good. I think David Darkbloom and his board understand that the public demands transparency... whether before the House or the Senate, yes, I think there's going to be testimony, yes, absolutely. I think so. Definitely."


The reporters are shouting questions at him now. He's eating up the attention.


You spy Kay Vera in the back of the crowd. She's listening and taking notes but not asking any questions, herself.


"Still alive," she muses as you brush past.


"Yeah."


"Things are getting interesting now. That slimy motherfucker up there wants your sister to talk to congress."


"That slimy motherfucker can go to hell," you reply.


Kay laughs. "Come to my apartment Tuesday. I'll show you something to really blow your socks off."


You don't reply one way or another.


Instead of scrum, you have to be present for the board meeting at 8:00 AM. You practically have to drag Sable out of her office to get her to come along, but eventually she relents.


"I'm in the middle of important work here, Alabaster!" She yells as you lead her by the hand down the halls and to the elevator. "You owe me for this. Big time!"


"And what exactly do I owe you?" You grouse. Then: "Wait. Don't answer that. I'd rather not know."


"I can't be bothered with this stultifying corporate tedium," Sable says on the elevator ride. "The research I'm involved in is so much more important. Every moment I spend away from it is another moment wasted. Don't you understand?" You start to reply, but she cuts you off: "Of course you don't understand. You understand practically nothing. Useless man."


She's in one of those moods again. Maybe you should start toting around an emergency supply of Xanax to shove down her throat when she starts getting keyed up.


"It'll be over before you know it," you tell her. "Then we'll be right back in your beloved dungeon."


"Hmmph," she says.


"Please, sit," says David as you enter the broad-paned conference room on the 20th floor. "We'll begin presently."


You take your seat beside Vivian and across from Sable. The rest of the board is already present. At one end of the table, David. At the other, Mara.


Mara is none too pleased to see you.


There are some perfunctory updates from each department about mundane issues like the budget for new hiring and social media outreach. David cannot look any less interested: he seems more concerned with the lint on the arm of his chair than what Vasily Kerimov has to say about the company's financial structure.


But then again, maybe that's some kind of power move. As you understand it, Vasily is aligned with Mara against him. You're not sure where the other board members stand in this little war.


"Let's not waste time," David finally says. "Mara, you had something for us?"


"Yes," Mara says. "I think the proper moment has come. I will of course allow you to pick which house of congress we appear before."


David chuckles. "You seem to have it in your head that a public shaming in the halls of the Capitol will wash everything away. Why?"


"The public wants spectacle. Catharsis. Why not provide it?"


David steeples his fingers. "Loss of dignity, for one," he offers. "And it won't sway public opinion anyway, so why bother?"


"Are you afraid of something?" Mara asks. "Or just too proud?"


This is worse than being at a friend's house when the parents start to fight. Vivian seems to be of the same opinion. She fidgets uncomfortably in her chair, her fingers worrying themselves in her lap. The rest of the board seems to be uncomfortable, too.


Well, except for Sable. She's busily writing on her notepad, oblivious to the back-and-forth between David and Mara.


"I see you've stacked the board in your favor - as usual," Mara says. "So a vote won't amount to anything. No matter. You can't prevent me from going on my own. Nor any of the rest of us who might want to testify. So think about whether you want to stay in control of the narrative we present, or not."


There is an agonizingly long silence as Mara's words hang heavy in the air.


Finally, David stands.


He strides across the board room.


He wraps his hand around Mara's throat, lifts her from her seat, and presses her against the wall. Not forcefully. But firmly.


"Behave," he tells her.


Mara stares him down.


"Stasi is a phone call away," Vasily says, his voice thickly accented and obviously angered.


David pays his brother-in-law no mind. "Abandon this foolishness," he tells Mara. "You don't want a repeat of Vail."


"You don't either," she says.


He steps back. There's a red mark on Mara's pale neck where he held her.


"What do you think, Alabaster?" David asks, not taking his eyes off of his wife.


"W-what?" You stammer.


"Do you want your sister stripped naked and publicly whipped? Humiliated on the national stage?"


"No-- of course not--"


"Nelson, how would you like to have some doddering 78-year-old congressman put your security protocols under the microscope as if he knows the first damn thing about them? Telling the world you're incompetent?"


"I'd hate it," he says.


"Steven, you used to be a Senator. Surely you wouldn't mind having your former colleagues jeer at you for three hours and ostracize you and tell the world that they never suspected the depths of your corruption?"


"You've made your point, David," Armstrong says.


"This meeting is over," he says. "Anyone who speaks again about going to Washington will suffer the consequences."


The look between David and Mara could melt steel.


The elevator ride back down is long and awkward (even if Sable is unfazed). Vivian accompanies you too.


"I apologize for my parents' behavior," she says.


"Don't mention it. I'm sorry that you have to live with those psychos."


"They aren't as bad as they seem. Recent events have rattled them both."


She puts on a brave face, but she's trembling - just a tiny bit.


Your hand brushes against Vivian's. You lean into it, slowly, and take her hand in yours. It's damp and limp, but very warm.


She doesn't acknowledge it, but she does stop trembling.


"Things may get worse before they get better," Vivian says.


"I'm not scared," you lie.


"Thank you, Alabaster Soliloquy. I would understand it if you no longer want to come to my home this Saturday, given the circumstances."


"Why don't we go somewhere else?" You offer. "You know, like a d--"


"That would be quite impossible," she says. "I'm very sorry. No."


>[x] I'll go.

[ ] We'll do something special next week.


She nods.


When the elevator gets to the lobby, Vivian steps off. Not before leaving you with this:


"I've never held hands with a boy before. It feels very odd. Not unpleasant, but it makes my heart rate fluctuate. Please warn me next time."


You're definitely not going to warn her next time.


As lunchtime approaches, you find yourself in a protracted debate with Noelle about the relative merits of yuri undertones versus outright yuri. She prefers the former whereas of course you prefer the latter. She sees the undertone approach as heightening the sweet sense of mystery and longing - of course, you just like to see two girls kissing.


"Typical," Noelle says. "You miss the entire point of the genre!"


"So sue me," you say. She swats your shoulder playfully. You're really beginning to warm to her. And she seems to be warming to you too.


"Are you doing anything for lunch?" she asks.


>[x] What do you have in mind?

[ ] Sorry, I've got plans. [Alex/Cerise/Sable/Rose]


You sit with Noelle in the theater room of DA's rec area, watching an episode of Magical Witchy on the projector screen. Morning anime club can go fuck themselves. This is where it's at.


Noelle eats her lunch in the seat beside you. Her eyes widen and she stops chewing whenever there's a particularly gratuitous bit of fanservice - you're starting to doubt her insistence that she's not a lesbian.


"It's such a breath of fresh air to meet someone who can talk about this stuff with me," Noelle says. "Most of the people here have such shitty taste... there's this group that uses the theater--"


"I know!" You say. "Oh my god. That weird fat girl who runs it, and--"


"--and that Stackleford person! What a loser!"


You laugh, and try to suppress your grimace of shame over knowing Stackleford so well.


"Coming up from the server room was the best decision I ever made," she says.


"Did you know my sister?" You ask. "She used to work in there too."


"Cerise? Yeah, we were pretty tight. I mean... as tight as you can get with Cerise. We're both a little anti-social. Her more than me, I think. But we got along."


"Cerise is a little depressed, that's all," you say.


"Well why wouldn't she be?" Noelle says. "Especially now. I mean, the stuff you see in the news... the things they're saying about her."


"All lies," you say.


"Oh, of course. I know Cerise didn't do that hack. I mean, I was there with her on the night it happened."


"You were?" You think about this for a few moments.


"Hey, this is gonna sound weird..." you say.


"Shoot," Noelle says.


"I know this reporter who's covering the hack. Do you think you could call her up and tell her what you told me? That you know Cerise is innocent?"


Noelle is suddenly shy and uncertain. "I-- if I get caught talking to the press--"


"I'll buy you something," you say. "That Lulu figma you were talking about yesterday. The one you've been wanting."


Noelle stares down at her lap. She's silent for several long moments. "You don't have to bribe me," she finally says. "I'll do it. Your sister taught me a whole lot... I respect her. It wouldn't be right to stay silent while she gets smeared."


"Thanks," you say, sincerely. You hand her Kay's business card.


Noelle looks at you with a devilish grin. "Okay," she says, "maybe you do have to bribe me. You owe me a date now."


Maybe she's not a lesbian after all.


On your way out of work that afternoon, a garbage truck pulls up beside you, next to the curb. The squeal of its brakes is annoyingly shrill and loud.


You wince and hurry to walk past it before the fumes of hot garbage waft over you. But suddenly an arm descends from the back of the truck and grabs you.


There's a strange metallic pressure around your midsection as it clamps you and fixes you in place. You tug uselessly at the mechanism, disbelieving, as it lifts you into the air.


"Help!" You scream. "Help!" The garbageman on the back is watching passively.


Your path through the air pulls you through a complete 180 degree arc. You dangle over the open pit of the truck.


And then you drop inside.


You land with a soft plop among a bunch of black garbage bags. The stench is unbearable - you retch and have to fight back vomit. The truck's top-facing sliding gates draw almost completely closed, leaving only a sliver of light to illuminate the interior.


"Stay back!" A voice shouts, echoing off the filthy steel walls. "I'll beat you to death!"


"...Whitney?" you say. Your eyes slowly adjust to the dim light. It's her, all right.


She clambers forward on hands and knees. "Oh, thank God," she says. "I'm so glad to see you."


"What happened?" You ask.


"I dunno," she says, shrugging. "Someone threw me in the trash."


---


"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"


"Whitney... we could very well be on our way to an execution here. Do you comprehend that?"


"Then let's have a little fun before we die, Ally, geez. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"


You massage the bridge of your nose. Somehow, Whitney got it in her head to pass the time by playing 20 questions.


You and Whitney are sitting on top of a pile of fetid garbage that you've slowly grown nose-blind to. The dump truck hasn't made any other stops since picking you up at least half an hour ago. Judging by the smoothness of the ride and lack of acceleration/deceleration, you guess you're on the highway.


"Yes. It's bigger than a breadbox."


Whitney stares at you dumbly for a few seconds. "...How big is a breadbox, again?" She asks.


"Oh my god. What is wrong with you? This is the absolute stupidest thing we could be--" you stop, suddenly struck by a realization.


"You know what?" You say. "I'm actually not sure how big a breadbox is."


"Then how do you know your object is bigger than one!"


"Because it's pretty fucking big. It's definitely bigger than however big a breadbox is."


"How can you know that!!"


"I just do! Okay? It's absolutely bigger than a breadbox!"


"I demand my question back!"


You throw a rotten banana peel at her. She dodges it and tosses a moldy carton of Chinese takeout in retaliation.


Grousing, you check your phone. You've got bars, which means Rose might have a bead on your location. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?


[ ] Turn your phone off. You don't want Rose getting involved in this too.

>[x] Keep your phone on.

[ ] Send a message to someone. [choose who]


You put your phone back in your pocket. As scary as the thought of it is... Rose might be the only thing between you and an untimely death.


You trust her.


That feels weird to admit, even to yourself.


But you do.


The truck goes through a few hard turns that cause you and Whitney to sway back and forth as if on the deck of a ship in stormy seas. Then over the course of several minutes, the truck slows, finally coming to a hard stop that jostles you so much you nearly faceplant into the grimy metal wall.


"Did we st--" Whitney begins. She gets cut off when the entire bed of the truck raises up at a steep angle, a chute on the bottom comes open, and you both go sliding out under gravity's pull, along with all the garbage bags. The noise and sudden rush of motion make you stomach do cartwheels.


As you writhe free of the slimy mountain of garbage, picking bits of unidentifiable glop from you hair and squinting against the blinding intrusion of sunlight, you feel a gun press to your temple. When you can see well enough, you find that it's a man in a hi-vis vest, gloves and bump cap - you're being held hostage by a garbageman.


So is Whitney.


You're in the middle of a municipal landfill, kept at gunpoint by what looks like a street gang who unionized and made a foray waste management.


The man with a gun to your head grabs one of your hands and tugs you forward, leading you down from the pile of garbage bags. He guides you towards a concrete shed where another gaggle of equally vicious-looking garbageman sit at control panels. Whitney is being dragged along too, close behind.


You step inside. At least it's air-conditioned in here. And it doesn't stink quite as bad.


"Knees, bitch," the man with a gun to you says. Better do as he orders.


One of the men, who seems to be their leader, steps forward and gazes down at you. "Where is she?" he demands.


"I don't know what you're talking about..." you say.


He backhands you. You see stars for a brief moment. When you reach up and touch your face, you feel a trickle of blood from your lips.


"Boss ain't gonna accept that," your interrogator says. "Where is she?"


"Who is 'she'?" You ask. "Are you guys working for Camelia?"


"With her. Yeah," the man says.


Whitney groans. "Tch, Ally! I thought you said Camelia was a racist. Why is she working with all these black people?"


"What?" You say, glancing at her in confusion. "What are you talking about? I never told you she was--"


The man quizzing you grabs your collar and shakes you back into focusing on the topic at hand. "One more try," he says. "Where the fuck is she?"


"I don't know," you say. "We haven't seen her."


He raises a fist as if to lay into you. You brace for pain, but another person's voice stops him before he even begins.


"Shawn, you psychotic motherfucker. Let that boy go."


He drops you back onto your knees. You look up at your savior: a man in the gaudiest business suit, wearing the gaudiest facial hair that you've ever seen.


"Jesus fuckin' Christ you idiots," he says, sweeping his view side to side around the room, eyeing his goons accusingly. "What did I tell you all? Huh?"


He waits for an answer that doesn't come. Shawn, who was moments ago brash and commanding, stares at his feet like an admonished child. You're getting the sense of an organizational hierarchy here: the garbage-toting lackeys, Shawn the shift supervisor, and this guy, Mr. Businessman, the owner.


"Let me say it again, then," Mr. Businessman shouts. He holds up three fingers: thumb, index and middle. There are fat jeweled rings on all three. He counts down as he talks.


"Period Blood said we got three untouchables up in here. Hackergirl, Hackergirl's girl, and Bastard Man over here." He points at you with the last of his counting fingers. "So what the FUCK possessed you to go kidnapping him in broad daylight like a bunch of dumb fuckin' niggers with a suicide wish?"


A long silence.


"Someone answer me, you fuckin' retards!" He marches around the room, squaring up to several of his men in turn, none of whom will even look him in the eyes. By the time he gets to Shawn, he's seething and his eyes are bulging. "Explain yourself," he demands. "So help me."


"She beat the red bitch up," Shawn explains timidly, nodding in Whitney's direction. "Haven't seen her since... we need to find her for the--"


"Think I don't know that? Think she can't take a punch? Moron. She's no pussy like you, she'll turn up when she's good and ready. And if she wants to settle up with her assailant over there, then she'll do it by herself on her own goddamn time." He puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "Going around trying to win brownie points with Period Blood by breaking her most sacrosanct fuckin' rules... goddamn. Brown-nosing moron piece of shit."


Even though Mr. Businessman is a good four inches shorter than Shawn, Shawn is almost cowering, he's so scared.


"And he's ugly too," Whitney offers.


"Whitney..." you begin. "This isn't the--"


"Yeah," Mr. Businessman agrees. "Uglier than a pile of dog shit. Good catch. Can't forget that. Ugly motherfucker."


He turns and kneels before Whitney. He looks from her to you. "This your girl?" He asks you.


"She's--"


"You're goddamn right I'm his girl," Whitney answers for you.


"Y'all hear that?" He asks his men. "This is Bastard Man's girl. By the commutative property of people who are not to be fucked with, that makes her untouchable too. You motherfuckers following this? Need to take some notes?"


He looks back at Whitney. "Is it true? You're the one who beat down Period Blood?"


"Beat her so hard she probably lost her good eye," Whitney growls, a delighted catch to her voice. It's a bit spooky.


"I like you. Who are you?"


"I'm your fucking nightmare," Whitney says. She doesn't seem to understand that she's still in the middle of a hostage situation.


Mr. Businessman nods. "All right. I like it. Nightmare. Anyone who can put the beat down on that crazy bitch definitely deserves the name." He looks back at you. "You got some good taste in women, my man."


"Thanks..." you say.


Mr. Businessman grabs Shawn by the back of his vest. "Now apologize to this fine young couple for wasting their time on a beautiful Friday afternoon."


"You've got to be fucking kidd-"


He pulls a pistol from his waistband and holds it threateningly under Shawn's chin. "I will pistol whip you to death, motherfucker. Apologize to the nice people."


"Sorry," he grunts, setting his jaw.


"Suck my dick!" Whitney replies, cupping her crotch obscenely. Goddamn it, Whitney...


Mr. Businessman puts his gun back in his waistband, straightens his coat tails and his cuff links. He motions for you and Whitney to stand, which you do, uncertainly. The environment in the room is by no means friendly -- no matter what he says.


"As the owner and proprietor of Palo Alto Waste & Water Management, I would also like to extend my heartfelt apologies for the behavior of my subordinates. To make it up to you, please accept these coupons for a free dinner at The Sizzler."


"Fuck yeah," Whitney says, suddenly elated. She takes the coupons from the man. "Sizzler's my favorite. That almost makes up for the hostage thing."


"Whitney, for the love of God," you say.


"Those expire in a couple weeks," he says, "so don't waste any time."


"Who are you?" You demand. "How do you know Camelia?"


"Name is Tyrus," he says. "Tyrus Kang. I'm a legitimate businessman who has a legitimate strategic partnership with the woman."


He hands you a business card. It actually identifies him as "Tyrus Kang, Legitimate Businessman." A bullet-pointed list describes what he offers:


>* Waste Management

>* Water Treatment

>* Strategic Partnerships

>* Growth

>* Knowledge

>* Networking and Partnership


"Uh... you have partnership on here twice," you say.


"Don't you know the difference between partnership and strategic partnership?" Tyrus says. "Dumb asshole."


"Are we free to leave now?" You ask.


"Yeah, sure," Tyrus says. "Then again, if you've got a moment, you could--"


Whatever Tyrus was about to say next is cut off by a hail of gunfire from outside. You hear a commotion, men screaming, and the report of pistols -- also the click-click bang of shotgun blasts at regular intervals, too.


A man bleeding horribly from his leg stumbles into the control room.


"The fuck is going on?" Tyrus demands. The other men in the room are circled around the windows now, facing where the gunfire game from. They're all armed with nasty-looking semi-auto and automatic pistols.


The wounded man collapses to the ground, screaming. "Some fat fucking white bitch with a shotgun! Came out of fucking nowhere!" One of the men kneels down and applies a tourniquet as the wounded man leans back, grits his teeth and groans in agony.


"Rose..." you mutter.


Tyrus might have just gotten through declaring you an untouchable, but he doesn't hesitate to grab your neck, haul you down to the ground with him, and hold a gun to your head as he hides behind one of the control panels in the room. More shotgun blasts ring out and the room fills with even more fleeing lackeys, some of them also bleeding.


Whitney dives behind the console too and tries to haul Tyrus off of you, but Shawn swoops behind her and incapacitates her, holding her arms behind her back. Whitney struggles uselessly. You're both immobilized.


It's quiet outside. Several quietly tense moments pass.


"Bring Alabaster out!" comes a voice muffled by distance. Yep: it's Rose. "Bring him out unharmed, and give him to me!"


"Fuck you, bitch!" Calls one of the men out the window.


"Who's that?" Tyrus asks you.


"Fucking Rose!" Whitney growls. "Always showing up at the worst possible moment!"


Tyrus glances at Whitney. "Great... Nightmare's got a nightmare. This fucking day, I swear to god."


"Rose is my girl too," you say. "So that also makes her untouchable."


"She's not fucking untouchable as long as she's pointing a gun up in my face," Tyrus says.


[ ] Intimidation: You better let me go. Rose means business.

>[x] Negotiation: Let me talk to her.


"Let me talk to her," you say.


"You got a thing for crazy bitches or something?" Tyrus asks. His breath stinks of menthol. "That's at least three by my count: Period Blood, Nightmare over here, and now this bitch. Any other homicidal fucking borderline-personality-having girlfriends I should know about before I enter into parley here?"


"One or two, maybe..." you say. "I kinda lose count."


"Did you one day decide to go pimping at the psych ward?" Tyrus says. "How the hell do you sleep at night without worrying which one of them is about to Lorena Bobbitt your scrawny ass?"


"Please," you say, "she's actually a reasonable person. Just let me talk to her."


Tyrus stands up, using you as a meat shield. A gun to your head, he marches you out of the room. Shawn follows close behind with Whitney. You have to hand it to Tyrus: he's not afraid to face a threat himself... to a degree, anyway.


"Alabaster--!" Rose cries when she sees you. Then: "Whitney!"


"You're a dumb fucking cunt," Whitney yells.


"Put the shotgun down," you tell her.


Rose considers this. But she doesn't relent. "You let Alabaster go!" She screams at Tyrus.


"What are you? Bout 4 foot 11?" Tyrus says. "Goddamn. Who taught your upper-middle-class ass to use a sawed-off? Shouldn't you be doing decoupage or studying for the SATs or some shit?"


"Let him GO!" Rose shrieks. She stands her ground even as more armed men file out of the control room. She's obviously and badly outgunned.


"Rose..." you say. "Do you trust me?"


"Wh-what?"


"I said. Do you trust me?"


Her eyes fill with tears. "I... I..."


"I trust you," you say.


She sniffles. "You're a-- a useless-- pathetic-- annoying--"


"I trust you," you repeat. "Please trust me, too. Put the shotgun down."


"Alabaster..."


You nod at her. Finally, she lowers the gun.


"Drop it," Tyrus tells her. "And then you can have them both back."


Rose drops the gun to the dirt ground. Tears are flowing freely down her face. You've never seen real fear like that from her before.


Tyrus crab-walks over to the shotgun, leans down, and picks it up. At the same time, he lets you go.


Tyrus nods at Shawn, and Shawn lets Whitney go too. She half-runs, half-walks over to where you're embracing a sobbing Rose.


"Get the fuck off my property," Tyrus says, toting his new shotgun over his shoulder. "Crazy fucking honkies."


He motions in the air for his men to fall back. They head inside. He follows close behind.


---


"I'm never gonna get this stench out of my Prius..." Rose grumbles as she drives you and Whitney back to Cerise's.


"Nice to see you too," you say.


"I understand that you got shoved into a garbage truck, but did you go swimming through the garbage too? I'm actually gagging here."


"No one invited you, Rose!" Whitney says. She leans on her tailbone and kicks the back of the driver's seat. Rose lets out an annoyed "oof."


"I'm taking my Volt back," Rose tells you. "You can have this trash-smelling Prius if you want it. Have fun driving around in your mobile casket."


"In your dreams," you say. "I like the Volt. My Volt."


"It's MY Volt, you ass!" Rose says. "You unbelievable jerk! I just risked my life to save you and now--"


Whitney kicks the back of the seat again. "No one asked you for your help! How did you find us anyway? Stalker!"


Rose glares at Whitney in the rearview. "None of your business, slut. I told you last night to speak only when spoken to."


"If you weren't driving right now, I'd choke you out! Don't test me!"


It feels really odd to be able to bicker and argue like this when just moments ago you were certain you were about to die. It makes you appreciate the little things in life.


When you walk through the door of Cerise's apartment, you see something you definitely didn't expect.


"I'm a little teapot, short and stout~ Here is my handle~ Here is my--"


Alex chokes on his singing as his gaze sweeps around to meet yours. He freezes in place, beyond mortified. Cerise, for her part, looks like a child with her hand caught in a cookie jar.


Alex is wearing Cerise's old maid costume.


Whitney cups her hands to her mouth. "Oh my god," she squeals, her voice a bit muffled but definitely excited.


Rose is stunned completely silent, and can only blink rapidly as she takes in the sight.


"I... I lost a bet," Alex explains. "This was my punishment game..."


"You're an awful person," you tell Cerise.


She blushes and looks away.


"Alex," you say, "go put your normal clothes back--"


"No way!" Whitney shouts. She puts her hands on her hips. "If he lost a bet, he's gotta take the punishment! That's the rule. He's wearing it all night long!"


Alex makes a pouty face, but doesn't resist this declaration.


Cerise sniffs the air. "What the hell happened to you?" She asks, masking her sudden concern with a harsh tone. "You smell even worse than normal, Alabaster."


"It's a long story," you say.


>[x] Tell her the truth (where Alex can't hear, of course.)

[ ] No reason to scare her. Leave it at that.


You pull Cerise aside into her bedroom and give her a quick version of the events.


"Jesus..." Cerise mutters. "Some kind of organized crime syndicate, you think?"


"They must be," you say. "No one who calls himself a legitimate businessman can possibly be a legitimate businessman. The weird thing is, he held a gun to my head and he's still way less scary than Camelia is. At least he's not psychotic. Just ruthless and venal."


"That might be true, but even still--" Cerise stops, retching. "God, Alabaster," she says, "you really stink. You need a shower."


You perk your ears up. You can hear the faucet in the guest bathroom running already, and a brewing argument between Rose and Whitney over who gets dibs.


>[x] Can I use your bathroom, Cerise?

[ ] Use the guest bathroom [with Rose, to reward her / with Whitney, to make up for last night / with both, to smooth things over.]


"I'd rather not get in the middle of the catfight going on out there," you explain.


"I don't blame you," Cerise says. "...But you better not stain my tub with your garbage juice or some shit."


She leads you into the master bathroom. Unlike where she sleeps, this space is at least a little clean. While the countertop around the sink is jam-packed with all sorts of clutter - bottles of hairspray, makeup, toothpaste tubes, and so on - it's at least well-maintained in other respects. The floors and porcelain tub are clean, the air is fresh. Definitely not the horrorshow you expected to walk into.


"Feel free to use my body wash, but don't touch my shampoo. That stuff is 15 bucks a bottle and I'm almost out."


"Whatever," you say. "I just need to get clean. That's all." You strip off your shirt, and only as you pull it over your head do you realize how damp it is - and how disgustingly it reeks. Being stuck in that dump truck was worse than you thought.


Cerise grabs a plastic bag from the cabinet under the sink and offers it to you so you can drop your shirt in it. You're so disgusted with your own clothes now that you don't have any shame left - you quickly kick off your shoes, socks, and pants, and drop them in the bag, too.


Cerise blushes and averts her gaze.


Wearing only boxers - boxers that you also badly want to get out of - you turn and reach into Cerise's tub. You fiddle with the knobs, but the water is ice cold no matter what you do.


"How the hell do you make it warm?" You demand.


"Wait a second," Cerise says.


She puts down the bag full of your soiled clothes. "Whoever's got the shower out there is hogging all the hot water," she explains.


"Well, get it back!" You demand.


"Keep the faucet running," Cerise says. She steps up and flushes the toilet beside the tub now. From the hallway, you hear two shrieks: Rose and Whitney. Are they showering together?


You hear scuffling now, and arguing. The change in temperature must have been an unpleasant shock for them, but why are they taking it out on each other?


Cerise flushes again, eliciting two more shrieks of pain. Cerise can't stifle her chuckle.


Your hand under the faucet finally feels warmth now. Rose and Whitney must have given up on showering.


"You're an asshole, Ally!" you hear Whitney's voice call through Cerise's door. Then thudding and slamming and more indecipherable arguing.


You pull the mechanism on the faucet that activates the showerhead. You don't waste any time: you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your boxers and step out of them.


Behind you, Cerise makes a choked gasp of surprise. "What is wrong with you?" she humphs. "Freak."


"You've seen worse," you say, waving it off. "Sorry, but I really need to get this grime off of me."


You step over the edge of the tub and bask underneath the refreshing rain of warm water.


"I'll get you a change of clothes..." Cerise says.


You nod, your eyes closed, and hear Cerise step out of the bathroom.


A few moments later, while you're lathering yourself with her coconut bodywash (a little girly-smelling, but whatever), you hear the door of the bathroom open again.


"What the hell, Cerise!" You shout. You're too shocked to cover yourself.


"I've seen worse," she rejoins. You hate when she turns your words back on you. "Here's your clothes."


She sets them down on the lid of the toilet for you.


"Are you done now?" You say. "Did you enjoy the show?"


She gives you the finger before turning around and starting for the door again. The room is so full of steam that she's hard to see when, right at the threshold, before opening the door, she stops. She turns her head to the side, looking at you in her peripheral vision.


"Are you having sex with Alex?" She asks.


"You're a hopeless pervert," you say. "Your imagination has run totally wild."


"That might be true," she says, "but you're even worse. And either you're having sex with him, or Alex is a liar."


Alex, you snitch... didn't anyone ever tell you the benefits of keeping things secret?


"There might have been... an unchaste interaction or two," you admit. "Not that it's any of your business. At least I never paraded him around in a French maid costume."


Cerise turns around, folding her arms. You've seen each other naked plenty of times before, and you're too far into your bickering mode to really care that she can see all of you right now. "Unchaste interactions," Cerise says, rolling her eyes. "That's rich. All the times you called me a degenerate for what's in my bookmarks--!"


"You're still a degenerate," you tell her. "Your actions today prove that beyond any shadow of a doubt. Not to mention whatever depraved things you've been doing with that girl who was catfishing you."


"Does that make you jealous?" She sneers.


It does.


"Not at all!" You say.


Cerise frowns. "When did we get so gay?"


"I am NOT gay," you say. "You might be. I'm not."


"You've been railing a boy on the regular for the past couple weeks, you fag. That's pretty fucking gay."


"I've been having sex with plenty of girls too," you insist. "Whitney, Rose, Sable--"


"Your boss?" Cerise breathes.


"Does that make you jealous?"


She shakes her head. "You're such a pig."


"You sound like Rose now," you say.


Cerise grabs a can of shaving cream off the counter and chucks it at you, but you dodge the attack. Unfortunately, in the attempt to dodge it, you slip - and bash your head against the soap holder on the wall, before falling onto your back.


Cerise is at your side immediately.


"Bitch!" You yell, rubbing your forehead. You're bleeding.


Cerise's hands are over her mouth. "I'm sorry!" She says. "I didn't mean..."


You look up at her. She's leaning over the side of the tub, and her top is soaked with water. "Are you okay?" She says.


"You're getting wet," you tell her.


"I am NOT--" she starts, then looking down at herself: "Oh. Yeah. I guess I am."


She takes off her top, baring her breasts. Now it's your turn to blush and avert your gaze.


"You've seen worse," Cerise says. Running theme, it seems. "Sit up. Let me look at that."


You sit up. Cerise examines your forehead. The cut must not be very bad, because even though head wounds bleed profusely, yours is already slowing down. Cerise grabs a little bottle of peroxide and rubs some of it gently over the welt, however much good that'll do.


You can't help staring at her fat tits while she works. They're right at eye level, after all. Since Cerise has a habit of wearing baggy clothes, you're continually surprised at how big they really are when she's naked. They're as pale as milk and invitingly soft looking. You can't help the reaction you have.


"Tch-- Alabaster, you're disgusting," Cerise says. So she noticed that.


"Don't act mad when you walk in on a guy showering and see a dick," you grouse. "Get out if it offends you so much."


Cerise steps back. But instead of leaving - she pulls down her shorts and panties. You leap to your feet, trying to merge yourself with the wall. "What are you doing?" You shout.


"Conserving water," Cerise says. "More importantly, making sure you don't pass out from the concussion I just gave you and drown in this bathtub."


"Get out!" You demand. But she's already stepping into the tub with you.


"Turn around," Cerise tells you. "If seeing me naked offends you so much."


"What are you doing?" You demand. She holds you about your midsection and guides you in a semicircle so her chest is against your back and you're both standing underneath the showerhead.


"You looked a little woozy," Cerise says. "I didn't want to leave you alone since you might fall down again. I'll hold you steady while you finish showering."


"I'm done," you say.


"No, you're not..." Cerise rests her chin on your shoulder and peers into your eyes. "I'm not letting you out of here until you're clean again. I don't need you stinking up the place."


She grabs her bodywash and squirts a dollop into her palm, lathering it up. She applies it to you - neck, chest, armpit, arms - and even lower still. You try to keep it from happening but your cock stands fully at attention as her delicate, searching fingertips trace tightening circles over your body. Her touch is so soft and--


"Cerise..." you gulp.


"Shh. It's okay," she says.


"This isn't... are you drunk?"


"I'm not jealous," she says, apropos of nothing. Or more accurately: responding to an earlier piece of conversation. "I want to be clear about that."


"Fine. You're not jealous. You win."


"I'm not a brocon, either" she tells you. Her fingers are tracing a sudsy path around your groin, the edges of her hands occasionally brushing against your pubic hair. You watch her working you over, unable to peel your eyes away.


"Fine... you're not a brocon... Cerise, if you go any l--"


"But I want to see," she growls, her voice low and needy. She presses her body hard against you, her tits mashing into your back. And then she grabs your cock.


"I NEED to see," she says. "It's... not about you, I swear... but without Gal to-- and now that I know you're-- I just NEED to see what you do with Alex... I... I..." she gulps, so turned on she can hardly even talk.


Her hands are obviously inexperienced and she doesn't hold you as tightly as she should. (Wait, she shouldn't hold you at all... but no, if she's going to do this... it should be tighter. Your head is swimming in confusion and lust.)


"You can make me a video for me, or... or just let me sit in the corner, that's fine..." She masturbates you up and down while she describes all the ways you can fuck Alex for her sick enjoyment. Her hand is barely big enough to wrap all the way around you. With the water and the slippery soap and her loose grip, it's more frustrating than anything else. You buck your hips, trying to find relief. You don't care anymore that she's your own sister.


"Cerise... I'm gonna--"


She bites your earlobe. "It's okay," she whispers directly into your ear. "You can cum. I'll just imagine it going all over Alex's face..."


"Cerise!" You throw your head back, and you really are woozy now - you almost collapse. She braces herself and holds you steady. You arch your back, feel your cock twitching against her smooth palm. She reaches around with her other arm now and jerks you off using both hands, one stacked on the other. She suddenly picks up a frenzied pace, her hands a blur against your straining dick, and she chews on your earlobe while she jerks you off. But her eyes are always glued to the sight of your leaking cockhead. Nowhere else.


You cum, your vision going white as you squirt pulse after pulse of sticky seed into the drain and all over your older sister's hands. She gasps in perverted delight. Her eyes sparkle. Only when you're empty does she let go of you.


You stumble forward, dazed, as Cerise falls to her ass in the tub. You turn, still standing under the shower, and watch. She rubs her cunt madly with the hands she just used to bring you off. You're sure she's smearing some of your cum against her throbbing clit, too. Her mouth purses into an O as she screams silently in thundering orgasm, and she squirts her cum all over the wall of the shower. Her legs are spread-eagle and she gives you this show without any shame or inhibition. When she's done, she falls flat on her back, panting.


You turn the shower off.


Cerise is still breathless. She rests the back of one palm against her forehead.


"Jesus..." you moan. "Oh my god... what did you do..."


"Will you show me?" Cerise pants. "Please?"


You're not sure what to say as you step out of the tub, dry yourself off and get dressed.


>7 PM


"Don't you dare-- god fucking damn it-- STOP," you yell.


Whitney sticks her tongue out at you.


Rose laughs at your misfortune. Until it happens to her, too. "What's the matter with you, Whitney? Stop that!"


But she won't. Whitney refuses to do anything but spam that move where Kirby floats above the stage and turns into a rock.


Alex catches up to her though. He grabs her and gives Kirby a good hard bitch-slap like only Princess Peach can provide.


"You cross-dressing little shit!" Whitney says. She grabs Alex - in real life, that is - and gives him a noogie.


"Save me, Ally!" He cries, reaching plaintively for you as Whitney rubs her knuckles viciously into his skull.


>9 PM


Alex ordered pizza for everyone. Naturally, Rose and Whitney fight over the last piece.


Alex suggests they share it, but the evil stare from both of them that he receives for this suggestion is enough to make him back off.



>10 PM


"One, two, three, four... that's Boardwalk, and I will definitely buy that," you announce.


"This game is fucking stupid," Cerise says. She flips the board. Play money and property cards flutter through the air.


"Real mature!" You shout.


"I agree with your sister," Rose says. "This game embodies the very worst aspects of capitalism..." (Of course she would say that. She was almost bankrupt.)


"Does anyone still want to trade for Baltic Avenue?" Whitney asks.


>11 PM


Birdemic: Shock and Terror is the best worst movie you've ever seen. God bless Alex for suggesting it. You all eat fresh-popped popcorn from a giant pan together while lobbing jokes and snide comments at the screen. Whitney laughs so hard that she almost passes out.


Cerise breaks out the beer and you try to come up with rules for a drinking game - but the movie is so ridiculous that you all agree to just chug. Whitney and Cerise can hold their liquor quite well, but you, Rose and Alex are pretty ruined after just a couple drinks. Alex especially is getting pretty fucked up. His face is deeply flushed and his speech is badly slurred.


The girls pass him around like toy, getting a little more handsy than you'd like.


"You're cute," Whitney says, playing with the frills on his maid outfit.


"VERY cute," Rose agrees. She ruffles his hair. Rose and Alex both really seems to like that. He mewls happily.


"Do you like that outfit?" Cerise asks.


"M-maybe...".


"You can keep it..." she purrs.


Of course, even though you don't like seeing THEM get handsy, when Alex is in your hands, you can't help yourself either.


"Save me, Ally!" He says for the second time tonight, burying his face in your chest as he sits in your lap.


"Of course," you say. "I'll protect you from these rotten perverts." You spin him around in your lap and ward off the others, letting him get comfortable again as you watch the rest of the movie. But surreptitiously, you keep copping feels on his ass -- and dry hump him too, just a little. He doesn't resist being violated like that.


>2 AM


Everyone is asleep except for you and Cerise. You're alone with her in her bedroom.


It's time to do what you've been planning to do for a long time.


Something that's been building up for years.


Something you've longed for.


Something neither of you can resist any longer.


You download an emulator along with a ROM of Street Fighter II: Turbo. It's time to settle who's the best at fighting games.


...But maybe this wasn't such a good time to settle the age-old rivalry. You can hardly see straight. Cerise's tolerance for alcohol carries her: despite the fact that you're using Akuma, Cerise dominates you.


"Loser," she sneers after beating you for the seventh or eighth time.


"I was... hardly trying..." you mumble. Sitting at her computer, staring at the game over screen, you feel your head drooping. You let your controller drop to the floor.


"Will you sleep in here tonight?" Cerise asks.


"You want me to...?"


She shrugs. "I was just asking."


You're honestly too exhausted to go find a place out in the living room. You crawl on hands and knees into her bed. She follows.


For the second time in just a few nights, you sleep with your sister.


November 14, 2014


"And therefore, I move that the case be dismissed with prejudice."


Saul Mallory has just finished a whirlwind recitation of every misstep that federal agents took in apprehending you: illegal searches of your web history, an illegal search of your locker at school, multiple Miranda violations, a tainted chain of custody for major pieces of evidence, and prosecutorial overreach in charging you with terrorism-related offenses. Among many others.


"Finally, I would like to add," Mr. Mallory says, approaching the bench, "that charging Alabaster as an adult is an absolutely unconscionable way to treat this case - for a young man who was a child at the time of the alleged crimes, after all. A young man with such an obviously promising future. Straight A's in high school, student council president, leader of an academic trivia team poised to take the national stage - scholarships on top of scholarships already lined up - this boy is not some thug in training, your honor. Let's have a little sanity here, huh?"


Judge Tigee mulls this over.


Pulling this man as the judge in your case, Mr. Mallory has informed you, was the luckiest thing to ever happen to you. And he's right. Tigee says: "if there's one thing I hate, it's seeing a boy like Alabaster Soliloquy getting railroaded. He should be free to forge his own way in life."


With a bang of a gavel, your case is dismissed. Forever.


"I would also like to move--" Mr. Mallory begins.


"Say no more," Judge Tigee replies, rising from his chair (struggling a bit under his own mass here - he's really a fat guy). "The records of this case are hereby ordered sealed."


Before he steps down, though, he bows his head a bit, thinking. Then he turns to you: "Young man... appreciate what has happened here. I am dismissing your case and giving you a chance to turn your life around. Don't take that for granted. I can tell that you are troubled - perhaps for good reason. Losing your parents is the hardest thing a young man can face. But you're 18 years old now. If you appear before me again, I will not be so generous."


Mr. Mallory was the only one in court with you today. Rose and Whitney had school, Mrs. Mallory had work. (All three of them called you frequently in jail. Rose in particular. She claimed it was to brag about keeping the quiz team and student council afloat in your absence, but you could hear the notes of worry on her end.)


And of course, Cerise... was being Cerise. She didn't show up either.


You ride back home in Mr. Mallory's BMW in silence, staring out the passenger side window.


"I'm sending you to a therapist," he says.


"What?" You say. "I don't need--"


He pulls over to the shoulder of the road and kills the engine. He turns in his seat to face you. "Do NOT," he says. He points at you. "You're going. This isn't a negotiation. You're going or I will throw you out on your ass, understand? No matter what Rose or Charlotte have to say about it. I'm through with this 'woe is me' act."


You can tell he's serious. "Whatever," you say, and go back to staring out the window.


"Whatever..." Mr. Mallory repeats bitterly. "You're a real piece of work, Alabaster. You think about how goddamn lucky you are. You could have gone to federal prison. Do you grasp the gravity of that fact?"


"Maybe I'd be better off."


He shakes his head, starts the car again, and pulls back onto the road.


---


Saturday morning passes much the same way Friday night did: messing around, watching bad movies, and having a good time. It's, by a wide margin, more fun than you've had since all the craziness in your life began.


You hope the same is true for Whitney, Rose and Cerise as well.


You're so involved in the fun that it comes as a surprise when there's a knock on the door. It sours the mood - the fear of Camelia striking looms large - but when you glance out the peephole, you realize what this is.


Vivian's chauffeur has arrived to pick you up.


You open the door.


"Greetings. Are you Alabaster Soliloquy?" He has a posh British accent and an equally posh suit. You recognize this man... but you can't place his face...


The others watch from behind you.


"Are you ready to depart?" The man asks.


"Who... who are you?" Cerise says. She sounds frightened.


"I'm David Darkbloom's personal driver," he says. "The name is Damon."


Your heart skips a beat. Damon. No, that's impossible. There's no way...


But there he is. Damon. He isn't the grubby, slimy, wormy chav you used to know, but it's definitely him.


"The young mistress is waiting. Will you come for her?"


You can only nod. A promise is a promise.


"Come back soon, Alabaster..." Cerise says.


You step out of Cerise's apartment, walk down the stairs, and towards the waiting limousine.


END OF EPISODE 7.

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